The Road East (Epic LitRPG Adventure - Book 2) (Fayroll) Read online

  Valyaev and Zimin exchanged a quick glance. Apparently, I’d said something I shouldn’t have.

  “Or maybe an analysis of the different classes. ‘A Closer Look: Mages.’”

  “Not bad. If you’re in charge, you’ll decide what you want to print and where. You’ll get good people, all graduates with honors from the best journalism programs in the country, so work them hard.”

  “And who’s paying for the supplement? Where are we getting the financing?” asked Mammoth in his most choir-boy voice.

  “We’re the owners, so we’re financing the project,” answered Zimin coldly. “And given that we’re the owners of the whole newspaper, if we say you’re going to finance it, that’s exactly what you’ll do. Nothing personal; it’s just business. Do you have any objections to that?”

  “Of course not,” answered Mammoth. “I was just asking.”

  Valyaev turned back to me. “On paper, you’ll be employed by the Capital Herald, but you’ll actually work for Raidion. One of our security officers will get in touch with you, just so you know—don’t worry about it. That’s just the procedure we have for all new employees. He’ll come see you and walk through everything you need to know and sign. Then we'll have someone stop by on the 25th of every month to drop off the money for your salary and your staff's salary. To start off, you'll be getting—”

  He interrupted himself to glance quickly at Mammoth, who was obviously interested in what he was about to say next, and instead wrote a number on a business card he pulled out of his pocket. I was stunned, to say the least.

  “Does that work for you?” Valyaev looked at me. “Incidentally, keep the card—my cell phone is almost always on. Kit, give him your card, too.”

  “Phew,” I answered wordlessly.

  “That pretty much takes care of the business side of things. We’ll mail you the main documents you need as well as information about your new staff.” Zimin looked over at Mammoth.

  “Okay, Semyon Ilyich, let’s talk about what we need from you. Have your people set up an office big enough for four people to work in as well as an adjoining office for Nikiforov. Plus, everything they need: printers, scanners, and the rest. And make sure you streamline everything for them! Get that all done today so they can be at their desks working tomorrow.”

  “But we don’t have enough space—” Mammoth started to respond, but was interrupted by Zimin.

  “You know, this office would probably work for Nikiforov.” He looked at the ceiling pointedly.

  “Oh, you know, we have three offices in the left wing.” Mammoth clapped his hand to his forehead. “They’ll be perfect—practically mansions. Harriton, buddy, you know what I’m talking about, right? I’ll go get things taken care of right now!”

  “Good work, Semyon Ilyich,” said Valyaev. “Let’s do this: go ahead and personally make sure that everything gets done. That should take you ten minutes or so. Just make sure these guys have computers, pens, paper, and everything else they need to start work tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Got it,” Mammoth said. “You always have to keep an eye on these things. If you don’t do it yourself, nobody will. Can I go?”

  “What are you asking me for?” Zimin said with surprise. “This is your newspaper, your office. We’re just guests. Of course, you can go.”

  Mammoth left, gently closing the door behind him.

  Zimin walked over and made sure it was closed before pulling some kind of shiny tool out of his pocket. He moved around the room with it and listened to the cheeping sound it made.

  “Oh, come on, Max. What, you think he’s CIA or FBI? It’s just a normal building with a normal newspaper,” Valyaev said lazily.

  “Kit, you know me—you can never be too careful. Besides, there’s something about that Ilyich that doesn’t sit right with me. Ilyiches are all like that—you have to keep an eye on them. Okay, it’s clean.”

  “I didn’t doubt it. So, Harriton, can we talk about a couple other things?”

  I realized the real conversation was about to start.

  “Why not?” I answered as easily as I could, wondering what I could have done wrong. The only things I could think of were stealing Andrey Mozheyko’s toy car in kindergarten and dumping carbide in the toilet at school.

  “Relax, you didn’t do anything,” said Valyaev amiably. “Quite the contrary…”

  “Well, sort of,” noted Zimin.

  “What are you talking about?” I tried to look as thoughtful as I could.

  “You weren’t the one who played the little joke in the gaming community?” asked Zimin.

  “What joke?” I asked almost sincerely. It was obvious what they were talking about, though I wouldn’t have called it a joke. I just wanted to see how the community would react to something that sensational. So, I started a rumor that some noob got an epic quest accidentally, you know, just the usual… But the twins obviously knew it was me, and that wasn’t good.

  “What joke? I think you know, Mr. Buzdigan,” said Valyaev with a grunt.

  Zimin was right there to back him up. “Quite the screen name you picked. Wow.”

  “Calm down,” Valyaev said. “You didn’t know it, but you triggered the mechanism for a project Max and I worked on for a year and a half. We’d just spent three months racking our brains trying to figure out how to do just that. Then you came along with your little joke and got it all going. You even got the right quest.”

  “The one from the dryad?” I decided not to play dumb anymore, seeing as how they apparently already knew everything.

  “Yes. We added the quest and the dryad a year and a half ago, back when there were just the first hints of a global game-wide event that would turn things upside down and rebalance the game world. The quest conditions were impossible, too: save the character right when she was being killed by a player, and the chances of that happening were miniscule. Then there was the choice between the three bonuses… Put it this way, in the entire history of the game, only eight people saved her when they were supposed to. Only two of them got to the second bonus, and you were the only one who got to the third. We didn’t think it was possible that someone would willingly decline the pet and the gold.”

  I was taken aback. “But she told me there were a lot of people like me?”

  “What did you expect? She told you what she was programmed to say,” answered Valyaev.

  Zimin took over from there. “When we realized that someone had gotten the quest to save the dryad, we were shocked. And just imagine how thrilled we were to stop arguing about whether it was worth going through with the whole thing or not. The point of no return was behind us. We decided to keep tabs on you, seeing as how you’d triggered the main mechanism…and then you and your Buzdigan went and played your little joke! We never imagined that it was so simple to take five minutes and do what we’d been gradually pushing toward for so long.”

  “We were planning on just having an employee start playing the game and get everything going. You know, play a role, earn some fame, and then activate the project.”

  “But what’s the project?” I had to ask. “Activate what?”

  “You really don’t know what we’re talking about?” My new employers looked at each other. “Come on!”

  “I don’t,” I said with complete sincerity.

  “The dryad quest and the dryads themselves are the triggers for another huge quest,” said Zimin slowly.

  “What quest?” I had no idea what to think.

  “A quest to bring the Old Gods back to the Fayroll world,” Valyaev said calmly. “And you started it, so you have to finish it. That’s the global scenario, and it has to happen one way or another.”

  Chapter Two

  In which the hero is astounded yet again by the variety of life.

  “Wow!” was all I could think to say.

  “Is that amazement, indignation, or surprise?” Zimin asked in the same friendly tone.

  “I have no idea,” I answered truthfully.
“To be honest, I wasn’t really planning on jumping back into Fayroll.”

  “Why not?” Valyaev was taken aback. “You didn’t like it? Everything’s gone pretty well with you. You got into a good clan, you’re leveling up fairly quickly, and you’ve gotten some fun quests. Even beyond the dryads, you got the quest with the witcher—and not many players do. It isn’t completely unique, of course, but it’s rare. You got a set item from it, too, and all at Level 33.”

  Zimin sat up. “Wait, really? I missed that. What did you get?”

  “Lichtenshtain’s shield,” I answered.

  “Ah, from the Shield and Sword set. Well, you’ll have problems with the sword. Getting it is tricky.”

  “Yeah, you have to get all the way to the Skeleton Emperor on the left bank of the Crisna,” I said, carefully watching his face.

  “Yeah, we did a good job with that one.” Zimin smiled, shook his head, and stared at me. “You sly dog! Kit, he got me!”

  Valyaev laughed. “Nice, Nikiforov. Did you figure it out yourself?”

  “Yes, as soon as I heard about the emperor’s sword,” I answered. “It was pretty simple, same as with the witcher. If a normal player who doesn’t have the shield gets it, they walk away with an elite sword. But if the player with the shield is on the raid, and he gets to the emperor, then he gets the set item. There’s a problem with that, though.”

  “Oh, yes?” The pair stared at me.

  “Whatever happens, the sword will be ticketed for the clan storehouse. The set will never be collected. Either that, or only the best of the best will get it, though they almost certainly won’t have the shield. And if they do, and the clan finds out, they’ll have to give both of them up. I’d say there’s a 99 percent chance of that happening— if whoever has the shield even gets to the palace. So what happens in the end?”

  “We’ll have to think about that. Maybe we can change things around, add the sword as a reward for some kind of hidden quest,” said Valyaev.

  “That would be better,” I said. “It would be fair, at least. Just make sure that it really is random, and not like with the landlord’s crown. A friend of mine killed him a hundred times and still never got it. He was pretty torn up about that.”

  Valyaev’s eyes narrowed. “The landlord’s crown. Harriton, are you talking about the one by Mettan?”

  “Exactly.”

  Zimin leaned forward and asked a question of his own. “And who’s your friend?”

  “Just another player,” I answered, mentally kicking myself for saying too much. “We killed some PKers together.”

  “And he never got the crown?”

  “Not as of then. I think he decided to give up.” I decided to cover for Wanderer.

  “Got it.”

  My interrogators looked at each other, and I decided to quickly change the subject before they could ask me what the player’s name was.

  “Anyway, I have a request.” I looked at my new employers.

  “Yes?”

  “Call me Kif. I’m not a big fan of my first or last name and, this way, we both can forget about them… I think you know what I mean.”

  “Kif it is,” said Zimin with a shrug. “In that case, Kif, let’s talk about what you’re going to do, what you aren’t going to do, and what you’ll be getting for all that.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, wondering what he meant by “what you’ll be getting.” Was it the carrot or the stick?

  “You have two very doable assignments. The first and most important is to play the game. Just imagine—that’s what you’re supposed to do. Sure, you don’t have to go crazy or anything, but still. You need to go east like all the characters have been telling you.”

  “Ah-ha, so that was your doing,” I said. “And here everyone’s been telling me that it’s just the program giving me advice…”

  “The game does have that functionality. But in your case, we did a little extra pushing,” admitted Valyaev modestly.

  “Well, I’m already going in that direction.” I even waved my hand generally eastward.

  “Yeah, and you’re off to a good start, what with your discount at the port and your new fiancée.” Valyaev grinned and smoothly switched to a more familiar tone.

  Zimin turned to him in surprise. “What fiancée?”

  “Seriously, Max, have you read any of the reports on him?” Valyaev was outraged. “He hooked up with a vila!”

  Zimin looked at me and shook his head.

  “What an idiot. A vila. Ha! A vila!”

  When even the developers are telling you you’re an idiot, you start to wonder what exactly you got yourself into. You missed something, and maybe something big.

  “Well, he did what he did,” Valyaev said, going back to the topic at hand. “That’s his business. Though, yes, he’s an idiot. Now, you need to go east and make sure you start really moving things along.”

  “Give me some money for the boat, and I’ll be there in a couple days. Or just give me a portal,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

  “If it was that simple, we’d have just sent one of our employees,” answered Zimin. “When we wrote the whole thing, we made it so that the player has to find his way between the dryads naturally.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, not quite understanding.

  “How do I explain this? Okay, let’s say the player has already been to Selgar. In that case, he can port there, go find the dryad, and finish the quest at a standard difficulty level. But if he hasn’t been there, and we port him there all of a sudden outside the normal game flow, then the quest difficulty will jump by a factor of fourteen.”

  “Why fourteen?”

  “You think I know?” Valyaev obviously had no desire to further discuss the topic.

  “Well, I do, anyway,” announced Zimin. “You shouldn’t have been drinking beer after cognac. ‘It can’t be just anyone! It isn’t a quest; it’s a legend! This will go down in the annals of online gaming!’” He was obviously having a little fun at his partner’s expense.

  Paying no attention to the crestfallen Valyaev, Zimin continued.

  “We had way too much to drink, and Kit wrote a spy program to ensure that the dryad quest is completed honestly. Once he was done, he imported it into the body of the game. The very core. He got it stuck in there so well,” Zimin said in a confiding tone, “that if you try to extract it or write over it, the whole thing will crash and burn. He’s a genius, that’s a fact. But thanks to that fact and our little genius here, you’ll have to march your way across the continent on your own two legs. The game will track you as you try to complete the quest. If we just give you money, the quest could very well become impossible for you to beat. Maybe not, but probably. We can’t have that, so we won’t be helping you trek east. Does that make sense?”

  “Well, why don’t you give me money for beating some other quest? Or will the game see that?”

  “Of course it will see it. Each quest has its standard rewards. Stop trying to look for options, and don’t try to be clever about it—just get into the capsule and start walking east.”

  “So, I won’t get any help at all?”

  “Not in the game. Or at least, nothing that will give you an unfair advantage. No items, gold, abilities—nothing.”

  “What if I need help that doesn’t give me an unfair advantage?”

  Zimin and Valyaev glanced at each other.

  “For instance?”

  “Well, like what if I need to quickly take care of an argument or report someone? Shouldn’t I have some kind of benefits or advantages?”

  “Oh, that’s what you’re talking about. In that case, just call an admin and tell him,” Zimin said, hesitating for a second, “…mm…‘Code 33.’ We’ll assign it to you today.”

  “Any admin?”

  “Do you know a lot of them?”

  “Some,” I answered with quiet dignity. “Number Nineteen, for example.”

  “Then call Number Nineteen.”

&n
bsp; If there was almost nothing I could get out of them, the least I could do was get that almost nothing. It was better than absolutely nothing.

  “Okay, so, if I understand you correctly,” I said, wrapping up everything I’d heard, “I need to get to the East without any help, deal with the dryad there, and then go wherever she sends me.”

  “Correct.” Zimin nodded.

  That was that. Off you go, little boy. There’s a dryad out there crying her little eyes out.

  “What if my clan ports me there? I could tell them about the quest—”

  “Don’t do that,” said Valyaev seriously. “Don’t tell the clan anything. Yet, at least. Don’t tell them about anything we’ve talked about or, by the way, that you edit the Fayroll Times. Nobody needs to know that.”

  “Um-m…” I said, shuffling my feet.

  “What?”

  “Someone already knows… Well, knows I’m associated with the articles.”

  Zimin looked at me attentively. “Who?”

  “Fat Willie knows. I mean, Wild Willie. In the game, his name is Wild Willie from the Messengers of the Wind clan.”

  “Oh, right, you mentioned them in one of your articles. They paid you, I guess?”

  “Yes, 100 gold, you know, to get their name out there…”

  “I like this guy,” said Zimin. “Kit, take care of Willie.”

  My eyes widened, and Zimin was quick to notice.

  “We’re not going to kill him! Who do you think we are?” He laughed and glanced at Valyaev. “Kit will talk to him in the game and give him two choices. You know, like Neo. Remember the Matrix?”

  “Of course.” I nodded. “It’s a classic.”

  “Yup. The first option will be for him and his clan to clear out a brand new dungeon with great bonuses—we’ll take care of that. The second will be for his clan to start having lots of things go wrong for them. We’ll also put him on the blacklist for a good hundred players who used to like him, and we’ll even make sure they’re all high-level. All we’ll ask for is his silence. Which option do you think he’ll pick?”