Respawn: Nightmare Mode (Respawn LitRPG series Book 4) Read online

  He retrieved one of the four pearls from its cell. He had extracted them from the monster whose spine had nearly sent him to his next life. Two black pearls, one red, and one green. His chances of acquiring a second ability by taking them ranged from ten percent to twenty, and he had to wait at least thirty-six hours between doses. Meaning it would take him four and a half days total to take them all.

  He risked being left with nothing, too, since each pearl only gave him a chance, not a guarantee. Some quick math told him the odds were around fifty-five percent. Could be better.

  Of course, perhaps his Luck would play some role here. He could get absolutely nothing, of course—but on the other hand, he might acquire four new abilities.

  Even the “nothing” was an exciting prospect. Taking a green pearl gave you between 60 and 80 Talent Rank and Willpower progress points. A black pearl gave you 20 to 40, and a red pearl gave you somewhere in between. That would be a valuable addition to his stats.

  Cheater intended to squeeze the maximum possible benefit out of his prizes. Letting anyone see his loot would be a huge mistake. A black pearl was worth two and a half thousand spores. A green one could get you fifteen big ones. Plus, he had four golden stars. Seven hundred each. And three knotted amber threads. Eight hundred each. And so much more.

  Thirty-three thousand spores’ worth of loot, by the most conservative estimate. That was a colossal amount even for level 30 players, and impossible for noobs like Cheater. Anyone who learned of his treasure would immediately kill him for it. That would make him risk losing nearly everything. He had nowhere to spend his prizes—all he could do was ingest them, improving his character while trying his best to avoid mixing up the various safe intervals he needed to observe between them.

  Fate had also given him a golden regeneration egg. Like black eggs, they instantly stopped bleeding and worked more miracles besides. A man at the brink of death could take one and have a chance at surviving—and even a chance of staying conscious. As long as the player consumed nutritious food, healing would occur rapidly. Within a half hour, in the case of minor injuries. Even amputations were not immune to the ameliorative effects of the eggs. They could also pump Endurance, up to 380 progress points. The egg’s effect lasted about four or five days.

  And the cherry on top? It was hard as hell to kill someone on an egg during that time period. A bullet to the head should do it. But even that wasn’t a guarantee. If Cheater had taken the golden egg immediately, the spike that had pierced his body would be nothing more than a distant memory.

  But he had needed to take the black one instead. The golden one had been out of reach. He had realized that he risked dying from blood loss if he pulled himself off of the elite’s spine. The golden egg was only accessible after he regained consciousness and gutted the elite. But the System would not allow a regeneration egg to be taken more than once every ten days. So no one could keep up a perpetual god mode.

  By now, Cheater was a living skeleton, begging for a single spore’s worth of stew.

  All the while carrying a bag of treasure so rich that the others would kill him without hesitation if they knew of a small fraction of it. Getting five digits’ worth of spores was well worth the slight drop in Humanity.

  For this reason, Cheater declined to tell even March. He had rushed along, expending all of his effort to move at maximum speed, all the while recording the various times he was consuming loot items in his personal notes.

  No one else would ever be able to see those.

  He examined the black pearl once more, activated Smile of Fortune, and tossed the valuable prize into his mouth.

  Perhaps his ability really did help improve his chances. How could he find out? Information on his Luck boost’s potential had been fleeting, to say the least.

  Cheater may have just wasted his ability for the day. It was likely, in fact. The System was too mean to allow him a bonus like that.

  Still, the thought was too tempting to resist.

  Chapter 2

  Life Seven. Assembly

  Fatso, his bones showing through with every step, emerged from the bushes shaking his head.

  “You sure know how to eat, Cheat.”

  “The better I eat, the quicker I’ll recover. And that’s good for all of us.”

  “Can you kill a ghoul with that bow from a hundred paces away?”

  “Depends on the ghoul. Some are more solid than others.”

  “These ones aren’t.”

  “What level?”

  “It’s far away, so I don’t know. A strong runner, I think, almost a raffler.”

  “No problem.”

  “Follow me, then. Just keep it down. This one’s twitchy, prone to charge any sound it hears.”

  The ghoul was enthusiastically chewing on a human bone as it squatted near a bus stop. It was one of the remnants of a larger beast’s meal, scattered across the pavement. This infected had lost all of its clothing. Its body was powerfully deformed and its face swollen, but it still looked like a man in bad shape, not like a clumsy monster. Fatso had been right: a runner.

  “Can you kill it quickly enough that it doesn’t have time to growl?”

  “I’ll try,” Cheater answered without certainty.

  “No, you have to. No trying.”

  “Why kill this one, anyway? We could easily go around it.”

  “That would take a long time. We have to get across the road. This is a good, straight crossing, and we can see in all directions.”

  Cheater, without another word, pulled out an arrow, put it on his bowstring, and raised his bow, and bit his lip from the pain that flared up in his wound as his muscles tensed. The string twanged and clapped, and at nearly the same instant, metal rang out against bone, and the ghoul collapsed to the pavement, its skull shattered.

  “Well shot,” Fatso nodded with approval, but without emotion. “I heard the Spiders were looking for a certain tall man who was a good shot with a bow. Not many archers on the Continent.”

  Cheater tensed. “More than you’d think.”

  “True. Plenty of players have those. Yours is quite expensive, though...”

  “So? Are expensive bows a rare thing on the Continent? Mine is worth mere pennies compared to some I’ve seen. What’s gotten into you, anyway?”

  “Look, I’m not interrogating you. Just thinking out loud. There’s something about you that unsettles me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Georgy and Physic said you leveled up too quickly. Plus, you’re the only level 21 accepted into the crossing party. I don’t know what you and the boss have in mind, and I’m a man who hates ambiguity.”

  “I won’t be any trouble.”

  Fatso grimaced. “Everyone says that.”

  “So you only asked me to kill that ghoul so you could see if I was good with a bow?”

  “Basically.”

  “You could have asked, you know.”

  “Action speaks louder than talk.”

  “Then you’re getting the arrow.”

  “What? It’s your arrow, you pull it out.” Fatso spat, turned, and called out. “Georgy, Physic, we’re moving out. The road is clear.”

  Without waiting for the pair to join them, the machine gunner marched out of the thicket and looked towards the road. He walked confidently, as though this place were safe enough not just for him but for small children.

  Barely two seconds later, though, Fatso dropped sharply to his knee and raised his weapon. Georgy barked a curse, and Physic followed suit.

  Another ghoul had leaped out from behind the bus stop. This was no runner, nor a raffler. Its jump betrayed it as a trampler. A dangerous beast, to be sure, but vulnerable even to weaker weapons. One well-aimed burst from a machine gun would take it down, and if your ammunition was armor-piercing, even the “well-aimed” part was unnecessary.

  Cheater imagined a horde of larger creatures rushing to the sound of gunfire and hastily readied his bow as he called out, “Fatso
, stop! Don’t shoot!”

  Fatso had his gun aimed at the rapidly closing creature but was in no hurry to pull the trigger. Either he was obeying the newcomer—which was unlikely—or he was waiting for a better shot.

  Cheater’s bowstring twanged again, and struck the monster right in the left eye. The creature’s inertia carried it a few more steps before its legs buckled. Once it slid to rest, it ceased moving, save for the familiar death twitch of its limbs.

  Fatso whirled and stared at Cheater in disbelief. The latter shouldered his bow calmly. “We could have just gone around that runner, but you decided to get testy. Well, now you have to retrieve two arrows. Or, you could leave them, but then I’ll have less ammo, which means you’ll have to spend more.”

  “Is this some kind of trick?” Fatso mused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are you hiding your level? Are you a 40 masquerading as a 21? I’ve heard rumors, but I thought they were empty ones.”

  “You ask too many questions. Come on, grab those arrows for me. They’ll come in handy, and I don’t feel like spending an hour to get them.”

  “An hour?” he snorted. “That’ll take one minute, tops.”

  “For you. In my condition, I can’t bend over, kneel, or squat. So come on.”

  * * *

  March had, for some reason, broken the team assembly process into two stages. Small bands had gathered in designated meeting points. At his signal, they moved to join forces, in an abandoned, nearly-hidden mine.

  There, they would stop and wait for another signal, moving to the final meeting place. Cheater hid in the brush at the edge of the forest, along with all the rest. He peered intently towards the mine, but noticed no one watching. Either they were too well hidden, or they had a sensor—someone with an ability that let them watch without showing themselves.

  They spent about an hour this way, looking and getting a little wet thanks to an incoming rain shower. It was light, but looked like it might drag on for hours. At least that would reduce the mobility of infecteds. Not too long ago, Cheater had managed to brazenly drive a car dozens of miles without interruption thanks to a rainstorm.

  They saw the first traces of recent human activity when they reached the shaft. An interesting truck was positioned behind the mound of the entrance, surrounded by rectangular concrete structures. The bed of the truck had no sides, just a slightly raised platform topped with an old Soviet autocannon. It had aged well and seemed like a formidable opponent. Likely it had been designed to take down airplanes, but here it was of more use against land-based targets. How Cheater knew all of this was beyond him.

  Amnesia, especially of the Continental variety, was an oddly picky phenomenon. All information about his past life had vanished, but unexpected details remained.

  It was a good gun, by Continental standards. Able to turn and shoot quickly. As perfect a weapon as you could find against the largest, most agile monsters. No threat to a dire elite, of course, but a nuisance for anything less mature. Although Cheater had no idea what a weapon like that might cost, he could estimate the going price of its shells. Firing that gun for one second would cost as much as a few days of raucous living in the most pretentious stable.

  The most expensive wines, women, lodging, and lust.

  It was a good weapon, but a serious waste of money. Who could possibly be rich enough to bring it along? Although Cheater did not know all of the ins and outs of this expedition, the clues led him to suspect March was in charge of it. How could that old drunk have enough money to blow it on a cannon that cost so much it might as well shoot shells filled with spores?

  Then he saw the other two vehicles: one of the standard reinforced trucks found throughout the Continents, makeshift turret added to its roof, and one machine-gun pickup. Cheater had driven this very vehicle in that many-mile rainstorm trip. Then he had left it in Tat’s care and had not seen it since. Had March somehow bought it off the girl?

  He’d have to ask.

  The group stopped next to the pickup, unsure of where to go next. As no one came out to meet them, they might have assumed this was the wrong place, had the vehicles been out of the picture.

  Physic gave a start, drawing Cheater’s eye in the same direction as his. To the same disturbing sight. A figure in the empty doorway with unnaturally broad shoulders, a hunched back, ugly, bloated head, uneven lumps bulging from under his skin, and scraps of black hair hanging on to his head above his sloped forehead.

  Its face was the most striking of all. “Face” was perhaps not the right word. Even “snout” was too kind. It had the look of a young raffler, but descended from a bald monkey. A monkey that had been busy decomposing for several weeks now. The beast’s eyes remained human, though buried deeply under a repulsively swollen brow.

  Cheater’s hands yearned to reach for his weapon, but he suppressed the impulse.

  He had seen similar creatures before, in stable clusters. This was a quasi. They were not beasts, but unlucky players. Usually these were the side effects of a bad pearl, or of some other cause Cheater seemed to remember hearing about at some point. Quasis underwent an unpleasant physical transformation and experienced problems with their stat and skill progress points. They had a chance of returning to normal if they died, but that was far from certain. Certain loot items could change them back, too, but they were of the impossibly expensive type. Buyers would pay between fifty and sixty thousand for a white pearl, and no one was in any hurry to sell. The entire lot of loot Cheater had collected from the last elite he had killed was worth perhaps half of that.

  The quasi’s claws clutched a twelve-millimeter machine gun like it was a water pistol. Freaks like this were highly prized for their strengths, which included using weapons that a normal player could only wield if his Strength was highly developed. Cheater could lift that gun, sure, even shoot it. But he was unlikely to hit despite his divine Accuracy. He could spray with it, but only for a short time.

  Except that in his current condition and with his low Strength, the recoil might knock him clean off his feet.

  After a second’s pause, the quasi turned and stepped inside, muttering for them to follow.

  A shared glance passed amongst them, and they obeyed. Inside, they moved through a labyrinth of concrete. Once they had reached its terminus, they ascended the stairs to a vaulted room with many window openings devoid of glass lining three of its walls. The fourth wall was adorned with something resembling a camp. Unrolled sleeping bags, chairs improvised from crates, piles of bricks and boards, and a mysteriously-sourced dining room table.

  There, March sat, some distance away from a number of strangers resting or sitting and chatting. Cheater hardly noticed the cans of beer, some of them apparently empty, scattered in front of him.

  Glancing at him without any sign of recognition, March jabbed his finger at Cheater’s three companions.

  “Fatso, Physic, and Georgy. Right?”

  They nodded in sync, and March pointed to the camp wall.

  “Get settled. If you’re hungry, there’s some grub in the crate over there. Cheat, you come over here. Sit right there so I can have a look at you.”

  Cheater obediently took a can of beer and sipped at it. March chuckled. “It’s warm as hell.”

  “As usual.”

  “Indeed. Looks like you leveled up after all.”

  “Like you asked.”

  “I didn’t ask, I ordered. And my command was level 18. As far as 20, if you could manage. Here you are, level 21. Amazing. Even more amazing is that those crooks you were with say you were cut off, something with the bots. Of course, you look like it nearly killed you. You look neither strong nor healthy. Your level says otherwise. Quite the contradiction.”

  “So what?”

  “Just saying. I don’t mind. I’m not about to ask—you would just bite your tongue or equivocate with that dull look of yours, anyway. You and I have an understanding between us. A trust, even.”

  “I n
ever ask about you, either, but you keep dropping so many riddles that I have a million questions.”

  “Quit exaggerating.”

  “Fine. Ten million.”

  “That’s better. Look, let me prove to you that I’m a good person, an open person, a trustworthy person. What would you most like to know about me?”

  “Do we have time for that?”

  “There’s always time for beer. Well, Cheat, what would you like to know?”

  “I suppose I could cut it down to the ten thousand most important questions. We could go one a second and we’d still be pushing days.”

  “That was some quick math, Cheat. Sure you didn’t fudge the numbers on it? Seems to be your style.”

  “You said if I reached level 18, you’d take me across the border and handle all of the problems with crossing from one region to another. Were you exaggerating?”

  “March never goes back on his word. But don’t expect this to be a walk in the park. And I’m in no position to make any guarantees.”

  “I’m not asking for a guarantee.”

  “What, then?”

  “I need answers.”

  “Like?”

  “Like why the hell did I get a quest from you, as if you were an NPC? Who are you?”

  “I’m your comrade. The name’s March. You value me because I regularly pull you out of all sorts of hellholes.”

  “Sometimes the pulling out is pretty painful.”

  “Better than being left in.”

  “You’re dodging the question again.”

  “I’ll answer what I can. Some answers wouldn’t make sense to you. Others would put you in danger. Keep your eyes and ears open and you won’t miss anything.”

  “My sense for your riddles isn’t as good as my bow. It’s done nothing but miss things since we met.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I may know little about this kind of thing, but as far as I understand, it’s a serious risk. You don’t seem like ‘the boss,’ like a man who could give all of these people orders. You seem like a sketchy alcoholic. But here they are, following you. Are they all as stupid as I am? Probably not. You don’t seem like a rich fellow, either. So who’s paying for this banquet? And the shells for that crazy autocannon on the truck? That thing is packed full of shells, and they’re expensive as hell. The other truck isn’t cheap, either. Good reinforcements. A little out of the reach of a vagabond like you, don’t you think? Or has your situation in life suddenly changed?”