Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) Page 11
Guards stood watch by the town gate, talking, just like on the first day. This time no one paid any attention to me. Admittedly my Goner’s kit made me look less of a noob, even though I must have still been a sight.
First things first: I had to pop into the guild and pay my weekly dues of twenty-five gold. It gave +50 pt. to one’s Reputation with the Mine Diggers Guild. Ten such payments would earn me an Order of Recognition. Five hundred Reputation gave a player access to the guild store. For the time being, all I could get there was some Capacity Runes, but it opened up some interesting perspectives for the future. So today I was going to get my first 50 pt. Reputation. Shame you couldn't pay all of it at once: you'd shell out 250 gold and they'd present you with your brand new Order of Recognition. But Mirror World had its own rules geared up to keep players in the game for as long as possible. Which meant that if I paid my twenty-five gold every week and not a second earlier, it would take me two and a half months to earn my first Order. From there it got even more complicated. If the second step—the Order of Friendship—took you two months to achieve, the following ones—the Orders of Respect, Merit and Veneration—cost a thousand points each. Which in total meant four thousand points. A year and a half of playing! That was crazy. I had a funny feeling that this was the developers' way of sugar-coating the in-game charges.
Naturally, the guild store had all sorts of cool stuff like jewelry, cloaks, runes and tools. Then again, all of them had profession level restrictions. So it was really a Catch-22 situation. Still, as the saying goes, a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Admittedly Mirror World was known for its abundance of various reputations, and every year they introduced something new. The game kept evolving. As the players' levels and demands grew, so did the game.
The Guild's reception was predictably packed with queues of zero-level workers snaking from the entrance. I joined one of them and prepared for a long wait. Still, as the novelty of the motley crowd had worn off a little, I noticed a few empty teller's windows. I took a closer look and noticed signs that said, Seasoned Digger, Experienced Digger, Master Digger and Expert Digger. Oh! That was where I was supposed to go!
I left the mass of waiting players and headed tentatively for the window that said, Seasoned Diggers. The players who'd a moment earlier given me looks of contempt worthy of my noobish Goner attire followed my progress with sarcastic anticipation. They probably expected the noob to venture to the window “just to ask a question“ and looked forward to my receiving a good dressing-down. I'd made my stats private, hadn't I? So no good staring at me or my Shrewd Operator like that. In all honesty, their smirks didn't add to my confidence.
A skinny ginger-haired she-dwarf was peering at me from behind the locket. She flashed me an open smile. “Greetings, Sir Olgerd! Congratulations on your new profession level!”
“So!” I was taken by surprise. “So that's how it is, then.”
“Of course,” the lady dwarf nodded her ginger head of hair. 'What did you think? We're a serious organization. By joining the Guild, you automatically put your name on our lists. This way a special program can monitor our workers' progress.”
“All right...” I managed.
“Don't worry, we have no access to your characteristics—only your profession level.”
“Well, I suppose it's good news.”
“It is,” she flashed me another smile as she nodded at the line of players. “I don't think you had time to kit yourself out?” she asked knowingly.
I shook my head. “It can wait. I decided to come here first thing. Seeing as I have a couple of matters to settle with you.”
“Which are?”
“Firstly, I need to pay my weekly dues. And secondly, I'd like to make an application for a level-appropriate instance.”
She nodded her understanding. A system message popped up,
Would you like to pay the Guild dues of 25 gold?
Yes, I would. I had forty gold on my gaming account. This was the little cache I'd made from the money I'd earned in the agate mine, to pay for elixirs and other emergencies. It was already good news that I could make do on what I earned. The rest was forwarded to the in-game bank then further into the real world.
Congratulations! You've received +50 to your Reputation with the Mine Diggers Guild!
The lady dwarf smiled at me again. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” I flashed back.
“Now, your instance application. Any resource preference?”
“Not really. As far as I know, prices are all more or less the same.”
She nodded, staring into the monitor on the desk in front of her. “You're going to dig, aren't you?”
“Exactly.”
She spent a minute entering the data, then turned away from her monitor. “That's it. Your application has been filed. The contract you'll make directly with the group leader. Once we receive a suitable request, we'll send you an email. Anything else I can do for you?”
“That's it. Thank you. Have a nice day.”
“It's been a pleasure. Enjoy the game!”
As I walked toward the exit, I caught a few envious glances from the zero-level players. Sorry, guys. No circus show for you today!
Now I only had to pop into Leuton City Chamber of Commerce, then I could finally log out. Actually, the auction dealings didn't require a building as all transactions were made online. I didn't yet know how exactly it was all supposed to happen but I fully intended to try it. But in order to participate in the bidding, I first had to register with the Chamber of Commerce. No idea why they called it such because in my opinion, the place was none other than a tax office. Somebody at the forum had suggested that this name would have evoked unpleasant sentiments in players. A taxman sounds a bit—how can I put it—a bit too real-world, if you know what I mean. But a “Chamber of Commerce representative“ was supposed to elicit different kinds of emotions... having said that, it was still a bit too real for comfort. Never mind. What was the point in pondering over it? I had too many other problems to worry about.
The building looked least of all what I'd expected it to be. It was a miniature Disney logo castle replete with little towers and weathercocks. It was begging you to walk in and investigate. I couldn't help smiling as I remembered the forum member's comment: this was the proverbial witch and her gingerbread house.
In we go, then! I just hoped they weren't going to fatten me up for the witch's pot.
Forty minutes later, I'd finalized all my financial affairs in this “gingerbread castle“. I'd only had to sign a tax agreement on 1% of each transaction. They’d also given me a list of resources banned from the auction and another one of various helpful—or so they thought—services they provided. As an example, the Chamber of Commerce could act as a guarantor and contract witness in case of particularly large transactions—and that's considering that Mirror World was packed with all sorts of lawyers and notary offices.
I reached the park and looked for a large enough tree. Hiding behind its broad trunk, I began to undress. This was a good place. No one was going to interfere. As I removed the last piece of my Goner’s kit and stuffed it into the bag, I discovered I was once again dressed in my decorative start-up zero-level kit.
It felt as if something invisible was pressing down on me. I had trouble breathing. The absence of the kit's characteristics showed. These things got you hooked really quickly. Never mind. This was only a temporary measure.
I had to sit down. As my back leaned against the giant tree's powerful trunk, I heaved a sigh.
I opened the auction menu. The runeless clothes would be the first to go. I was going to price them slightly lower than they were in the shop. I didn't want to risk it: I'd have to pay the tax even if I failed to sell the item. The admins always wanted their pound of flesh.
Now, the four runic items. I set the starting bid at twenty-five gold apiece. Done. I ticked the “pay tax after completing the transaction” box. All ready.
After delving into it a bit more, I finally worked it out. I had to go for Durability. The next morning I'd have to buy some new gear from Rrhorgus, apply the runes to it and stop pondering over it. Still, I was curious what else they might have.
I set up the search results filter to “zero level, seasoned digger“. Picks, clothes, elixirs. The picture was pretty clear. I left the level filter on but removed the elixirs. Strangely enough, here they were ten times cheaper than in the shop. Apparently, everybody was interested in crafting professions. The scrolls were prohibitively expensive... Stamina and Life stones... everything way too dear. But if I wanted to do the instance, I'd have to buy them. At least that was the forum members' collective wisdom. My level was too low to hope for any jewelry. Having said that... I ran a quick search...
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I blinked to make sure I was actually seeing it. The park was quite warm but I felt a cold chill run down my spine.
A single offer hovered on the screen,
Type of item: Ring
Name: Truth Will Out
Effect: unknown
Restriction: Only Ennan Race
Mechanically I shifted my gaze to the vendor's name.
Sold by: Torreip
Chapter Thirteen
I quit the game like a scalded cat. My brother's cell phone was out of range. I paced my temporary dwelling until I’d calmed down a little. Never mind. A shower first. Then I’d have to try Dmitry's number again.
As I stood under the shower's cooling jets, I kept humming an old song from a Russian fantasy movie. Magic ring, magic ring, take this man, bind him tight...tie his legs, chain his feet… Oh. I was definitely getting old. The way I was shaking you'd think I'd found Tolkien's Ring of Power.
Gradually I felt better. The day in the mine had taken its toll. This kind of job could finish you off, no problem. The game developers preferred to hide behind complex terminology, hiring high-brow professors to brainwash gullible TV viewers into buying the “Mirror World phenomenon” story. Just the other day I'd seen two such learned members on YouTube having an altercation as one of them insisted that Mirror World's creators had somehow managed to penetrate the players' brains to create a copy of the so-called virtual world. The other foamed at the mouth trying to assure the audience that this was due to the discovery of a time portal into another dimension. What a circus.
I always wanted to know why the powers that be considered all common people a bunch of brain-dead idiots. If one kept his mouth shut while watching a show like that, it didn't mean he or she believed it. It was just something in our nation's genes—the aftershock of several generations of Russians fighting and dying in several murderous continental wars. Our fathers and grandfathers had only one argument to counter the Soviet authorities' tyranny with: Please, not another war. We'd been raised with this phrase, passing it down to our own children and grandchildren. Please not another war, the rest we can manage; we'll grin and bear whatever it is—we're a nation of survivors, after all.
So now, watching Mirror World developers' attempt to sugar-coat the truth, I realized that no one would ever discover the real story. The program made me understand one thing, though: apparently, whatever happened in the virtual world directly affected the state of our physical bodies. All this uncertainty, this ambiguity and lack of information worried me. Still, I had my own story. I needed the money.
As I rubbed myself red with the towel, I kept thinking about everything that had just happened. Having said that, what had happened? Nothing really. I hadn't bought the dodgy ring. Too risky. I hadn't had the heart. This ring was bad news. Magic ring, magic ring, take this man, bind him tight... Oh well. Any other gamer would have snatched it even without thinking. A goodie like that?—sure! Wasn't it what gamers called things like this: a goodie?
But I wasn't a gamer, was I? Not by any stretch of the imagination. The shock of the Devious Routes skill disappearing had been too much for me. Constantly feeling that someone was playing with you like a cat with a mouse was beginning to take its toll. It made you nervous. And it's common knowledge that a nervous person starts making mistakes.
Enough. I had to calm down. Sveta was already waiting for my call. My voice had to be calm and cheerful. Otherwise she was bound to smell a rat. She had a knack of sensing these things.
* * *
I awoke in the morning feeling broken. I'd had all sorts of sick dreams the whole night.
I dialed my brother's number. Same story. True, he'd said that he'd be out of town for a couple of days but he hadn't told me he was going to switch off the phone.
Never mind. I had a big breakfast, called my wife, tried Dmitry again, then headed off to work.
Mirror World greeted me with a pleasant surprise. The in-box icon blinked with new messages. Was it reporting my future profits? It was indeed. Everything I'd put up for auction had sold. On top of that, the runic items had gone for almost twice the price. All in all, I was two hundred ten gold and some small silver change richer.
I grinned. No need to buy second-hand gear now: I could comfortably afford new items.
Rrhorgus wasn't in that morning. A young Dwand served customers instead. He bore a fleeting resemblance to my friend.
Finally, I faced the vendor. He grinned politely,
“Hi, Olgerd, how are you today? How can I help you?”
I still couldn't get used to the fact that my name was literally written over my head. “Where's Rrhorgus?”
“Dad's taken a day off. I'm filling in for him. He told me you'd be coming.”
“I see... er... Max. I meant to...”
“You've come to buy the Hardy Digger kit, haven't you?”
“Yeah. Plus a level-appropriate bag and belt.”
“Let's start with them then, shall we? This is a Capacious Backpack for 70 slots. Durability 50 pt. Next... a Stitched Leather Belt—fifteen pockets, durability 50. Plus a complete Hardy Digger kit. Would you like something else?”
“That's it,” I said.”
“That'll be fifty-four gold.”
“Here.”
“I suggest you auction off your old belt and bag,” he said. “They're always sought after, even if low on Durability.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“Here you are.”
My virtual wallet became fifty-four gold poorer. A system message popped up, reporting the purchase. Without leaving the shop, I distributed the runes between the items and hurried off to change into my new best.
The lack of energy weighed down on me. Only when I put the shirt on did I sense a relief. The pressure was gone. With every new item donned, my body shed some of the weight. The energy bar hit the green.
Max gave me a cheerful smile. “Feeling high? I bet.”
“Yeah, sort of,” I smiled back.
So what did we have here? This seven-item kit added +25 to Strength, +10 to Stamina and a bonus +18 to Speed. The three Stamina runes of nine points each and four Strength runes of ten each added their weight to the gear. All in all, my new stats began to look like this:
Strength, 68
Stamina, 40
Speed, 22
The kit's Durability was 70 which once again convinced me that I'd made the right decision buying new stuff. My Energy bar was especially pleasing to the eye with its 840-point calibration. Now I'd be able to spend more time working. I wouldn't have to quit the game so often. The only problem was, now I'd have to move into another room with a different type of capsule. The one I had
now wasn't suitable for extended immersion.
And now down the malachite mine we go! Time to try out my acquisitions. I asked Max to remind his dad of our RV that evening and hurried out.
You could say I had a spring in my step all the way to the mines. They were situated at the same location. Already as I approached, I realized that something was wrong. If the agate mine had looked like a horror movie setting, the malachite fields were swarming with activity. Why all these people? Hadn't I read only the day before yesterday that no one was interested in mining malachite? And now it looked as if this place was experiencing some kind of industrial revolution!
As I moved closer, I was already getting some idea of what was going on. The place was packed with dwarves and gnomes. How many of them were there? Dozens? Hundreds?
I counted fifteen terminals in total, each with a small line of people in front of it. The queues moved and grew equally as fast, new diggers taking the place of those who’d declared their spoils.
The trolleys were brought out to special dedicated terminals that looked just like the one I'd been using. Wherever I turned, I saw none other than dwarves, gnomes and yet more dwarves. I remembered reading somewhere that the Stonefoot clan made up part of the Alliance of Light even though it didn't participate in any of its armed conflicts. The clan counted a handful of warriors but its bulk was made up by Grinders. They were actually more like a guild than a clan. And a very rich guild it was, too.
At first, no one paid any attention to me. Only when I finally stood in line at one of the terminals did I catch dozens of stares focusing on me—annoyed, indignant and openly sarcastic.
My turn came. I could physically sense the line behind me grow tense: I'd slowed their routine up.