LiseEclaire
patreon
Rush to Level 0: The Game (Chapter 9)
🕑 Added 2020-11-10 10:15:49 +0000 UTCMy father used to define people as either rich or poor. According to him, the only way out of poverty was to become rich, which was a goal he had obsessively chased for several years. I could say that the first years of my life had been charmed—I never wanted for anything, enjoying things that passed as luxuries. A few years later, he fell off the corporate ladder he had started to climb, dropping me and my family to the statistically more prevalent lower class.
FlickerFlacker was the complete opposite. From what I knew, he was from a corporate family, wasting more money on gaming in a day than I earned in a year. The first time I got to know him was though a message he sent, asking me to team up and solve the entrance trial to the game. He was a complete newbie, utterly incapable, relying on money to solve his problems. We had spent a few days seeking out game clues before he had disappeared without a trace. At the time, I thought he had ended up dead or in a shrink clinic.
“I didn’t know what happened to you,” Flicker said across the small table. After the initial meeting, he had taken me to a small kitchen-like room—the active staff room, he called it—where we could “catch up”. The place seemed more like the servants’ quarters in a Victorian series. Then again, maybe that’s what Depository clerks actually were.
“It’s fine.” I wasn’t trusting any food until I got a handle on things. “So, you work at the Depository?”
“Part time.” Flicker took a small silver teapot and put it on the table. “It’s like being an apprentice to Elvira. What happened to you? I haven’t heard anything in months. I thought you had quit.”
You could have bothered to find out. “Personal issues.” I poured myself a cup of tea. The liquid was a toxic shade of green, but tasted like peppermint. “How did you end up here?”
“I followed the map.” Flicker sat across me. “The village seemed like the safest starting point.”
You’ve gotten better at lying, but not good enough. It was interesting that he mentioned getting a map. I hadn’t yet obtained one. While it was possible to use outside funds to buy one, it sounded more as if he had gotten it by default.
“Is the map free?” I asked.
Flicker shook his head. It seemed that a simple arrangement hadn’t earned me the benefits of the Depository.
“I guess asking your level is out of the question?” I said, changing my approach.
“Eighty-seven,” he said with a faint smile. “The Depository has a minimum level policy—an assistant must be over eighty-five. I need to get promoted to senior assistant to be allowed to descend to eighty.”
“I see.” Interesting system. Organizations were based on the principle of the weak controlling the strong, at least on the surface. The personal skills of the lower levels had to be all the more advanced to compensate for the lack of game skills. “How many assistants are there?”
“Six that I know of.” He shuffled his feet. “Half haven’t logged on in a while. Elvira suspects they might have quit the game.”
“I thought no one quit the game.”
“They don’t.” Flicker looked away, as if he knew of the consequences.
I decided to change the topic. “So, I’m thinking of leveling down. Any general advice I could get, or is that paid?”
“It usually is,” he said after a long pause. “What are you thinking?”
“What are my options?” It felt weird asking him for advice. Last time we played, he was a hopeless newbie. For the moment, here, he was the expert.
“There’s the YOLO approach. You learn all the power-skills, forge yourself the best equipment, then set off on a leveling down spree until you hit a wall. Most go for that. The trick is to amass as much capital as you can in your first ten levels and find as many artifacts as you can.”
“I take it I can’t forge those?”
“Nope.” He chuckled. “Artifacts are exceptions to the rules. You can only find them. They aren’t as rare as they sound. Simple stat increases are easy to get. I have one here.” He tapped what I thought was a button on his collar. Looking closer, I saw it resembled a medal with the ribbon removed.
Now I know why the kids have them. “What’s it give?”
“Night vision.” Flicker rubbed it. “The first thing I bought after joining the Depository. Not too useful, but I keep it for sentimental reasons. The really powerful ones are difficult to get. Some are in boss level creatures, others are hidden at specific locations.”
“So, like other games.” Loot drops and dungeon chests. “Any other approaches?”
“You can go spartan. Learn a small set of skills that will last you till the end and don’t rely on items. Martial arts are a hot topic. The problem is that you’ll need something of value to join. There are three trainers in the village, all of them scumbags.”
“Did you just swear?” I smiled, amused. Like most rich kids, Flicker had the annoying habit of using non-censored speech online, which, in a world of swearing, felt out of place. His avatar’s face blushed. “Life here must have been rough.”
“I picked up a few things,” he replied, with a note of pride.
“Why don’t people learn every skill and switch usage as they level down?”
“You can’t. Learning a skill grants experience. Even YOLO players only get to learn a couple dozen before they lose a level. Getting the hang of a skill delevels you even more.”
Interesting system. I could either learn a lot or improve in a few, but not both. Knowing Flicker, he had probably gone for the YOLO approach. Then, seeing it had been a mistake, he’d joined the Depository.
“You can follow archbuilds,” he continued. “It’s almost like a spartan approach, but build-focused. There are a lot of discussions as to which is the god build. Elvira said they’ve been going on for ages, changing every few weeks when some new info about the lower levels leaks through. Right now, the soldier build still has fans, though the stealth ones have jumped in popularity. The theory is that if you can steal artifacts, you’ll have the advantage.”
Typical teen reasoning. I couldn’t outright dismiss it at this stage, even if I thought it to be stupid.
“What would you suggest?” I leaned forward.
The old Flicker would have instantly dodged the question, explaining that he was just a newbie who played games for fun. The abundance of family money had allowed him to flaunt his inabilities, while under the impression that they made him look sensitive and cute. To my surprise, he smiled back at me, as if he’d seen through my question.
“Magic,” he said with conviction. “Magic and crafting. They’ll easily get you to level seventy-five. Most will stay with you till the half mark.”
“I see.” Not a bad suggestion. With those, I was, in effect, self-sufficient. I’d probably add a few more quality of life skills such as swimming, climbing, animal handling, or something similar. If I also added some combat and acrobatic skills, I could see myself as a pretty well-rounded build.
“Your last option is to join a group. Skills don’t matter much there, but I’d think twice about that...”
“Oh?” That was a surprise. For a moment, I thought he’d try to recruit me into the Depository. This was the third time I’d been warned not to join a group. “In-fighting?”
“No,” he said firmly. There were no further explanations, no hints, just a one-word denial that made me hesitate.
The conversation drifted off to small talk and banter. Occasionally, we’d go back to memory lane, joking about the time we played in Vesperia. Neither of us revealed anything from real life, sticking to general events. At one point, the topic of Firestarter came up. According to Flicker, she had joined a group instantly upon arrival and started leveling down from the first week. Her group headquarters was located relatively far away from the village, making it rare for her to pass by. From what I understood, Flicker had only seen her twice, both times at the Depository where she had bartered for information. I felt a dull pain in my stomach at the thought. Even though I was invulnerable, I didn’t want to face Firestarter again, especially now that she had joined a group.
On several occasions, I thought of asking him about Legion. Each time, I rationalized an excuse not to. In part, it was because I didn’t want Flicker to get involved, but also I didn’t want anyone else to learn of my interest. There would be time for snooping around later.
“Flicker, are there races in the game?” I asked.
He stared at me.
“I know everyone starts out human, but are there any exceptions or…” I stopped. You know something, don’t you? “Flicker?”
“I need to go.” He quickly looked away. “My shift ends at daybreak. You better ask around for trainers before the crowd has gathered. The more people there are, the higher the price will get.”
There was no logic in that statement, but I nodded all the same. His change in behavior had already told me that that was all that he was willing to say.
“Why does everyone avoid night play?”
“Penalties. It’s a lot more difficult after dark. Even with artifacts, night vision’s difficult to get. And it doesn’t always work.”
“It doesn’t seem too bad.”
“You’re still green-eyed. When you fall a level, you’ll see.”
“What about you?” I crossed my arms. The way he chose to run away from problems by ignoring them flipped a switch inside me. Maybe because I had been doing the same recently. “You’re here after dark.”
“I always stay in the Depository.” There was a note of hesitation. “Elvira suggested that I take the shifts to prepare for my exam… You should ask her. She can tell you more.”
She probably could. Whether she would... that was a different matter. I looked at Flicker. Time in the game had changed him. Under the surface, though, I could still see the naïve indecision from the time we had gamed together.
“Later,” he whispered, before disappearing in a flash of light.
“Ask Elvira.” I sighed. “Thanks for the chat.” A bit more information would have been appreciated. Thankfully, the talk had given me an idea. From the little I had seen, there was a large demand for artifacts in the game, and if there was anything I knew from my day job, it was that those that made and serviced essential tools quickly became indispensable.
The first person I spoke to was the blacksmith’s apprentice. He was one of the early connectors, so much so that he was surprised to see me logged on. My conversation with him was short and vague, but I managed to get a promise that we would teach me the basics in exchange for the first five sets of armor that sold, or the equivalent in local currency.
Magic was next on my list. It took me the rest of the morning to find anyone in the village who dabbled in it. From what I understood, there were five in total, three of which had completely unreliable connect schedules. Of the remaining two, none specialized in hearing magic, though I wasn’t in a position to be picky. After a fair amount of bargaining, I convinced Prism—a pseudo-goth teen who seemed to care more about looks than anything else—to take me as her “candidate apprentice,” provided she could use me for target practice until I leveled down. Just as I was about to leave, she added a second condition—that the first magic-related artifact I found in the game would be given to her. Judging by the number of rings, necklaces, and bracelets she had on her, I wasn’t her first trainee.
After procuring my two main trainers, I spent the rest of the day wandering about, gathering what fragments of information I could. No one was straightforward about it, but from what I could make out, most of the adults were hunters and artisans. The only person with any remotely useful skills was the local “bard acrobat.” Strangely enough, Elvira wasn’t anywhere to be found until evening. When I finally found her at the Depository, she was having a long discussion with a few of the many children I had seen running around the village.
“Sarah!” Twinkle rushed into the room and started clawing my leg playfully.
“Behave,” I whispered, pushing him away. For most of the day, the cat had been curiously absent. “I’ll have time for you later.”
Twinkle mewed with a smile, bopped my leg with his head a few times, then ran out of the room. So much for owner loyalty.
“There’s a one-week time limit,” Elvira’s voice rang in the hall, as the group of children ran towards the exit. “So don’t come back in eight days.”
Before the woman could finish her sentence, the children had gone, slamming the door behind them.
“Some things never change.” Elvira arranged a stack of papers on her counter before putting it away. “Even in this game. Next Tuesday, they’ll be back wondering why they won’t get a reward.”
“Time-related quests?” The notion piqued my interest.
“There are no quests in the game, just deals and tasks. Some have a time limit. How was your day? Flicker told me you went talent searching.”
“Yep.” Interesting that she didn’t comment on me and Flicker knowing each other. “A few agreed to teach me.”
“Ah, I see.” Her smile was quite good, but the corners of her mouth were curved down. My mother used to make that smile a lot, each time my father told her he’d be staying the night at the office. “Are you sure you’re ready? There’s no shame in taking time to prepare.”
“The more I delay, the more I’ll delay,” I replied, using one of my father’s most annoying quotes. “How many can I take at a time?”
“Just one. When you bring it back, you can take the next.”
Stands to reason.
No one liked hoarders. Like any business, the Depository had to make sure that information came in the most efficient manner possible. When the resource was information, duplication was a waste.
“I can give you a personal loan to start out,” the woman offered. “Enough for you to learn the basics.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Never trust gifts. Elvira seemed nice enough, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t take advantage of this favor the same way Kyle had. “I have to start somewhere.”
“Sure.” The word was drenched with disappointment. “Most of the ones you can handle don’t offer much. The good ones disappear as soon as they...” Her words trailed off. “Come with me for a bit.” She walked out from behind the marble desk, towards a small corridor to the side. I rushed after her.
We walked until we reached a winding stairwell, then continued up. Iron bars blocked the first couple of floors we passed. The third led to a wide hall with two doors on either side. Elvira went to the first and held it open so I could enter. Despite my hesitation, I went inside.
The inside of the room was the opposite of what I expected—it was brightly lit, with massive windows, full-sized portraits on the walls, and a medium-sized bronze filing cabinet in the corner. Once Elivra let go of the door, it closed on its own with a faint click.
“Normally, tasks are considered to be individual.” The woman took out a large chain of keys. Each key had a different head. “Of course, there are exceptions.”
The cabinet clicked as Elvira inserted a lion’s head key into the lock. The top drawer sprung open, revealing a stack of paper sheets, neatly arranged one after the other. I recognized the same cursive letters and block numbers—these were similar to the tasks on the board downstairs, with the difference that they had a green eye symbol stamped in the upper corner.
“Once a player goes below level fifty, they acquire a new understanding of the game,” the woman went on. “It is said that the knowledge can’t be understood, even if shared. Very much like the square monument. The lower you go, the more of the message becomes visible. However, by gaining this knowledge, the players also lose something.”
“Strength?” I speculated.
“Invulnerability,” Elvira corrected, taking out two pieces of paper from the stack. “A lot of things can kill you in the world, though few when you’re a newbie.”
I already didn’t like the idea. Getting money was all fine and good, but the notion I’d be used as a shield like a glitchy merchant NPC—not so much.
“Green eyes are rare, so the rewards are big.” She avoided looking me in the eye as she spoke. “It’s a good opportunity, if you want to take the risk. Normally you only get to do one, maybe two before you delevel.”
A huge reward for a single mission—it sounded too good to be true.
“The reward alone will earn you enough to hire any trainer in the village and leave you plenty for items. Culling beasts excluded, it’s almost the same as going through a tutorial.”
“Why offer it to me?” I had the urge to cross my arms, but decided against it. “I can’t be the only newbie.”
“You’re not in a group.” There was a moment’s hesitation. “...and you’re a wildcard. You’ve had minimal contact with the game and no clear alliances, and that makes you one of the most trusted people money can buy. Also, you aren’t affiliated with the Depository yet.”
“Shouldn’t that be a bad thing?”
I expected Elvira to snap at me for being unreasonably ungrateful. Instead, she started laughing.
“Do you know how many sub-fifty players there are?” She waited for me to shrug. “It’s speculated that there are less than two dozen. Personally, I’ve witnessed eleven level fifty announcements. The information a level fifty would be willing to share is considered invaluable. These—” She waved the sheets of paper in her hand. “—are the only instances they were willing to do so. The prerequisites are very specific; in this case, the newbie must be a free agent wildcard.”
Disappointment was said to be part of life. In the weird society of today, it had become linked to normality. Learning that the Depository intended to use me for its own personal gain filled me with relief. The unusual kindness Elvira had treated me with on my first day, the special arrangement she’d offered, and the genuine fear I might delevel now made perfect sense—she didn’t want me to lose my virtual virginity. In a game that lacked a restart, there could be no do-overs.
It also explained why FlickerFlacker had reached out to me during the entry trial. One of his first questions had been if I had joined a group. At the time, I thought he was referring to a game party. Now, I knew better.
One of these days we’ll have a long talk, Flicker. “What are my options?” I asked.
“The first is an exploration. You’ll be mapping out an unexplored cave area. The task originator will be dealing with us, so you don’t have to worry about that. You’ll get the reward from the task, all the information you come across, and anything else the client wishes to share.”
She handed me the piece of paper. It was as nondescript as she had said. The person I was supposed to be paired with was listed as Scuttle—not a handle I associated with trust.
“It’s likely you’ll be used as a death trap shield.” The tone in Elvira’s voice suggested she had seen it before. “You won’t get hurt, but be ready for a few scares. Also, don’t fight, no matter what. Some creatures grant experience on damage alone.”
“That’s a comforting thought.” Good thing I hadn’t started my magic training yet. “And the other one?”
“The other is a bit more vague.” She handed me the second piece of paper. “You’re asked to examine a number of artifacts. No details are listed.”
“Boobytraps? Curses?” I asked as I read through the contents. There was no specified name, the requester being simply listed as “party of one.”
“I doubt it. Some artifacts have instructions only visible to certain levels. You’ll probably be asked to look over them and write down what you see.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Artifacts are exceptions. You might level down ten levels or be ejected from the game. No one knows.”
Playing Russian roulette with identification. As scary as it was, I had to admire the person who had come up with the idea. If gaming companies got a whiff of this, games would be full with instadeath loot boxes in a month.
“The exploration.” I handed back the requests. This way, I would get an actual sense of the game. “What do I need to do?”
“I’ll contact the client. When everything’s set up, I’ll text you.”
Text me? I felt a chill in my stomach.
“What do I do until then?” I tried to keep a calm facade.
“Log off.” Elvira closed the file cabinet. “And try to enjoy your life while you can.”
