Crawler shook his head:
“The last survivor of those who fought. But in the Games, there isn’t really anywhere to hide anyway. Inactivity gets you a penalty.” The gnome thought for a moment. “And the penalties for dying are high: minus a level, and you only have two lives in total. If you die without experience in supply, you don’t revive again.”
I’d already encountered mechanics like that before, where you lose experience and then your character… That’s right, in the Nether! Snowstorm must have used reused those ideas for the Demonic Games.
“You level up very fast,” Irita added. “Killing a mob equal to your level gives you a point of experience. You need two points for level two, three for level three and so on. It’s all really sped up, and skills level up fast too. Usually the Games fit into a few days, but they have stretched out for a month before! That said, only eight hours a day are spent in Dis. The rest of the time, the contestants speak in real life, discussing events and weaving intrigues, and the audience sees it all. They also get to vote for random buffs and debuffs for individual contestants. They determine the best and worst players of the day, and they often base that on behavior in real life, because the Games aren’t just limited to Dis.”
She kept talking while I marveled at my own ignorance. How did I not learn about this in so many years? According to my friends, the popularity of the Demonic Games had long since surpassed the Olympic Games.
“All the mobs from the Inferno are there, and they’re angry as hell,” Infect said. “Their defense and damage is dynamic and depends on the players’ average stats. That means lots of people make alliances right away, in real life too, and then level up together. That makes it easier to defend against other teams, and farm experience…”
He wanted to say more, but the clap of portals and a shout from Trixie outside interrupted him.
“Strangers, strangers!” the little man wailed, pointing his finger out the window.
The Montosaurus roared, then Iggy chittered furiously and Crusher howled. Thunder rumbled.
All the council attendees jumped up from the table to the sound of falling crockery and grinding chairs. Bomber was sitting closest to the door, so he was first to it. When he opened it, the titan froze at the threshold, stared out in amazement and lowered his head.
“Good evening,” the dwarf standing before him rumbled. “My name is Raidohelm. I’m from the Green League. I seek Scyth.”
The dwarf wore a helmet that looked like it belonged on a builder, a rough boiler suit made of thick cloth and high metal-studded boots. Bomber let him in and silently pointed me out. The foreman of the builders from Kusalarix! I realized. They were supposed to arrive that morning, during the battle at Tiamat’s temple, but I’d closed the portal too quickly then. Now it seemed they’d gotten here themselves — Kusalarix must have marked where the coins were activated.
“Mr. Scyth,” Raidohelm nodded. “Rank-three builders’ brigade reporting for duty to erect the Awoken clan castle. The order has been paid for by the Green League, including the rapidity surcharge. We are ready to begin at once!”
Nega, apparently out of mischief, immediately enchanted the foreman with Charm, and his gaze was drawn like a magnet to the curves of the incredibly beautiful dwarf woman whose form the succubus had taken in his eyes. The dwarf’s eyes glazed over, his lips turned up in an idiotic grin and his breath turned heavy and fast.
“Nega, stop that immediately,” I ordered.
Muttering something unflattering in the boss’s direction for not appreciating a good prank, the succubus lifted the spell. Raidohelm shook, blinked and moved his eyes to me.
“Welcome, master builder,” I said. “Allow me to introduce our chief builder Gyula. He built this fort, he’ll bring you up to speed. As for materials…”
“We have all the materials we need,” the foreman interrupted. “Direct deliveries from the stonemasons’ guild. Lady Kusalarix has not stinted, it is all the very best. You are even to be connected to the portal network of the transport guild, with maximum range.”
“You sure you have all the materials you need?” Gyula asked, smirking. “Got any Corrupted Adamantite?” The dwarf shook his head, his beard of a dozen braids interwoven with golden thread sweeping the floor. “Right,” Gyula went on. “We do, and we’ll use it for…”
“…nails, fixtures and plating on the fortress walls!” Raidohelm interrupted shamelessly. It was clear that he valued his time and had no love of long discussions. “Spare a Grand Master Builder your tips, colleague. The plans do not contain Corrupted Adamantite, but we can easily swap out the Enchanted Steel for it. And I doubt you know how to make an alloy from it to increase its durability by 14%, am I right, colleague?”
Now it was Gyula’s turn to shake his head.
“Right!” Raidohelm cut him off, stamping in vexation so hard that the wooden floor splintered.
Flaygray and Nega, who had done the same many times with their hooves, clucked their tongues in approval. The dwarf made as if he didn’t see the demons — he must have been used to dealing with all sorts of customers. Gyula sighed, moved the guest aside a little and started ‘fixing’ the damaged floor.
“When do we begin, Mr. Scyth?” Raidohelm asked, glancing significantly at the clock.
“Right away, just like you said.”
“Then you must end your meeting, because we’re going to have to empty the fort…”
Chapter 6. One Head is Good, But Two is Ogre
THOSE MEAN DWARFS shooed Gyula out too, no matter how he protested. The bearded little people weren’t about to give up their trade secrets no matter how many piles of gold the Green League gave them. The only thing
