Rating Zero (Alpha LitRPG Book 5), page 15
“That’s right,” Ogron gave a light nod. “It’s school policy, and it’s enforced for a reason. We have students from all across the empire here. Different folks, all of them. There are commoners as well as nobles. Not any average commoners, of course, but the kind that outdo some nobles in certain ways. But, mainly, it’s old aristocracy, and some nobles belong to feuding clans. See where I’m getting at?”
“Well, yeah, no one wants a showdown between clans,” Tsass said. “And those who haven’t got a serious clan behind them will be bullied by idiots. No one wants that, either.”
Ogron shook his head.
“That’s not the reason. I mean, it is, but only a part of the reason. Rava’s big, and there are many clans. Some of them have been at odds for centuries, and ORDER itself couldn’t stop it. But if some outside force threatens Rava, we’ll need to cease all the internecine squabbles at once. That’ how it’s done. It’s a matter of survival for all of us. In case of a war, we must all act together. And ‘together’ doesn’t just mean that all our fighters will march into battle simultaneously. Chuck put it well in a few simple words: A hundred lone fighters will fail where a squadron of a hundred fighters will prevail. And it’s a damn hard task to organize all the clans into a single squadron. Even those who aren’t feuding openly often cannot stand the sight of each other. There are no connections between many families other than sideways glances thrown at each other. How would you expect an army like that to mount a coordinated effort? I believe the Emperor must have a number of methods, and our school is one of them.”
“I just don’t get you at all,” Tsass frowned.
“What is there to get? Look, they’ve gathered folks from all over, and they did it anonymously. Feuding isn’t just forbidden—it is impossible, unless you’re such a blabbermouth that you reveal everything about yourself to everyone. Since that kind of behavior is punished severely, and you don’t get too many complete idiots around, the majority still keeps their true identities secret. Or perhaps they’re only revealing bits and pieces to make sure everyone finds out who they really are, and yet they themselves still avoid punishment. I think all of us will eventually dispense with our respective covers, but we’ll do it slowly and in the meantime get used to the idea that there’s no good reason for us to go at each other’s throats. We have to rely on each other here. Some might not accept it, but most will.”
“That’s not particularly reassuring,” Tsass muttered. Indeed, he did not sound all that convinced.
“Well, why don’t you look at where we have been going, all of us, since we came here?” Ogron continued. “For example, we are constantly given tasks that require a concerted effort. We have to stick together whether we want it or not. Remember the first days? Akhshot was ready to snap Paxus’s neck any moment and kept bullying you. I am not saying Paxus or Akhshot have seen the error of their ways and become more likeable, but at least we don’t squabble as much any more or try fighting each other. And it’s not just us, we met our neighbors as well and got to know them. I know the names of everyone in our dorm, and I don’t mix them up. And mind you, the dorm has twelve rooms with five students in each. That’s a whole lot of people, and some of them have bad attitude dripping out of their ears and noses. Yet, we all manage to coexist somehow. So you see where this is going, don’t you?”
“We’ll graduate and go our separate ways, but we will have established a connection by then, or at least have memories of how we all pulled together,” Tsass said pensively. “But I’m not sure it’ll help much in case of a big war. How many students do we have here? And how many will there be in the Imperial Army? We’ll get lost there easily.”
“Well, we’re not the only class in this school,” Ogron winked. “And don’t forget that this school doesn’t just take anyone in. Every student represents a serious family. Therefore, they won’t be alone in case of a war. They’ll be in command of their clans’ armies, all the while staying true to the idea that they could forget about traditional Ravan squabbles in case of a serious threat and act together. School alone won’t keep Rava united, of course, but, as I’ve said, it’s just one of the methods used by the Emperor. And seeing how it has remained in use for so many centuries, it must be working. Besides, they try hard to make it more efficient with every new year. Everybody knows that the tests and the curriculum change all the time, and something new is always being added.”
The Master of Rhetoric silently stepped out from behind the shelves, taking a dispassionate look at the tables.
“An urgent joint class has been announced.” His trained voice sounded very much like a local version of the public address system. “Everybody proceed to Court Six next to the second entrance to the underground complex. And, Paxus, don’t forget to take a point off your total when you return.”
The funny guy stayed silent, even though he was usually ready to hit the ground running, or rather bickering, asking why he’d been singled out. After all, he’d become a real world champion of disguise, covering up his naps at the library, and extracurricular interests, and what not. And it wasn’t that he was so concerned about losing a point here or there. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Except now he did, and I was not at all surprised.
A joint class would be attended by all of the school’s students, including the girls who lived in separate dorms. That was just about the only thing they had in the way of a coed culture here, and Paxus could never waste an opportunity to check out the girls. For something like that, he would even attend those hateful mock fighting sessions, albeit grudgingly and bitching and moaning all along. Those were rare occasions anyway, and he valued them.
I wondered what it was about this time. But one thing was clear: this was a mandatory event. There was no wiggling out of it.
* * *
I never saw the complete layout of the dungeon underneath the school, but I could still tell they took us to a place I had never been to before. It sat just as deep down as the arena, and the corridor leading to our destination must have also been built a long time before Rava was founded. The ancients did a great job there, leaving their descendants a rich legacy. Many things were still working or had been restored, and the school made active use of them in its training program.
So what was this place in the ancient days? Some kind of a battle mage university? Or a training facility for fierce warriors?
No one had a clue.
I saw Master Byogg meeting us at the entrance and my mood plummeted. Even Paxus, the inexorable optimist who had been grinning all the way down, clearly delighted to see the girls, nearly broke his jaw as a grimace contorted his face.
The battle master had earned a reputation among us as the most furious demon in Rock, and it didn’t take him long to achieve that. Even the stern master in charge of our dorm could not compare, although the two of them were actually brothers. Most of our demerits came from him, and he was also responsible for all the bruises, scrapes, broken bones, and other injuries we suffered. Add to that the never-ending flow of verbal abuse and nitpicking, and you get the picture. The mere sight of us seemed to ire the man. Some might look that way at, oh, I don’t know, a heaping pile of manure or some lowlife scum taking candy from babies. So yes, a real ray of sunshine that one was.
Come to think of it, no one could say a single nice thing about this master. Not one. What we did know though was that every time we saw Byogg, that meant trouble. The man was plain out toxic. A porcupine bristling with quills.
Once the last group of students arrived and formed a line along the wall of the enormous underground chamber, Byogg waved his hand. I didn’t know who he was signaling, but the outcome was as immediate as it was hard to miss. The gigantic rock behind him lurched and began rising, slowly opening a passage to another similarly sized chamber.
A collective sigh echoed through the air as hundreds of students responded as one to the unhappy sight in front of them.
The new chamber was narrow and seemingly endless—so much so anyway that its far end was lost in the darkness. A powerful chemical lighting fixture by the entrance was nowhere near strong enough to illuminate the place in its entirety, and besides, it interfered with one’s night vision.
But it wasn’t the darkness that we found so discouraging. It was hundreds of fighting dummies filling the dungeon in a seemingly random order. Those of us who had had a chance to make their acquaintance earlier barely managed to stifle a sigh of disgust and dismay.
A warrior dummy was an unpleasant thing indeed. To be sure, it was not much of an opponent in a one-on-one fight, and even such a sorry excuse for a clan warrior as Tsass could probably deal with it without overexerting himself. Problems began when those aggressive dolls came at you in numbers, but so far, from what we could see, there were fewer of them here than in the second wave, during the original exercise. And we somehow handled them all back then, albeit with horrendous losses.
So why was everybody so disheartened now?
Well, those were all different dummies, very much so. And not in a good way.
First, there was the matter of size. Each mannequin was about eight feet high, if my estimate was correct here. In this world, the locals considered anyone above six foot tall a real giant, so the metal dolls would be almost half again as tall. And their wide shoulders looked even more formidable. The fighter dummies seemed to be out of proportion in an almost cartoonish fashion, and appeared tremendously strong.
To top it all off, they didn’t come empty-handed, either. Each dummy held a large, flat metal bat in each hand, and they were long and wide. Thirty pounds, easy. Not your regulation cricket or baseball bats anyway. Even a warrior with high Strength and mammoth Stamina wouldn’t be able to swing those for long. A human warrior, that is.
But there was no doubt in my mind the iron dudes liked them just fine. In their monster hands, the hefty pieces looked no heavier than a rolled-up newspaper one might use to swat flies on a hot summer day. And I would bet the buggers would have no problem swatting.
Master Byogg, as always, stayed true to himself. A very, very kind man indeed…
But I would be an inexcusable alarmist if I didn’t mention that, on closer inspection, not everything looked so hopeless. About the dummies, that is, not the master who was in fact way beyond redemption. Anyway, the dolls all seemed to have a significant flaw—lying below the waist, if you could pardon my French. Above the centerline, it was an abandon hope all ye who enter here affair, but below… Well, there wasn’t much to write home about down below, since the torsos seemed to be rising right out of the solid metal floor. The dolls had no legs—not even stumps thereof. It looked as though they had originally been over fifteen feet tall, and then had their lower parts hacked off at the waist, the remaining tops left scattered randomly where they stood, in all their newly acquired circumcised glory.
None of that made the task at hand any easier, though. If we were sent to fight them (which was almost a given), their lack of lower limbs wouldn’t always work in our favor. I suspected that the sawed-off giants would be incredibly dangerous without feet too. If the difference in size, as compared to the dummies we were already familiar with, translated into strength as well, we had a good reason to start running scared. I wasn’t sure all my training and high parameters would protect me from a whack with one of those bats. And it wasn’t just the matter of getting knocked off your feet. A head blow, accidental as it might be, would be lights out there and then. God only knew what kind of numbers one needed to survive something like that. Those ancient “terminators” could beat the best of us to a pulp with those flat bats.
So what were we to do? Disarming the dolls would be just as hard as tearing a bucket off an excavator that moved about a hundred times faster than the familiar construction machines from Earth. But even if we managed that, what could we possibly do next? A primitive club weighing around thirty pounds wasn’t the kind of weapon I’d choose against such an opponent.
What, then, would I choose?
Ideally, nothing. These dummies would best of all be left alone, and if a conflict was inevitable, I’d need a large-caliber catapult of the sort that could make a hole in a castle wall, best of all with alchemical projectiles, since regular boulders would take forever and could prove inefficient. I didn’t know how thick the metal was, or whether the dummies had any other protections, but my gut feeling was telling me things were really serious this time.
Byogg was kind enough today to let us enjoy the glorious sight for a good while, and then started talking, the tone of his voice snarly enough to make vicious dogs die of envy.
“As I can see, you have appreciated the new dummies. They’re dummies, not warrior dummies this time, but terminology is not important. Even we, masters, mix it up all the time. Of course, they’re not really new; they’re as ancient as the ones you have already fought. I am merely referring to the fact that we are letting students face these dummies for the first time ever, so don’t even try to think of what your relatives might have told you. They never had to face anything of the kind. Our craftsmen and alchemists have done a great job, but they did not manage to restore full functionality here. Anyhow, I didn’t look into details here all that much, so perhaps there was nothing to restore to begin with, and this place is just the way it was designed in the days when people could create moving metallic automatons. I will tell you no more about them, since these details are inconsequential, to me as well as you. The three things you need to remember are as follows: you need to get across to the other end of the chamber, you shouldn’t take off your protective equipment, and anyone who gets knocked down is free to do whatever they want. You can just stay down or crawl in any direction you like. These dummies can hit fallen students too, but you’ll run a much lower risk of getting hit than those who crawl, let alone those trying to get up. However, they’ll sweep you out eventually, like the garbage you are. Those who manage to make it across might get rewarded. The rest will most likely regret having been so inept. And now, let the games begin.”
Chapter 10
Living Drums
Bang!!! Bang!!!
The sound of metal hitting metal made me jerk as it brought some very unpleasant memories with it. However, this time I got lucky and stayed on my feet. The two neighbors to my left and right disappeared in the blink of an eye as if a hurricane had blown them away. Both were unlucky enough to get in the way of the dummies’ simple but strong swings.
I initially assumed that their weapons weighed about thirty pounds. Now I was wondering whether it might really be double that, or perhaps even triple. Anything lighter wouldn’t have been able to knock down a human weighing around three hundred pounds, after all. And hardly any of us weighed less than that at the moment.
And it was not like I had gained much extra weight over the previous couple of hours. On the contrary, I may have lost some, what with all the calorie burning and sweating as we fought our way past the dummies. The trick was in the protective gear the master mentioned in his pep talk, which resembled an early deep diving suit—a kind of a thick metal barrel with bulky tubular arm and leg appendages and squeaky rotating joints.
The suit did provide rock solid protection. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if it easily stopped a rifle bullet, let alone the local melee weapons. Your typical fighter would drop with exhaustion before he could hope to do any serious damage to the lucky sod inside the barrel.
The sawn-off dolls didn’t do much better, either. Their wide and quick swings only stunned us, the effect here being not unlike that of sticking your head inside a massive ringing bel. It wasn’t lethal, but unpleasant all the same. However, staying on your feet after a strike like that was a lot harder, if not outright impossible, even for big guys like Akhshot. Once hit, you’d find yourself on the floor, sliding a few feet along its smooth metal surface.
That was another nasty thing about the hall. The suits had flat, smooth soles, so plain walking on the similarly polished floor without falling every other step would be difficult. And we had those godawful dummies to contend with.
Which made the undertaking altogether impossible. Their arms moved nonstop, swinging and whacking. It was like facing an army of mini-windmills, except these ones here were much smarter, with every blade moving autonomously and with total lack of predictability. Just about the only thing our inanimate foes’ tactic had in common was that they almost invariably struck forward. They also seemed to like hitting low, as if trying to sweep the “trash” off the floor, to borrow a tactful reference from Master Byogg.
All of us trying to find our way across qualified as trash. A few steps, and—wham!—down you went. Getting up after that was no small matter since the suit felt like it weighed a ton, especially after you had been at it for a while. But we were all young, and we were alphas. We managed. The real problem was that you couldn’t bend or wiggle in those suits, which complicated things enormously. We didn’t just turn into turtles. We became teenage mutant handicapped turtles. We could hardly move, we couldn’t hit back, and the pounding in our heads made coherent thinking increasingly difficult. That was the price one paid for protection from serious injury. Once you were down, you couldn’t bounce back quickly, nor would they let you even if you could. After watching your struggles for a few seconds, one of the nearest dummies would apparently get bored and whack you again, sending you a few feet back towards the starting point. And the chamber’s slippery floor, which may well have been oiled to facilitate sliding, made the job so much easier for the dummies.
