Free The Battle by D. Rus Page B

second.
     
    I wondered if Tavor also had a mad genius crafter who shat on gaming world laws. Or could he craft himself? That conceited moneybag had always had enough blind faith in his own greatness and in his right to do whatever.
    There were four of these rings. They cancelled out the incessant shoulder bleeding, saving him several deaths.
    The earring in his right ear doubled crit chances and bespoke the currently popular sexual orientation. Or that Tavor was the last male heir of a Cossack clan, which I doubt...
    Putting the rings back, I stopped my health decline along with the ear-choppers’ worried chatter. Asmodeus was right, the staff must be used with caution. One careless stroke, and you’d not only make a player’s life hell with a series of rebirths, but also make your PK-counter go through the roof. And get insulting achievements; "Bloody Maniac," or "Spawn Killer."
    The weapon Tavor’d lost in battle came back into his inventory. So it was bound to the body when it lived.
    Mithril butcher's hooks – surely the product of someone’s sick fantasy – dripped poison and were speckled with rust.
    Tavor had fought with both arms. Just what the doctor ordered for the types of enemies he had. Very few wizards could concentrate on a Gate for six seconds while taking over a dozen damaging combo hits.
    I was no expert on warrior gear, but the weapon stats were impressive. I took a few screens of the armor and the giant "hole puncher" and forwarded them to the Analyst. Let him figure it out.
    Finally, I got to the inventory.
    Wasn’t much to look at. Tavor did have a safe lair, after all. Perhaps he just left most of his possessions there? Probably. Not very smart, as fate can play tricks. There was always an above zero chance of a mishap. Like falling into a different dimension or the Stone Age. Personally, I always had useful things on me, even when back on Earth. From a mini first-aid kit to a gas tank to a multitool. A greedy pig nature, sure... but it had saved me more than once!
    No, Tavor was no bum. Far from it. I found a fine minibar with hundreds of precious elixirs in vials. Elite grub from the Famous Masters. A huge folio with scrolls which beat my collection hands down. And I thought I had a lot. Web-winged noob! Warriors didn’t own their magic: they had to have scrolls for all of life’s emergencies, as many as their gold allowed.
    And Tavor’s allowed a lot. A hefty bag weighing almost fifty pounds. It sounded more impressive than it actually was inside: twenty thousand gold. Not so much for someone so high up on the social pyramid.
    There was also a young sadist’s kit – chains, irons, ropes, and a suitcase with horrid-looking surgical tools. Fun... Specially made, or sold at BDSM corner stores?
    That was about it. No treasure maps, no keys to secrets doors, no crumpled up notes with passwords. Pity!
    The bastard was encrypted all over! All logins timed out every hour and got archived. Whatever was unsaved was brutally deleted. Even the built-in GPS maps were password-protected. Moving your irises the right way was the only method of getting access. A move like that took but a moment, and you could really feel the difference in security levels. Paranoid ass!
    I sighed and rose. A poor profit for such a risky venture. A little loot but zero information. Shame.
    Asmodeus walked up to me, held out his hand, and demanded, "The Blood Necklace!"
    I frowned. The demon had every right to his share, just as we’d agreed. And the bastard had already figured out the prisoner’s most precious object.
    Of course, the crystals were brutally holed and had lost plenty of bonuses. But there were about thirty of them on every wire. A vast array of stats and freebies! Plus, they were all doubled thanks to the mind-blowing "Only one of its kind" attribute.
    I shook my head:
    "Only after I’m back, and after you return my soul to its old container."
    Asmodeus grumbled displeasedly, but technically I had the