Free Epic by Conor Kostick

expenditure of time on the Epicus Ultima quest—which is not solvable—and find out who is behind that paper. It is someone close to us, who has access to our data.”
    Shocked by the ferocity of Godmund’s voice, Svein could only nod. “You are right, you are right,” he said, but in his heart he answered back, “Old man, you would not believe how close I have come to solving it.”

Chapter 8
    BEHOLD, THE EXECUTIONER
    There were few pleasures in life greater than entering the world of Epic as the Executioner. He walked among the players like an unworshiped god. They could all see the figure, but they had no idea of the fact that a human consciousness was in control of it, and that at the slightest whim he could take the life of any of them.
    Having entered the password known only to members of the Central Allocations Committee, Ragnok relaxed into his seat, relishing every moment as the Executioner rose on his platform from the box, and slowly rotated.
    The Executioner was a tall human male, nondescript features covered by a great war helm. The bulk of the body was covered in rune-carved plate-metal armor—the best armor that money could buy, every piece enchanted by a dwarven master craftsman to make it resilient yet light. His golden-edged shield showed the screaming face of a demon. That shield was unique and had been bought from the Prince of Al’Karak, a realm of nomads deep in the desert. There really was a demon in the shield, whose resistance to magic meant that no player, and very few NPCs or monsters, could cast a spell that could harm the Executioner. The warrior had a variety of weapons, including an ornate longbow and quiver full of magic arrows. Among the swords at his disposal was Acutus, a vorpal blade that randomly, at a rate of about one in twenty blows, cut through any substance. But Ragnok’s weapon of choice was the Bastard Sword of the Moon; this elegant silver weapon was swift for its size, and sent shivers of fear through opponents, causing them to freeze in their actions.
    To dwell carefully on his accessory lists of additional magic items was never tedious despite their length. The Executioner was equipped with the maximum complement of rings, jewelry, potions, scrolls, ointments, and a miscellany of helpful implements—for example, the rope of climbing. The full cost of equipping this character was more than ten years of the combined accumulation of bezants by the entire population of the world. And it was worth it.
    Enough. Ragnok triggered the entrance button. All was intensely black and still. Then a rushing sound grew rapidly in volume to a roar of sound accompanied by an explosion of light.
    Hate and vengeance strode once more in the world of Epic.
    It was evening, and the first of Epic’s moons, Sylvania, was already bright in the deepening blue of the sky. Aridia, the smaller moon, was yet to rise. Ragnok turned around slowly to gain his bearings. He was still at the place of the last execution—clearly none of the other committee members had used the character since then. Nearby, a black warhorse stood patiently and looked at him with an intelligent gaze. So, they were some sixty miles from Newhaven, where the hunt must begin.
    “Hello, old fellow.” Ragnok patted the flank of his mount, then, grabbing the saddle, hoisted himself up. Glancing at the moon again to calculate north, Ragnok urged his steed forward at a canter. The sooner they got to Newhaven, the sooner the real hunt could begin.
    As he clipped his way through the fields, Ragnok felt a surge of joy. Right now, he was the most lethal player in the whole of Epic. Not one of the other committee members could match the Executioner. The idea of stalking one of the others had, of course, occurred to him. And if any of them dared get out of line with Ragnok, he would do it. After all, what could they say? They could hardly admit the truth of the incident to the world. And they could not risk expelling him, exposing