100 Questions

8

- Guessed. Well done, - the interlocutor nodded approvingly. - In general, the salt is that we do not have porridge. On the ass snatched all the heroes. Just someone for the good, someone for the bad. There are no obvious advantages to being Recognized or Rejected. Everyone decides for himself. In this regard, our System has acted very cleverly. Equally neglects both good players and evil ones. Both those and others must constantly swing hard, because buns do not fall from the sky. But at first it is much easier to be recognized. This is the only plus.

"Great," I yawned. - How to swing?

- Ho! It's too early for you to swing. To begin with, you have to pull yourself up a little, because with your characteristics you will not level up, but will fill a couple of dozen in the death counter.

- And what is so wrong with me? I asked without much interest.

- And the fact that the most important indicators are very sad, - the big man raised his finger up. - Strength and intelligence - that will allow you to swing. You yourself know that your performance is half of the average. I don't understand how you got this way. Who were you in a past life?

"No idea," I replied evasively.

- What are your two memories?

- I do not want to answer.

- Have to. Because I am one of the leaders in the local guild. And if you want to level up, you have to be friends with me. On the street you were beaten by scum, and I can teach you how to beat back.

“I can hit back anyway,” I snapped. - But not with dehydration.

- Well, if so, then we will spar, - the big man got up, warming up. - Friendly. I won’t sweep away to death and even heal my bruises. If you win - I help to swing without questions. If I - you answer my three questions and obediently begin to develop your strength and intelligence.

“I don’t want to fight,” bored, I waved my hand.

“Then sit further, I’ll give you a blow on the head, fly off to the rep and draw conclusions,” the mustachioed’s gaze hardened, I felt boiling anger. Not joking. - There is recognition, you will appear immediately in this city. Look at the penalties for death.

- Back off, huh? Found a motivational coach here.

- Eh, baby. The system cuts the tongue first of all, - the big man said with a smile.

And rushed forward. I only managed to notice the blurry outline of a fist flying at my head. After that, he collapsed to the floor.

- It was easy. It's like hitting a child, - Sukharik laughed, shaking his palms with clapping.

- You hit the kid, didn't you? I whispered as I got up.

The forehead was on fire. Wiped him. There was a blood stain on the palm. The fist caught me casually, if I had not had time to react - most likely, the temple would have become part of the brain.

- Are you still alive? - the enemy was surprised. - Dodged? Ha! That's what increased dexterity means. Never fought with those who have five in this characteristic. Well, do you have an appetite for a fight?

You were damaged by the player Sukharik. We regret to inform you that his level is much higher than yours. We wish you a happy death!

I silently raised my fists. The body itself acted, taking a stance. I really wanted to think about the battle strategy, but my intuition screamed that I should act without thinking. Moreover, the enemy again went on the attack.

Hit. Like a flash. Rebound. New blow. Passed through.

Even without hitting directly, Sukharik blew up pain receptors. He was fast. But my reaction worked wonders - the blows, which at first seemed blurry, gradually acquired clarity.

The fist swung where my head had just been. I dodged, grabbing my hand. He strained his whole body, trying to throw over himself. But the forearm, suddenly becoming to the touch like steel, prompted - I can not. With a single effort of his hand, Sukharik blocked my attempt to topple him to the floor. And I jumped back, trying not to get hit.

- I see that you have experience. And reaction. But the downside is that the characteristics give too much when it comes to the difference, - Sukharik explained, stretching his fists and pausing in the attacks. Your strength is three. My strength is twelve. With a gap like that, even martial arts would barely help move my body. You understand, baby. A child can't beat an adult.

- Stop talking, - I asked, but I wound the information on my mustache.

Strength is a great indicator. But she is not responsible for protecting vulnerable points. I can't pierce the muscles. Overcome them too.

I have an ace up my sleeve. However, this is risky. However ... Only the risk gives experience and helps to swing.

Rusk waved his fist before I made a final decision. The blow landed on the left shoulder. The effect is crushing. The joint flared with hellish pain, even a rush of adrenaline would not block it. I got checked.

Activate Snake Throw.

I struck back. It would be useless if I tried to do it just like that. But after being hit, Sukharik relaxed. For a fraction of a second - and that's enough.

My fist hit right in the groin. I collapsed to the floor. There was a scream above me. Grabbing one of Sukharik's legs and using it as a support, I twisted with my whole body, bending my knee and combining the efforts of all the muscles for a new blow.

If the wedge is knocked out with a wedge, then the knee is knocked out with a knee. This is another place in the human body that muscles cannot spare. There are only links. And these guys really don't like some hits.

Sukharik's leg crunched, partly justifying the iconic nickname of the owner. The fracture was not so noticeable, but I knew for sure that I had achieved my goal.

The big man collapsed to the floor, and I immediately rolled away so that they could not reach me. Somehow he got to his feet. The bruised knee hurt. My left hand hung like a whip, which even in the fight prevented me - if I could grab it tightly with both hands, Seabiscuit's leg could say goodbye.

However, even without this, the barbel lay on the floor, writhing and howling. Saliva spurted from his mouth, sweat beaded on his forehead.

- So, strength? - grinning wryly, I began to bypass the fallen opponent. Yes, you are strong. But don't write me off, uncle. Even a small force can cause trouble to a bull like you.

- You bastard! the man roared.

He tried to communicate clearly how much the treatment of such injuries costs, to reproach me for repaying him so much for a bowl of stew, but I was not interested. And the roar of pain does not help eloquence.

- Victory for me. We won’t become friends after this, so you can forget about any agreements, - already at the door I turned around and added a word, the meaning of which I didn’t know, but I wanted to say. - Sayonara.

I left the house quickly. It was right in front of the market place, which is both good and bad. If I walk around the market in the future, I risk catching an extremely angry look from the window. But then I immediately found myself in the right place for me. It's noisy, there are a lot of people and you can find something interesting.

I went to the well. The blood began to pour into the eyes, I had to constantly wash it off. He took a bucket, threw it into a dark throat. The lever spun wildly and stopped abruptly. Pulling on the rope, causing the bucket to fall into the water again and again, he began to raise it. The lever went smoothly, without complaints. But doing it with one hand was not so comfortable. Moreover, the blood from the forehead continued to flow.

People passing by me, going more often to the market than from it, glanced with interest. Having intercepted a couple of glances of the NPC girls, he tried to smile at them, but in response only indignantly pursed lips and an upturned nose.

- Well, to hell with you.

Somehow, grimacing from the ringing pain in my shoulder, I grabbed the handle of the bucket with my left hand. He pulled it out, placing it on the edge of the well.

Wash first, then drink. Thus spoke the wise men, whom I can never remember, and so I will say.

Wiping my face with my shirt sleeve, I felt my shoulder. It hurts, an infection, but I can’t understand what’s there. The left hand is definitely not a fighter yet. However, like myself.

The battle with Seabiscuit showed me that it would be better to raise the strength higher. I'm talking about intelligence. I had to get in.

- Mister, are you all right? came a gentle voice from behind.

I was encouraged to imagine a pretty girl, at least my size, solicitously offering help. But when he turned around, he was disappointed.

- Are you okay? - the guard, obviously a guy, but his voice is very different.

- I AM? Ha, yes, everything is great! Just a morning wash, - with a semblance of a smile, without a hint of sincerity, I said.

- You have skin on your forehead in shreds.

- It's just a scratch, no need to worry. If I had done something, obviously I would not be standing near the well, right? I scratched the back of my head in confusion, chuckling.

The guard, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, suddenly shrugged his shoulders and wished him a good day.

You can breathe out. And after that, get drunk and hurry in the direction of the nearest place where I can get help.

The system decided to show up on time.

We were almost done calculating your death penalty when we found you standing over a defeated opponent. Apparently, it was an incredibly difficult victory, and therefore we cannot leave your work without encouragement.

Skill acquired: Fist fight.

You have made a crazy move: you have defeated a much more experienced human warrior.

For defeating a stronger opponent, you are awarded an experience point.

For defeating a player, you are awarded an experience point.

Tip: Don't rely on residual body memory from a past life. Stats and skills still play a huge role. Develop and become better!

I sighed. Well, at least a point of experience more, already pleases. Although strange - it turns out that defeating the players is neither insane nor common. Does this mean that the most stable source of experience is player skirmishes?

Apparently, I will find out a clear answer to this question in the future.

Having drunk enough, I sat down on a bench. Worth a look in the diary.

A change that the System did not report immediately caught my eye.

Level 2 (1/33)

I grimaced, but didn't even think to wonder why I would need so much experience for the next level. It still does not play a big role, in general.

Fisticuffs (Initial, Passive): You've learned the joy of brawling and are accustomed to the idea that your body is your weapon.

And that's all. No bonuses, no penalties. It can be said that I was simply informed that the body is a weapon. As if I didn't know it. Complete idiocy. If the skills had feelings and emotions, I would even apologize to Drug Addiction for considering it useless.

Putting the Diary back in my bag, I got up with a heavy sigh. We need to find a doctor. Or a sorcerer. Or whatever they call those who can help recover.

- You mean you can't heal? - Frowning, I asked again. - I'm new, you said yourself that you help them.

- I help for free only heroes of the first level, - the healer spread his hands. - You have it second, so you have to pay.

- And if in debt? I leaned closer to the thin man's face. - I think my arm is broken. I can't find a job right now.

“I’m not flying into debt,” the bespectacled man declared categorically. “You don’t think I can borrow mana, do you?” She needs to recover, and I have a flood of clients. There are three more people in line after you. Am I losing money now because of a loser like you who can never return anything?

- And if we are useful to each other? Give me a quest, cure it, and I'll complete it for you.

- I don't have quests for your level. Only for the first and fourth.

- What's the difference?! I exploded. - Hero levels don't help, give me any job!

- Levels are an indicator of your experience, - the doctor adjusted his glasses on his nose. - I will not entrust a difficult task to an inexperienced hero and I will not deprive completely new ones of bread.

- Yes, I was the first level two hours ago! - I already broke into a frank cry. - I still can't do anything!

- Only the first level. Get out of here and do your work.

“He works,” I muttered, turning around. You're only scaring away the clientele.

As I was walking past the bench waiting for treatment, I suddenly heard from one of them:

- Try to find a local healer heroine. She is just trying to find a job for herself. And she's level three.

- A sorceress? I turned around to face the speaker. - What is her name?

- Fuck remember. Nobody goes to her. I don't know why. Just heard, - a man with bloody bandages on his hands chuckled. - Now, I suppose, pouring ale as usual. Look for taverns.

“You talk too much for someone who doesn’t remember and doesn’t know,” I screwed up my eyes in disbelief. - Do not pour?

- I often go to drink, I often see her. But I didn’t talk to her, the girl will beat my head off. Search, search. She also has some cute clothes. The cloak is purple, she often wraps herself in it.

- Okay, bald, I remember you.

- Go ahead before no one remembers you.

I ignored the mocking threat and left. We need to find a tavern. While trying to find a healer, he passed by a couple. But this is rather because I got lost, the settlement is not so small, and there are surprisingly many streets here.

Looked around.

- If I were a failed medicine woman with alcoholism, and also a heroine, where would I go? There is little money, taverns in plain sight are not suitable. They laugh at me, no one needs me, which means that my company is not appreciated. And where would I run into a big bald guy who looks like a typical thug?

Muttering under my breath, I wandered the streets, successfully ignoring a couple of flashy signs in prominent places. I remembered one skinny lane and the same skinny sign, which is about to fall off.

Seeing what I was looking for ahead, I quickened my pace. On the sign is a cat curled up around a mug. Except that the color on one of the eyes was gone, and the cat looked crippled. Quite "attractive". It is unlikely that there are a lot of people in such an institution, if they come in, then with the aim of drinking and rowdy. Or hide from prying eyes.

When I came in, just everything indicated that they like to rowdy here.

- Listen, you goat with horns instead of legs, I advise you to shut up before I get angry! - some girl growled, squeezing the fork as if it were a knife.

- But the fact that? Heal to death like your former partner? - the man laughed, not paying attention to the reaction of the ridiculed.

Without further ado, she jumped up on the table and tried to kick the offender in the face.

But, as expected, it missed. Her leg went further, and the man knocked out the last support of the girl with a spectacular blow. She collapsed on the table, resting her head on one of the mugs. Beer splashed, spilling onto the table and brown hair.

I sighed. Apparently, this is the same sorceress. But there is nothing to do, a broken arm is such a help to itself.

The man picked up the empty mug and was going to hit the lying and bewildered healer properly. He waved, but his hand froze.

- Eh? What are you? - the drunk offender asked in surprise.

His bleary eyes stared at my face, which was not distinguished by invisibility before, but now it is certainly too conspicuous.

"I'm sorry," I began, letting go of my fist with the mug of beer in it. - Can you give up your seat?

- What-about? - swollen fat visitor hatched at me like a miracle.

- Make way, - I smiled. - It's all in the beer, and the girl obviously prevents you from relaxing. I'll figure it out, don't you mind?

For a while, cloudy brown eyes slid over me, and an answer was born in my head. But I didn't feel any enmity in the drinker.

- A ... - squeezed out a plump little man. - No problem, buddy, sit down. There is nothing to talk about with this fool anyway.

I thanked the departing person and turned my gaze to the girl who was sitting on the table with a bewildered face and was looking at me. Beer dripped from her hair.

- You kind of stood up or what?

- No, no, understand correctly! I waved my only working hand. - I don't want to look like a knight, I just have urgent business for you. It would be embarrassing if you were beaten to unconsciousness now. Come on, get off the table.

I extended a helping hand to her. She accepted it with some hesitation, dangling her legs and jumping awkwardly to the floor. After such a fall, coordination is not something to brag about, so I was not surprised at the clumsiness.

"Sit down for now," I asked. - Be right back.

The girl did not answer, trying to wipe her hair with the famous purple cloak. Once purple. Now he was spotted and darkened, hinting that he was going through a difficult time.

Behind the counter stood a frail young man. He was busily wiping away a stain of grease that had spilled over the surface.

"Hi," I greeted.