This is weird. The sixth empty dungeon in the past week. The interesting thing is that they all belong to various newb locations situated near large settlements. The last one was the Gnoll Hill, a mere mile away from the City of Light. This low-level dungeon now lies empty, deserted by all the mobs that used to populate it. The throne in the throne room appears to have been removed, the walls of the room itself are covered in obscenities written in blood-color paint.

See screenshot 14: We'll be back you hairless coyotes!

The AlterWorld administration offers no explanation on this phenomenon. All requests to add new low-level locations are met with vague promises without mentioning any particular deadlines.

* * *

The guild building was overpowering. A fortress within the city: its thick walls gaping with gunslits, its fat towers bristling with the steel needles of the ballistas. Two enormous golems guarded the entrance—projecting more the guild's wealth and influence to the world rather than really guarding anything. Each level 230, how awesome was that? I even took the trouble of looking golem-building up in Wiki. Oh well, it doesn't hurt to dream. My naïve hope of getting one of those as a pet one day and building my own zombie platoon was shattered before it even got off the ground, unable to survive the clash with harsh reality. Only a large clan could afford to keep one of those. To get access to golem building, you had to level up alchemy, goldsmithy and forging skills to Grand Master levels. And the prices! To build one could cost you a small fortune: to get some idea of the costs, place your creation onto the scale and keep balancing it with ingots of silver until you weep. And that was only the beginning of a long and winding road.

I stood there gawking at them, estimating their weight, then using my fingers and toes to convert it into silver and gold losing a few zeroes on my way. It was a lot. I patted a golem's warm mithril thigh and stepped into the dark gateway.

A short tunnel led into a gateway tower. Portcullises bared their steel teeth over both entrance and exit. The many arrowslits and suspicious openings overhead promised a bloodbath to whoever dared fight their way through there. Good job I went there personally instead of hiring staff at the mercs' marketplace. My potentially eternal lifespan meant I might have to build, defend and storm this sort of fortification one day.

The inner court was small but welcoming. It was surprisingly crowded—mainly by what seemed to be mercs waiting to be hired. The narrow space between the keep and the inner wall housed a couple of cafés, a pub, two permanently busy combat arenas and a number of shop signs offering supplies and gear repair among other things. The mercs must have let their guard down, I decided as I eyed the close space. During the first siege, all this razzamatazz was going to burn happily, getting in the way of the already-miserable defenders.

The keep's gates stood invitingly open. I walked through. The ground floor housed the actual gaming content: guild masters, traders, coaches and other miscellaneous NPCs. The first floor and above were rented out to the players who apparently had a good manager and an equally good interior designer. The decor was rather businesslike going on medieval, replete with information desk, soft couches in the waiting area, consultants' cubicles and management offices. All of it busy, all in full play. The money flow—which I enviously estimated at two pounds of gold per minute—ran through the marketplace, leaving in its wake a slight residue of guild taxes that aimed to maintain the local grandeur.

I voiced my rather modest request and was escorted to a cubicle: soft inviting chairs and a wall of fragrant plants that shielded us from the rest of the room. The babble of an artificial brook helped one relax and part with his money. I didn't even notice the consultant at first. He was perched on a couch amidst the greenery next to a side table loaded with all sorts of tasty morsels. This had to be a real-world paid employee with a primitive 3D connection—what perma player would agree to act out the miserable part of an office rat? It still didn't explain his choice of a goblin as character, of all things. Despite his hilarious appearance, the green creature listened to me with dignity, nodding in all the right places like a seasoned reporter.

Finally, he summed it up, "So you need a cover of five, capable of handling two or three mobs up to level 150. Objective: accompany you to the Dead Lands. The setup is clear. Now the fees. A team of five level-140 and above will cost you seven thousand. The minimum contract term is twenty-four hours. As for the schedule: the portal city nearest to those parts is Aquinus, a hundred and forty miles from your destination. Beyond it lie the Frontier Lands. A savage area, virtually unpopulated. Lots of feral monsters, one-off lairs and dungeons, high chances of running into trouble. Even though you've overestimated potential mobs' levels, I agree that in this case you cannot be too careful. If I could suggest anything at all logistics-wise, I'd recommend the Ferrymen clan. We have a good working relationship with their representative. You probably know that one top-level wizard can store up to fifty teleport points in his memory so between them, they've got our cluster all covered—apart from the Frontier, but at least their clan guarantees the minimum of one teleport point per thousand square miles. This should at least halve your travel times-"

"Why would I need it?" I interrupted the flow of his pitch. "Why would I want to pay for any extras if the minimum contract term is the double of what I need? I had actually hoped to hire a group for twelve hours, not more. Having said that, I've got an idea. You think you could ask the Ferrymen about the location of the nearest teleport point?"

The goblin cheered up, enthusiastically nodding his agreement, then started dictating something into an open communications channel. He had to be getting his cut from the Wizards. Having said that, I had better remember the details of the offer. I could use them at a later date.

The goblin surfaced. "You're in luck! Apparently, the only track to the Dead Lands is blocked by the Bone Castle. And as it's quite a landmark, they couldn't overlook it and marked the nearest port point on the transport map. You only need to cover twenty miles: an hour and a half at your mount's speed. Treble it to include any emergencies, it's still only five hours. A group portal costs three hundred gold. What do you think?"

He leaned forward, his ear tufts quivering, his moist nose probing the air. A funny race, really. "Why not? On one condition: seeing as I'm obliged to pay for twenty-four hours, they'll have to work for their money. We'll start with eighteen hours of power leveling—power leveling myself, I mean—a full cover, top performance and a five-strong support group. That leaves us six hours to travel. How about that?"

"I'm afraid, it doesn't quite work like that. The twenty-four hour contract provides for seven hours of sleep and two one-hour meal breaks. That leaves you with fifteen hours to use as you see fit. In case of any eventualities preventing you from complying, an hour of overtime is paid at 10%."

I winced. All nice and logical but nitpicking any way you looked at it. "Agreed. Food and sleep is every soldier's sacred right."

The goblin rubbed his little paws and started typing away. "Considering the change in the assignment's profile, I'd recommend the following lineup: a cleric for buffs and healing, an enchanter for more buffs and mana transfusion, a rogue and a wizard as cover and a tank to take aggro. This would allow you to save on meditation and healing times and squeeze as much intense farming as you can in the contractual period."