Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

“You’re right,” I say, my admission taking the wind out of Hugo’s sail for the moment. “But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to try.”

“Waste of time,” Hugo says with a huff. “You can talk to Bi once we’re done. But we’ve got real work to do here.”

“Of course,” I say and step out of the door.

With the initial bait thrown, I’m sure Bipasha will find me next. And if I’m not wrong, Shao and Jessica will at a later date. As for Jamal, the man I need to speak with to get in contact with Ikael, well, I’ll just have to track him down later.

When Bipasha finally finds me, I can’t help but sigh in gratitude. After leaving the conference room, I’d meant to take a look around the newly remodeled Hong Kong and perhaps even visit their City Dungeon. Instead, I was intercepted by Grandmaster Chang and “invited” to have tea with him and his friends. For the last couple of hours, we’ve been seated in their favorite tea shop, drinking tea, eating fried donuts and steamed buns, and swapping war stories. Or in my case, listening to war stories.

“Bipasha!” I wave to the young politician urgently while standing and bowing to the group. “Thank you so much for your time. But I should speak with my friend.”

“Of course. See you again.”

The group of seniors sends me on my way, though not before I make sure to pay the bill. There’s an intrinsic terror involved in dealing with the elderly, especially if you’ve been brought up, like me, to respect them. It’d be too impolite to interrupt them, and so you get stuck in a never-ending series of stories.

“Mr. Lee.” Bipasha looks around the restaurant at the jade-inlaid faux windows and the wooden chairs, a lip quirking slightly as she spots the mostly elderly customers. “I did not expect to find you in such a place.”

“I was invited,” I say, taking hold of her elbow and guiding her down the stairs. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

“Of course,” Bipasha says.

Outside, I feel some of the tension disappear from my shoulders. “Is Mikito…?”

“Off on another delve. There’s a dungeon on the outskirts of Monaco that is threatening to spill over. The settlement owners haven’t been able to clear it and offered the team a Quest to deal with it for them,” Bipasha says.

“Ah… I hope I’m not keeping you from that then,” I say.

“No. My Skills would be of little use. It’s an aquatic dungeon,” Bipasha says as if it explains everything.

I just nod, deciding to pursue questioning about her Skills later. We walk through downtown Hong Kong, the streets achingly empty for a once overcrowded city.

“That’s good,” I say, then gesture for us to head toward the coastline. I’m curious to see the fishing industry I’ve heard much about. “So you’re attempting to have yourself voted as our representative.”

“Yes,” Bipasha says. “And you?”

“Not my style.”

“Kingmaker, are we?” Bipasha asks as we cross over to the nearby railing overlooking the harbor. We stare at the waters lapping against the ground, the occasional bobbing jellyfish monster that floats along the shores, and the numerous small boats that work the harbor and the monsters for parts.

“No. Yes.” I shrug in resignation when I decide to just go with it. “We need to get on the Council. How we do so…” I frown, shaking my head. “Well, I won’t say it doesn’t matter, because even I’m not that naïve. But I’m willing to concede a lot to get it done.”

“And why is it so important to you?” Bipasha asks, her eyes narrowing at me.

“Self-interest.” I look around us. “Every planet, every species, that lacks a seat on the Council are second-class citizens. They have no say in the politics, in the direction of the Council. They barely even get notifications.”

“Sounds like governments everywhere,” Bipasha says, playing devil’s advocate.

“Maybe. But once we have the seat, Earth also gains access to the Planetary System, allowing us to tax everything that happens on Earth. We can levy duties on specific industries. We can set up visitor fees and even channel the growth of settlements and dungeons.” Channel is, of course, the right word, since doing so is akin to building rocks in a river—the water still flows, but at least you might divert a little bit of it here and there. “But why am I telling you this? You obviously know it all.”

“I do,” Bipasha says. “But it’s always good to understand the motivations of your allies.”

“And are we? Allies that is,” I ask, tilting my head to the woman.

“Perhaps. You haven’t decided to support me yet,” Bipasha says.

“I don’t even know you,” I say with a slight smile.

“And you haven’t met the others either,” Bipasha says. “But you should know, Shao has managed to convince the Chinese to back me.”

I blink, doing some mental math. That’d put her at nearly the same number of votes as Ikael. “Interesting. How’d you manage that?”

Bipasha smiles then. “It’s contingent on there being an actual vote that matters, but Shao didn’t want it. Their golden boy was never going to get the vote, not after he ran in Beijing. And no one wants the Americans to have it.”

“No one?” I say, cocking my head to the side.

“Ah…” Bipasha pauses, as if she’s suddenly remembering that I’m from Canada. Yet a part of me doubts that a consummate politician like her would make such a mistake. No, she wanted me to know that. Wanted me to understand the antipathy she and the Chinese and probably a bunch of others have against the Americans.

“Why?”

“Did you ever wonder what happened to the Galactic Envoy?”

“I think I’m about to find out,” I say. A part of me is already guessing Area 51. It would make sense…

“The Envoy teleported into the middle of small-town Kentucky. And then the farmer who came out shot the Envoy. And since the Envoy didn’t look remotely human, he skewered it, hung it up, and took photos,” Bipasha continues. “You can see the photos in a few tabloids. The first real sign of alien life, and some backcountry hick shoots it, strings it up, and takes photos before gutting the corpse and selling the parts for money.”

“Well, I’m sure it wouldn’t have worked out any better in most places,” I say, protesting the rather rude characterization. Frankly, why the heck would it teleport to Kentucky?

“Teleportation was meant for New York—the UN building. Someone interfered with it.”

“How do you know?”

“What do you think I do when you’re playing kissy-face with Roxley?”

“I’m not…” I send a mental growl while Ali sends a chuckle.

“Maybe. But they’re the ones who brought this hell on us,” Bipasha says. “And many are tired anyway, of the Americans lording it over us all. Almost anyone would be better.”

“Almost?”

“Well, Ikael isn’t much better.”

“Seems like he’s got a lot of support,” I point out, recalling the large number of votes he’d managed to engender. Well above her own.

“Bought and paid for, all of it,” Bipasha scoffs.

“And you’re above that?”

“No. But what he’s promised is destructive. Corruption at that level is impossible to sustain.”

I blink, staring at the Weaver, piecing together her meaning and the underlying beliefs. Then again, she is Bangladeshi—the level of corruption she’s probably run into over her life is significantly more than I have. Which, probably, means she’d be open to bribes and allowing corruption in her own government. But… well, if it works, who am I to complain. Once more, I find myself weighing my own morality against the pragmatism required to keep the damn world running and find that I just care enough. Not over something like this.

“Well, good to know,” I say for something to say.

“For now, understand that I’m willing to work with you. With your settlements and your prestige, along with mine and the influence of Mikito and other champions, I believe we can sway a large number of the undecided,” Bipasha says with a smile. “The benefits could be significant. For all of us.”

Bipasha lays a hand on my arm—briefly, but I can feel the lingering heat, the sensation that manages to take away my breath.

Mental Influence Resisted

Right. But like with Roxley, I’m not entirely sure if it’s a by-product of her high Charisma or something more focused.

“I’ll let you know, after my other meetings,” I say eventually.

Bipasha offers me a nod and waves goodbye, pulling away and leaving me standing there on the dock, overlooking the bay and the numerous fishing boats. As I stare, I spot one particular fisherman tug on a glowing blue rod, his boat rocking dangerously as he struggles against a monstrous fish, the pair of them battling for dominance. An empathic flash rushes through me uncharacteristically. But for a moment, I’m not entirely sure if I’m the fish or the fisherman.

Chapter 11

“Mr. Lee, a pleasure.” The man who offers me his hand looks no older than I am, somewhere in his mid-thirties, with few lines and close-cut, light brown hair. But there’s a look to his eyes that speaks of having lived for much longer than a mere thirty years. It’s no surprise. The ex-Secretary of Agriculture had been old before all this happened. If not for luck and the work of his security detail, he would have never survived the first month.

“Mr. Markey,” I say, shaking his hand.

Behind him, one of his aides twitches, his lips tightening.

“Rob. For someone who has done as much as you have, Rob will do,” Rob says, and I nod. Ex-Secretary turned acting President, now duly elected President. It’s an impressive rise, if you don’t consider the number of deaths that it required.

“I’m surprised you recreated this room,” I say, glancing around. Not that I’ve ever been in the actual building, but I’ve seen enough movies to figure that this recreation of the Oval Office looks pretty close. Up to and including the large rug.

“It was recommended,” Rob says with a self-deprecating smile. “It helps with the public and reassures them that we’re continuing to hold to our ideals. Even if the actual building is a dungeon.”

“Level 120 I understand?” I say, rubbing my chin. It’d be fun to try to run the dungeon, though I’m sure certain historic resonances might occur if a Canadian ran amok with sword and flame.

“Level 120 Elite dungeon, yes,” Rob says. “The champions tried clearing it once, when it was only 100. They managed to make it a quarter of the way in before the rose bushes got them.”

“Rose bushes?” I say.

“You should ask Ms. Sato. It’s quite the story,” Rob says. “But you didn’t come here to speak to me about that.”

“No.” I cock my head to the side, surprised he already wants to get down to the brass tacks.

“I was never much of a politician. The posting was, well, horse trading and a goodbye gift. I’ve always preferred to be blunt,” Rob says with a slight downward gesture of his hand, as if pressing down or cutting something beneath his body. “And General Miller has indicated you are quite blunt yourself.”

“Blunt.” I shoot the general a look where he sits with new stars on his shoulder epaulets. Five stars. Pretty sure that’s as high as you can get. Not that I begrudge the soldier his accomplishments. I note that another thin, dignified African American man is here, listening to our conversations. The Secretary of State, as Ali has informed me. “That’s one way to describe it.”

“So. The Planetary Vote,” Rob says. “You want to know if I intend to run, and if not, if you can convince me to influence those under me to vote for someone else.”

“Pretty much,” I say.

“The simple answers are yes and maybe,” Rob replies. “I feel, we feel, that the seat should be held by me. But as it stands, we do not have the votes. Ikael and Bipasha have managed to engender significant global opposition to us. And the difficulties even if we did manage to achieve human majority is significant.”

“The Envoy,” I state flatly. “Is it true?”

“Of course,” Rob says with a wry half-smile. “What use is it lying about something so simple? Especially when the truth is so effective. But I fear many of the policies of my predecessors alienated many others before that.”

I grunt, shaking my head. Nope. Not touching geo-political history with a ten-foot pole. Still, I’m glad that my intuition—augmented with Eye of Insight—was correct about the Envoy. I’m still getting a feel for using that new Skill, since the Skill only removes other Skill effects and not “normal” lying. Of course, my own intuition and ability to sense when others are lying are significant after all this time, especially with my Subterfuge Perk.

“You said maybe?”

“Yes, my apologies. I sometimes get distracted,” Rob says again, flashing me that good old boy charm. I don’t even need the notification to tell me he’s Charisma stacked, or that he’s using it—consciously or not—against me. I’m even willing to admit that some of that charm might just be intrinsic to the Maine politician. “As you know, my position is precarious. We are still attempting to gain the agreement of other breakaway cities and states to rejoin us. Many of the settlements that have joined us would be loath to vote for a non-American.”

“But you can force them,” I state.

“It is within the amended Constitution to give me that power. But it is not something I would use lightly.”

I sigh, bracing myself mentally. In other words, and as much as he might protest not being a politician, he’s looking for the right trade. I can feel a small headache coming along, one that grows as we get down to discussing the details. It’s only now, when we’ve gotten past the initial pleasantries and into the horse trading, that the new Secretary of State gets involved.

Hours later, Miller and I end up walking out of the room together, the president left to do his own thing. The walk is silent at first, the pair of us making our way past the numerous guards and bureaucrats that make up the nation’s bureaucracy.

“Thank you for getting me in,” I say to Miller after a time.

“No need. I just greased the wheels. It was your actions and reputation that did most of the work,” Miller says.

“I somehow doubt that,” I say with a snort and a smile. “How’s Wier?”

“Well enough,” Miller says. “He’s in LA right now, dealing with the border. The dungeon along the border—the Wall—keeps growing. We constantly have to blast it apart, but so far, we’ve yet to find its center.”

I grunt, shaking my head. Sometimes I get the feeling that the System has a sense of humor. Or perhaps a sense of irony. Of course, the scientific reasoning was that the System was using a resonant concept to create dungeons, forming them based off ideas, concepts, and ecological niches. Thus the living libraries with their flying attack books or the giant border wall that keeps growing.

“Glad he’s doing okay,” I say.

“He’s a good man.” Miller’s lip twitches slightly as he spots my hesitation. “And the president is doing the best job he can. But he was underplaying how tough things are. He’s spending as much time talking to those within the union as those who aren’t, all to keep us together and out of a civil war.”

I nod slowly, grimacing. “Anything I can do to help?”

Miller chuckles. “No. In fact, it’s best if you stay out of it entirely. Having a Canadian come in and save our asses—well, it hurt more than a few egos.”

“Okay,” I say, clapping Miller on the shoulder. “But if you need me to send down some polar bears and maple syrup, just let me know.”

Miller rolls his eyes, stopping at the entrance hallway. “I will. And John, be careful about the kind of deals you make. Ikael… he worries me.”

I offer one last nod as we reach the designated teleportation zone where the quantum locks around the settlement ease. As I look back after casting my Skill, I see Miller frowning and lost in thought already.

In my office, I flop down in my chair and put my feet on the desk, grateful that Katherine has given me back my old office. She’s moved to the office next door, leaving me alone to stare at the wood-paneled interior.

“What do you think, Ali?”

The Spirit lets himself appear, floating backward at a forty-five degree angle. He’s still in his traditional orange jumpsuit, though he can conjure almost anything else. But really, jumpsuit, mankini, or plate armor, it all shares the same defense rating for the Spirit, so it’s just a matter of convenience and looks. “About what?”

“The meeting. You think he’d be someone worth backing?”

“Doesn’t matter what I think. Can you get others to back him?” Ali says with a snort. “Or can you get the others who back Rob to back someone else? Way the votes played out, he got most of your first world countries to vote for him, at least those who were voting for anyone not themselves.”

I grimace, nodding. Ikael drew his support from around the African, Middle Eastern, and South American settlements, as well as a wide range of single-city settlements. Bipasha basically had southeast Asia and the Indian subcontinent. Outside of China and Siberia, which had mostly done their own thing. Most of Russia and eastern Europe had split their votes between themselves and Ikael, while Australia had lost so many of their settlements that they weren’t even worth talking about.

“Eh, you humans are strange. Still clinging to your old concepts of countries and nations, to old grudges,” Ali says with a shrug. “The vast majority of the people who had any say over things before are dead. But you’re all still complaining about Western domination and oppression, about shaking off colonial ties. As if you aren’t being colonized by Galactics right this second.”

I chuckle, mostly because if I don’t laugh at it, I’d have to cry. The Spirit isn’t wrong. But I can see everyone else’s concerns. It’s not as if the States and the other western powers hadn’t used a very heavy hand for a very long time to keep other countries in check. It was only in the last few decades that the other countries were pulling themselves together.

Now, in many ways, the sheer population numbers and an arguably better ability to cope with the change has led to a higher number of surviving settlements and an overall stronger position in non-Western countries. Few people are willing to give up the power they’ve earned, especially a position of power earned over the corpses of friends and family.

Whereas the Galactics have it easier. For many, they understand the need to work together, to ally with existing factions. And many of those factions are already culturally set, already guaranteed. Through race or creed, the settlement owners who have come to Earth often have a game plan. We’re so busy fighting everyone, we’re slowly losing, no matter how hard the champions fight.

The scary thing? I can see it all, read it all, in the histories of other species.

“Fine. We’re idiots,” I say, echoing my thoughts out loud. “But they’re my idiots.”

Ali nods and I rip open a Portal, stepping through to move to the Shop.

Locating Cheng Shao took but a single expensive trip to the Shop. Teleporting to her took even more money, especially considering I had to port in to where the woman was grinding a hundred miles west of Hainan. It kind of amused me that no matter where you went, if it was up high, the zones were higher. You’d think that Mana would pool lower down, but nope. It was the mountains and deep caverns, the extremes, that generated the differences in zones. Outside of certain notable plains and deserts.

“Mr. Lee.” Cheng Shao stares at me as I walk up to her.

I opted to teleport a kilometer away so that I could make the rest of the journey on foot. I figured that’d give her more than enough time to notice me, compared to appearing right next to her. Certainly, it’s a somewhat less hostile maneuver.

“Why are you stalking me?”

Okay, maybe not.

“I wanted to speak with you. I come in peace,” I say, holding up my hands while giving her a hopefully disarming grin.

Unfortunately, Cheng Shao doesn’t return my smile at all. “I am training.” She turns away. “Perhaps another time.”

“Look, it’s about the Planetary Vote—”

“Training.”

“Ms. Cheng.” I pause then growl. “I just need to know if Bipasha’s telling the truth. Will the Chinese settlement owners support her?”

“I do not comment on the Party’s decisions,” Cheng Shao states flatly while speeding up.

I hiss in frustration as the woman throws up a wall in front of me when I attempt to follow. I could break it or Blink Step through it. But I can’t actually make her talk to me, so I stand there, glaring at the metallic silver wall.

“What Party is she talking about?”

“Do you never read anything we give you? The Communist Party of China. The same one that was around before your System. One of their leaders managed to get the Mandarin Class. Utterly useless for direct combat, but it has a wide range of buffs for everyone below him. Between that and having a few bodyguards with good Combat Classes, they managed to hold things together in Beijing and expand from there. It’s not really a Communist Party anymore, but like the Americans, they’re keeping the same name. For now.”

“And doing the same old terror campaign shit, eh?” I say softly, looking at where Cheng Shao has disappeared over the ridge.

I consider blinking over to her, but Ali flashes some of the dots on my minimap. Of course she’s being watched. She might be able to get away with certain things because of her strength, but personal strength means little if you’ve got friends and families to worry about.

“Damn it. Now what do I do?” I need confirmation of what Bipasha has said, but I don’t actually have any contacts in the bureaucracy.

“If you’re thinking of walking in and demanding an audience, that might not work out that well.”

“Was not.”

“Uh-huh. I think this is a Katherine problem.”

I roll my eyes slightly but have to agree. The woman probably is the best option to get confirmation. Between being a banana and a North American, I’d probably be looked down upon even more than Katherine.

“I hate wasting my Credits.” I let the wind take my words before I open a Portal to the nearest city to tackle the next damn human idiot.

Of course, meeting Ikael isn’t as easy as Portaling into his office and demanding a meeting. For one thing, I don’t even know where he is. For another, I have no waypoints in Ethiopia. Which is why I find myself bouncing from long-range teleportation portal to long-range teleportation portal till I finally end up being pulled apart molecule by molecule and reformed in Addis Abba.

“Off the platform,” the guard orders me immediately.

I follow his orders without complaint, craning my head back to take in the view. I’m surprised to note more than a few guards hovering in the sky, guns pointed down at the rectangular teleportation platform, flanked by even larger beam cannons. In fact, I spot more than fifty guards on the ground, each of them armed with at least Tier II beam weaponry. I absently note the increased ambient temperature and the higher humidity, but neither is a major concern. They’ve set up the teleportation platform in what looks to be an old football stadium, though the grass is rather trampled and worn from all the traffic. All around us, hovering trucks and cranes pick up and deposit teleported goods with crisp efficiency while labourers sort goods like chipmunks on speed.

“Are you deaf?” the first guard snarls at me, bringing my attention back to him. “Newcomers are to report to an intake officer immediately.”

“Sorry.” I move to the area as directed by the first guard.

Thankfully, the line isn’t long, so it only takes me a short while to find myself in front of one of their intake officers. Standing in front of the new guard, I notice one of his eyes gleams with internal light. The slightest tracing of metal around the iris indicates this might not have been the eye he was born with.

Dark skin slightly flushed against the pale brown army uniform, he puffs up before he speaks. “Reason for visiting Tafar?”

“Tafar?” I frown.

“You’re in the Republic of Tafar,” the guard snaps, eyes narrowing. “Do you not read your notifications?”

“Haven’t had the time,” I mutter. I call back the notification, watching as other newcomers stroll right past the intake area. Either my tardiness drew the ire and attention of the guard or they’ve got a way to tell who is a newcomer or not.

You have entered a Safe Zone (the City of Addis Abba)

Mana flows in this area are stabilized. No monster spawning will occur in this region. Runic enchantments have increased skill growth by 1% in safe zone.

This Safe Zone includes:

City of Addis Abba City Center

Shop

City Dungeon

Guilds (Tier III * 4, Tier IV * 2, Tier V * 14)

Armory

More…

You are now in the Republic of Tafar

Current reputation with the republic: 04 (0 local + 0 regional + 4 global)

Current fame: 222 (0 local +11 regional + 211 global)

Do you wish to review the local laws & ordinances? (Y/N)

“What is the difference between fame and reputation?” I send the thought to Ali. I haven’t dug into that entire area, which I really do need to.

“Well, make time,” the guard snarls. “Now, reason for visiting?”

“I’m looking to speak with Jamal. Or better, Ikael,” I say, deciding to not beat around the bush.

Instead of angering the guard, my words make him burst into laughter, which is joined by his friends when he repeats my words to them.

I sigh, waiting for the group to fall silent. “My name’s John Lee.”

In the background, Ali answers my question. “They’re Galactic measurements. Reputation indicates their favorability toward you, mostly affected by the Contracts and interactions you have with an individual or corporations. Fame is an indicator of how well-known you are. They’re like your skills—reported numbers on factual data. A stock ticker for your reputation and fame rather than something that directly affects reality. Put another way—what you do makes it go up, versus your Skills which go up and then change the way the world works. Not that you have any Skills that make use of either of these figures.”

“That supposed to mean something?” the guard says with a snort.

“Looks like it does to some people.” I nod over the guard’s shoulder.

The guard turns and sees his boss waving him away from me even while muttering orders to another of his subordinates.

“Report this to Kofi immediately,” I lip-read the officer’s order before he strides forward and takes the blowhard guard’s place. He flashes me a smile, his pearly white teeth a stark contrast to his almost obsidian skin. “I am Lieutenant Amadi Worku. I have informed my superiors about your arrival. Would you like to wait in some place more appropriate?”

I nod, and the close-lipped lieutenant takes me to a small waiting room, making sure I have cold tea and snacks to nibble on while I wait.

I take the time to bug Ali. “And my numbers?”

“You’ve entered a few Contracts or facilitated the signing of a few. In addition, as you’re a ruler, you automatically get reputation points for, well, governing effectively. Local reputation adds up to give the number on your sheet, but local reputation is significantly decreased when taken out of its geographic bounds. Basically, it’s less effective away from where you generated the reputation. In addition, the change in reputation is dependent on the respective fame and reputation of the individual or organization you conduct deals with. Since you’re outside North America, your local reputation translates down to that four. As for your fame, do I need to explain that?”

“No. Is there Galactic reputation then? Or Solar System level?”

“Yes, but they’re pretty much zeroed out. Earth isn’t connected enough on a planetary scale that Galactic reputation has started crossing over significantly. Or that your Galactic reputation would affect matters locally,” Ali says.

I grunt, poking at the Fame and Reputation bars and, after a while, find where it’s located in my sheet. I barely glance at it these days, especially things like the giant list of skills that are mostly hidden, so I’m not surprised to find that I haven’t even noticed the new tab for the two statistics. There’s no real surprise in any of the information, so I shut the entire thing down. Though I do have one question.

“Why was it locked till I left and came back?”

“No useable Skill, remember? Also, it’s a Galactic achievement thing for those who don’t have a use for it. No point in making it available for the hicks who never leave their neighborhood, you know? Or the ones who don’t survive their first trip to another world,” Ali says. “If you aren’t smart enough to survive a pleasure cruise, you aren’t worth wasting the Mana on.”

“Pleasure cruise?”

“Eh, most Galactics don’t visit a Forbidden Planet for their first inter-planetary trip. As usual, you’re all kinds of special.”

I can’t help but chuckle at the teasing tone in Ali’s mental voice. To pass the time, I pick up one of the snacks, taking a bite of it, and wince before placing the dessert back down. Right. They’re trying to kill me with sugar. On second thought, I wave my hand and deposit the entire thing in my Altered Storage. Maybe Lana…

My brain hitches and I pause, my hand over the now-empty plate. Right. Katherine. Katherine might like this.

“Would Katherine have access to a Skill which could see the Reputation and Fame of others?” I send to Ali to distract myself.

“Definitely. Be hard to be a good gatekeeper if you can’t tell who’s reputable or not, no?” Ali replies. “I’d bet her new Class gives her other Skills too. Probably an upgraded Contract Skill which allows her to use her higher Reputation to enforce the contract. I could dig into it…”

“No. That’s good.” I was just looking for a distraction. No reason to spend good Credits when I can just ask her.

I settle down in my chair and slow my breathing, taking the small break to meditate.

Breathe in. Take the tension, the stress which is flowing through my body, and wrap it up.

Breathe out. Let the world and the stress fall away.

Repeat. Ad infinitum.

Chapter 12

It takes hours before they finally let me out of the luxurious cell they have me waiting in, long hours that I spend meditating and letting the information I’ve been gathering settle. I’ve gained a lot of data recently, and while my increased Intelligence has let me gather the information and even process it to some extent, it’s something else to grasp it on an intuitive level. Sometimes, letting things settle and allowing your unconscious mind to do the thinking is the best option.

When the door opens, they find me awake and refreshed. There’s a whole guard troop here, but nothing in their body language—no overt tension, no angling of bodies to give me a smaller target—indicates what I’m seeing is anything more than an honor guard. Within minutes, we’re in an armored and luxurious hover car and being flown over to Ikael.

They show me into his office, an ornate thing with gold décor, gold trimmings, and yes, even a gold lamp. If not for the expensive wooden table and the green plush chair—outlined in gold—the entire place would have been truly too overbearing. As it is, it’s just painful to look at.

Seated in the chair till I enter, Ikael can only be described as solid. Dressed in a white-and-grey checkered silk shirt, he has numerous chunky gold rings on his fingers and a shaved head. Ikael’s welcoming smile does nothing to hide the predatory look in his eyes.

Ikael Tafar (Level 41 Aksumite Leader)

HP: 1380/1380

MP: 2170/2170

Conditions: Aura of Command, Coin of the Empire

“Aksumite?”

“Can’t offer you much. It’s a semi-unique, culture-based Class. Closest I’ve got is like a Celtic Warrior or Roman Counsel, something the System registered a while ago and he somehow decided to choose. Base Skills are definitely more combat-oriented. His Advanced Class here is more kingdom-driven. Coin of the Empire, for example, gives a minor boost to tax collected in his settlements. It literally generates Credits from the System.”

Mental Influence Resisted

I grunt, my eye twitching slightly as his Aura clashes with my own mental resistance. I’m surprised at how strong it is. The man must have put quite a few points into it. I feel it push against my mental boundaries. Push—but not win.

Sometimes I wonder about those who use Auras all the time. The more and more people I encounter with the Skill, the more I’m forced to wonder about their effects. Not just on those around them in the short term, but on the long-term effects on interactions. After all, constantly warping the minds of those around you can’t be healthy. Earth has a long history of emperors and celebrities changing by being constantly surrounded by yes men. How much worse would it be when even the most ordinary interaction is infected by a Skill like this? And yet, so many decide to leave it on.

Once the initial introductions are done, I take the seat I’m offered. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“I’m happy to speak with other settlement owners, especially one who has access to a number of high Level zones,” Ikael says, smiling widely. “The wild flame pine sap your settlement produces is quite a useful herb.”

The name sounds familiar, but nothing comes to mind. “Ali?”

“Kelowna’s third most valuable export. Useful for basic and medium fire resistance potions.”

“Well, I’m sure we can discuss an increase in trade between our settlements.” I pause as I get ready to switch topics.

“Oh, how forgetful of me. I had a gift for your visit,” Ikael says in the gap I left. He drops a small ivory-inlaid box in front of me.

I smile slightly at the box, a memory of Mikito mentioning that elephants are no longer on the endangered species list surfacing briefly. It seems those gentle giants are no longer gentle. In fact, there are numerous zones where the Alphas are mutated elephants.

Perhaps mistaking my smile, Ikael’s lips twitch slightly as he pushes the box to me. I take it, curiosity warring with mild disgust at the bribe. Still, I’m involuntarily impressed by what I see within.

Ring of Greater Shielding

Creates a greater shield that will absorb approximately 1000 points of damage. This shield will ignore all damage that does not exceed its threshold amount of 50 points of damage while still functioning.

Max Duration: 7 Minutes

Charges: 1

I stare at the small box and the ring within, picking it up and turning it over. The ring itself is made of bone, a curious, almost brittle-looking bone that refuses to bend even under significant pressure. All around it are small glyphs, letters, and drawings I cannot understand. A mental prod makes Ali drag further information about the ring from the System, and my initial guess pans out. This is an Earth creation.

“This is a very generous gift. And an amazing piece of work,” I say. “The Artisan is highly Skilled.”

Ikael beams while gushing, “He just managed to reach the third Tier of his Advanced Class. It’s taken a lot of resources, but Marcus can produce work like this once a week now.”

I’m not much of a crafter, but my talks with Lana and others have indicated this would be a brutal workload. Creating enchanted works is difficult, prone to failure, and requires a high Level of Mana. Each inscription, each enchantment requires more than a hundred times the amount of Mana to cast a similar spell or Skill. At the very least. Layering multiple enchantments or more powerful Skills adds to the cost in ever increasing amounts.

“Well, thank you. And him.” Under Ikael’s urgings, and after verifying there’s nothing to be worried about, I slide on the ring. It’s not exactly my style, but it’s still a powerful accessory. “I don’t really control any of my people, but I can certainly see items like this being useful for our police or security force. If you have a list of what you can offer, I can make sure my people send the information to the right people. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have a more local customer.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ikael says, his smile wide. “And there’s another thing I was hoping to speak with you about.”

“Oh?”

“The Planetary Vote. Your settlements took little part in the previous vote. Your orders, I presume,” Ikael asks cunningly.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. In fact, at the time, Lana was looking into how they could potentially put enough votes together. But with the weight of the entire settlement on her shoulders, she and Katherine had decided the task was too impossible to handle. So they’d taken the most minor of actions, gathering information rather than actively participating. “I was incommunicado at the time.”

“For a long time, I understand,” Ikael says. “It is dangerous for one of us to go away for such a long period. It’s amazing you were able to hold on to your settlements, even after such time. Your people must respect and fear you greatly.”

I shrug at the statement, unsure of how to answer him. Fear me? I rather hope not, though it might be a tad naïve to think so.

“Then, if you are not looking to abstain, perhaps I can convince you to vote for me.”

“You could, but it seems to be a pointless move. There’re no benefits to having more votes, not unless we can get the Galactic Seat,” I say, leaning back to stare at Ikael. Interesting how Ikael hasn’t asked me why I came, instead happy to guide the conversation to his own desires. But if he’s willing to talk, I’m willing to listen.

“I see you understand the matter,” Ikael says, pounding on the table slightly. “The aliens have taken too much of our land. But it is a small detail. I’m already moving to secure additional votes—including from the aliens.”

“Oh?” I say softly, curious if he’ll elaborate. He disappoints me though.

“Yes. While I don’t expect to win during the next vote, I expect a strong showing will convince even more humans to side with me. I might even manage to get the American to vote for me. I know he’s in desperate need of more help,” Ikael says with a smirk. “I’m sure with my army, we could convince some of his more stubborn members.”

I blink, turning over his words in my head. As I do so, I freeze, my heart rate spiking as a sense of danger shoots through me. In another second, I see a shadow-cloaked figure step out of a gap in space and slam a blade into Ikael’s back. His force Shield flares, blocking the attack, but the assassin doesn’t stop, her movements a blur as she strikes again and again, each attack tearing apart layered Shields.

“Assassin!” I yell, standing swiftly and lunging forward.

The reaction is automatic but predictable, and shadow tendrils grab hold of my feet, yanking me off balance and pulling me back to the end of the room. Strong as I am, the attack catches me entirely by surprise and it takes me a second to tear the shadows apart. As I do so, the door slams open, Ikael’s guards pouring in.

The assassin doesn’t stop. A swift twist of her body cuts into Ikael’s flailing arm and pins it to the desk as the last of his defensive Shields go down. As I raise a hand to throw a Soul Shield around Ikael, his guards are opening up their attacks. A projected Power Strike, a Molten Beam, and more lash out at the assassin. Before the Soul Shield can take effect, the entire room plunges into a darkness that even the beam rifle’s attacks cannot disrupt.

“Ali! How is Ikael?”

“Nearly dead. But uhhhhh… boy-o…” Ali’s voice is hesitant, almost confused.

Another second and a new notification pops up.

Ingrid Starling (Level 43 Shadow Assassin)

HP: 643/2780

MP: 754/2330

Conditions: Shadow Body, Death God’s Embrace, Shadow Doppleganger * 2

“What…?”

My surprise is more than sufficient time for the other notification floating in front of me to flatline. Ikael’s dead, slain by an old friend of mine. Right in front of me. I kneel there, blinking in surprise even as the guards scream and shout, attempting to pierce the darkness. In a minute, the darkness fades, revealing the headless body of Ikael, stripped of his rings and other enchanted items.

Within seconds, I find guns and hands pointed at my face. A few hasty guards even take potshots at me, which bounce off my Soul Shield and do little other than shake me free from my surprise. The guards shout and scream orders at me and finally, rather than cause any further issues, I comply.

Thankfully, my Soul Shield keeps the rough handling to a minimum. Still, I’m treated like a dangerous prisoner, one forced to sit in the middle of an empty courtyard where they’re able to point field cannons at me and cluster multiple Advanced Classers as guards. I absently note they’ve strengthened the quantum lock around me, shutting down my escape options.

Through all their barked orders, I comply. I play the good guy, the polite and self-effacing Canadian who definitely did not assassinate or take part in assassinating their leader. And all the while, I’m chatting with Ali.

“How the hell did I not see her come in?” I ask Ali.

My answer comes in another notification.

Shadow Plane

User is able to travel through the shadow plane, a dimension that exists between most other dimensional planes. Quantum lock and other dimensional-locking effects are less effective against users of the shadow plane, for shadows exist everywhere. Spending too much time in the shadow plane can have adverse effects on an individual and attract unwanted attention from residents in the Shadow Plane.

Effect: User may enter or exit the Shadow Plane. Dimensional-locking Skills, spells, and technology have a 50% reduction in effectiveness.

Cost: 500 per entry / exit

“So she wasn’t sneaking in, she just walked in through another dimension. And paid the extra cost to punch through their lock. Must have been where she lost her health too,” I say, musing to Ali.

It makes sense. I’d noticed the quantum lock they were using in the city was a disruptive one, rather than a stasis lock. It’s the cheapest quantum lock method, but anyone willing to take the damage can punch through such a lock, unlike a stasis lock which basically blocks all such movements. Of course, the negative of stasis locks are that if you have enough Mana or strength, you can pierce them and appear without incurring any further damage.

“Good day, Mr. Lee,” a small, wiry Caucasian man in a full light-grey suit and tie comes up to me, conjuring a chair and a table before sitting across from me. “I’m so sorry about the delay, but I’m sure you understand how busy it’s been?”

“Of course,” I say, inclining my head.

A servant comes up with a jug of iced tea and a pair of glasses, which he sets down between us.

“I’m Inspector Jacques Lamar,” Jacques says, flashing me a smile as he fumbles in a pocket, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. He grins at me slightly then nods at the jug. “Do you mind? I’ve been talking non-stop…”

I blink, then shrug and pour the man a glass and myself one too. I push it toward him and watch him drink before I sip on mine. No poison then, or truth drugs. Of course, neither of those things are something I’m terribly concerned with, with my resistances, but it’s always something worth noting.

“Thank you so much,” Jacques says. “And again, for your patience. Now, I understand you arrived four hours ago?”

After glancing at the clock, I say, “Five and a quarter.”

“Right, right.” Jacques scribbles on his notepad and begins to question me seriously.

I note that he keeps bouncing back and forth, asking questions sometimes out of order or returning to previous points, but eventually, he drags the entire story out of me. I hold nothing back. After all, nothing Ikael or I spoke of was particularly surprising or secretive. In one of the breaks between questions, I find time to ask my own questions.

“Why don’t you buy all this from the Shop? I can’t believe you can’t afford it.” I say, my brows drawn.

“We tried. Unfortunately the assassin has a Skill which makes such purchases extremely expensive. As a mere inspector, I cannot approve an expense of such magnitude,” Jacques says with a self-deprecating smile.

“And Ikael’s successor?”

“Has yet to do so,” Jacques replies. “He is extremely busy right now.”

“There’s rumblings of a civil war, boy-o. I’m picking up quite a few skirmishes going on outside of the compound, and data sieved about the kingdom’s status shows substantial swings in all tracked statistics from Credits to safe zone areas. I’m guessing they’re losing territory,” Ali supplies.

Question done, Jacques moves on to the trade deal, probing into the details of our discussion. Of course, since we had barely even begun speaking about it, I don’t have much to say. That becomes a long-winded explanation about how I’m a lazy-ass settlement leader who leaves the real work to his subordinates. Which of course leads to another question.

“If you aren’t involved in the settlement affairs, why did you come? It doesn’t sound like you were looking for a trade deal.”

“I wasn’t,” I answer truthfully. “I was hoping to speak with Ikael about the Planetary Vote.”

“Ah,” Jacques breathes the word, scribbling on his notepad.

I wait while he scribbles, patiently until the inspector looks up and raises an eyebrow.

“What?” I grump at him.

“Nothing. I thought you had something more to say on the topic,” Jacques says.

“Nope,” I say with a shrug. “I’m trying to understand where everyone else stands on it.” A beat, then I decide to be fully truthful. There’s little reason to hide it. “I want us to win a Galactic Seat, but we need to sort out the votes.”

“Eighty percent, yes?” Jacques says after flipping backward in his notebook. I absently note how he goes well past the point where he began writing at the start of our interview to find this information. Obviously this has come up before. Though I have to wonder the context and reason.

“Yes.”

“But Ikael would never agree to anyone but him being on the seat,” Jacques says, his voice neutral with just a little hint of curiosity. Charming, without the Skill. A subtler use of his attributes, a self-effacing manner rather than an overt push with his attribute. But I see the notification that he’s actively using it to affect my emotions and thoughts. “How did you intend to convince him otherwise?”

I consider his question and the context of our interview. Right. Motivation. From the outside, this looks like really good motivation. Crap. I take a moment to be more careful about what I say and how I say it, but I note the slightest tightening around the eyes as the inspector processes my hesitation. Crap.

“I didn’t. I hadn’t thought of it. I wanted to talk to him first, get an understanding of the man himself,” I say. “Maybe he would have been fine to be the person on the seat. If so, I’d throw my backing behind him.”

“You didn’t want it yourself?”

“Not my style,” I say, shaking my head. “The settlements are more than enough work as it stands. I just want Earth to have the seat.”

“Why?”

“You should know why,” I say.

“Indulge me?”

“Taxes. Duties. Control of the Mana flow. Access to information,” I say, chanting the answer I’ve given to everyone else as if I’m bored by the topic. Which, truth be told, I am. But it also helps conceal the other reason, the most important reason for me, for Earth to get a seat. Access. Access to Irvina, the capital of the Galactic System, which has gated entry. Sure, if I receive sufficient Galactic reputation or fame, I might be able to get in. But the likelihood of that, in the short term, is incredibly low.

“Ah, a patriot then,” Jacques says with no derision in his voice, even a touch of admiration. But I’m fast realizing the inspector is smart and gifted. He’s an interrogator who knows he’ll get more information playing nice, taking his time and asking questions rather than trying to strong-arm his way through this.

“No. A humanist maybe,” I say with a smile.

“Then you’d be happy to inform us who it was who killed Ikael.”

“Sorry. Information was blocked,” I say.

“Really? Because your Spirit is known for being able to call up such information,” Jacques says, suddenly going on the attack.

“He is. But the assassin’s skill was good enough to stop him. It was a bit hectic in there.”

“Really? Because the guards said they could get some information on his Status.”

“Well then, why ask me about him?” I say, playing along.

“Because the information they got from her wasn’t complete,” Jacques says, flipping backward a few pages.

“Her?” I frown, cocking my head to the side. “I thought you said him.”

“Oh, yes. I did.” Jacques shrugs before sipping on his iced tea.

I can’t help but chuckle at his antics, even as I look around the area and note how the guards are being changed out again. They’ve been rotating portions of the guard around me this entire time, keeping their people rested on the off-chance I’ll do something.

“Well done, boy-o.”

Interrogation resistance skill increased

Deception skill increased

I blink away the notifications, chuckling within as Ali shows off the results of my hours-long interrogation. It’s not something either of us bothers to directly track on an on-going basis since skills—unlike Class Skills—are statistics tracked about actual skills I possess. While my Perk Subterfuge allows me to develop certain skills—like the above deception, interrogation, or stealth skills—at a greater rate than normal, it seems more an ability to accumulate experience faster rather than a sudden surge of information which gets planted within me. So instead of taking say a month of classes to learn something, I only need a few weeks. It’s a gradual change over time, but the actual statistics of where I am don’t matter. I’m kind of glad there’s no weird information download. It’d be even weirder Leveling up something like dancing and finding myself able to do the cha-cha even though I’ve never taken a class.

On second thoughts…

“Penny for your thoughts, Mr. Lee?” Jacques says, interrupting my musings.

“Just thinking about when this is going to be over.”

“Do bear with me. I have just a few more questions…” Jacques says, and I don’t even bother hiding the roll of my eyes.

But I stay seated, happy to play along for now. The last thing I need is to be associated with an assassination attempt while trying to get other settlement leaders to meet with and vote for me.

The interrogation continues for another couple of hours, but eventually Jacques gives up on getting any further information from me. He shows an amazing amount of Willpower and commitment, but I somehow get the feeling the entire interview process isn’t much different than what he’s used to. Unfortunately, the interrogation ending doesn’t mean I’m released, so I get to sit in the courtyard for a few more hours.

As I’m guided out of the courtyard, I receive a rather sternly worded statement that boils down to “Your presence is not wanted” before I’m sent back to the teleportation portal to be bounced out. They don’t even bother paying for a long-range teleportation, dumping me at the nearest settlement outside their borders. It’s a bit annoying actually, considering it probably cost them nearly as much to drop me in a non-padded location as it would have to send me back properly. It’d be a major inconvenience if I didn’t have my Skill.

For a moment, I stare at the notification that informs me I’m in the Town of N’Djamena with the usual listing of facilities. A quick perusal of my map shows I’m pretty much in the center of Africa, my sudden appearance already attracting the attention of the locals.

“About time,” a familiar voice drawls, making me crane my head to the side and back to spot the First Nation woman and ex-party member.

“Ingrid. Are you the one who got me deposited here?” I say, putting two and two together.

“Yup. Amazing what happens when your entire society is built on corruption,” Ingrid says with a smirk and drops from the squat building she was sitting on, landing beside me. “Hungry?”

“I could eat,” I answer, eyes narrowing as we walk toward the conveniently located restaurant. The paranoid part of me points out that this could be dangerous, but I push it aside. Ingrid’s a friend.

“Thanks for not interfering too much,” Ingrid says as we get a seat. She holds up a hand as I look to speak, instead ordering in rapid-fire French. “Hope you don’t mind me ordering. Their Chef here is amazing, but limited.”

I wave to dismiss her statement, instead wanting to focus on the more important part. “Why did you, well, do what you did.” I pause, realizing we’re still in public. A part of me winces as well, considering everything we could say could be purchased. But she’s got her Skills and I’ve got my necklace. So it should be fine. Right?

“Relax. I didn’t just choose this restaurant for its food,” Ingrid says, seeming to read my mind.

Sometimes, I really hate how the women around me seem to be able to do that with such ease. Then again, maybe I should stop worrying about the obvious things and trust my friends.

“The owner has a Skill that blocks information gathering in this restaurant.” When I raise an eyebrow at Ingrid, she smirks. “I’m pretty sure he’s connected. If you know what I mean.”

I grunt, waving her on and ignoring her bad mob talk.

“Right. Always so impatient. It’s simple really. I got paid,” Ingrid says.

“Paid. You a merc now?”

“With the mouth.” Ingrid smirks then sobers up when I don’t react. “Yeah, not funny. Real pity he died… but yes, I do some jobs when I’m free.”

“Who paid you?” I ask, a slight amount of heat in my voice. “And how did you manage to do it when I was right there?” The level of coincidence involved seems way too high.

“Firstly, don’t know. And even if I did, wouldn’t tell you. I do everything via cut-outs,” Ingrid says, tapping her fingers. “Safer that way. Secondly, it wasn’t a coincidence. Well, not exactly. I’d been planning this job for days, waiting for him to use that office. That isn’t his usual one—his other office is even more secure but a lot less pretty. When you showed up, I knew he’d be meeting with you in his show office, so I made sure to sneak in while they kept you waiting.”

“Just my luck that I showed up instead of someone else,” I say, grimacing. “How many days?”

“About three,” Ingrid says.

So after I got back and started making my presence known. Interesting timing, but there’s not much I can do about that, beyond keeping it in mind.

“Any guesses on who?” I ask.

“I don’t make guesses. Bad habit to get into,” Ingrid says. “But the people I take jobs on? Most of them have a very long list of enemies. A very, very long list. Even if you take out those who can’t afford me, it’s still a lot of people. My targets are really not nice people.”

I smile slightly, glad to hear that Ingrid’s still got some form of morals. I’m actually a bit surprised at myself that I’m not angrier or more upset at her. Perhaps it’s the apocalypse, perhaps it’s the time on the other planet, but I find little outrage in me at her actions. A trace of disappointment, but even that fades at her proclamation about her targets. I know some might discuss the sanctity of life, of how important giving people a chance is, of allowing karma or a higher power to mete out judgment. But the truth is, there’s been so much blood on my hands that I find it hard to throw stones of any kind. So long as she isn’t coming for me or mine, I’ll give Ingrid the benefit of doubt.

I wish she hadn’t killed Ikael. After all, his murder set his entire kingdom aflame and destroyed the coalition he had been building. That leaves me with having to contact the numerous individuals under Ikael’s banner individually. It’s a waste of time, one that frustrates and angers me. I push down the frustration and anger, reminding myself that what is, is.

“Fair enough,” I say. “Any particular kind of list for Ikael?”

“Political enemies. Sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers wanting revenge. Workers tired of being forced to work overtime for no benefits. Frustrated businessmen.” Ingrid shrugs. “And that’s just those in this kingdom. Ikael’s been making noises about a war against some of the other settlements nearby. Galactic and human. Anyone who wasn’t willing to play ball.”

Before I can speak further, the dishes arrive. The cuisine is a range of high-falutin’ French cuisine and more traditional African fare with beans, mashed meat, and vegetables I can’t even name. Potentially because they might be Galactic. We dig in, our discussion turning to less contentious subjects. Ingrid fills me in on her life while I was gone, one that mostly encompasses a lot of fights, occasional assassinations, and even more scouting missions.

“Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

“Things have changed a bit since you’ve gone,” Ingrid says as she shifts peas around on her plate, separating a single pea before stabbing it with her fork. “Cheaper and more effective to deal with a single asshole and make him an example than to go in and take over entire settlements. You can always do that later if they haven’t learned the lesson.” The fork shifts, separating another pea. “Or you can just repeat the process if they don’t get the lesson. You’d be surprised how many don’t.”

I cock my head to the side, considering what Lana mentioned to me about Ingrid hanging out with Miller more. Sounds more like what the CIA would do than the army, but without the CIA any longer, I wonder if Miller’s taken over those tactics. Or maybe I’m giving them too much credit. There’s no reason Ingrid isn’t picking these targets herself with this idea in mind.

“Well, this was enlightening,” I say finally when the dishes are finished.

“And you?” Ingrid asks, then points at Ali, who’s taken a seat at the bar and is imbibing glasses of spirits like a college student on St. Patrick’s Day. “I see the Spirit got bigger.”

“He did. Consequence of my new Master Class.” I consider what to say about my time away. I haven’t spoken of it much. Not to Lana or Roxley. Not to anyone. But somehow, I have a feeling that Ingrid might understand. Her experience in the last few years parallels mine, being lonelier and bloodier than most. “It was difficult. I was thrown into a Forbidden Planet…”

I outline the basics. Long years of fighting, of not Leveling. Of having to learn to use my abilities in ways I’d never considered before, of upgrading my spells because I had to learn to manipulate Mana without the aid of the System. By the time I’m done, it’s late and we’ve finished another pair of bottles of wine.

“And that’s it…” I say when I see Ali yawning, floating off his chair and staring at a pair of visible System screens. This time, it’s a baking reality TV show. “I guess we should get going.”

“Hold up.” Ingrid twists her hand and a watch I had last seen on Ikael’s wrist hours ago appears.

“What is that?” I frown.

“Ikael’s dimensional storage chain and AI,” Ingrid says, tapping the watch. “The storage is locked, but it can be broken.”

“And the AI?” I ask, curiosity getting me. If Ikael used the AI anything like I did Ali, this could be a huge boon.

“Maybe,” Ingrid says with a shrug. “I can’t. Sam… might have been able to.” We fall silent at the old man’s name, his death still a little raw. But soon enough, Ingrid looks up. “But I’m almost certain the details of the settlements he had deals with are in here.”

“What do you want?” I ask with a frown. It’s obvious that she mentioned all this with a purpose.

“I can have it cracked, but you’ll owe me,” Ingrid says. “One request at a later date. No questions asked.”

“No. I don’t do open-ended favors like that.”

“Really…?”

“Hush, you.”

“Just ask me,” I say to Ingrid, meeting her gaze directly.

She grimaces, not meeting my eyes for a time. Eventually, she looks up with a harsh exhalation. “Fine. I want to join you. On the trip out.”

“Trip?”

“To the capital. I want to be part of the entourage,” Ingrid says, glaring at me. “Deal?”

I consider her question then raise a finger. “One thing. No killing anyone I don’t agree to other than in self-defense on the trip.”

“Deal.”

I nod and point at the watch. “Then get it cracked and we’ll see what we can do about getting that seat.”

Ingrid flashes me a smile and I return it. Curiosity bids me ask though…

“Why do you want to go?”

“Why not?” Ingrid says with a shrug. Something dark flashes through her eyes before she looks at me, her lips twisting slightly. “I know you’re not going to go sightseeing. I figure if there’s violence to be had, you’ll bring it. And those bastards, they need to be paid back.”

I know which “those” she means. And truth be told, I agree with her. Damn Council. For a time, I stare at my friend and see the shadows of the past, the losses she’s suffered. We’ve all lost friends and family, but Ingrid lost her entire town, her entire tribe. She’s the last survivor of Dawson City, maybe even the last of her people. For a moment, I see the gaping hole she covers up with sarcasm. Then she smiles and stands, making the watch disappear, followed by herself.

“Now what?” I ask the open air, considering what more there is to do.

Ali appears beside me, picking at the remnants of the meal. “The usual of course, boy-o. Just more work. You’ve met the human players. Now it’s time to talk to the Galactics.”

I let out a low groan, but Ali’s right. Still, I decide to push it aside for a bit. Better to Portal home first. There’s going to be some fallout from this assassination. And truth be told, there’s an elf I need to speak to in Vancouver, if I want to speak to the Movana.

“Home.”

Chapter 13

As I guessed, the fallout from the assassination spreads almost immediately. While others have been killed before, it was always cross-species or smaller fry. Ikael is the first true leader to be killed by another human, and the new threat throws everyone into a tizzy. It takes me ages to convince Katherine and Lana firstly, to take additional precautions, and secondly, that I don’t need any additional security measures. It’s not to say I think I am invincible, but my particular Skillset as an Honor Guard gives me significant defenses against an assassination attempt. It would be really, really tough to lock me down long enough to end me, not unless they throw the kitchen sink too.

Once matters calm down, the next few days are spent on the phone, if you will. Long-range communication towers have been set up all across Earth, linking City Cores to one another. While communication is still limited to City Cores, at least now humanity is once again connected. It makes everything, from commerce to relationships, so much simpler.

My job, over the next little while, is extending a friendly hand to these human settlements. Truth be told, it isn’t even my plan. Within a few hours of my return, I receive one call after the other. It seems that a side effect of being involved in Ikael’s murder—however peripherally—is that I have become significantly more popular among the more spineless settlement owners. In their minds, it makes more sense to befriend me than face a possible assassination.

“Then we’ve got a deal. I’ll have a pair of bodyguards sent to you once the Contract is finalized,” I say to the dark-haired, big-nosed gentleman who smiles nervously.

“Good. Good. I’ll have it signed right away. I’m sure your bodyguards will keep the assassins off,” the man says.

“They’re all very well trained. We’ve doubled down on training with both ex-members of the US Secret Service and members of the Erethran Honor Guard. I’m sure they’ll do well.”

A few more words of pleasantries pass before the man fades away. I slump back in my chair as I stare at Ali, who is seated across from me, feet up on my table.

“I believe a major export of ours has become bodyguards,” I say, chuckling. “Good thing Ayuri agreed to let her people train ours.”

“You’re not exporting bodyguards. You’re exporting peace of mind,” Ali says. “I’m proud of you, boy-o. You’ve even got that insinuating silence down to an art form in the last few days. Dropping Ingrid’s name once in a while is doing wonders. Let’s just hope she doesn’t take a job on any of them.”

I snort. No surprise, but Ingrid’s identity was eventually revealed. Of course, I then had to deal with demands to come back for another interrogation, which I refused. I knew the investigator had a Truth Tell Skill of some sort, otherwise he’d never have let me go. And so I repeated my denials of having anything to do with the murder. But somehow, no one believed me. It didn’t help that the actual source of the contract is yet to be found.

“What are we at?” I ask Ali while Lana strides in, looking at the pair of us, the bowl of snacks on the table, and the mess of carvings I’ve left on it.

“Eight point seven percent. Another four percent are wavering from Ikael’s people. They’re probably waiting for an actual bribe,” Ali says, ticking off on his fingers. “And the rest of his supporters are actually angry at you. I doubt you’ll get them. Not directly.”

“Good thing I’m not looking for them to vote for me directly then. I’m sure Bipasha and Roy are making their own moves too,” I say before turning to Lana. “Problem?”

“No,” Lana says, shaking her head. “But we do have a visitor. Wynn’s here.”

I grin slightly. Finally. The damn elf has been off running a dungeon delve for the last few days, which is the other reason I’ve been stuck waiting. “Show him in.”

“Of course.”

“And stay, if you can,” I add.

Lana smiles at me at the invitation and disappears around the corner.

While we wait for Lana to get Wynn, Ali looks between the door and me. “You guys doing okay?”

“Of course,” I say softly. “I’m a big boy. She’s moved on. It’s more than fair, especially since, well, you know.” I point upward.

“I notice you haven’t asked anything about her boy toy,” Ali points out.

“Don’t need to know that,” I say snippily and then exhale, shaking my head. “Just because I’m okay with her moving on doesn’t mean I need the details.”

“If you say so,” Ali says doubtfully.

As footsteps near, Ali fades, turning invisible once again rather than be forced to actually participate and pay attention to this meeting.

“Wynn,” I greet the Guild Master with a smile as I stand.

Wynn a Maro is the Vancouver Guild Master of the Burning Leaves, a powerful Tier II Guild whose members originate from everywhere but who are headquartered in the capital of the Movana Kingdom. They might not be directly backed by the Movana Kingdom, but they certainly draw a large number of their people from the noble class. In fact, the surnames of their Guild leadership could read like a Who’s Who.

“Redeemer.” Wynn bows, smiles, and takes the indicated seat.

Lana slides into one too, angling the chair so that we each sit in one corner of a triangle.

“You wished to speak with me?” he asks.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” I say. “I’m looking to get enough votes for Earth to gain a seat on the Galactic Council. To do that…”

“You’ll need the support of many Galactics,” Wynn says. “But I’m surprised you’re speaking to me and not your Lord Roxley. I am, after all, only a minor guild leader.”

“I have,” I say flatly. “But I’m an equal opportunity opportunist. If your people can and are willing to work with us, I’m willing to talk. And you can drop the garbage about your position. We both know you’re more than just a minor guild leader.”

“It is troublesome,” Wynn says simply. “Your actions against the Zarrie before you left angered some. Your close relations with the Truinnar are another concern. Even if I were to open lines of communication, it would be extremely troublesome.”

“But if you work with us, you can help decrease our reliance on them,” I say, offering him a half smile.

Wynn returns it and doesn’t directly contradict my words.

“Earth is caught between your kingdoms,” Lana says, drawing Wynn’s attention to her where she sits demurely, hands crossed on her lap. “But all we want is the right to choose our future. We’re willing to work with whoever is willing to help us achieve that goal. And we’d love to have the Movana as an ally.”

“And the addition of humanity as allies is something I wish for,” Wynn says, laying a hand over his heart. Which, in Movana is actually more toward the right and down than in humans. “I’ve grown to like your people in my time here.”

“And for that, we are grateful. If you can speak with others,” Lana says beguilingly. She’s not simpering, that’d be too weak, but it is a pointed and heartfelt request. It’s enough to make Wynn nod slightly, unconsciously. “And help us pitch our hopes.”

“I shall do what I can, Lady Pearson,” Wynn says, smiling back at her.

“Just Ms.”

“Not in my eyes,” Wynn replies, and I almost roll my eyes. “But I cannot make any assurances. I can only speak with those in power here.”

“That’s all we can ask for,” Lana says.

I watch Wynn preen and I wonder if he’s even realized he’s fallen for her. Or if he does, if he cares. After a few more pleasantries, Wynn takes his leave.

Lana returns to the office after showing the Movana out, slumping in a seat next to me. “Are you sure you want to go with the Truinnar?”

“Pretty boy making you think they’re a better choice?” I say.

“I don’t know if better is right, but have you done any research about either group? Beyond the people you’ve met?” Lana asks.

“I have. For all their bitching, they’re actually very closely aligned. No surprise, when the Truinnar are just a branch that decided to run off a millennia or so ago. The Movana are a little looser with their noble structures, more free-flowing with those who move up or down their society. The Truinnar are more stratified in theory, but their entire army division allows the ambitious a respected and serviceable method to gain influence and position.

“Geographically—if that’s even the right word when we’re talking about star kingdoms—the Movana have fewer solar systems under their control but higher populations and higher build-out. The Truinnar have a more scattershot approach, with a large number of so-so areas. Roxley’s old domain was one of those scattershot areas, great at first and then, well, not so much. Economically, the Movana are better off, but the Truinnar have a stronger standing army. Not that it matters as much to us. Of course, the last few decades have seen the heating up of their old cold war.”

“And they support different factions, which means it’s unlikely they’ll ever work together,” Lana adds. “And one of those factions probably made us a Dungeon World.”

“The Movana,” I say. “Sounds like a bad option to give them what they want then.”

“Except for the fact that if they’re willing to send more than six billion of us to hell, what makes you think they’d let you do what you want?” Lana says.

“I’ve considered it,” I say, looking at my hands, framed as they are by the dark walnut wood. I shrug, giving her a half smile. “But they’ll find out I’m a lot harder to kill than they think.”

“Maybe. But I don’t trust the Truinnar either. You know they’re willing to backstab to get what they want,” Lana says. “Roxley might be trustworthy, but he’s not acting alone.”

“True. In the end, we’re just waiting anyway,” I say with a grimace. “If neither group is willing to work with us at all, this is just theoretical.”

Lana nods, but her troubled look doesn’t go away. Not even when we switch to more productive topics. As the redhead walks out, I can’t help but consider that maybe she’s right. But in the end, I’ve got to try.

Movana and Truinnar done, I need to hit up the other Galactic groups. Amusingly enough, the warmongering, weapon-building Ares Corp is the easiest to handle. Almost immediately from the initial call, I’m put forward to their planetary head of operations. And after that, it just becomes a matter of horse trading. Thankfully, I drag Katherine and Lana into the actual negotiations, since I find myself well out of my depth within seconds. After all, tax structures, preferred supplier status, and duty rates are all things I have no real experience at. In a surprisingly short amount of time, the entire negotiation is wrapped up, a contract in place and signed. When it’s done, the three of us share a glass of champagne around my office table.

“So. Did that seem a lot easier than it should be?” I say, staring at the contract notification floating in front of me.

Lana glares at me, running a hand through her hair. Even with her bountiful Constitution and Charisma, she looks slightly frazzled after the umpteenth marathon negotiating session. “Easy? You didn’t just spend the last three days in continuous negotiations.”

“It did,” Katherine asserts, denying Lana’s assertion. “And that last request…”

“Something tells me that was the whole point of the negotiation,” I say.

“Are you sure you’re new at this?” Katherine says, her eyes narrowing.

I shift uncomfortably, uncertain of what to say. It’s true that I wasn’t apt at managing office politics in my previous life, but I’ve had time to reflect on my past mistakes. And between my Intelligence and Wisdom attribute increases and my Subterfuge Perk, I have a feeling that some information is leaking in. I’m beginning to get a weird intuitive sense for backstabbing politics. Underhanded dealings, those I can handle. I have a feeling I’d be floored if I ever had to deal with an honest, upstanding politician. Thankfully, the Galactic variety are similar to ours—they exist, but they’re rarer than hen’s teeth.

“New enough,” I answer, breaking off from my musings. And my, somewhat justified, concern about what exactly is leaking in under the influence of the Perk. “In either case, we agreed to it. I need to speak with the Fist anyway, and this is as good a time as any. I’ll be back in a few days.”

Katherine offers me a nod while Lana grimaces, tugging at her messed up dress.

I stand, considering. “Think Mikito would be up for a trip?”

The answer was yes. Once we contacted the Samurai, she managed to catch up with us at the teleportation pad. Of course, part of that was because Lana took an hour to catch a cat nap and change. Mikito looked almost eager to be coming, a light smile on her lips as she gives Lana a hug before playing with the various pets. Once the requisite greetings and licks have been dealt with and a discreet Cleanse cast, Mikito turns to us with a smile.

“It’s almost like old times,” Mikito says, looking around. “Now if Ingrid was around and Carlos could be dragged out…”

“Huh. I think you’d have better chance with Aiden,” I say. “He seems to have gotten over his fears.”

“A bit,” Mikito says, shooting a look at Lana. “It might have been because Lana kept bugging him while wearing a tank top a couple of summers ago.”

“Mikito!” Lana says, apparently scandalized at first before she breaks into a grin. “If you’ve got them…” She gives a pointed look at the tiny Japanese’s rather flat chest.

“Low blow,” Mikito says with a growl, crossing her arms reflexively.

“Who says Ingrid isn’t here?” I say, looking about and heading off the dustup by changing the topic. “Not as if we could ever tell.”

“Har. No. She’s too busy making Credits to hang out with us,” Lana says with a frown.

I hear the slight bitterness in the redhead’s tone and mentally grimace. Damn it. Topic change—fail.

“Come on, we’re holding up the line,” I say eventually, waving up the group.

It amuses me how the pets go first. All of them, including Lana’s griffin, are transported before the three of us get on board. A slight shiver, a twisting in the folds of space, and we’re suddenly there. I snort slightly, noting the usual greeting notification and the now prevalent icon indicating a quantum lock in space.

You have entered a Safe Zone—the Town of Scarborough

Mana flows in this area are stabilized. No monster spawning will occur in this region. Stamina and Health Regeneration increased by 2% in this zone. Please note that unauthorized teleportation is forbidden.

This Safe Zone includes:

City of Scarborough City Center

Shop

Arena

Armory

…

“Duelist Lee. Spear Sato. Mistress Pearson,” the apelike, barrel-chested creature who greets us uses our titles.

It’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone called Lana by her title—abbreviated or not—of the Mistress of Flame and Beasts, but obviously, it means something to these people. Which is interesting, since most combat titles are rarely used in greetings. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a bit of a social faux pas.

“Champion Emven,” I greet the Galactic while making sure that Ali remembers to send his Status information to my friends. Not that they probably don’t have their own Skills, come to think of it.

Emven Iz, Champion of the Purple Sands, Greater Meatshield (Shield Guardian Level 38)

HP: 5430/5430

MP: 870/870

Conditions: Vulcanized skin, Organ sheath, Reflexive Shield

“Good call, boy-o. The Fist care more about combat titles than anyone else. Frankly, your Redeemer title holds no weight here. Though I’m getting an inkling of what we can expect,” Ali says.

“Well, spit it out.”

“Nah, this will be more fun,” Ali sends back with a smirk.

And despite repeated prodding, Ali refuses to divulge anything further. All the while, I’m listening to Emven as he leads us through the reconstructed city where the looming, giant oval structure dominates the city. Emven waxes lyrical about the many historical battles fought over Tobago in its Earth history, and most recently, by the Galactic colonists. I find it all quite interesting, but the big building even more so.

“Where are going?” Lana asks during one of the few breaks.

“Ah, we walk toward the arena. The governor is holding court there as usual,” Emven says. “He also felt warriors like you would find it of great interest.”

“Really now,” I say, looking at the looming building. Cheers echo out from the open air building. Loud. So very loud, the clash of blades and the hiss of spells ringing through the air, almost as if a heavy metal band had taken to the stands with their amplified instruments. “Sounds like there’re a lot of people there.”

“It’s the major form of entertainment. And training,” Emven remarks. “There’s normally between five to six thousand, but today, the governor made sure to have a few favorites show up to spice up the regular lineup. I hear we’re at nearly ten thousand.”

Lana cranes her head from side to side, noting the numerous pedestrians and the busy hum of vehicles which float along the street below and above us. Even at a glance, it’s clear Scarborough is as busy as Vancouver, even with the large audience in the arena.

“Mostly humans out here,” I send to Ali, judging the difference between the settlements.

“Want to bet the Galactics are at the arena?” Ali says with a smirk.

“No bet.”

I get a chuckle from Ali as we are led inward. There’s only a brief moment of awkwardness as we deal with Lana’s various pets. Eventually, the security personnel compromise, allowing Roland to accompany Lana within while the rest of the pets get housed with other pets and mounts. Grey corridors made of a stone-like substance, marked with light green and blue trimming, encompass us as we go up, finally ending at the skybox. A part of me is amused how certain architectural strictures are the same no matter the culture—give the important people luxurious space, a high viewing area, and privacy. I’m sure there are species who would abhor some of these concepts, but here, it’s the same.

“Welcome, friends! You are just in time for Umma of the Two Blades and Whirlpool Donnie. The Whirlpool is one of your compatriots and a very entertaining fighter.”

The jovial greeting hits us the moment we walk into the room. The speaker is a sight to behold, standing just over eleven feet tall and nearly as wide, his body a mass of firm grey fat, large long ears hanging down his elongated face, and tiny, beady eyes. For a moment, I wonder if anyone ever considered the concept of a werehippo, which is what the speaker looks like.

Asgauver Heindra, Boneshaker, Master of the Sands, Lord of the Fell Reaches, Survivor of the Marrik Raid, (more) (Level 21 Absorber)

HP: 13980/13980

MP: 1230/1230

Conditions: Altered Gravity, Healer’s Wrath, Force to Bone, Flayed Nerves

“Thank you,” I say and shake Asgauver’s hand. For the first time in a while, I feel tiny, my hand disappearing in the werehippo’s larger one.

The thirty-by-thirty room is filled with probably the widest array of Galactics I’ve ever come across in a non-violent fashion. A rolling ball of cables and tentacles, a siren, a sylph, Truinnar, Movana, Hakarta, and Yerrick are all easy to spot. There are other, less commonly seen Galactics in the crowd, including a pair of little grey men.

“What is he?” The notification pops up in my interface, tagged Lana.

“Kudaya Delta. Interesting world—there were four separate species on it when the System arrived, just starting out as agricultural civilizations. Each species is designated by a number type after the planet name. Nearly all their technology is Galactic owned. The Kudaya just decided to abandon creating their own technological culture and focused on being the best damn warriors they could be,” Mikito sends back almost immediately.

“How’d you know that?” I can’t help but send.

“Know your enemy.”

“Sit, sit.” Asgauver waves us to a trio of scaled down seats next to him. I absently note that instead of a chair with backing, Asgauver uses more of a leaning apparatus whose structure supports his lower back and butt. “Did you wish to place a bet? If so, you must do it quickly.”

“Uhh… maybe later,” I say even as Mikito adds a yes.

I blink as the usually reserved Japanese lady waves over at the attendant with a tablet. A few seconds of interaction later and the attendant moves away. Lana watches all this with a light curl on her lips, stroking Roland, who’s curled up next to her. I wonder what she thinks of all this.

Directly ahead of us, the window screens flash, shifting to showcase the pair of fighters entering the arena. Immediately, the din of conversation drops off as everyone focuses on the fight. Now that Asgauver and the Galactics around me are a lesser concern, I take in the arena. Perfectly white sand surrounds the otherwise empty arena, whose borders are protected by expensive and nearly perfectly clear force shields. Stadium seating goes up around the arena with a second layer of flying, floating, hovering, and otherwise airborne Galactics watching the fight. As we guessed, there aren’t a lot of humans in sight.

The fighters themselves are interesting. Like her name hints, Umma is a Movana who wields a pair of glowing short swords. One burns red hot, and the other seems to freeze the air around it. A plain black armored jumpsuit is covered by a gaudy yellow tactical vest where a series of smaller blades sit. On the other hand, the Whirlpool—short for Elemental Whirlpool—is a short, tanned human with shocking pink hair, a rapier at his waist, and a single glove on his wielding hand. Contrary to his appearance, the man is actually Classed as a Battle Mage. In terms of Levels, both of them are within a couple of points of each other, giving no clear advantage.

At the slug-like referee’s signal, the pair battle. Like the rest of the viewers—with the exception of Lana—Mikito is leaning forward, watching the battle with rapt attention. Umma dashes forward immediately, blurring across the ground. Donnie responds by conjuring waves of water. When Umma attempts to jump over the waves, tendrils of the liquid grip her legs, pulling her downward. Immediately, the water twists, transforming into the Battle Mage’s namesake.

“Ah, so fast!” Asgauver says, his tone full of disappointment.

“Har! Don’t count your Credits yet. My cousin is not so easily dealt with.” A Movana walks up to us, his smile wide and relaxed. “Care for a side wager?”

“Twenty thousand Credits,” Asgauver offers.

The Movana nods, the pair tapping their left shoulders to seal the deal in what looks like to be pure reflex.

“But this is rude. Friends, will any of you take on Quityan’s offer as well?” Asgauver asks.

Lana shakes her head again while Mikito visibly considers the question before shaking her head.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Quityan o’Shea,” Quityan says.

It doesn’t take us long to introduce ourselves to the Forest Ranger, who then turns back to the fight. During this period, the elemental water conjured has transformed, icicles forming as they cut at the helpless figure within. Yet Quityan does not look concerned at all.

“Boy-o, focus on the body in the whirlpool with Mana sight.”

I call forth the ability, frowning slightly as the colors shift and change. Instead of the heatmap-like viewpoint a normal body would provide, what I see is a more solid figure, one which glows a light yellow.

“Doppleganger?”

Even as I finish asking the question, the body abruptly disappears. The real Umma appears behind Donnie, her blades slicing downward. They shatter against an invisible Mana Shield, one which absorbs both impacts but sends the Battle Mage staggering away. The Battle Mage’s reactions and recovery are amazing though, as Umma’s next attack is met by the rapier. Within seconds, additional tendrils of water and fire appear, joining Donnie’s defense as the pair duel at close quarters.

“A new Skill is it?” Asgauver says, contentment lacing his voice even as it looks as though he might lose the bet.

No one answers Asgauver, not that one is needed. The battle rages on, Donnie managing to pull away a couple of times, but never far enough to completely disengage from Umma. Eventually, the Mage’s greatest weakness tells and his Mana bottoms out, leaving him defenseless against Umma’s blades.

“Damn. A pity,” Asgauver says then gestures toward Quityan, who inclines his head after his gaze goes faraway. “Next time.”

“Not much of a Battle Mage,” Mikito grumbles, her arms crossed. But I note the bouncing in her foot, the way she’s leaning forward slightly as the next fight is announced.

“I believe none of you have visited us before, have you?” Quityan asks.

“No,” Lana answers him with a polite smile.

“Then I look forward to your fights,” Quityan says.

“What fights?” Lana says.

“And here we go, boy-o.”

“It is customary for first-time visitors to the arena to fight in it,” Asgauver says, then looks toward Emven. “Did you not inform our guests?”

“My apologies. I must have forgotten,” Emven says. His wooden delivery almost makes me choke with laughter.

“Well, as punishment, I’ll have to have you fight them,” Asgauver says, shaking his head.

“Of course.”

“Why are they doing this?” Lana sends the notification to all of us, and I shrug.

“Probably because they’re battle-crazy idiots. If you want a treaty with them, you’re going to need to be ‘worthy,’” Ali sends.

“I’m not so sure about that,” I send back.

Something about this setup doesn’t sit well with me. I can see Lana is perturbed, the slight crease in her eyebrows and the slightly longer look she gives Asgauver the tells. Nothing anyone who didn’t know her very well would notice.

“I’ll be your first opponent,” Mikito says, bouncing up from her seat and staring at Emven.

Lana and I are somewhat startled, staring at the little Japanese who looks ready to start the dance right this second.

“Ah… I’ll make arrangements,” Asgauver replies then looks at the pair of us.

“Lana’s here at my request. And while she can fight, I’d like to make a different offer,” I say, a coil of anger running through my stomach. They want to manipulate us and make us dance, make us fight for their entertainment? Fine. We can play.

“Offer?”

“I’ll fight you.”

Silence spreads at my pronouncement, the guests within the skybox turning toward our group. Asgauver gapes at me before bursting into a long, rumbling laugh that shakes the chair next to me.

“Done! Emven, make the arrangements.”

“Of course,” Emven says and taps his left shoulder before walking off.

A sharp pain erupts from my left ankle and I turn to look at a furious Lana.

“I don’t need you to protect me!”

“Wasn’t about you. I just don’t intend for them to get their way entirely.”

“I got to admit, boy-o’s got it right. The Fist are all about strength. This, this is strong.”

“So long as he wins.”

“I’ll win.”

“Show-off,” Mikito says, crossing her arms grumpily and staring at me. I laugh at her words, and she cracks a slight smile. “Baka.”

It takes an hour for Mikito’s fight to be arranged. In the meantime, the unlucky Samurai ends up losing all the matches she bets on. At Asgauver and Quityan’s urgings, Lana and I eventually partake in the betting after receiving contradictory advise from both Fist members. Toward the last couple of fights, Lana and I just decide to bet against Mikito’s choices, much to the mock outrage of the Samurai. If it wasn’t for the fact that some of the duels are multi-party free-for-alls, this might have been a winning strategy. It’s Ali who does the best, the Spirit quietly placing bets and winning a large number of his wagers.

While we wait, a few aspects of the arena battles which had puzzled us are explained. For one, use of grenades, portable shield generators, and drones are disallowed for most Classes. There are exceptions made for those who are not direct combat Classes, to make the fights a little fairer. Another thing we learn is while the arena can and does change its geography and features, providing everything from semi-permanent urban structures to even an aquatic environment, for today, a more sterile approach has been decided—a mano-o-mano fight. Unsurprisingly, many long-range, rifle-, and bow-wielding fighters have declined to fight in this kind of boring terrain. Without cover, portable or pre-made, they are in danger of being rushed by the melee fighters. And in this System-enhanced world, it is all too easy to close in on long-range fighters. My Blink Step is only one of the many teleporting abilities available.

All of this and the various safety procedures are explained to us while we wait for our friend’s fight. Eventually, it arrives.

Mikito walks out on the sand, her naginata already summoned and in her hands. She’s changed into a simple red-and-white armored jumpsuit, one that provides her full coverage and flexibility, with a simple helmet covering her face and hiding her long hair. Surrounding her body is the Ghost Armor of her Skill, giving her another form of protection similar to my Soul Shield, if more Mana intensive.

I stare at my friend, curious to see her really let loose in such a setting, before looking at her opponent, the shield guardian wielding a halberd-and-shield combination. Except the long blade of the polearm glows with an ominous light.

“What kind of Skills are we looking at with the Guardian?”

“In their main Class, mostly defensive Skills obviously. Two major builds that split along passive and active. Emven has a passive build, so while he’s got a significant health pool, he has a really low Mana pool and regen rate. He’s going to be able to soak up damage like a troll eats rocks.”

“I see you have bet heavily on your friend,” Asgauver says. “An admirable show of support.”

“I was looking more at taking you to the cleaners,” I say.

“Har. A nice thought, but he is not a champion for no reason,” Asgauver says. “She is good but young. Inexperienced. All of you humans are.”

Before I can answer, the referee signals the start of the fight, focusing everyone’s attention. Unlike Umma, Mikito takes her time edging toward the other melee fighter. Emven hunkers down low, his body clad in bulky, plate-mail-looking armor. Without warning, the champion fires a beam of brilliant purple energy from the head of the halberd. To my surprise, Mikito swings her naginata at the beam, cutting the attack apart and leaving the diffused beam to splash harmlessly against her armor.

“What the…?” I stare. It doesn’t make any sense. You can’t cut light.

Even with his initial attempt failing, Emven is willing to try again, firing another pair of blasts. Interestingly enough, just before the beam reaches Mikito’s attack range, they twist in mid-air, curving. Mikito casually cuts the pair of beams apart, her polearm spinning with blinding speed. As if deciding she’s had enough, the Japanese woman darts forward, seeming to appear beside Emven in a moment. My eyes widen slightly as she displays her Flash Step ability. She swings her polearm immediately, each strike somehow being blocked by Emven.

“What is that weapon?” Asgauver hisses, leaning forward.

I hear the whispered threads of conversation growing louder as Mikito’s repeated attacks begin to tell, each strike leaving larger and larger gouges on the shield, almost peeling back the reinforced shield.

“Mikito’s. I believe it’s soulbound,” I say, lying with a straight face. Inside, I’m sweating a little. Her weapon is more than soulbound—it’s a growth weapon. One which can gain strength over time. While we’ve taken steps—and I’m assured she has too—to hide the nature of it, there’s only so much you can do in a System-run world. If she attracts too much attention…

“Impressive. She has at least two Skills improving the weapon itself, but to do so much damage against Emven’s shield is astounding,” Asgauver says. “I have seen Master Class Skills do less damage.”

“Cleave and Reaver if you’re wondering. Though I’m pretty sure the second is actually part of the weapon,” Ali says.

I say nothing, though a thread of worry grows in my stomach for Mikito. The Soul Drinker Skill of her naginata means it will, eventually, become an Artifact. It’s the kind of weapon people get killed for owning.

“I have a feeling… there,” I say, watching as Emven gives up on waiting for Mikito to exhaust herself and attempts to fight back.

Shield Bash, Shield Charge, Disembowel, Vortex Swing. The names of the Skills he triggers pop up in tiny notifications from Ali, each attack thwarted. But as Mikito ducks the spinning tornado that Emven’s last attack created, the Shield Guardian stomps, creating a minor earthquake. The attack only unbalances Mikito for a fraction of a second, but it’s sufficient for Emven to land a Shield Bash, disrupting Mikito’s balance further and stunning her.

The champion chains his attacks, each blow timed perfectly with a step, his movements keeping his body right next to the stunned Samurai. Her Ghost Armor bleeds light, cracking under the assault even as wide open wounds send splashes of crimson blood to the white sand.

“Inexperienced, as I said,” Asgauver says, almost smug satisfaction in his tone.

“Come on, Mikito,” Lana whispers, leaning forward and gripping her knees tightly.

I place a hand on hers, giving it a quick squeeze for reassurance. “I wouldn’t count her out yet.”

The halberd rises and comes crashing down, caught by Mikito’s naginata. But as she recovers, the shield is moving, smashing the body of her naginata into her body. A leg steps forward, striking the tiny Japanese woman’s knee and knocking her off balance, forcing her to block another strike. This one sends her tumbling to the ground, where she recovers with a roll. As Emven steps forward, an explosion of sand and smoke makes him blink, flame blinding him. When he recovers, Mikito is standing unsteadily, her weapon held sideways above her left shoulder.

“A good move. But not enough,” Quityan remarks.

Mikito’s down to five hundred Mana and barely four hundred health. Not enough, normally, for a powerful Skill. Of course, Emven’s Mana is in the low hundreds too, but his health is still two-thirds full.

I stay silent as Emven moves forward cautiously, Mikito holding still. It’s a stillness that sets the hair at the nape of my neck tingling, a tension which tightens my chest as primal fears rise up. Emven sees it, moving cautiously, but he can’t delay too long. Each moment allows Mikito’s greater regeneration levels to top up her Mana. And so he nears her, his halberd moving forward in low feints which elicit no response.

With a roar, the champion stabs the halberd forward, the weapon shooting its beam of purple energy at Mikito. The Samurai moves then, flashing forward as her naginata arcs downward, cutting through Emven’s shield and armor in a single motion. Emven staggers backward, his arm and halberd clattering to the ground as gravity takes hold and he slumps. Mikito herself sways, her health down to fourteen percent as she sacrifices her life for Mana.

The crowd exclaims around us, in multiple voices and languages.

“It is called Gi,” Asgauver says, surprise tingeing his voice.

“The first tenet of Bushido.” I lean back in my chair, a little of the tension I felt for my friend draining away as I read the details of the Skill Ali displays.

Gi (Exclusive Skill)

The Samurai exemplifies commitment with their next attack. A single strike, without hesitation or doubt, with full commitment must be made. If completed, the Samurai can deal significantly more damage in exchange for their own life.

Effect: Doubles Base Damage of attack. Health of user may be traded for damage dealt to recipient at a 1:1 ratio, but user must decide on amount of health traded before attack is made.

Cost: 200 Mana

Asgauver laughs, roaring in amusement, followed by everyone else. The group cheers, chatting about the battle. Lana stares at those around us, her eyes wide.

“Aren’t you worried about your friend? He lost his arm,” Lana says.

“Better than a head. They’ll reattach it and he’ll be ready for battle in a few hours,” Quityan says, waving away her protests. “Pity it’s a friendly match though. In a title fight, they’d continue until one really lost.”

“He lost his arm!” Lana sputters.

“Emven can fight without it,” Quityan replies unconcernedly. “He’s an elite member of the Fist. If he couldn’t fight without an arm, he wouldn’t deserve to be on the team.”

Lana shakes her head, looking toward me for support. I smile slightly at the redhead, shaking my head. She looks disappointed by my reaction, and truth be told, I am in hers. But then, she hasn’t spent the last four years in a Forbidden Zone. I can’t even count the number of limbs I’ve lost over the years.

“I find myself looking forward to our fight now,” Asgauver says, his wide mouth pulling apart to show those large teeth. I can’t help but notice that he probably could fit my entire arm in his mouth without a problem.

“Me too.”

No surprise our fight is at the end of the day, as the sun begins to set. Attempts by Lana and Ali to bring the discussion toward the reason for our visit—to an alliance or agreement for their vote—are firmly and politely rebuffed. After her return, Mikito is swarmed by the attendees, many requesting to see her weapon. All are rebuffed. None take offense, understanding the reluctance of a warrior to show a personal weapon, which is for the best. We can only hope that they’ll be fooled by the information we have left public, assuaging their interest in the weapon when they buy it from the Shop. If they do.

With no progress on the actual point of our visit, I find myself standing on the sand, knowing it’s likely the results of this match will dictate how much progress we make today. The arena is surprisingly quiet, the roar of the crowd a muted buzz in the background. The light within is just right, diffused and soft so that it never gets in the way. The sand gives way slightly, a bit more unsteady than I’d prefer but nothing so loose as to make purchase impossible. And the smell… well, the smell is of old blood, sour sweat, spent adrenaline, and other, more exotic chemicals.

I find myself raising my sword to my head, offering Asgauver a salute. It suits the mood; it suits the stadium. And it obviously suits the audience, as roars erupt. The werehippo before is big, tough and a Master Class with more years at fighting than I have. Odds of me winning are an astounding nine-to-one. Odds of me lasting one minute is seven-to-one. Barely better.

Pity I can’t bet on myself.

The chime, the slight shift in light and the referee’s voice is all the signal which is needed. Asgauver dashes forward, his movement so explosive a hole is left behind him as his strength is focused on approaching me. The giant monstrous hippo is here before I can dodge, but then, I wasn’t trying to. A single step takes me within the arc of his torso-sized fist and I raise my own, palm out. It hits his giant nose, squishing it slightly as my legs flex and I’m forced backward. A part of me reaches out backward, reinforcing the sand I’m standing on while my body braces against his attack. On a pure point basis, Asgauver probably has a higher Strength stat than me, but he doesn’t know how to use it, doesn’t know how to apply it fully. In the air, my arm extended before my body, Asgauver slams into the equivalent of an unmoveable object and bounces backward.

The hush from the stadium is gratifying. I grin, shaking my hand slightly while keeping my face smooth. The shake also hides the minor trembles going through my arm as over-abused nerves and a cracked shoulder joint slowly regenerate.

“Impressive!” Asgauver roars as he rolls himself upward, laughing as blood pours from his two large nostrils. He swabs at the blood with one hand, stomping the ground as if to set himself. A second later, his fists shimmer, fields of energy wrapping around them and setting my teeth on edge. “But a trick is trick.”

“Then let’s dance,” I say and salute him once more.

When the werehippo approaches again, this time it’s with a lot more caution.

“Done. Yet?” I say as I husband my breath. A flick of my sword sends droplets of blood flying, recoating the white sand with the Kudaya’s blood.

“And stop all this fun? Never!” Asgauver says but ends up coughing and spitting a gob of blood.

The damn hippo is covered in cuts and stabs, my attacks having scored and torn at the monster again and again. But his Class is an upgrade of your typical Guardian, a tank which can absorb punishment and turn it into Stamina, Mana, and yes, even Health. He’s a juggernaut who just keeps ticking, no matter how much I damage him. His health keeps sliding upward, now at sixty percent, yo-yoing with his Mana.

The last thirty minutes has seen me go from using Spells and Skills to cut him down to a more husbanded approach. None of my Spells harm him, not even Enhanced Lightning. His resistances are high, his Class Skills making the little damage that leaks through negligible and even helpful to him. Next, I switched to more mundane attacks, backed up with the Thousand Blades. He ran through the blades, using his greater bulk and defenses to punch his way through them.

And punch he can. His Title is not for show. Boneshaker. His fist, encased in a wall of sonic attacks, hurts even when I block or dodge. My entire body feels as if it’s been holding on to a jackhammer for the whole day, my tongue a mess after having been accidentally bit so many times I almost consider a ball gag. My health is down to about forty percent, my Mana doing better at seventy. But Mana’s useless because my attacks just don’t do enough damage, not against him.

“Fine,” I growl and beckon the Kudaya on.

He rushes forward and I meet his fist with blades, a pair in hand as I dance and duck, my teeth and bones shuddering at near misses, my blades cutting into tough flesh. I have to use bigger motions, twisting and pushing against Asgauver’s Skill that robs my attacks of momentum, that threaten to stick my blades. I have to duck and dodge, stabbing and moving, my Stamina slowly grinding down, along with my health.

I fall for a feint of a retracted straight, the hand returning and dropping straight down. I get my sword up in time, but it doesn’t matter. The hippo drops his body, crushing me beneath his bulk. The earth flattens beneath me, a depression forming as Asgauver activates a Skill which triples his weight. I cough out blood, crushed and trapped.

And I have him exactly where I want him.

As the Kudaya pins my arm with one hand, the other rising to crush my face, I focus. Portals take a few precious moments to appear, the time required depending on the distance. And the interference at the other end. In this case, the other end of the Portal isn’t far. Just a hundred fifty feet or so. Directly above me. And the first one is directly below me.

We fall through the Portal and appear above where we were, above the arena and its exclusion from the quantum lock surrounding Tobago. Pain erupts through my body as molecules which were meant to align after teleportation get shifted ever so slightly, the System helping to fix the damage after having enforced the initial damage in the first place. We fall, picking up speed, and I fend off one more punch before Blink Stepping away from the damn Kudaya, just a couple of feet away so that I can nudge him back into the center of the Portal.

“Give up?” I shout.

“Never!”

Asgauver falls, twisting in the air, and hits the open Portal and reappears high above the arena to take damage again. And drops downward as gravity takes effect, falling through the Portal again to reappear above, his speed ever increasing. As for me, I stand to the side of the open Portal and focus, keeping an eye on the stubborn hippo’s health, occasionally using my spells to bounce him back into the center.

Once again, the silence through the stadium tells me I might have stunned the crowd. This time, when the noise comes back, it’s more muted, less boisterous. I might win, but I obviously didn’t win the “right” way.

“I told you you needed more movement Skills,” Quityan is saying to Asgauver.

The giant hippo is less boisterous now, arms crossed, his lips twisted upward in what I would call a snarl while the jaws move, masticating food. Once the Kudaya had finally been deemed too damaged to continue, I closed the Portals. Since then, the Kudaya has yet to say a damn word to me.

“You might have overdone it,” Lana says, elbowing me in the ribs. “You could have given up after putting on a good show.”

“Bugger him if he can’t take losing,” Ali says, playing with a string of glittering little spheres on a vine before he pops one into his mouth. “He shouldn’t have mocked boy-o.”

“He’ll get over it,” I say semi-confidently.

Whether he likes it or not, the System seems to agree that the win was mine, dumping a ton of experience onto me. It’s one of the facets of an arena which makes it popular. Everyone watching within the arena makes a minor experience donation. It’s generally pretty low per person, but with so many attendees, the amount stored and distributed is significant. As the headline act, the two of us receive a large chunk of the experience siphoned off during the day. As the winner, I get an even larger portion, enough so that I skip two Levels, putting me at Level 18. I’d assign my attributes and Skills, but it’d be considered rude to do so right now. No rush really.

Mikito nods, then grins slightly. “John could always beat him into it anyway.”

I cough as Quityan shoots us a look, obviously having heard Mikito. But she has a point. This is the Fist after all. In fact, I probably should have just wagered their vote on the fight, but truth be told, I hadn’t been that confident I’d win. If he had a Flight or other movement spell he could have used in mid-air, he would have been fine.

Lana rolls her eyes but stops when she sees another well-wisher come up. As usual, they greet Mikito first then me, congratulating us on our arena battles. Once again, I feel the undercurrent of disrespect, a dislike for my methods. By the time he’s gone—after extending another invitation to Mikito for a fight at a later date—Quityan is next to us.

“My apologies. Asgauver does not like losing. He’ll be better after he’s healed. His Skill takes a lot from him, no matter what he says,” Quityan says, looking back at the large hippo with a tenderness in his eyes that I didn’t expect.

I blink, thinking back to the casual touches, the body language… huh. Well, how would it work? After a moment, I wish I could scrub my brain.

“At a later date. If you’re willing?”

“Pardon?” I say, shaking my head. I rewind his words in my brain and catch up. “Oh. Yes, definitely. We do need your votes.”

“And you’ll have them. For a few small considerations.” There’s a slight pause before Quityan adds, “We seek little from your world, but individuals are interesting. Your strength, your experience in the Forbidden Zone…”

I nod slightly, mentally wincing. Right. I know now where this is going. They’ll want details, explanations of monsters and my experiences. Might even want me to go on a trip with them to a zone, just to power-Level themselves once again. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he speaks.

“Of course. Tomorrow then?” I say.

“Tomorrow,” Quityan says. “If you’d like, I can have you shown to your rooms. You must be tired.”

Murmured agreements ring out. Lana begs out too, indicating a desire to take her pets for a run. Her words elicits another delay as others offer to show her to a nearby dungeon. In the midst of the hubbub, Mikito and I extract ourselves, glad to leave the fight-crazy Fists alone.

“So how’d you do?” I ask. “On your wagers.”

“About forty thousand Credits down,” Mikito says happily. “Be better if I had bet on you winning like I thought you would.”

“You bet on me losing?” I groused.

“Well, I didn’t want to jinx you,” Mikito replies, eyes twinkling.

Silence extends between us before we break out in laughter, the attendant showing us the way to our temporary accommodations staring at us as if we’re crazy. The look the attendant gives us only drives us to laugh harder.

Chapter 14

“When you said you wanted to spend some time together, I was thinking a nice gastropub. Or maybe a yoga session,” Aiden, the skinny-jeans-wearing, goateed, manbun Mage, mutters. His hand twists and a lamppost bends and catches the flying monkey creature in mid-air, crushing it. At the same time, his other hand swings a wand, carving runes of light in the air, which float away to stack up in front of him.

“This is a lot more fun,” I say, impaling another downed monkey.

Hitting open settlements and dungeons have become a thing in the last couple of weeks, between conversations with panicked humans and snooty Galactics. I’ve stepped back somewhat from negotiating with settlement owners while I wait for more information, letting Lana and Katherine take the lead. Part of the reason we’re out as often though is because many of the completed deals have included helping out with dungeon population control, monster swarms, and sweeping areas to develop new land. So going out and killing monsters has actually helped strengthen our negotiation power as we show we’re not all talk. I do get moments of déjà vu though, when I Portal in another attack team to another strange city before traveling to the next damn location to do the same again. At least this time I’ve got access to much faster transportation.

All this fighting has provided a nice boost to my experience bar, gaining me another Level. In many ways, my Leveling speed is a bit ridiculous, but I did just spend four years fighting over-Leveled monsters on an on-going basis, so the resulting banked experience is significant. At some point, the banked experience will run out, but for now, I won’t be complaining.

“Your definition of fun needs work,” Lana calls, shotgun in hand. She hasn’t shot it yet, mostly because the Aura of the Red Queen which surrounds her is sufficient to keep the monsters away. That, and her pets do a bang-up job of taking down anything that even remotely threatens her. Her griffin is particularly frightening, though right now, the griffin’s fighting a pair of flying snake-like creatures.

“Come on, this is a walk in the park,” I say.

“I have a Fireball,” Aiden says, holding up his hand.

“I do not understand,” Capstan growls between taking shots at the flying monkeys. They mostly bounce off the temporary force shields the Yerrick have erected around our Portal site, only a few managing to make their way through the gaps the Yerrick have positioned.

Every second, more Adventurers are streaming in from Vancouver, parties gathering and receiving their marching orders from Capstan’s people while Carlos hands out small bags filled with his latest creations.

“We’re in El Chaten, which is located in Los Glaciares National Park. John was punning with the idiom,” Aiden says, his left hand still not stopping. “Nearly…”

“What are you casting?” Lana says, cocking her head to the side.

“A localized teleportation spell which is anchored here and linked to my life signs with a secondary healing and regeneration component,” Aiden says as he jabs the wand forward.

The last rune floats into the air, coalescing into a giant ball of spinning light before it splits into two parts. The smaller portion strikes Aiden in his chest, the larger sinking into the ground, where it disperses and embeds itself, leaving runic marks that slowly fade away.

“Whoa…” I say, looking at Aiden with admiration. “We can do that?”

“I can,” Aiden says, shaking his head. “It’s a ritual spell which takes about a week to cast. What you saw was just the engagement process.”

I blink, scratching the spell off the list of things I needed for regular dungeon runs. Still impressive though.

“Mikito not here?” Aiden asks.

“No. She’s running another dungeon.”

“With the champions?”

“No. Americans,” Lana adds unhappily. “Howard says the borders are secure. Nothing major in the next few blocks, though he smelled something disturbing on the other side of town. Howard’s insisting someone else do the killing as he doesn’t want to bite it.”

Her words gets a chuckle from Capstan before he barks a few orders. A party of Yerrick run up and are soon sent off to meet with the reluctant pony-sized puppy, Ali helpfully supplying everyone with coordinates. The Spirit is standing next to the Portal, tagging all the newcomers and sharing updated information maps. It still amazes me how smart Lana’s pets have gotten. It’s rather frightening the Level of power she can wield. Each of her animals is nearly the same strength as an equivalent Leveled individual, making Lana a walking party by herself. It makes her Class over-powered in some ways, but also a bit lopsided. It’d take a single semi-skilled assassin to take her out.

While everyone else is busy, I’m just holding the Portal open, so I take a moment to look around. The earth and our surroundings are all dusty brown, dry in the Argentinian summer. The mountains which ring the tiny town have the lightest of remnants of snow, a stark contrast to the unceasing whiteness of the Yukon this time of year. Most of the—few—buildings around us are broken down, missing windows and occasional walls, weird pitted holes and half-dissolved bricks opening up the interiors. Even the asphalt is damaged, torn up and melted, giving further clues as to the cause of destruction. Monsters. Lots of monsters.

While the town itself hasn’t become a dungeon, it’s a Level 80-plus zone out at the borders with obviously higher Level zones as you move further in. The town once thrived post-apocalypse but made the crucial mistake of not consistently clearing the surrounding alphas and dungeons, leading to a monster swarm which promptly killed everyone. Since then, no one’s taken the town, leaving it unclaimed. It probably didn’t help that there’s literally nothing connected to it for hundreds of kilometers. Of course, the lack of access is partly why it’s the perfect settlement for us to claim back.

“You sure about this, Capstan?” I say again, frowning at the big minotaur.

He chuckles, clapping me on the shoulder. “Whitehorse cannot hold all three clans which have arrived. With support from you and Lord Roxley, we should be able to develop this Village quickly. And I understand the Spear will be leading the champions to clear a few dungeons next week. We will be fine.”

“Fine,” I say. A moment later, I get the all-clear from our last entrant into our game of whack a monster. I drop the Portal, glancing at my slowly regenerating Mana, and tap Aiden on the shoulder. “You’re with us.”

“Dungeon clearing?”

“Yup. There’s a Level 90 dungeon which needs clearing,” I say and point in the right direction.

Aiden grumbles, more out of habit than actual objection it seems, as he follows along. Capstan and Nelia fall in with us after Capstan finishes speaking with the other Fist—a shorter female minotaur who wields a whip and Gatling gun. Lana refuses to come, busy running her puppies and coordinating with the new settlement owner.

Our tiny party makes it about a hundred meters away from town before Ingrid makes her appearance next to us, letting the others know of her presence.

“Ms. Starling,” Aiden exclaims. “I did not expect you here. Lana said you weren’t coming.”

Ingrid sniffs. “Lana’s stuck-up and judgmental. I figured I’d hitch a ride quietly. It’s been ages since I’ve done a proper dungeon delve.”

“You’re welcome to come along,” I say with a chuckle, my invitation echoed by the Yerrick.

With Ingrid settled, we pick up the pace, headed for the dungeon. Should be a breeze, with the group as it stands.

One of the things any Adventurer learns about dungeons is that they don’t hold to the normal laws of physics. Given enough Mana, dungeons have a tendency to warp the space around them, like a heavy meal ball on cheesecloth, stretching it under its weight and density. The dungeon we enter is a simple cave from the outside, but inside, it transforms to something truly immense, large enough to rival the Mammoth Cave system perhaps. As we delve, the initial few rooms are filled with poisoned fungi, warped insects, and mutated bats. Easy kills. Pedestrian even. Afterwards, things get disgusting.

“Acid slimes,” I announce, swiping the dripping mucous-like substance from my Soul Shield.

The corpse of the slime slowly dissolves, its Mana core destroyed.

“Flammable oil slimes here,” Aiden says, floating as he sprays his own opponents with a burst of freezing cold from his arm. Beneath him, the slimes twist and stretch in an attempt to reach the mage.

“Acid,” Nelia calls, her hands shifting as roots explode upward from the ground, piercing the slimes and draining them of their fluids, leaving crystalline remnants and Mana stones.

“More fire slimes,” Capstan growls. The large Yerrick looks to be the most perturbed, his usual loadout less than useful against these gelatinous opponents. Even so, he brute-forces his attacks, slamming his axe on a slime and using the concussive force of his attack to blast the slime’s body apart.

“Gah. I feel like I’m in a bad Japanese porn video.” I shake my head and cast a Blade Strike to rip apart a trio of slimes who drop from the ceiling right above me. Positioned as I am in front of everyone, I’m being swarmed, the slimes preferring to go for quantity over quality. As my Soul Shield keeps ticking down no matter how damn many of these things I kill is a good sign it’d work if we gave them enough time.

“Think you’re repeating yourself there,” Ingrid says with a chuckle before fading out of sight to reposition.

“Repeat?” Capstan swings his axe and sends out a burning energy strike from the head of it.

“Girlie means there ain’t no good Japanese porn. Repeating bad and Japanese, see?” Ali explains happily.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Aiden,” I call to the mage, ignoring the byplay.

The Mage rolls his eyes but turns toward me, casting Polar Zone centered around my body. I watch as he does so, my Mana Sight wide open as I study the way the spell twists and shapes Mana in front of me, altering the temperature in my surroundings. Aiden abbreviates some of what would be the normal casting method, short-cutting sections and replacing it with knots in other areas, the final spell-form different from that which I purchased. Different and so much more powerful.

The temperature drops by dozens of degrees in a second, the spell sweeping over all of us. Acid slimes freeze from their edges inward, their struggles shattering their gelatinous bodies and exposing unfrozen parts to the cold, speeding up their demise. Within tens of seconds, the monsters are dead and Aiden cuts the spell. Not a moment too soon—my own Soul Shield has fallen, exposing me to the full effects of the Spell. Not that I can’t take the damage.

“Damn…” Ali says, eyeing the numerous, fallen Mana stones “Someone’s been working out.”

“Thanks, Aiden,” I say, grinning at the Mage. It was the right decision, conning the man into coming along. His wide-scale area effect Spells will be useful against the wide variety of slimes that have been reported in this dungeon.

Once Nelia drops a drone to do the pickup of the Mana stones, we head in deeper to hunt down the remainder of the monsters. And of course, the dungeon boss.

“That’s not a slime,” I say, staring at the dungeon boss.

“Well, it technically is,” Aiden mutters, his eyes narrowing. “Those crystals that make up its body are slime cores. We’re going to need to shatter or separate each of those cores. I’d also assume that a large enough portion broken from the main body would still be functional.”

“So. Weird,” I mutter.

Crystalline Slime Hive (Dungeon Boss Level 94)

HP: 18318/18318

MP: 7337/7868

Conditions: Hivemind, Ablative Armor, Dispersed Core

“Har. Better than a titan slime,” Yerrick says with a snort, hefting his axe. “My sire fought one of those before on Regis III. Burnt off all his fur, ate his hand and one horn before he blasted it apart.”

I shudder at the description, my mind considering what a slime thirty or forty feet tall would be like. The maintenance bill of dealing with one of those things must be ridiculous. Especially if it ate you.

“So, recommendations?” I ask while the party splits apart.

Nelia stays close to Aiden, her hands weaving as she piles together new roots and earthen walls to protect the pair of them while Capstan and I flank the creature. I’m assuming Ingrid’s somewhere around, waiting for her chance to do some real damage.

“Hit it hard, shatter it. Then we’ll use area effect spells to mop up the shards,” Capstan says after a moment’s consideration.

The creature is just standing there, little pools of slime swirling around its body.

The moment he finishes speaking, Ingrid drops out of the shadow plane to launch her attacks with her blades. Each strike digs into the body, shattering a core, but doesn’t penetrate. As she finishes her first flurry, the slime rises from the ground and wraps tendrils around her body. Ingrid throws herself backward, breaking free briefly, though the remaining pieces of slime continue to burn her legs. I eye the monster’s health and wince, noting how Ingrid’s barely done more than a few hundred points of damage. This could take a bit.

Capstan charges, using the distraction my Blade Strikes generate to close the distance and smash his axe into the creature’s side. It pierces a foot into the creature’s torso before it gets stuck. As Capstan tries to yank it backward, the Mana stones shift, trapping the axe head.

“Mine!” Capstan growls, his body glowing red. But the increased Strength from his Skill is insufficient, and already the pool of slime is attacking him like it did Ingrid. Wisps of smoke rise from his feet.

“I’m feeling neglected here,” I mutter and form more blades with a thought.

I get ready to swing a massed Blade Strike when instinct has me duck. From all around the cavern, globules of slime fire from the wall, splashing against shields, bodies, and the ground.

“Owww!” Aiden snarls, his casting interrupted as one globule somehow manages to make it past the Mage’s Mana Shield.

He raises his hand, reforming and reinforcing his shield, while Nelia works her magic to plug up holes in their joint defense. The wide-ranging, indiscriminate attack also hit the stealthed Ingrid, her body forced out of the shadows, smoking and bleeding.

“Someone kill that thing!” Ingrid says as she ducks another shot.

Worryingly, some of the Mana stones that were initially chipped off from Ingrid’s and my attacks are forming new slimes, each of which turn to attack us.

“Working on it,” I growl and skip the upgraded attack to go for the ultimate—Army of One. The formed blades shift automatically, giving themselves more space as beams of force shoot outward. Thirteen strikes, each of them twice as powerful as normal, hammer into the body of the giant Crystalline Slime Hive, shattering pieces off it. I can’t help but smirk, noting how much more damage I can do with my Penetrate Master Skill added to my attacks.

“My turn,” Aiden says. Instead of attempting a single large-scale spell, the mage flicks and twirls his wand again and again. Small fireballs fly, each about half the size of the one I cast. In seconds, dozens are hovering before the Elemental Mage.

“Don’t!”

Ingrid’s panicked shout reaches our ears, but no one has time to answer the Assassin. We’re all throwing up our own defenses or activating defensive Skills as we ready for the oncoming blast.

When the fireballs land, the flame-filled explosion rocks us during the initial hit and again when the walls of the dungeon compress the explosion inward. And then outward again, the concussive force finding few escapes in this enclosed cavern. My newly recreated Soul Shield fails, my armor barely useful as my flesh cooks and my hair burns off. Even through my resistance, I see hundreds of health points drop, my body burning for what seems like eternity.

Then silence.

“Everyone still alive?” I cough around the smoke, my throat dry.

A low pair of rumbles from the Yerrick indicate their well-being. Ali pops back out of the semi-dimension he’s used to and I realize my instincts failed me this time. Having not used the Quantum State Manipulator for so long, I’d forgotten I even had it. I frown, realizing that both Aiden and Ingrid are silent, which is a bit concerning. Less so with the former, since it was his spell. But…

“Oops,” Aiden croaks, his clothing smoking slightly as he pushes his way out of the earth-and-ash fortress. “Forgot we were in a cave…”

“Baka!” Ingrid reappears behind Aiden, smacking him on the back of the head.

The Mage staggers, rubbing his head, and blinks. “How did you do that?”

“Reaper’s Touch. It’s a Skill that lets me ignore Shields.”

“New?” I ask, and Ingrid nods.

“It’s an exclusive Class Skill, but it’s worth it.” The Assassin’s eyes grow dark as I recall Ikael’s assassination.

His layering of multiple Shields thwarted her first flurry of attacks, putting her in greater danger than normal. With this Skill, she could bypass some of the problems. How much, I don’t know. Since it’s an exclusive Skill, the details aren’t exactly on the public System net, which means I’d have to buy it if I was really curious.

Ali, smirking at the pair’s antics, says, “Oy! I haven’t received an experience notification that the Boss is down.”

“What?”

We spin back toward the smoking center of the cavern where it’s true, Mana Stones smoke and hiss but are intact. As we watch, a few roll back together, joining into smaller clumps. As everyone aims their weapons and spells at the ground, I note something more disturbing on my minimap.

“Incoming!” I warn. Dozens of fast-moving dots are converging on us in my map. With a thought, the minimap in my vision enlarges, giving me a clearer view of the surroundings, but it’s of little use since the damn slimes seem to be moving through the walls as far as the map is concerned. “A lot of incoming. Get away from the walls.”

Everyone moves to comply, Nelia using a solid earth equivalent of my Mud Walls to sweep the slime cores aside as we rush forward. Simultaneously, the first of the slime reinforcements appear, many of them splattering as we blast, cut, and freeze their bodies apart. Surprisingly, the cores which have survived race toward the largest concentration of slime core shards and join together with them.

“It’s regenerating,” Ali says, wonder in his voice. “I’ve got to record this.”

“Record later. Electricity now!” I snap, raising my hand.

Ali ignores me, which annoys me, but I don’t have time to focus on him. Instead, I pull on my Mana, the spell formulae and the Mana forms twisting around in my mind and around my extended hand as I cast Lightning Strike. It’s my own modification of the Spell, an Enhanced version, as I reach outward and inward at the same time for my Elemental Affinity.

Electromagnetic Force, one of the four principle forces that form our universe. While the System might break the rules, while Mana seems to be the fifth overlying force over everything, the laws that they break still exist. My affinity, gifted from my Link to Ali, allows me to sense, feel, and yes, manipulate it. In the four years I was away, I explored the use of this affinity even further, but in this instance, the basic Enhanced Lightning Strike is sufficient. I let it rampage a little more than normal, expanding its range of motion by relaxing the pathways I normally control and increasing the differences in charge at the slime cores.

I play the lightning across the ground, feeling the electricity jump and ground, burning and crisping even as my Mana drops and drops. But it’s working—the Slime Boss is taking damage faster than it can recover. It works. Until the ground under us gives way, cutting off my spell and dropping us in a pool of goop.

“Ugh!” Ali says, safely in the air. He stares as the rest of us floundering in the suddenly formed pool of slime, our skin burning as the slime grips our bodies and attempts to drag us deeper.

By the time Nelia manages to use her spells to drain the slime and reinforce the newly created crater’s walls to ensure we aren’t surprised again, the Boss has reformed.

“I’m really beginning to hate this dungeon,” Ingrid says as she pours a bottle of Greater Healing across her face, the enchanted potion healing the red and raw skin while neutralizing the slime.

“Agreed,” Capstan growls.

I look at the now nearly nude monster, his fur repeatedly burnt and scorched off. Even as I watch, patches grow out as the Yerrick’s regeneration kicks in.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to win this quickly. I will conserve Mana for a long battle.” Neila suits action to words as she casts a Group Healing Pulse on us all, a long-term healing spell.

“Ditto.” Aiden waves his hand, a small floating blue ball forming above his head. When a slime core rolls closer toward us, it sends a single Mana dart at it. A few seconds later, the Mage has cast a second sphere as he begins to ring our new defensive position with these spheres.

“And I’ll…” I shrug and jump out of the pit, realizing I’m out of witty things to say. “Kill it.”

Later on that evening, we’re seated at the newly rebuilt City Center with Carlos, Lana, and the rest of the settlement team. Capstan is regaling those interested with the story of our fight, seeming to take great pleasure in emphasizing the disgusting aspects in particular. As for me, I’m seated in my own corner, tucking into the slab of Auroch ribs the Yerrick have kindly supplied me with, along with the bowl of mashed potatoes that have been drowned in gravy.

“May I join you?” Lana says, gesturing to a seat across from me.

Ingrid, who is seated beside me, looks at Lana and nods companionably if slightly coldly. The redhead returns the nod, but I can tell there’s a distance now between the two. Still, at my assent, Lana sits down without seeming too discomfited.

“It should take the Yerrick about a week to get settled and meet the Town requirements,” Lana says. “I believe that puts us at just over twenty-two percent of the vote. We’re still working on some of the other settlement owners in Africa, but our ability to field a focused and effective fighting force and our ties to the Hakarta, Erethrans, and Yerrick have convinced many we can provide the security they’re looking for.

“But we still haven’t heard from Roxley. Or Wynn. And Rob and Bipasha are at loggerheads over the candidacy. If the situation continues, we might need both Roxley and Wynn for any chance at this.”

“Wynn has requested more time. And Roxley…” I frown, shrugging. “He’s been quiet so far, but he did get us those two votes from the Okres.”

Lana makes a face, obviously less than impressed. I am too, since the Okres were basically a group of slightly more civilized ogres. But at least they don’t eat their enemies, and right now, we need every vote we can get. It’s a compromise which grates, but it’s one I’ll live with. At least this way we’ve managed to get them to banish their human criminals to us rather than the wilderness. It’s not a perfect solution, since a good two-thirds of their criminals are real asses, but the third we save for not finishing all their food or not training in the town square every day makes it worth it. Or so I tell myself.

“Nothing like the actual votes of the Movana,” Lana says before she puffs out a breath. “We won’t be able to get all the human settlement votes on our side. We need to speed up our discussions with the Galactics.”

“I’m assuming you have a recommendation?” I say.

Lana nods. Her hand shifts and a list is sent to me. “I’ve spoken with Kim and Ali as well as Ayuri. Based on their information and analysis, this is how I recommend we tackle it.”

I look over the list, then I note Ingrid is staring at us instead of blankly into space. With a mental twitch, I share the information with the Assassin, who flashes me a smile. Lana’s eyes narrow slightly but she doesn’t protest, so I don’t bring it up. I don’t have time to deal with the pair of them.

“You’re handling the Artisan faction?” I say, looking at the meeting scheduled two days from now. “Should I be there?”

“No. Katherine and I are the better options,” Lana says. “I’ll bring Carlos too. They’re more likely to listen to those of us not active on the battlefields.”

“Like appreciates like?” I say with a smirk but shrug, accepting her analysis. It does leave me with a ton of individual meetings, most of them via telecommunications towers, though I see a few in-person meetings marked as required. “I assume Kim’s going to brief me before these?”

“Yes.” Lana sighs. “You know, this will be a lot easier if you could make up your mind between Rob and Bipasha.”

“I know.” I scan down the list and frown as something jumps out. “This doesn’t cover everyone.”

“No. Some are grouped, but the greyed names at the bottom, we won’t want to work with. Or they just don’t want to work with us,” Lana says.

Ingrid hums, tapping a few of the names and sending it over to us. “I know these asses. Want me to kill them?”

“You’re talking about murder,” Lana says coldly.

“When a state does it, it’s called good policy.” Ingrid grins at me. “Right, boss?”

I want to shout about not being dragged into this, but… “Can you?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t. But I will need some help,” Ingrid says.

Lana looks upset, crossing her arms over her ample bosom.

“Done. Talk to Kim,” I say, making a note which will download to Kim when we’re back in range.

Ingrid nods while Lana stares at the pair of us before she walks away without a word.

I watch the redhead disappear, my lips pursing slightly. “Maybe we should have had this talk another time.”

“She’ll get over it. Lana understands, but she’s still a middle-class white girl at heart,” Ingrid says, lips twisting wryly. “She still thinks, deep down, we can play nice. We’ve tried to keep her from getting her hands dirty, but it doesn’t mean she doesn’t need to know it’s happening.”

I switch my attention back to my food, which suddenly has lost its luster. A part of me wonders what happened to the innocent, quiet programmer I used to be. But another, more honest part of me knows I was never that empathetic. It’s perhaps my greatest strength and flaw in this world. I care, in the abstract.

Chapter 15

“We want another settlement,” the mantis-like creature on the opposite side of the projection demands for the umpteenth time.

“And we can help you take an open settlement. But you can’t hold it,” I say, folding my hands across one another.

“You will help.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Then we will not vote.”

“Okay,” I say and kill the connection with a thought.

“I think now’s when you come back with a counter-offer,” Ali says helpfully and sarcastically.

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “They’ll call back. It’s called playing hard ball.”

“And if they don’t?”

“They will.”

“And if they don’t?” Ali repeats.

“Then I find someone else, perhaps one of their neighbors, who wants two new settlements. And we kick their asses together,” I say heatedly.

“And time! Bits for brains, delay all calls,” Ali says. “Boy-o needs a blood sugar transfusion.”

“Oh, come on…” I growl, but Ali’s raised eyebrow makes me subside.

I sigh, fishing out some chocolates while Ali makes arrangements for a snack to arrive. Just because I’m angry doesn’t mean my blood sugar is low. I learned to regulate my blood sugar levels and those issues with the enhances in my Constitution a long time ago. A good thing too, since I ran out of chocolates in the first two months on the planet.

“Want to talk about it?” Ali says.

“No.”

“Good. I didn’t really want to listen.”

We sit quietly for a time before I finally break. “I hate this. The horse trading, the negotiations. It was so much easier earlier. When it was just our swords, our spells, our Skills. And I can see it in them, the greed, the desire to take everything they can just because we need it, I need it.”

“Way of the world, boy-o,” Ali says.

“Maybe. But I don’t have to like it,” I say softly. “And I don’t like how far I’m willing to go.”

“But you’re not going to change.”

“No.” I meet the Spirit’s eyes. There’s a shared understanding there, one we cannot speak about. Not here, not where others might learn of it. We both saw what would happen, could happen in the Forbidden Zone. The consequences of being too liberal with our knowledge, our goals. The price of failure. And the disastrous future which awaits every race, every planet. A world, racked with Mana, where even the callous benevolence of the System is missing.

“Eat,” Ali says softly. “Then we’ve got another four calls. Afterwards, we’ll run a dungeon for the evening till you grind that last level.”

I nod, staring at the thread of my experience bar. Just a little more, then I’ll hit Level 20. Just a little more. But first, a snack.

“I can have your settlement added to our trade list and the teleportation portal’s coordinates. We’ll also designate a minimum of two tons of the brew for your settlements,” I say, tapping my fingers slowly. “But you’re going to have to guarantee delivery of at least six tonnes of that Limehouse Barley you have there.”

“Five,” chirps the bird-like creature.

I’ve given up on names by now, beyond the usual glances at the floating information when I need to actually name it. It doesn’t help that Chirp here has a name I actually can’t say.

“Done. Contract will be on the way.”

“No. We won’t ban the Hakarta from this world.”

“They are untrustworthy and deceitful.” A merman speaks now, floating in inky darkness, illuminated only by the light of the communication screen. One thing they don’t tell you about the ocean is that it’s pitch black down there, if you get down far enough.

“Those words mean the same thing. But they already have a deal with us,” I say. “And three settlements.”

“Useless. I knew you were our enemies like them. We will burn you humans out!”

“Feel free to come after me. Or my settlements,” I say, leaning forward as my voice grows cold. “But touch a hair on any innocents and I’ll be coming for you.”

“You think I fear a new Master Class like you? We are the rulers of the ocean!”

“Maybe not today. Or tomorrow. But in a year? Two? You’ve seen my Leveling speed. How long do you think it’s going to take for me to become a real threat?”

My threat shuts up the merman, gills at the side of his neck opening and closing as he flushes water out. Rather than speak—and really, it’s more of a mental command to an integrated communicator in his head—the notification cuts out.

I lean backward, huffing out a breath as I shake my head. Idiots. “Let’s add one of their settlements to the hit list, will you?”

“DONE.”

“Cancel that, bits for brains,” Ali says and crosses his arms, glaring at me. “You are not starting a war with the mermen. Not over one phone call.”

“They only have six settlements,” I say grumpily.

“Right now. Unless the Waz or the Loom arrive in greater number, they will have full run of your coasts. And unless you intend to go swimming constantly, there’s little you can do to slow them down,” Ali points out.

I can’t help but let out a little shudder. Months underwater? Ugh… “Fine. We’ll look into another way of dealing with them.”

“Good. And they were the last one,” Ali says. “But overall, well done.”

“No comments about how I handled myself today?” I blink, finding the sudden turnaround surprising.

“None from me,” Katherine speaks up from the door.

I blink, realizing I must be more tired than I thought to have missed her. Or else I unconsciously file her away as a non-threat.

“I’m surprised,” I say, scratching the side of my head. “I figured I was playing it too rough.”

“Do you think every party should be handled the same way?” Katherine smiles slightly as she walks forward. “Negotiations are multi-faceted, and the tactics employed differ depending on the party. Some, a more genteel approach is required. Others, a longer, slower, and more circuitous route”—Katherine places a hand on her chest as she makes the last statement, almost as if indicating that’s her specialty—“while others need a firm, some might even say aggressive, approach to get the best results.”

“You split the list to me for people I could pound on,” I say, my lips twitching upward slightly.

“Crudely put, yes. Though I would recommend some moderation. We are seeking allies, not enemies.”

“Fair enough.” I stand, stretching. “Did you need anything or…?”

“Just the casting portal at your desk. Kim informed me you intend to train?”

I nod and slip aside. Katherine walks over and casts a Chill spell on my chair before she sits down and adjusts it to ensure the vidcaster catches her just right. I smirk slightly at her vanity, then realize perhaps it’s not vanity. After all, looking good might actually be important. Or perhaps, giving off the right impression rather than looking “good.”

As I muse about the line between vanity and practicality in diplomacy, I wander out, headed for another dungeon and more violent concerns. Time to grind.

I spit out a tooth, grateful that one of the advantages of a greater-than-human Constitution is the replacement of teeth. Otherwise I’d be walking around with dentures, clicking them at little children on the street and giggling as they run away screaming. Actually, that doesn’t sound so bad…

“You can stop kicking it,” I say to Ali, the Spirit growling as he wails on the dead Ice Drake.

We’re near the edges of my domain, in the northern part of British Columbia where the Rockies meet, helping to trim down the number of monsters. Unfortunately, the dungeon I expected to find had actually been cleared by an enterprising group of Adventurers. Still, the Level 90 zone has enough regular monsters for me to get in some decent training.

“You overgrown pair of boots. You’re supposed to eat the human!” Ali growls, kicking the drake one last time before he makes it disappear in my Altered Space.

I get a notification a second later, laughing as I read Ali’s comments.

Wannabe-Dragon Hide (Drake Hide)

4 * Good Quality Pieces

11 * Damaged Pieces

Perfect for making a pair of high-quality boots

Wannabe-Dragon Teeth (Drake Teeth)

2 * High Quality pieces

Only desired by crazy alchemists and tasteless collectors.

“I figure that’s it?” I say, cocking my head at Ali.

The Spirit disgruntledly waves at me, and my notification belatedly blooms.

Congratulations! You have reached Level 20 as a Paladin of Erethra

Attribute gains automatically assigned. You have 67 free attribute points and 6 Class Skills.

Perfect. This time around, I look at my Class Skill options first. At Level 20, I get access to the second tier at last, which is all I’ll have access to till Level 40, when I’ll get the third and last tier. In some ways, having fewer tiers of Skills is actually better for me, since I’ll be able to focus my Class Skill points rather than having my Skills spread out like in my previous Class. It’s a good combination, versatility in my Advanced Class and more focus in my Master.

I still dump a point into every Skill available at this newly unlocked tier. Just because I want to focus doesn’t mean I don’t want a taste of everything first.

Beacon of the Angels (Level 1)

User calls down an atmospheric strike from the heavens, dealing damage over a wide area to all enemies within the beacon. The attack takes time to form, but once activated need not be concentrated upon for completion.

Effect: 1000 Mana Damage done to all enemies, structures and vehicles within the 20 meter column of attack

Mana Cost: 500 Mana

I’m rather tempted to toss another point into the Skill, but I’m a little concerned the attack might be limited to certain environments. Of course, this is the System, so while the Skill describes the attack as coming from the heavens, it might just port the attack into the center of a dungeon without tearing through the surroundings. It’s something I’ll have to check out, but I finally have my first area effect Skill. This is perfect for dealing with large groups of enemies. Especially since the damage is direct Mana damage, which bypasses most resistances.

Eye of the Storm (Level 1)

In the middle of the battlefield, the Paladin stands, seeking justice and offering judgment on all enemies. The winds of war will seek to draw both enemies and allies to you, their cruel flurries robbing enemies of their lives and bolstering the health and Mana of allies.

Effect: Eye of the Storm is an area effect buff and taunt. Psychic winds taunt enemies, forcing a Mental Resistance check to avoid attacking user. Enemies also receive 5 points of damage per second while within the influence of the Skill, with damage decreasing from the epicenter of the Skill. Allies receive a 5% increase in Mana and Health regeneration, decrease in effectiveness from Skill center. Eye of the Storm affects an area of 50 meters around the user.

Cost: 500 Mana + 20 Mana per second

Aura of Chivalry makes everyone look. Eye of the Storm makes everyone charge. It’s a nasty on-going taunt, though it’s not as powerful as a direct taunt Skill would be. But considering it’s on-going, does damage, and affects a wide area, I’m not complaining at all. It also has the side benefit of boosting health and Mana regeneration, though I do note there’s no indicator it can be stacked. That generally means it either won’t, or the benefit will be significantly lower. Better than nothing though.

Vanguard of the Apocalypse (Level 1)

Where others flee, the Paladin strides forward. Where the brave dare not advance, the Paladin charges. While the world burns, the Paladin still fights. The Paladin with this Skill is the vanguard of any fight, leading the charge against all of Erethra’s enemies.

Effect: +30 to all Physical attributes, increases speed by 50% and recovery rates by 30%. This Skill is stackable on top of other attribute- and speed-boosting Skills or spells.

Cost: 500 Mana + 10 Stamina per second

My first major Skill that uses Stamina. Most of those I purchase don’t use Stamina since I like not running out of breath and being too tired to move my arms in a fight. It’s amazing how many monsters and individuals go for the burst damage approach, then they get caught out after a few minutes and realize they can’t finish off their opponent. Vanguard is a nasty, nasty burst Skill, giving me a ton of benefits which can be stacked on top of other Skills and spells. But at the rate of drain, it’s something I only want to use in short bursts. It’s perfect for shattering a battle line, getting behind your opponents, and then getting down to business.

Society’s Web (Level 1)

Where the Eye of Insight provides the Paladin an understanding of the lies and mistruths told, Society’s Web shows the Paladin the intricate webs that tie individuals to one another. No alliance, no betrayal, no tangled web of lies will be hidden as each interaction weaves one another closer. While the Skill provides no detailed information, a skilled Paladin can infer much from the Web.

Effect: Upon activation, the Paladin will see all threads that tie each individual to one another and automatically understand the details of each thread when focused upon.

Cost: 400 Mana + 200 Mana per minute

This is another of those Skills which I’m going to have to spend some time exploring. Thankfully, I can attempt to figure out what the heck it does outside of a dungeon. Though I’ll admit I’m curious to see what it does in a dungeon. I mean, do dungeon monsters have a social web? If so, what would it look like? But I picked up this Skill on a hunch it could be of use during the negotiation process rather than any expectation it’ll help me Level.

In truth, I’m finding that more of the important parts of my life are revolving around political and social battles than the next settlement or dungeon I have to clear. Sure, those are important, as my ability to kick ass and take land are the pillars which reinforce my ability to negotiate with political parties. They are not, in themselves, the orbit of my life anymore. In some ways, I’m grateful for the de-emphasis in violence in my life. While I’m scarily skilled at dishing out damage and calculating the flow of a battle, I spent too many years recently being nothing but a kill-monger. My future, our future, cannot be one soaked in blood.

With the Skill points allocated, I dismiss the Skill information. I still need to figure out what to do with my extra points, but I want to see the effects of these Skills first. Afterwards, assigning attributes is a simple enough matter. I’ve got such a large surplus of free attributes now, I can use them to iron out some of the areas I feel are lacking.

I start by adding a few points into Luck, Perception, Intelligence, and Strength. Luck because the gradual effect on loot drops generally pans out. I’ve noticed the difference between the quantity and quality between myself and Ingrid or Mikito, who both have focused on other Stats. It’s not exaggerated, but an extra high quality material or two every couple of drops does eventually add up.

Sadly, Luck, much like Wisdom, is one of those attributes I’ve yet to understand how to manipulate. It’s a failure of knowledge and understanding, of course. While I can, say, push my Perception to increase or dull my senses as needed, I’m not sure what I’m doing with Luck or Wisdom. And I’ll admit, I’m a bit concerned about testing out either.

Perception is easy enough to understand. In the middle of combat, I rarely have time to adjust how I’m shifting the emphasis of my attributes around, which makes a base higher stat important. It lets me keep up with speed builds like Mikito and, heck, my own body. As for Strength… well, if fighting the damn hippo was anything to go by, I still need to hit harder.

Once I’ve allocated over ten points to each of those attributes, I dump the remaining four points into Willpower because I desperately need more Mana Regeneration. All my recent purchases of Skills have seriously hampered it. In fact, I sometimes wonder if I would be better off increasing my Willpower more.

Once done, I pull up my character sheet to admire myself for a moment.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Paladin

Race

Human (Male)

Level

20

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead, Duelist, Explorer

Health

3320

Stamina

3320

Mana

3100

Mana Regeneration

229 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

215

Agility

295

Constitution

332

Perception

160

Intelligence

310

Willpower

334

Charisma

98

Luck

65

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

3*

Blade Strike*

3

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades*

3

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

2

Sanctum

2

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footsteps*

1

Tech Link*

2

Penetration

2

Aura of Chivalry

1

Eyes of Insight

1

Analyze*

2

Harden*

2

Quantum Lock*

3

Elastic Skin*

3

Beacon of the Angels

1

Eye of the Storm

1

Vanguard of the Apocalypse

1

Society’s Web

1

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (IV)

Greater Regeneration (II)

Greater Healing (II)

Mana Drip (II)

Improved Mana Missile (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike (III)

Firestorm

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Improved Inferno Strike (II)

Mud Walls

Ice Blast

Icestorm

Improved Invisibility

Improved Mana Cage

Improved Flight

Haste

“Now what, boy-o?”

“Find me another drake or two,” I say, grinning as I bounce on the balls of my feet. Best to test out my new attributes and get used to them now.

A look at the night sky which still shroud the mountains indicates I have maybe another couple of hours before dawn. Enough time to trim the population a little more.

“I said one or two,” I send to Ali as we crouch low, staring at the family of five drakes sleeping in the cavern. Damn Spirit even hid most of their signatures till I had sneaked into the cave, revealing the other three once I was within.

“Whine, whine, whine.”

I don’t bother answering the Spirit, rubbing my chin in thought. These aren’t shadow drakes, they’re astral drakes. From what I recall, they have lower hit points but are even sneakier, able to shift dimensions and attack while half-corporeal. It makes them incredibly tough to see when they’re active, making them powerful ambush predators. They even have a ranged attack of sorts, an attack which basically sends disruptive energy from the Astral plane into this world. The attack ignores most defenses, which makes it even more dangerous. A single astral drake would be a tough fight for any Advanced Class team.

Unfortunately for them, I’m not an Advanced Class any longer. And they’re asleep.

Step one, test Beacon of the Angels. Since the drakes chose a relatively high and steep cave to rest in, it makes the amount of earth the Skill has to blast through—if it does come straight from the heavens—minimal.

Rather than potentially wake the monsters with the use of Mana, I skip activating my usual complement of buffs. Instead, I focus within and reach into the new bundle of knowledge in my mind, caressing the information for a moment before I activate it.

Mana surges through my body, pulled from my pores in such a violent fashion it churns the air around me and reveals my location. The drakes wake even as my mind is cast thousands of meters into the night sky. I float, seeing the formation of the beam of light, and a part of me suddenly understands. I can let it come down like the wrath of a Greek god, a column of fire and flame, of the inexplicable force that is Mana, and let it destroy everything as it does. I can be flashy and make a statement, which is how a Paladin should do battle.

Or I can adjust the Skill, the attack coming from the heavens but manifesting only when it nears the ground. In this way, the attack will bypass the stone and trees and strike through terrain without damaging what is between, all for a minor loss in effectiveness. Subtler, but useful in an indoor fight.

I choose the latter of course. It all takes less than the blink of an eye, knowledge understood and decision made. The Skill manifests as a cylinder of pure energy, a column of destruction which burns and tears as it strikes. The drakes scream, thrashing as the Mana rages, while I channel a firestorm.

When the Beacon is over, the drakes are only just beginning to recover from the surprise attack before the firestorm lands, sweeping them up again in further hellish flame. Fast as I am though, a pair of drakes disappear into the Astral Plane.

I snarl, Blink Stepping into the center of the cavern, appearing on the shredded wing of one miserable, semi-conscious drake. I feel the space around me then shut it down, locking everything into place with the Quantum Lock Skill. The strain on my mind is incredible. The necessity of understanding and holding every single aspect of reality together is almost enough to make me buckle. Almost.

The pair that escaped are forced back by my Skill, reappearing in meat space halfway toward my ex-hiding spot. But I’m busy, chopping at the neck of the nearest drake, cutting into its burnt and dried flesh, blood dribbling out from the wounds and hissing in the volcanic heat of the cave. I spin, savaging its neck and moving within the periphery of its body, allowing the injured drake to block the attacks of the others. I grunt, staring at my dropping Mana bar.

I need to finish this. Fast. With a grin, I call upon the Vanguard of the Apocalypse. Immediately, I feel my attributes increase, my strength and speed growing even as I see each movement of my attackers even clearer. I can sense where attacks are going, almost chart each movement, as my sword appears in one hand and a beam pistol in the other.

The injured and enraged drakes, too angry to run and forced to fight in the cramped quarters of their cavern, are no match for me. I jump, run, and spin, cutting and stabbing with one hand and blasting with the other. It’s a dance through the dark, the cavern fitfully lit by the remaining flames from my previous attacks, the walls and floor of the cavern the canvas for my painting of blood and violence.

When it’s over, I’m left panting and on my knees, my Stamina drained, my Mana the barest sliver left. But I’m grinning. Because for all the pain and sorrow this world has brought, it’s also brought an understanding which I would never have received in the previous world. Among the winds of the apocalypse, I have found my place.

I use a full hour to test myself, pushing my body and my new Skills to the limit. For all my bitching at Ali, he’s right. The only way to improve is to push the boundaries, to test myself. Not with a single drake or two, but with a flight. To push and push until all there is is blood and pain, because it’s at the limits where you find yourself.

But as much as I might wish to train, to indulge my penchant for violence, the dawn comes. Time and responsibility grind inexorably onward, ignoring the needs and desires of pitiful mortals. After I pack up the Mountain Giant’s corpse, I look around the snow-covered land one last time then gesture, opening a Portal back to civilization and responsibility. Time to go.

Chapter 16

I Portal in, not back to my office but just off Granville Street in downtown Vancouver. The once-vibrant main street has become so again, shedding its mixture of hipster bars and sex stores for a more eclectic mixture of stores. Gyms cluster on the top floors, training grounds for those looking to brush up the edges of their skills. Everything is taught, from human martial arts to newer Galactic combat forms that focus on the development and integration of Skills. Below, retailers hawk their System-integrated wares, offering anything from monster-hide leather armor to combat and utility drones. I see a Potioneer flashing passersby as he hawks his wares from within his trench coat while a Busker plays for an appreciative audience of people who tip and wait for the buffs to take effect.

The street bustles with life, both Galactic and human. A small metallic ball rolls alongside a towering Yerrick, his green-skinned Hakarta date leaning into his arm with a smile and eye-popping cleavage. In a clothing store, a mother smacks her child’s hand, casually disarming him and taking away a newly bought survival knife. All around, Adventurers bustle and get ready for their next great expedition while others run their mundane routines, buying groceries and clothing, offering Skills and skills.

“Quite a difference, eh?” Ali says, walking beside me with a slight smile.

I cock my head to the side, considering his tone. I’m surprised to hear pride. Huh. Who’d have thought?

“WE HAVE SEEN A 14.3% INCREASE IN ANNUALIZED GDP IN THE LAST MONTH.”

“Nice…” I have nothing to say to Kim’s statement. It’s not as if I really understand what it means, beyond the obvious signs before me.

“Why’d we Portal back here, boy-o? Not that I mind getting out of the office, but…”

“Skill training,” I say. A moment of focus and Society’s Web activates. All around me, glowing threads erupt, stunning me for a second. There’s so many, in such a wide variety of colors and sizes, it looks like a knitter’s stash after a barrel of kittens and a tornado had been let loose.

“Oy! I’m walking here,” Ali roars as he is nearly squished by a landing hover taxi.

My little brown man gets into a spirited argument with the driver while I stand stock still, taking in the new view. I admit, I struggle as I attempt to grasp the intricacies of my new Skill. The Skill is strange, with some individuals bursting with threads, some so thin they’re no larger than a spider’s web and others as wide as a door. The child has few threads, her thickest to her mother and a few other large ones spreading out of sight. All but one other—a thin, light grey thread which runs from her to me.

I look down and realize tens of thousands of these grey threads lead to my body. They overlap with other, brighter-colored threads that lead to me, but thankfully, when I concentrate, the grey threads become more prominent, pushing the colored threads to the background. Some of the grey threads are as thin as the child’s, others as thick as my wrist. With a shift in perception, I push away all the grey threads and focus on the others. I frown, focusing on a dark-red-and-green beam of light about three inches thick which moves toward the northeast.

Lana Pearson

Love, lust, debt, gratitude, jealousy, guilt, joy, confidence, pain…

I see, I sense the words, the emotions which I hold for her and her for me. I sense the long string of obligations incurred and the aid she has given me over the years, the unspoken social contract we’ve indulged in. Love, lust, guilt, and hurt. Favors traded, time employed. Kisses given and tears shed. It all comes to me, the weight and depth of our connection, stunning me as I realize something.

Thousand hells.

I’m an ass.

The thought is enough to pull me away from her beam of light, for me to regard my body. I cock my head to the side, one particular shiny black thread catching my attention. There’s a darkness to it that draws me close, forces me to focus.

Un Bair

Contract. Obligation. Death.

I shudder, feeling the coldness that radiates from the thread, and look to the side. My eyes widen, seeing the thread disappear into nothingness a bare foot away.

Then a pair of knives plunge into my chest, stealing my breath.

You are Poisoned!

47 Health per second

Duration: 8 Minutes, 9 Seconds

You are Poisoned!

Mana and Health Regeneration reduced by 18%

Duration: 11 Minutes, 12 Seconds

Dimension Locked

All movement skills which require teleportation are blocked

Mana Lock

Mana flow in your body has been disrupted. You are stunned for 3.8 seconds (resisted)

I stagger backward even as the daggers come out and plunge toward me again. The second attack hammers into the Greater Shield I trigger from the enchanted ring with a mental command, an act I can still take. It buys me a second as the blades skim and shatter the Shield before they pierce my chest again. The Poison notifications flash on my interface, resetting the clock as even more of the poison floods my system. Pain erupts through my body as my nerves finally catch up, even as the daggers are taken out again, flipped overhand, and plunged into the ball sockets of my shoulders. I scream as much as I’m able to, muscles locked as the Skill keeps me frozen.

Crippled!

You have received a crippling blow. You will not be able to use your arms until you are healed.

Three seconds might seem like a blink, but in a fight, it’s an eternity. As the blades rise again, his hands crossing as he moves to behead me, I feel a hand yank me away. Too slow to avoid the attack entirely though. The blades cross across my neck, leaving me gurgling on my blood.

Bleeding!

You have received a bleeding debuff. You will lose health so long as the wounds are not treated.

-3 Health per second

Warning! Health below 15%

“Oy!” Ali shouts as he pulls me away with one hand while he thrusts forward with the other.

The assassin doesn’t hesitate, a dagger punching toward Ali’s glowing red hand is wrapped with bolts of lightning. The attack lands, forcing the Spirit to lose control of the spell. The ensuing explosion of raw plasma released into air throws all of us apart.

My body tumbles, crashing into a pair of passersby. I try to push myself up, but my arms aren’t working and I uselessly flop to the side as I scramble to my feet. A hand grips my shoulder, hauling me to my feet while a green light bursts upon my body, healing wounds. I blink, tilting my head to see the mother with her child held behind her, bleeding from a head wound but focused on healing me.

“Come on there, no lying down on the job.” The rough hands which grip me belong to an older Adventurer, his face cragged and lined, his vest filled with potions of healing and stamina.

A part of me is trying to figure out why these people would risk their lives to help me, to step up when it’d be easier to hide. The other is scanning the surroundings, searching for signs of the assassin. I see nothing, not that I did before.

“Ali?”

“Son-of-a-Gremlin! Youch!”

“Master Class?”

“Definitely.”

I snarl, staring around me, waiting. But no matter where I look, how I look, I can’t see him. It’s obvious his stealth Skill is stronger than mine, even as I layer Soul Shield on myself.

Quantum Lock released.

I exhale harshly then Blink Step directly upward. A moment later, I’ve ascertained his thread leads off into the distance, fading away in the horizon. I briefly consider going after him as I fall to the ground, triggering my Flight spell to land lightly. I absently note the healing light has cut off, probably shaken by my abrupt motions. Better not follow him. If he’s as good as I think, I’ll be walking into a trap.

“Anyone hurt?” I say, looking around.

The older man stares at me as blood drips from my numerous wounds. The pain is pushed to the back of my mind, a part of me but not hampering my motions. The mother ignores my silly words, again bathing me in healing spell after healing spell. I incline my head in thanks while casting a Major Healing on myself too, pushing my health up to a quarter and giving me some movement in my arms.

“Other than me,” I clarify.

But I can see the answer is no. The violence, abrupt and explosive as it was, is taken in stride by many. Already, the hole in the ground is being patched by the System. Many others are brushing off their clothing, casting healing or cleanse spells or waiting for the System’s regeneration to fix them. It’s frightening how even the “civilian” population of my city has such a blasé attitude toward violence. Only a few glance at me curiously, and I can’t even say if it’s because I’m their technical settlement leader or the target of the attack.

“Thank you. Both of you,” I say.

My words get shrugs and muttered words of acceptance before they leave. I try to press Credits, gifts on them, but the pair refuses. As the mother guides her daughter away, I see the child look back and flash me a comforting smile. It’s a bit of a thunderbolt, that smile, one which pierces through the self-delusion I’ve created.

The lonely hero, perched above the throngs of humanity, their guardian and savior. The all-seeing protector is such a common depiction even I had taken it for truth. I’ve molded myself around the image, pursued the idea as if it were a truth I needed to grasp. I set myself apart from the members of the society that I wanted to protect. And only now do I realize what a lie it was. Because you can’t protect what you can’t understand, and you can’t understand without taking the time to know. And being above it all doesn’t just give you perspective; it makes you miss the details. In the end, it’s the details that are important.

The child who can smile after a moment of scary violence. A mother who will step forward to protect others even while her child stands by her side. The couple fighting and making up, their passion burning so bright it makes others mock them silently in jealousy. The daughter crying over the loss of her parents. The politician turning down a bribe. The good and bad which make up who we are.

Somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten this, missed it because I was too busy playing the cool, aloft hero. And only now do I understand. They don’t need another remote hero, a lord who oversees them all and gives nothing but cold reassurance. These people, they need someone who cares about them, day in and day out.

“You called?” Lana says, finding me in the most guarded place in the city a minute later.

“Yes. Give me your hand.”

Lana frowns, walking toward me and cocking her head to the side. I take her hand and place it on the core, stopping the automatic jerk the Beastmistress makes when I do so.

“What are you doing?”

“What I should have done from the start,” I say and release her hand once the notification appears. Luckily, I turned off the global notification option. Otherwise, everyone in all the settlements would be getting this warning.

“John…”

“You’re the right person for this. Always have been,” I say softly. “I was being greedy and selfish. And perhaps a little scared.”

“I’ll take the first two, but the last?” Lana says, her voice forcibly light. But I note she doesn’t move her hand away from the City Core.

“Scared that I couldn’t trust you. Or anyone else.” I sigh. “Scared that somehow, if I didn’t do it, no one else could. That I’d be giving up control to another person who would make a mistake. But it’s stupid, isn’t it? Because you’ve been in charge this entire time anyway. So… sorry.”

Lana nods then she opens her mouth and says slowly, “John, this gift…”

“Has nothing to do with us. The us that… well, you know. And it’s no gift. Shackles maybe,” I say, my lips twisting wryly. “You’ve earned it either way.”

“Oh. Real nice.”

You have lost your settlement of Vancouver voluntarily. Would you like to transfer all owned settlements to Lana Pearson?

(Y/N)

Of course. In for a penny, in for a pound. While I’m confirming, double confirming, and then triple confirming that yes, I really, really wanted to do this, Lana goes over her own notifications.

“Why am I only now receiving a report that there was an assassination attempt in the middle of Granville Street?” Lana’s voice has an edge to it, and I wince.

“Would you believe I forgot to mention it?” I say, giving her my best wide-eyed look of innocence.

“Am I being put out as bait?”

“What? No!” I glare at the woman, my hands on my hips.

The redhead breaks into a little giggle at the sight of my face. “Sorry. I shouldn’t even have asked. But it was too good an opportunity not to.”

“Truth be told, I think they’ve been waiting for boy-o.” When we look over at the Spirit, he continues. “Kim and I have been going over footage from various security cameras, searching for his attacker. At best, I’d say he’s been around for just over four days. But since boy-o either Portals himself to wherever he needs to go or directly to the heavily guarded teleportation station…”

“No opportunities.” I say, frowning. It makes sense. My office is significantly reinforced against assassins, including multiple shields, sensors, and even a teleportation circle which has been triple reinforced. Heck, the entire City Center building has a security system. Even if my assassin managed to kill me there, getting away might be significantly more difficult. “Why’d he run?”

“Probably didn’t expect me or other people to aid you. He probably expected to get you on the first pass,” Ali says. “Assassins gear their Skills toward a quick attack, doing enough damage to kill in one strike. Once you survived his first pass, he probably figured it was time to go. He probably didn’t realize you’d picked up a number of damage reduction Skills on top of your health pool.”

I nod slowly, deciding to accept the explanation for now. It sounds a little shallow, but since I have no other suggestions or evidence to prove otherwise, I can’t argue.

“Am I going to have to worry about this?” Lana says, concern tinging her voice. Not as though she hasn’t already been targeted, but there’s a difference between an Advanced Class assassin and a Master Class one.

“Possibly,” I say. “Your pets should provide significant protection, but you might want to consider letting your bodyguards know. And upgrading your defensive enchantments.”

“Do you know who hired him?”

I shrug. I have a few guesses, the Movana being highest on my list. They have, after all, the greatest motivation to ensure I don’t succeed. The name I had noticed drew a blank from the System. It likely had been altered by a Skill. Ali wasn’t able to get any further information from the System either. Even the attack designations we were provided just had a series of question marks for personally identifiable information. In the end, the reason you hire a damn assassin is to stay hidden.

Before we can continue the discussion, Katherine walks in, hands on her hips, and glares at me. “It would really be useful if you informed us before you took such actions.” I open my mouth to apologize, but Katherine’s already turned to Lana, offering her a slight inclination of her head. “Congratulations, Ms. Pearson. It’s about time. I look forward to the development of these holdings in an orderly and efficient manner once again.”

“Hey, I’m right here!” I protest.

“Yes.” Katherine sniffs at me then relents, inclining her head while offering me a slight smile. “You have done well with the resources at your disposal.”

“Sassy. Been repressing much?” I say with a smile.

“It looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do in the next little while. But this change, it’ll affect how we’re going for the seat,” Lana cuts in before we get into it.

I don’t miss the amused glint in Katherine’s eyes before she turns all business.

I rub my chin while answering Lana. “Not a lot. We never qualified who the vote would be for. In fact, some might assume I’m looking to be voted in, no matter how much I protest. They might even side with us because of that. Who knows, it might also make things easier. I could just pay a visit to anyone who’s really being an obstructionist…” At the pair of glares and overdramatic sigh from Ali, I wave. “Kidding. Mostly.”

“Well, I can use you as the rebellious caveman,” Lana says. “But Rob and Bipasha will need reassurance.”

“Fair point. I’ll make sure to visit them.”

The ladies nod, then both twitch as their eyes glaze over. With hurried farewells, the pair head off, leaving me alone in the City Core room.

“MY LORD. MAY I ENQUIRE ABOUT MY CURRENT STATUS?”

“What… oh. Right. What do you want to do?” I say, realizing the awkward position Kim is in.

He’s a settlement AI after all—with politic upgrades perhaps, but still a settlement AI. But while he’s been running the settlements, I purchased him directly to give me more control.

“I AM PROGRAMMED TO CONDUCT SETTLEMENT SERVICES. IF I HAD A PREFERENCE, IT WOULD BE TO CONTINUE TO WORK WITH MS. PEARSON.”

“Done,” I say and take a few seconds to transfer ownership. “Just keep feeding me politic updates and tips and we’re good.”

“OF COURSE. MS. PEARSON HAS INDICATED THAT IS ALLOWABLE.”

I chuckle softly and dismiss the notification, leaving me with Ali. Even with my new resolution to stop being an ass and think I’m doing all this by myself, there are certain things only I can do.

Chapter 17

“Mr. Lee,” Bipasha greets me, standing with a smile.

I absently note her addition of a couple of silent guards, individuals in business suits and shades. Which almost makes me want to smack them over the head since we’re indoors. But then again, those shades are probably high-tech ones with toys like flash suppression and auto-targeting. Or at least, I hope so for the Weaver’s sake.

“Thanks. And yes, tea would be great,” I say, nodding to the assistant who comes in to serve us. After I let go of my settlements, I spent a full day reassuring everyone I was still alive, that I would take more precautions, and no, Lana had not decided to launch a coup. Or, in some cases, that the redhead hadn’t snapped. “I thought I’d swing by to talk to you about recent events.”

“I’m grateful for your consideration. But I hadn’t realized we were that close.” Bipasha’s eyes glint with humor and a slight barb.

“We aren’t, but I should have come by sooner,” I say, leaning back in the plush chair. “Things have been hectic.”

“Gathering the votes.”

“I’ve also been considering who might be hiring assassins to knock off the competition. And it made me realize, you know, you and Rob have good motivation to do so.” I stare at the woman, seeing if I get any reaction.

“I have no hand in the attack on you,” Bipasha says.

Eye of Insight doesn’t even twinge, so she’s not using any Skill to conceal her words. Well, nothing beyond the usual array of charm-based passives. Then again, Eye of Insight’s not like Nelia’s Skill, which can ascertain the actual physical truth of a statement. All I have is my own skill and intuition.

“I am still waiting for your answer.”

“About who I’ll support?” I say softly. Instead of answering her, I pick up the cup of tea and blow on it while activating Society’s Web. Hundreds of threads run from her. I’ve realized many of the thinner ones are from her ownership of the settlement. Lana gained so many more in the transfer, the additional responsibility multiplying the already exhaustive threads. Yet for all that, I’m getting the hang of this Skill and find myself sorting through them with one part of my mind while continuing the conversation with the other. I’ve stopped reading the individual information pieces but instead “feel” the threads. “Still haven’t decided yet.”

“Do you intend to wait till the day of?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m holding off till I know we have a chance. I’m still waiting for word from the Truinnar and Movana.” My hands open slightly, as if a shrug. “Till we get either or both of them, we have no chance.”

“True. I had hoped your relationship with Lord Roxley would be of use there,” Bipasha says.

“Me too.”

“Assuming this goes through, we have yet to speak about what you wish for your help,” Bipasha says. “Unless you are doing this for the betterment of all?”

I hear the lightest derision in her tone at the last line, a hint of what she thinks of the idea. And perhaps for those who might act for others? Hard to say. Still, I do note a trend among the threads. The largest and strongest threads lead to many whose names I know, some of whom I’ve actually spoken to. They’re all individuals of power and import in this new world. The feel of those threads is mostly cold, analytical. A weighing of debt and obligation, of resources traded and favors gained. I find a few—very few—threads which glow with emotion, but I almost choke on the intensity of those emotions. When and to whom she feels, she feels with passion.

Thankfully, I’m not one of those. When I finally find the thread leading to me, it’s thin, barely larger than many of those leading to her staff. There is no great emotional baggage related to me, no hidden desires. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just another business transaction.

“No, I’ll want something. But as an acquaintance once said, let’s leave it be for now. Call it a favor for later.”

“A favor.”

“Nothing which will harm you or your settlements. It’ll be within your grasp to grant, and it won’t be too onerous,” I reassure her.

Huh. She has a thread to Lana. Again, not much, though there’s a touch of jealousy there. Envy. But respect too. And another for Mikito, this one tinged with similar feelings as she has for the other champions. Those threads are all thick, deepened by their repeated interactions and numerous times saving each other. Nothing untoward there. Another one to Roxley. Again, a business relationship, though there’s a touch of lust there. I feel a twinge of jealousy which I squash by locating another thread, this one for Ingrid. It’s not thick, but contracts and obligations abound. Interesting.

“Well then, I’ll just have to take your word on it.” Bipasha’s lips curl upward and she leans forward, her armored jumpsuit pulling tighter against her chest, outlining her body. “Tell me, Mr. Lee, am I that beautiful?”

“Huh?”

“Well, you have been staring at me fixatedly this entire conversation. If you would like time alone…” Bipasha says, touching her lips gently. “You are not entirely hard on the eyes either.”

In the corner of my mind, I hear Ali laughing. The damn Spirit is invisible, floating around and inspecting the surroundings, occasionally sticking his tongue out at the guards who cannot see him.

“No. Nothing like that,” I say, shaking my head.

“Oh? Pity.”

I pause, realizing that my automatic rejection might have been idiotic. And then I realize that I’m thinking of sleeping with a woman who might have ordered my assassination. The incongruity of it all breaks my concentration and I let my Skill drop, allowing my Mana to recover while I stare out a nearby window at the changes to Dhaka.

“You’ve done great work here. I’m surprised so many of the Galactics have integrated their designs so well to your architectural theme.”

“I imposed no theme,” Bipasha says and gestures outward, encompassing the many Galactic buildings that have stuck a variety of domes, detailed carvings, and tall towers to their buildings. “The Galactics appreciated some of the local designs and copied it. At least it’s better than the wave of slum architecture.”

I raise an eyebrow and Bipasha gestures, a series of notification images popping up. Four-, five-story buildings with radical overhangs, balconies, and a cluster of faux air conditioners dominate the images. All of the design elements contrast with the silver-grey sheen of System-enhanced material and the alien-required modifications like too-wide or too-tall doorways, filtered window shades, and the like. Buildings that look sleek and elegant under Galactic architectural now look ugly and distorted, a mockery of what came before.

“Oh…” I make a face while Ali laughs softly, muttering something about damn noveau riche idiots.

“Bad enough I’ve been trying to convince the council to repurpose those neighborhoods for agriculture, but now we’ve got Galactics saying we need to preserve it for historical and cultural reasons,” Bipasha says scornfully. “As if anyone actually wants to live and work in those areas anymore. They’ve all moved into the center.”

“All?”

“All but a few fools,” Bipasha says with a dismissive wave. “Sentimental fools.”

I keep silent. Watching Bipasha at work, airing her beliefs, is interesting. It gives me insight into the woman, but I have no place to comment. After all, I ignored such issues in my own settlement, leaving the final resolution to others.

“But that’s not what you came to speak about,” Bipasha says with a smile. “And while this has been interesting, I do have other work. Unless there is more…?”

“Just one. What would it take for you to support Rob? Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, I might agree if there was an arrangement to rotate the seat,” Bipasha says. “And I’d have to have a Contract outlining what he’d be allowed to do, on-going reports of his actions and the meetings he conducts, and of course, political, economic, and military support for my expansion.”

I fall silent, considering her words, and call up the map of the country once again. Bipasha has, between herself and her allies, conquered a large number of settlements in Bangladesh and its neighbors. There are glaring spots Galactics have managed to hold on to through a mixture of military or diplomatic maneuverings. But somehow, I have a feeling it’s the non-aligned human settlements that Bipasha is eyeing in a bid to solidify her hold of this area. Certainly, from what I’ve learned, her leadership has been significantly compromised by the simple fact that she’s a woman. It’s a misogynistic viewpoint and one that ignores the reality of the System, but old habits die hard.

In the case of some of her ex-enemies, very hard—or so it’s rumored. That is, perhaps, one of my major concerns of any long-term alliance with this woman. Even if the rumors had reached me before, the insight I’ve gained through my Social Web has underlined that fact. But perhaps a cold, merciless, and ruthless leader is what we need. Is Rob, someone who literally stumbled into his position of power, any better?

“Good to know,” I say. “I’m glad to hear that there’s some leeway to discuss things.”

“Some. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt that you seek a better future for us all. Do not push that too far,” Bipasha says.

With that warning, the meeting comes to an end. For all that I’ve learned of the woman, I can’t help but consider that she has been extremely frank with me thus far. At least on the surface. A nice change, compared to some of the more obscure political maneuverings I’ve had to deal with.

God damn Truinnar.

Next stop, China. I appear on top of the Bank of China once again, looking over the high rises of Hong Kong. I’d Portal into the teashop, but sadly, I’m blocked. Annoying, but in truth, it isn’t that far. A quick elevator ride and jog later and I’m ready for my meeting with Grandmaster Chang.

“Mr. Lee,” Grandmaster Chang greets me.

“Grandmaster.” I take the seat before I pick up the teapot and top off his cup, then I pour myself one, taking the time to regard him with Social Web. I split my mind as I consider the various threads and carry on the initial pleasantries. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Not at all. Food?” Grandmaster Chang asks, gesturing at the waitress.

Over my protests, a series of snacks are ordered. I sit back, flicking my gaze away from him occasionally so that I’m not as obvious in my use of the Skill.

“Thank you. I actually came by to speak with you about the Chinese,” I say.

“There are a lot of us.”

“Yes. There are,” I say, acknowledging his point. Interesting. Obligations, contracts, a chain of responsibility flows from his chest further west, into China. There are a few, but one is certainly larger, more prominent by far. “And that’s why I’m surprised that Bipasha is being supported.”

“I do not indulge in politics,” Jing Yi says firmly.

My lips tighten as I recall Cheng Shao’s flat denial as well. “I am not asking you to. I’m just trying to understand things. And you are much closer to the matter than I am.”