Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

White Sap Tree (Level 67)

HP: 2138/2138

MP: 378/430 (Limited)

Conditions: Rooted

“Don’t you dare say it,” I say, snarling as the white gloop that covers my left arm pulls me closer to the tree. I conjure my other sword, sending a Blade Strike to cut apart the tree.

Mikito looks wide-eyed and innocent while Ali is too busy laughing.

“Anyone going to help?” I growl when I realize that it’s not a single tree but a stand of them.

As I finish throwing a series of Blade Strikes at the now-spurting group, the cat-serpent creatures who’ve been stalking us launch their attacks. Of course Harry manages to avoid getting targeted and Ali’s too high up, so it’s Mikito and me who bear the brunt of the entire attack.

Mikito cuts one creature apart as her polearm spins, the Samurai dancing under the onslaught that flows around her. Since my off-hand is still gummed up, I take a different tack, conjuring additional blades with Thousand Swords and interspersing the blades between the monsters and me. As one bounces off a sword as claw and blade meet, I get a chance to assess our attacker.

Wild Clomix Type 4-3 (Level 89)

HP: 763/780

MP: 237/438

Condition: Camouflage, Soft Paws, Poison Claws, Shard Bite

I dance backward, moving outside of the ring of protective blades but giving myself some space to throw my Blade Strikes. The Clomix are fast, dodging my attacks with hops and jumps as they close in on me. Swooping down from his spot above us, Ali tackles one of the Clomix, smashing it into the earth as he solidifies himself. Then, straddling the creature, the little Spirit actually punches it, doing a good imitation of a ground-and-pound.

I admit, I’m distracted. The sight of a portly, olive-skinned, goateed Spirit straddling a writhing alien monster breaks my brain for a second for some reason. I cut and throw Blade Strikes on instinct, but the mechanical motions are easy enough for the remaining three Clomix to move around. Legs bunched, one jumps for my throat. Another goes for my lead leg, and the third prowls around to my side, ready for me to commit.

I block the first attack and pull my leg away from the second, but the third Clomix takes the opportunity to pounce, claws digging into and finding purchase on my Soul Shield. Then its mouth widens, distorting, before its teeth clamp onto my Shield and literally rip a hole in it. Surprisingly, the Shield is still present and attempting to close, but it’s stopped by the Clomix’s neck in the gap.

“What the hell?” I snarl, pommel-striking the creature’s head again and again.

By my side, Mikito’s extended her polearm again, using the weapon to cut apart the remaining stand of White Sap Trees as she ducks into their midst. The Clomix follow the woman, somehow avoiding being targeted by the fauna while they harass her.

Focusing on my own problem, I crush the monster’s spine, watching as it flops onto the ground and out of my Soul Shield. The exhilaration of a job well done lasts only long enough for another monster to tear into my ankles, its poisonous claws sending foul liquid into my bloodstream. Stabbing it and its friend is entirely too satisfying, as is burning down the group of trees with a Firestorm once Mikito retreats. I’ll admit, the Firestorm is probably going a little overboard, though the fire soon gutters out. Whatever these trees use for wood, it isn’t half as flammable as Earth wood.

After that, I use one of the many dissolving potions that had been recommended and sold at the guild hall to get rid of the gunk on my arm. While I’m sorting myself out, Ali flits between bodies, looting and storing everything important.

“Well, that sucked,” I say quietly, stretching my previously injured foot. I get nods from Mikito and Harry, who finally ended up getting hit by accident by one of the trees. The entire fight wasn’t particularly successful even if it wasn’t dangerous. More annoying. “Let’s try to do better.”

Mikito snorts. I offer a rueful half-smile. Yeah, it’s my fault for getting distracted by the alien ecosystem. I give my brain a mental walloping, reminding myself that I’m not an academic but an Adventurer. Fight to survive, not stare at things while they bite off my face. Focused, we trek forward, looking for more trouble.

“Yellow mucous from the cobalt imola,” I say, eyeing the dried glob Ali is levitating into a vial. “We need eight portions to meet the minimum delivery requirements.”

“This should fit two-thirds of one vial,” Mikito says, nose wrinkling. “Why do they need eight portions anyway? What if someone only finds six? Are they supposed to just carry the six around forever?”

“Of course not,” Ali says patronizingly. “You either buy more from the hustlers outside the entrance or you sell to them yourself. No one likes carrying drops around with them forever. Well, unless they’re a weird hoarder.”

“I heard that!” I shout.

“Incoming!” Ali informs me, flashing a guidance arrow in the corner of my eyes.

I cut upward with my left hand while dropping, catching the striking snail-shark creature. Instead of side fins, it’s got a slime-like bottom. Otherwise, the snail-shark’s face, body, and the way it attacks is pure shark. My sword cuts into the monster’s lunging face, bouncing off hard bone beneath its skull and forcing it backward.

“Thanks.” I drop the sword and extend my arm, calling forth an Ice Blast that catches a pair of snail-sharks flanking Mikito.

The lady is dealing with her own attacker, trying to pry it off the shaft of her polearm so that she can finish it. A twist of her hips throws the snail-shark and the pole into another attacker behind her, finally freeing her weapon.

Harry is standing to the side, watching everything with both hands up and pointed at the two of us. From earlier conversations, I know it’s his way of recording what is going on from two points-of-view. Even as I catch a glimpse of him, a snail-shark runs right past the reporter, ignoring Harry as it rushes toward me. Ali intercepts this one with a lightning bolt, sending it sprawling.

No more time to look. I refocus, flipping a conjured sword hand-over-hand at a monster while spinning around to attack with a third. Monsters. Monsters everywhere.

I wonder if their top fins taste good?

“Help!”

“Yeah. No,” I say, grinning as I watch Harry spin around on the thread that holds him in the air.

I casually throw a Blade Strike at an encroaching spider, keeping the monster from draining Harry. It’s not as if I want the man dead after all. But there is a certain amusement in watching the reporter spin about. At least the System doesn’t share much of our combat experience with him, not unless he actively takes part. Probably the only reason Mikito is willing to suffer his presence.

“Mikito!” Harry calls.

“Busy here,” Mikito says as she continues to raid the spider-bird nest.

Yes. Spider-bird. There’s a real name for these creatures, but considering whoever named them had vocal chords that were nothing like humanity’s, I’m going with spider-birds. On the other hand, their eggs are supposedly extremely tasty and in great demand at the local restaurants. The only problem is that they need to be carefully handled using a special type of glove and stored in a bag of the same material or else their flavor spoils.

“Ali, behind Harry,” I warn the Spirit.

The little fellow laughs and swoops right through Harry, making the reporter let out a little shriek. It amuses me to watch Ali do a Superman fly-through, punching the juvenile spider-bird that was trying to sneak up on the dangling reporter.

After he completes one more revolution, Harry’s face turns a little more green and his body arches as his mouth opens. I jump backward, dodging the explosion of vomit and snot that comes from the dangling reporter. He coughs and wheezes, the vomit and snot clogging up his breathing tract. At my nod, Ali flits back and burns off the threads, dropping the reporter.

Right onto his head. And his own discarded refuse.

What? He laughed at me first.

Down. Cut. Step. Knee in snout. Then extend foot and kick. Watch as cat-lizard creature goes flying into the thorny bush, impaling itself and dissolving on the acid and poison. Turn around, scan for threats, and realize there are none. All gone. Monsters dead. I exhale, shaking my head as I drop out of my fight mindset.

That’s when Ali sends the notification.

Level Up!

You have reached Level 24 as an Erethran Paladin. Stat Points automatically distributed. You have 7 Free Attributes and 0 Class Skills to distribute.

One more Level. Sadly, it doesn’t change the equation of power very much, though I know in many ways that I’m shooting up Levels at an astonishing rate. Gaining a Level as a Master Class in the middle range should be at least a year of dedicated work on a Dungeon Planet. Not, you know, wandering around a curated city dungeon.

Rather than slowing down, my Leveling speed seems to have increased. At least for the amount of work I’m actually putting in. There are a few reasons for this. Firstly, the banked experience from my time in the Forbidden Zone is making a big difference. It’s one of the many reasons the Fist and other Master Classers like Forbidden Zones. Killing monsters in the Forbidden Zone is not only great for the higher amount of experience they offer but also allows the banked experience to be spread out over a period of time. Significant studies have been done to calculate the exact time-ratio benefits of time in Forbidden Zones to time in Dungeon Planets. A lot of those numbers even include details about the most common types of quests that Forbidden Zone entries provide.

The second reason is a matter of threats. I’m facing Master Level threats at times. At some point, I’ll even get a Master Level Quest. As such, I’m jumping up in Levels because I’m getting the experience that a Master Classer should be getting while I’m still the equivalent of a late-stage Advanced Classer at most. Mikito is benefitting too, but of course, she really is an Advanced Classer. This dungeon run is a good example of the weird imbalance between Levels, our Classes, and the actual threat level we face. Dangerous to be here? Sure. But deadly? No.

I dismiss those thoughts for now, glancing over my stats and the free attribute points I have available. At my level, the actual amount I gain from having free attributes is pretty small, especially when you consider the high number of points they’re meant to bolster. It’s one thing to add three points when you’ve only got ten. Another when you already have three hundred.

It’s why one of the leveling recommendations bantered around—mostly theoretically by a bunch of Advanced Classers, I’ll admit—is to ignore high attributes and instead bolster lower ones. In my case, it would be either Charisma, Perception, or my lowest attribute, Luck. The theory is that since you’re going to be so insanely out-classed in attributes by a Master Class who has already been focused on those high attributes—for example, a Mage in Intelligence, a fighter in Strength, a rifleman in Agility—it’s better to upgrade lower attributes so that you have an advantage over them in other ways. So against a fighter whose focus is Strength, having more Luck might give you the edge. Or a higher Perception, allowing you to notice what the Mage is going to cast before he finishes.

It’s an interesting Leveling strategy, countered by the point that given enough time, a Soldier who doesn’t grow his Agility will likely be out-Agilitied by even an Advanced Fighter. Then again, there’s the point that for most Master Classers, gaining Levels is difficult. So in many ways, the attributes they’re looking at are the last attributes they can ever expect. If you knew you could never again change your build, what would you shore up?

An interesting theoretical discussion, but not for me. I know I’m going to Level up. By skipping the Basic Class entirely, my Leveling speed will continue to be high until I hit Heroic. At that point, I can expect things to slow down. On the other hand, I also know I am literally fifty Levels—the entirety of the Basic Class—underpowered compared to most Master Classes. The good news is that most Basic Classes only give a relatively small number of points per Level. Add the fact that I have my prestige Classes, and the gap in attributes at least isn’t horrible. Except when facing a Master Classer who has managed to make his way up via prestige Classes.

In the end, the question for me is whether to double-down to catch up or reinforce for the surprise factor and target others’ weaknesses? Put that way, it’s pretty simple. I can’t afford to fight my enemies head-on. I win—I’ve always won—by coming at things sideways.

So I dump the points into Charisma, Luck, and Perception and confirm the change. No Class Skills to allocate this time, though I’ll have one next Level. Of course, I’d rather leave the Class Skill Point unallocated if circumstances allow. Being able to adjust my build to suit the situation, no matter how slightly, is kind of useful. But that strategy is getting dangerous as my enemies get more and more powerful.

Dismissing my Status screen, I turn toward my friends. “Shall we get going?”

Hours go by. After a while, we stopped heading parallel to the portal location and instead headed in deeper. As we do, the monster types we deal with grow bigger and larger. Some notable new monsters include a Cerberus-like lizard creature whose heads wield a variety of elemental powers. Occasionally those heads seem to conjure a particularly powerful combination, like the monster with wind, force, and fire heads that combined its attacks into plasma beams.

Then there are the various bear-like variants. Lizard-owlbears. Fish-bears. Snake-bear with triple heads. Of course, could you call something a bear if it was covered with scales, had paws but shot electricity off its gilled-and-snouted head?

That’s the thing about trying to use human or human-mythological equivalents. Of course, some of those human mythologies or artwork came through via Mana bleed. But just as many don’t have popular names. Or are just wrong.

On the other hand, I’m impressed by this latest monster. Very, very impressed by the giant, red-skinned-and-horned humanoid standing in front of us. Cloven feet, muscles that would make Conan cry, and a bladed whip held casually as smoke dribbles from its overly-large nostrils. It’s lacking the wings of a balrog, and its horns curl up like a sheep’s more than stick out like an elk’s. I’ll admit, I’m almost curious if the horns drop every year. How weird would that be, to be a demon that had to regrow your headpiece each year?

“John?” Mikito prods my side.

“Sorry. Just thinking,” I say. “Think we can take it?”

Mikito’s lips purse as she stares at the monster’s status. I review it once again to remind me of the trouble we’re looking at.

Greater Forest Demon (Level 103)

HP: 7183/7183

MP: 789/789

Conditions: Burning Aura, Vengeance, Demon Thralls, Pain to Blood, Heroic Regeneration

The Burning Aura would be a pain. Just looking at the scorched earth in the clearing the monster stood within gave an idea of what the aura did. Other than the vegetation that had grown to thrive in the extreme heat, there was nothing but churned earth and ash around the monster. I did wonder if he stayed in one location or if the Demon was nomadic. And if so, how did the vegetation survive? Then again, most of the vegetation around here was particularly resistant to being burnt down. Perhaps it could survive short-term contact with the Aura.

“Ali?”

“You’re going to have hit him and keep hitting him. If you let the demon take a break, its Heroic Regeneration will fill in its health. Your Penetration Skills will be less useful too. Its Pain to Blood ability converts damage to health rather than stopping the damage entirely.” Ali looks at Mikito’s naginata before he asks hesitantly, “Neither one of you bought a regeneration block Skill, did you?”

“Poison,” Mikito answers succinctly.

“Nope. I got Freezing Blade, which should be a little more effective here. I could hit it with a couple of Army of Ones.” No matter how tough its regeneration is, I can guarantee a couple of my Class Skills would take it out. If I can make all my blades hit. Which isn’t impossible.

“I’d be careful with that,” Ali says, staring at a screen in front of him. “The Demon’s got a Rage ability that’ll allow it to ignore damage for a period. And another that will allow it to stop damage from any one Skill or spell source.”

My jaw drops. “What? How the hell is that even fair?”

“It’s a level 100+ monster,” Ali says with a roll of his eyes. “They all have their own gimmicks.”

“Can I buy a Skill neutralizer like that?” Mikito asks.

“Of course. Neutralizers are relatively cheap. You can even pick ones that target only a certain class of Skills,” Ali says. “Oh, and Harry? You might want to back off a little. It’s got a ton of area effect attacks.”

“All right, if we’re going to do this…” I review what I know.

The group inches closer together, and we plot out our plan of attack. It’s almost a luxury, having the opportunity to plan a fight like this. It kind of makes me realize why some of the Galactics I’ve fought before seemed so slow at adapting. If this is their experience when dealing with monsters, then they really aren’t used to sudden changes or surprise attacks.

Crouched in front of the monster, I find myself chuckling at the “plan” I put together. Really, it isn’t that complicated—the vast majority of the time was spent discussing the various Skills the monster is known to use, their telltale signs if we had the knowledge, and our reactions. The actual tactic is a basic flanking attack that I’ll start. Nothing like my insane plans to lure monsters into traps, stick myself into their gullets, or trap them in constantly teleporting Portals. This is a straight-up bash-and-mash. I’d feel guilty about it, but I’ve come to the realization that my tendency toward unconventional solutions mostly had to do with being significantly underpowered.

When you can bash-and-mash, why go through all that trouble?

“Ready.”

“Eight more minutes and I’ll be done with my latest episode. I really want to know if they got enough gold.”

“Camera’s set up.”

Obviously, I ignore Ali and Harry’s respectively inane and useless comments.

I call down the Beacon of the Angels, letting the entire thing start up high as it prefers to do. This has the added advantage of allowing the attack to come from outside the Demon’s visual range.

Which is why the first the Demon knows it’s under attack is a beam of solid white-blue light slamming into it and its surroundings, destroying vegetation and burning skin and muscle. Damage piles up, but I can see its health recovering immediately. I jump out of hiding, crossing the ground to it even as I call up my next attack.

Army of One creates a swirl of blades all around me, swords forming as they ready to strike. The slight lag for the Skill to take full effect is why I didn’t start with it. Also, there’s a certain lack of subtlety when you have a dozen swords around you.

When the Beacon of the Angels finishes, the Demon is snarling at me, crouched low as its body steams. Arcs of compressed power slash outward, edged with the light blue of my Mana Blade. One after the other, they impact the creature’s body. Unfortunately, its health bar doesn’t move, no matter how many blows land. I stare into the Greater Demon’s glowing eyes, watching as its ability negates all the damage. Even as my Skill dies down, the earth around the monster is glowing and melted. The creature’s health continues to tick up. Thankfully, Ali warned me about this, so I don’t hesitate and toss a pair of grenades.

Rather than focus on my attacks, the monster throws its head back and howls. Ali takes position up high, watching for the minions that must be coming. He—and thus me—have the perfect Spirit-eye-view to see Mikito launch herself through the air, naginata pointed at the monster’s back. Even as we watch, the blade of the naginata grows, dwarfing its original size and blazing red. The extended blade plunges into the Demon’s back, parting skin and bone before the true blade enters, all powered by Mikito’s weight and momentum. A little status update appears above the creature’s head, a sign that it has been poisoned. It’s only a minor debuff to slow the damn thing’s ridiculous regeneration rate, but it’s better than nothing.

The Demon roars, twirling and dislodging Mikito. She flips backward, just dodging the creature’s arm as she does so. Already, the oversized blade is shrinking to a more useful size. I’m not letting up either, running forward as the grenades finally explode and pepper the monster with frozen metal and shards of elemental ice. I trigger the QSM as I run, letting the explosion pass through me.

Split off from its dimension by the QSM, I only have the barest presence and am entirely invisible to the Demon. I time my reappearance for when it’s committed to an attack on Mikito, and I use a double-handed grip on my sword to chop into its hamstring. At the same time, I conjure up the remainder of my blades so that they can follow along.

Chopping into the Demon’s flesh is like chopping into a particularly thick tree that burns back. Even leveraging my body and twisting with my hips, my blade catches halfway through the monster’s body even as layers of skin, fat, and muscle part. The Freezing Blade spell I layered on takes effect, spreading a chill through the Demon and slowing it slightly. Flames erupt from the creature’s flesh, wrapping around my blade as I struggle to free it. I throw myself into a twisting jump, getting my feet on the creature’s lower back and kicking sideways and backward to dislodge the blade. I could abandon the weapon, but I’d have to layer my Freezing Blade spell on the newly formed weapon, wasting time and Mana.

“Oy! Shut up,” Ali says, gesturing downward and sending a dozen Mana Darts into the Demon’s still-screaming face. It’s more distraction and annoyance than actual damage, but every little bit helps. “As for you guys… incoming. I’ve got the east.”

I roll, coming up onto my knees facing the west of the clearing just in time to spot the first of the bobbing thralls. Their loping gait makes them appear and disappear. Each of the monsters are mini-versions of the Greater Demon, with smaller curling horns and longer, apelike arms.

Lesser Forest Demon (Level 47)

HP: 987/987

MP: 302//321

Conditions: Enthralled, Lesser Burning Aura, Flame Skin

Even as I stare at the monster, I can see out of the corner of my eye the heatwaves rolling around and attempting to burn down my Soul Shield. I ignore them, getting a quick count of the incoming demons as I move forward, charging up my spell in one free hand.

“Go die, you inconvenient monkeys.” I raise my left hand, releasing the Enhanced Lightning Strike as the first monster reaches the ten-meter range. Lightning arcs outward, jumping from Lesser Demon to Lesser Demon as I extend a portion of my concentration and affinity to super-charge the Demons and the space between. I marvel at my ability to do so even as the spell flash-fries the creatures and my Mana drops like a rock.

“Duck!” Mikito shouts.

I duck low and flicker the vision options in my helmet. Nice little option, though I normally leave it shrunk. It’s incredibly distracting in a fight. In either case, I get to see the Greater Forest Demon being shoulder-tossed by a tiny Samurai into Ali, who gets bowled over. The Spirit, unused to being fully materialized, reacts too slowly, so he gets pancaked along with the thralls he had spell-shackled.

“Tell me you got that,” I say.

“Recorded,” Harry says as he tries to hold back his laughter.

I grin, turning my attention back to the twitching monsters. I disperse the last of the Enhanced Lightning Strike, and the creatures begin to recover until I throw my next spell—Ice Storm. As I guessed, the creatures are vulnerable to the cold spell, damage piling upon their smoking bodies. The lead trio collapse under the onslaught even as I pick off the rest of the horde with Blade Strikes and the occasional spell.

All the while, I hear the crunch and snick, the meaty thud of blade meeting flesh, and the roaring, panting growls of the Greater Forest Demon behind me. I focus on finishing my side as quickly as I can, knowing that if I leave these creatures alone, they’ll regenerate before I can finish dealing with them.

Long seconds pass, each second punctuated by the battle behind me. In my antiseptic, filtered helmet, I can only rely on the noise, the vibrations of the earth, and the occasional gust of wind to inform me of what is happening. A final Blade Strike cuts apart the last monster, and I spin around to aid my friend, layering another Soul Shield on myself to deal with the flaming aura.

Mikito is doing well, engaged in exactly the kind of battle she excels in. A single humanoid opponent, bigger and stronger than her but certainly not faster. Her polearm gives her the reach to deal with the creature’s attacks, and when it closes, her knowledge of close-combat martial arts lets her deal a series of blows before she disengages again.

All across the monster’s body, red pus slowly dribbles from open wounds, the creature’s yellow blood dotting the ground along with the pus. Even its massive regeneration seems to be taking a hit as Mikito’s multiple stacks of poison take effect. Still, with nearly two-thirds of the monster’s health left, taking it down would be a grind if she were left to deal with this alone.

Since Ali’s finishing off his side of the thrall problem, I step in. Rushing forward, I dodge an outstretched leg and cut upward, scoring its buttocks and leaving a trail of ice. I skid to a stop and cut sideways again before I throw myself into a backflip to dodge a pounding arm. I stumble as the blow that was targeted at the earth forces cracks to appear in the ground—from which flames erupt. My Soul Shield fails under the sudden attack, and the heat scorches my skin.

“Goblin shit,” I swear, getting my feet back under me.

I engage my Aura and the Vanguard ability, boosting everyone’s abilities. My actions draw the monster’s focus to me, and I trigger Society’s Web for a second. Numerous threads reach out from the monster, leading to its various thralls. I watch as the threads jump and twitch as they close in on us.

“Tanking now!” I inform the group even as I rush forward to meet the monster.

This will be a grind. Its resistances and Skills force us to take this entire battle slowly, grinding it down rather than finishing it in one attack. And the longer we fight, the more Lesser Demons make their way over.

Time to pile on the damage.

Those who have never been in a duel or a fight think that they’re long, drawn-out affairs. Part of that is the way fighters talk of their fights, outlining each punch, each kick. In the heat of the battle, each fight seems to take forever. Each punch, each cut, each blow is thought over, planned, and committed to with care if you’re experienced. If you’re not, the entire thing lasts an eternity—for very different, painful reasons. Each moment in a fight seems to last longer when you’re fighting for your life. And yet when you’re out of the fight, when it’s over, that eternity could have been only a minute. Or five. Almost never more than that. Almost.

The Greater Forest Demon finally falls, Mikito’s naginata stuck in its heart and three of my blades left in its body. Over half of its body is frozen from Freezing Blade while the red pus boils out from its nostrils and ears. The Lesser Demon thralls stumble to a stop as the boss falls, long hands hanging low as they gibber and jabber at one another. I stare at the dying light in the Greater Demon’s eyes, the way its body slowly loses the green illumination that shrouded it.

The monster slowly topples overs, and the light of sentience in it flickers off like a flashlight. For a moment, a long-forgotten, long-lost emotion tugs at my heart. Pity. For the monster. Exactly where do we draw the line between needless cruelty and necessity? The Greater Forest Demon lived in this dungeon peacefully, a master of its environment. Then we invaders wandered in, killing and murdering its friends, its family, and the ecosystem until we found it. After which we froze, electrocuted, and poisoned it to death. For what?

A large chunk of experience, its loot, and its corpse? Standing over its corpse, I wonder what difference there is between me and the monsters I fought. What right did I have to think of myself better, to rage against their actions?

I loot the corpse, laying my hand on the creature’s surprisingly smooth skin. I hesitate, then I make the corpse disappear into my Altered Space with a sigh. Perhaps I am no better. Perhaps I am but another damn hypocrite.

That’s what the System makes us all. Murderers and killers, partakers of slaughter, and revelers of blood. Just another damn System-citizen. A partaker of cruelty and carnage. I draw a deep breath and stand, regret feeding my personal pit of rage.

“John?” Mikito’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

I look at her, offering her a sad half-smile. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

She nods and we lope off, heading in deeper. Looking for another fight. Another death. Like the hypocrites that we are. That I am.

Redeemer of the Dead indeed.

Chapter 8

“The Redeemer of the Dead. I expected you to be taller.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I say, inclining my head slightly as I stand at wary rest. Wary because this appointment with the damn Representative for Duchess Kangana is not something I’m thrilled about. Even more so when it’s not Priya I’m meeting but somehow, Hondo, the Weaponmaster, is still here. Here, present, and glowering at me with undisguised fury.

“Not your fault. I’m just surprised that someone so… small… was able to send the famed Master of Blades and Guns flying.” There’s nary a twitch as the Truinnar Envoy speaks. The dark skin, pointed ears, and pale white hair give the woman a stately, elegant air. It’s a bit of a contrast to what she wears—a ball gown that’d be more appropriate in a Civil War movie with all its ruffles, hooped skirt, and corset work.

My eyes narrow, flicking to Hondo. But the Weaponmaster is too damn professional to show anything on his face. On the other hand, with my Social Web activated, it’s easy enough to see his increased anger and deepening resentment. A lot of that anger radiates toward me, the Envoy, and so many other strings. It’s kind of humbling. I often think of myself as this ocean of rage, but next to him, I’m just a little sea.

“If you’re here to taunt the Weaponmaster, I really don’t need to be here. If you’re here to taunt me, I don’t want to be here. So state your intentions or I walk.”

“Johnathan!” Katherine says in a scandalized tone.

I shrug at the woman, unwilling to compromise.

“As blunt as your reputation,” the Envoy says.

I sigh, taking the time to review her Status while she continues to patronize me.

Viscountess Oria Weekamu, Representative of Duchess Kangana, Envoy for Duchess Kangana, The Belle of L’mu, Thrice Chosen Dancer of the Leaves, … (Level 38 ???)

HP: ??/??

MP: ??/??

Conditions: ???

Typical. I wonder if it’s a Skill or an enchanted piece.

“As for my reason to speak with you both, I wanted to verify why my cousin felt the need to invest so much of our influence and his personal attention on such a piddly little planet. Dungeon World or not, the returns on our investment of influence seem disproportionate. Still.”

“Still?” Katherine says softly.

“Still, I will make full use of you.” Oria leans forward, meeting our gazes. “There will be a need for your services. If you accept the request, you will be properly compensated. And, of course, your people will have access to the locations they have shown interest in.”

Katherine smiles at that, obviously perking up a little. Me, I’m still wary since the woman is taking so long to get to the point.

“We want you to speak with the populace of the exterior rings of Irvina. We will make arrangements for such group meetings. You will sell the development of your world, the opportunities available to those who are willing,” Oria says.

“Pardon?” I say, my jaw dropping. When she said request, my mind went to a variety of monster kill quests, maybe a collection quest, or hell, even a fight in the Arena. Public speaking was the last thing on my mind.

Oria snorts gently and waves a gloved hand, answering me with a notification screen.

Quest Offered: Increase the number of immigrants from Irvina

Visit the fifth and farther rings of Irvina. Meet with and speak to the citizens of these rings. Sell the opportunities and benefits of moving to the newly opened Dungeon World Earth.

Objective: 50,000 new immigrants above general trendline

“This is an interesting quest,” Katherine says, her eyes going over the information. “But I’m uncertain why you are offering it to us.”

“Politics.”

We stare at Oria, who meets our gazes languidly. Katherine smiles slightly, sipping on her tea casually, patient as can be. I’m less patient by nature, but I’ve learned to manage that part of me. Also, my new Skill offers a myriad of interesting threads to look at. While I’ve gotten to the point where I can take in all the threads and get a general idea with just a glance at an individual, the details still take time to process. And it’s in the details where you can see the intricacies.

The obvious big thread is between Oria and the Duchess. There’s almost fanatical loyalty, love, and trust in there. A little envy too, but it’s overshadowed by the deep, long-lying contract and obligation between the two. Obligations. My brows furrow as I stare, trying to assess the thread further. Surprisingly, unlike many employer-employee relationships, the obligations and contract seems to weigh down on both ends.

Interesting as that thread is, there are others of interest. The one between her and the Weaponmaster is laced with complex emotions. Obligations and duty, contempt and envy. It’s multi-layered, but it’s obvious Hondo is the servant in this relationship. If not for his control, he’d probably be snarling in her face.

Yet those aren’t the only answers I get. The only clues. I see lines of obligation leading to individuals, groups, and organizations I’ve never heard of. And many that I have. I assess the way they tug at Oria, pull upon her, and the obligations that tie her up.

“It is rude to view another’s secrets in that way, Redeemer,” Oria says.

“If you’re not talking, I’m going to find my own answers.”

“Answers.” Oria’s voice is flat, but Hondo perks up a little, staring straight at me. “And what kind of answers have you found?”

“Well—”

“This is to help smooth out the issues we caused with the Fist, isn’t it?” Katherine says softly, cutting in. “You’re looking to shore up the position of the Galactic Edge at the same time. Your wish to reinforce the perception that Dungeon Worlds are good, that combat and the goals of the Fist are beneficial. Both of which are positions that both the Galactic Edge and the Fist hold.”

“My, you are a smart one,” Oria says. “But such a simplistic evaluation will do you little good in the arena you are in.”

Katherine inclines her head, offering a courteous smile. “Of course. I’m still learning the details of the political situation. But if my understanding is correct, you also owe City Councilman Uss a favor. Whose main opponent’s backing for the upcoming city election comes from the disaffected in the lower rings. Though fifty thousand seems like a small drop in the bucket.”

Oria smiles at Katherine, not giving away a single hint. But with names and details provided, I can make a little more sense. I need a lot more context, but I get the feeling that Oria is playing both sides of the coin, or maybe all the sides of the hexagon. Repaying a little obligation here, getting a little favor from us there, removing some credibility from Uss’s opponent, and more.

“You got anything to add?”

“Not really. Galactic Politics are a pain. The last time I was a companion to something in the game was over four hundred years ago. And by the time it died, it wasn’t relevant anymore. Hadn’t been for the last eighty years. Alliances and friendships change every damn week. But I’d say Katherine’s only scratching the surface here.”

“Sounds like this is a deal we can take,” I say, mentally acknowledging the quest. Hell, if I don’t need to kill anyone, this is certainly doable. In fact, it’ll make a nice change.

“Good. Details will be sent to you,” Oria says, dismissing us after Katherine acknowledges her agreement too.

We back out soon after, me having never taken a seat. Even that fraction of a second difference might have meant my death, with Hondo glowering as hard as he was.

Outside, in our private bubble car, I find myself questioning Katherine.

“I don’t know, John,” Katherine says exasperatedly. “I’ve only been here for a week. Working out the intricacies of the alliances and politics in this city in that time frame is impossible. Frankly, if we can manage not to get taken for too much of a ride in the next year, we’ll all be happy.”

“A year?”

“Yes, a year,” Katherine says frostily. “What? You think getting a vote meant much? Sure, we now have control over Earth and some controls and regulations, but the politics are complex. There are thousands of seats on the Galactic Council and hundreds of votes every month. Earth has abstained from all votes thus far, but even keeping up with the reading for those is taxing my people. As for alliances and the deals they’re all making?” Katherine waves to indicate the sprawling skyscraper city with its myriad jutting spires, floating squares, and flying ships. “We’ve just got to make do as best we can.”

“Sorry.” I incline my head, leaning back. It’s not as if I didn’t know how difficult it would be. But knowing and doing were two different things. “I just hate going in dark.”

“Well, it should be mostly non-violent,” Katherine offers.

I snort, my cynical side doubting that. But really, I’m just giving a few talks. How hard could it be?

“No. Not happening,” Mikito states.

“Come on, just for a few of the first meetings?” I try to keep from sounding like I’m begging, even if I am. A bit.

“Do you expect to get into a fight?”

“I always expect to get into fights.”

“Firstly, not true. Secondly, that’s a pathetic attempt at a lie. Thirdly, with people you can’t handle?”

I cough, looking slightly embarrassed. Fine. I’ll be speaking to a bunch of Basic Classers. Even if they all ganged up on me, I was pretty certain I could survive. “Come on. They’re asking me to talk about Earth. In public.”

“And how’s that my problem?” Mikito says.

“Because you’re my friend?”

“No,” Mikito says. “Now, if that’s it, I need to make it to the Guild before all the groups looking for others are filled. You don’t need me there. And I don’t want to be.”

“I do need you!” I protest. “For… moral support.”

Mikito doesn’t even deign to answer that, walking out of our apartment. I groan, leaning back in the chair, only to realize I’m not alone.

“How long have you been there?” I say, frowning. I’m still trying to figure out how Harry managed to get a room in the apartment, though I’m not exactly asking the question. Just idly wondering. The reporter’s kind of like a bad foot fungus. Every time you think you’ve gotten rid of it, it reappears.

“Since the start of the conversation,” Harry says. “Why did you want Mikito with you?’

“Why not?” I look over the list of speaking locations and times that prompted this conversation. Oria acted fast, sending this entire list a day after our initial meeting. The first of my scheduled appearances just happens to be later today. “If I have to suffer, it’s good to spread the pain around.”

There’s a long silence after that pronouncement before Harry smiles. “No need to try to convince me. I want to see the sixth ring anyway.”

“Okay.”

“What’s with the different welcome?” Harry says, crossing his arms.

“Eh, you’re recording everything, right? Boy-o here’s not a big fan of that,” Ali says, cutting in as he stretches. “Also, you just ain’t his type.”

“I admit, I’m not as muscular or handsome as Lord Roxley, but… wait. Why am I arguing with you about this? I’m not even attracted to men,” Harry says huffily.

“Not even a little bit?” Ali teases.

“Not even a little bit. Journalistic Integrity allows me to ignore mental and Charisma-based influences. I stacked that with Calm Mind,” Harry says. “But out of curiosity, what is John’s type?”

“I’m right here, you know?” I glare at the two of them. Not that me speaking will make them stop, but a man can hope.

“Taller. Also, you need to give him a little rush, you know? John’s a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Likes the bad boys—”

“And I’m out,” I snarl and walk out of the room.

Yes, I could dismiss Ali. But knowing the damn Spirit, he’d spill something even more private when I eventually dragged him back. And really, I sort of trust Harry to keep his correspondence to the relevant parts. The man has made a name for himself by reporting on actual wars and combat, real investigative journalism. Not the gossip pages.

The idiot pair catch up to me by the time I exit the private bubble car that took me to the outskirts. Thankfully, the System mixes nicely with the tech advances in Irvina, allowing something as convenient as sending the address to the car over the System. Once inside, the trip itself was uneventful.

Outside the bubble car, once I move away from the main drop-off location for this particular high rise, the environment changes entirely, a stark contrast to the second and third rings. The first thing that strikes me are the Levels. In another world, another time, going to the bad part of town meant the first thing I’d notice would be the strewn garbage and omnipresent graffiti, the smell of urine and feces, of rotting food and unwashed bodies. Here, all but the most depressed have access to the Clean spell. The System absorbs and clears out any building that is willing to tithe a small portion of its regular Mana upkeep. Since there’s little that most buildings can do with that Mana, that means all buildings are clean and tidy. Even discarded refuse gets absorbed by the System.

In this System world, it’s the people who tell the story. Levels are the first indicator—everyone I see is a Basic Class. A large number of those are non-combatants. And since combat, risking your life in dungeons and in the wilds, is the fastest and easiest way to Level, a society weighed heavily toward non-Combatants is going to be low-Leveled. Never mind the fact that you need a healthy proportion of combatants in any society, since they’re the main resource generators of a System world.

Need food? Send a Combat Classer to kill a monster. Monster meat is both tastier and more nutritious than domesticated meat. Need materials for your craft? Send a Combat Classer to kill a monster. You could work with metal, but the returns from that end pretty soon. Need money? Send a Combat Classer to kill a monster.

Levels and Classes are a good indicator of the state of a group of individuals, but there are other signs too. In the third ring, every damn Adventurer is wearing high-class combat equipment. With the right Skills, you could even pull up their individual equipment stats and see that each piece is System-registered. Heck, many of the more successful Adventurers run around with handmade equipment, fully enchanted. Their clothing, their equipment is as much a public statement of their success as they are utility items.

Out here though, most of the clothing is mass-produced work made by machines that are barely registered with the System, if at all. None of the equipment has any stats or offers anything but a fig leaf of protection. In fact, considering how some fig trees have evolved, the equipment here offers less in some cases. No, the people in the seventh ring have no time or desire to buy “good” equipment.

“What a shithole,” Ali says as he floats up to me. His loud and rude proclamation gets a few looks, but no one makes a move to deal with the floating Spirit.

In fact, a very excited gnome—which is the hallmark of tiny cuteness, by the way—is bouncing up and down and pointing at the floating Spirit. “Mama. Mama. Look! A Spirit. Just like the screens!”

“Oh, great gears above. Don’t point. He’s probably a bounty hunter. We don’t want them to come after us.”

I frown slightly, overhearing the conversation but dismissing it. Nothing I can do but move on, leaving the poor family to themselves.

As I walk, Harry rushes up, muttering softly, “They’re afraid of you.”

“Of us,” I say and incline my head.

As expected, a bunch of toughs stand at the side, watching us carefully. They’re not moving to obstruct us though—probably because the highest-Level tough is only in his high 30s.

“How the hell are their Levels so low?” I say softly to Ali and Harry. Jesus. I knew layabouts on Earth who had Levels like theirs. And we’d only been in the System for five years.

“Lack of motivation and opportunity,” Ali says. “The first is self-explanatory. The second has to do with why we’re here. As you know, if you’re a Combat Classer, you can’t get into dungeons without joining a guild, and most guilds receive more base-Level applicants than they need. So unless you’ve got a good Class or great base attributes, you’re stuck running down vermin.”

“Vermin?” Harry says.

“Mutated cockroaches, rats, and the like—alien version, that is,” Ali says. “To keep the city expanding and the area controlled by the city orb in line, Irvina has increased the minimum threshold for Mana fluctuations. It allows the city to expand their borders faster but means that low-Level spawning still occurs in public areas. Every century or so, the city decides to create some robots to deal with the problem, but those robots get badly mangled.”

“By the residents, right?” Harry nods as if that makes perfect sense to him.

“So everyone fights for the right to get into the guilds. And, what? The middle class buys their children better Skills?” I say, trying to piece together the logic.

“Definitely. You saw that with the Hakarta and Yerrick a little. Though they’re a little more community-driven,” Ali says. “There are exceptions to the dungeon rules to give the lower strata access though. Some of the lowest-tier dungeons host school days and dungeon runs for the kids to level. Then there are private dungeon runners. They’re not as extensive or as good, but…”

“But they’re available and will get people combat experience,” I say, realizing the difference a little Credit can make. “What are these private dungeons like?”

“Depends. Everything from a single padded room with a monster they let you fight and kill for a fee to ones like the guild’s training rooms, which actually run you through scenarios. No experience, but you get trainers and coaches’ tips. The largest are multi-floor edifices that host a bunch of captured monsters. There are even monster breeders who work for them,” Ali says.

“Weird. So, what? Don’t people just kill the monsters and get better experience? Isn’t that a way to buy Levels?” Harry says.

I get a moment of déjà vu, wondering if I’ve ever had this conversation, before Ali answers. “Sort of? Real monsters collect more unfiltered Mana, which gives more experience when you kill them. Also, don’t forget that the System disincentivizes safe fighting. Private dungeons are literally the pinnacle of safe for a dungeon. There’s a point where the experience penalties and experience requirements make it ridiculous to keep growing.

“And as boy-o will tell you, there’s nothing like actually risking your life to hone your skills. Fighting and Leveling in a safe, happy environment won’t do much for your skills. There’s an edge you lack, and that edge matters at the highest Levels.”

Harry nods and mutters to himself, making notes.

Meanwhile, we take the next left, heading down the long corridors as we tread through the building. Lining the corridor on both sides are retail shops, their windows doing their best to attract attention. It reminds me so much of walking in an eclectic shopping mall on Earth. The shops are varied and familiar—clothing, weapons, toys, more clothing, a blacksmith, a potionologist, a massage parlor, battle jackets, and a martial arts training center. Of course, there are stores that are a little more exotic—the full-body hair solution with award-winning scale buffing, the pet store with exotic pets including slimes, bred mini-manticores, and mini two-tailed cat-monsters. So many shops with people flowing in and out, getting on with their lives.

“So where are the Combat Classers?” Harry says, eyeing the area.

“Out. Grinding mostly. Or training,” Ali says softly. “Even if the competition is high, you’ve got to be out there to find anything.”

“And if you don’t?” I say, cocking my head. Back on Earth, starvation took a while to set in thanks to our Constitution buffs. I assume it’s the same here. Credits do make the world go around, and if you’re a Combat Classer, killing things is how you make money. If you don’t hunt, you don’t eat. Add in the high cost of rent and I’m wondering how they’re making ends meet.

“The Council has no place for the useless. Those who can’t pay for themselves are made into Serfs and geaes placed on them to ensure they don’t commit suicide. Then they’re re-educated to become productive servants,” Ali says, his voice growing entirely too serious.

“That’s a messed-up System,” Harry says.

“Oh? Is leaving them to fend for themselves on the streets better? At least we wipe out their Status ailments first, give them a mental or chemical rebalancing to ensure they’re more stable,” Ali says. “It’s not permanent, but so long as it happens regularly enough, they can be productive.”

“You keep using that word,” Harry says. “Brainwashing people isn’t right.”

“Maybe not, but the boy-o can tell you it’s for the best,” Ali says.

“What? Don’t drag me into this,” I say, breaking off my window shopping. I really don’t need a hoverboard. No matter how cool it looks. Or hoverboots. Well, okay, maybe those hover-cum-air-skating boots could come in handy. One danger of using Blink Step into the air is not being able to change direction. I’ve got my Flight spell, but it comes with the negative of using Mana and needing to be channeled. In the middle of a fight, it’s more difficult to complete.

“John!”

“I’m curious why enforced slavery is for the best,” Harry says, foot tapping as I continue to stare at the boots.

“Eh? Oh, it’s a System thing. The more people there are, the more Mana gets processed out through the environment. The better the processing, the less strain on the ecosystem and the System itself. Sentients are filters, Mana banks, and engines. The Mana gets taken in by us, processed, and filtered back to the System constantly. It’s why you’ve got a passive regeneration, because anything that overflows goes right into the System itself.”

Harry stands there, mouth gaping.

“What?” I ask.

“How do you know this? And why am I getting so many experience points?”

“System quest,” Ali and I say at the same time, then I chuckle at Harry’s expression. “And it’s because I read. A lot. It’s also not particularly hard to realize if you keep track of things. Atmospheric Mana needs to be processed. Sentients are the best processors by far. The more sentients there are equals better processing. Less atmospheric Mana, less random mutations and weird temporal and dimensional hijinks.”

“Temporal and dimensional hijinks?”

“Random monster teleportation, spawning, and lair creation,” Ali replies for me.

I make up my mind, glancing at the clock in my status screen to verify there’s enough time, and walk into the shop.

Harry hurries to follow, all the while talking to Ali. “Why does that sound like a Dungeon World?”

“What do you think Dungeon Worlds are? The Council picks a planet and floods it with Mana that should have gone to other locations, forcing those changes. That stabilizes Mana flow in other locations, creating an exit valve when the Mana flow surges. Unfortunately, if the Galactic Council doesn’t expand the borders or the population fast enough, well, all the worlds become Dungeon Worlds,” Ali says. “That’s pretty much what the Forbidden Zone is. Worlds where the ambient Mana levels have reached a point that they’re basically considered a Dungeon World. Except worse.”

“Worse?” Harry says, frowning. “And why not just expand the borders of the System?”

“Because we don’t necessarily control the flow of Mana. We control the System boundaries, but not Mana boundaries. There needs to be a sufficient amount of Mana density before we can expand the System there. At times, there just aren’t enough worlds. On top of that, while sentients are better, a Dungeon World is technically the best option. But if you leave a Dungeon World unchecked, it becomes a rupture in the System. So it’s necessary to have both sentients and a Dungeon World. Well, not necessary, but well advised.”

Harry nods, eyes focused on Ali in the way I’m fast coming to realize indicates he’s recording.

I ignore the conversation, instead making my desires known to the proprietor of the shop. In a short time, I’m testing out a variety of hoverboots for style and fit. In the end, I end up with something black and boring and looking a bit like a motorbike racer’s leathers crossed with cowboy boots. On the other hand, they’re slim, can alter color on command, and most importantly, are the best boots the store offers.

Simalax Hover Boots (Tier II)

A combination of hand-crafted materials and mass-produced components, the Simalax Hover Boots are the journeyman work of Magi-Technician Lok of Irvina. Enchantments and technology mesh together in the Simalax Hover Boots, offering its wearer the ability to tread on air briefly and defy gravity and sense.

Effects: User reduces gravitational effects by 0.218 SIG. User may, on activation, hover and skate during normal and mildly turbulent atmospheric conditions. User may also use the Simalax Hover Boots to triple jump in the air, engaging the anti-gravity and hover aspects at the same time.

Duration: 1.98 SI Hours.

“Thank you,” I say, slipping on the boots and dumping my old boots in my Inventory. I wave away their thanks, only showing my displeasure when I’m out of the store. “Ali, why were they so effusive in their thanks? They didn’t look to be doing that badly.”

“That’s because you bought his best work,” Ali says. When Harry and I continue to give Ali blank looks, the Spirit sighs dramatically. “He’s a crafter in the seventh ring. You bought his best work. He’s probably been sitting on that stock for months now and had to scrape and save to get the money to buy the materials in the first place. Now, with the boots sold, he can buy the material for another set, or for something new, and gain experience again for making it. Also, you bought them without bargaining.”

“I was supposed to bargain?” I say with a frown, looking backward. “But it was so cheap.”

“Nope. You overpaid by, like, twelve percent,” Ali says. “We’re in the seventh ring, not Earth. No long-range transportation cost, no teleportation fees. No extra hazard insurance. It’s all cheaper here.”

“Huh,” I say then shrug. Ten thousand plus Credits was expensive, but just about what I got from running quests in the dungeon with Mikito. That doesn’t include the thousands of Credits I received for the various loot pieces and corpses. In that sense, getting cheated wasn’t a major problem. And if it makes their lives better, so be it. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ali says.

I ignore the grumbling Spirit, picking up speed. Best make sure to arrive on time. Or early.

The first surprise is that the location is within a small corridor off the main thoroughfare. The second, that the address is for a meeting room rented out of someone’s co-working space. I’m a bit amused to see that this co-working space mostly caters to crafters, with multiple desks and work areas cordoned off from one another via enchantments rather than a slew of random computers. Still…

“Redeemer of the Dead, John Lee? Yes. Meeting room three. Take the first right, second door on the left,” the floating fish-creature that fishes the desk says through the electronic translator.

I’m a little surprised but follow its instructions. Ali’s chuckling while Harry’s peering around at the co-space, curiosity warring with his dedication to my story. Or Earth’s story. Hell, I don’t even know what he’s working on now.

Opening the door to the meeting room, I’m a little surprised by how small it is. It’s no bigger than a grade school classroom, maybe twenty feet across and fifteen wide. Numerous chairs are laid out, and a simple podium has been set up for my speech, but most importantly, the room is lacking a little in its most important characteristic.

“Where is everyone?” I say, eyeing the clock. We’ve got a good five minutes before the speech is meant to start, but seven people present isn’t a particularly impressive attendance record. “Are Galactics prone to being late?”

Certainly in Whitehorse, I’d have to give everyone another fifteen minutes. They might joke about Yukon time, but not a single damn meeting or event ever started on time.

“Not really. Maybe by five or so? Galactics are pretty punctual. Comes from the HUD clock,” Ali says.

I sigh and slump into a chair, letting my eyes drift downward. Fine. I can wait. Five minutes isn’t that long, especially since the Galactic-standard five minutes is just a touch shorter than ours—3.8 seconds to be exact. For the most part, it makes no real difference, since Ali helpfully translates everything for me and rounds it up. Not as if I’m an engineer or anything.

I might have my eyes half closed, but in truth, I’m evaluating the few attendees. Quickly, I come to a conclusion that there are three groups. Those who are, quite obviously, here for fun and food. Initially there was only one of them, but soon enough, he’s joined by a couple of others who hang around the free snacks at the side. The second group are those who look uncertain, individuals who have quite a few strong threads leading from them. Family, friends, obligations, contracts. I’m guessing they’re here to look and learn but are hesitant because their lives are entwined with others.

Unlike the third group. These are the ones who are openly checking out Harry and me, eyeballing us and our Statuses. This group makes up the largest number, roughly two-thirds of those present. Of course, by the time everyone else streams in—most coming in on the dot or close to it—we’ve got a total of fifteen attendees.

“Well. I guess that’s it,” I say, still slouched in my seat.

I stand and walk up to the podium. Instead of getting behind it, I put my elbow on the side and lean, letting my gaze rake over the audience. They’re a diverse bunch—male and female and things in between or just weird enough I don’t even want to guess. Mostly non-Combat Classers, though a small group of four in a corner are fighters. Strong ties between each other, not much else otherwise. I see no Hakarta or Yerrick here, just a bunch of gnomes, Truinnar, Movanna, lizardmen, a Dullahan, and some other weirder species. The only person who seems out of place is the Kobold in a vest-and-suit ensemble, standing by the door. Still, I sense no hostility.

“You’re all here because you want to know about Earth, the latest Dungeon World. My name is John Lee. I’m a human, a native of the Dungeon World. I’m also an Erethran Paladin. For those who don’t know, or can’t tell, that’s a Master Class. I achieved that in five years of fighting on Earth.” That last bit is a stretch, though most of my experience gains came from being on Earth. In fact, while in the Forbidden Zone, I never went up a single level.

“If you’re looking for a change, for a chance to grow and Level, Earth offers a lot of opportunities. Even for those of you who aren’t Combat Classers.” I let my gaze sweep over the group, noting that I’ve gotten the interest of some of them. I relax my hold on my Aura, letting it turn on, and flash them all a smile. Then I mentally kick myself when I see one of the Galactics recoil at my brazen aggressive act. Oops. “Now, let’s talk specifics…”

I talk about the changes on Earth, the numerous monsters and dungeons and wide-open lands. I talk about languages and cultures, of food and the various groups in the world. I try to keep the last bit broader since there’s so much variation, but even then, the talk takes longer than I expected. After that, the questions come, many of them targeting areas I’d forgotten. For the most part, the answers are easy to provide. Then there are other questions which at first seem easy but get complicated.

“Which city do you think we should base ourselves from?” This question comes from the non-Combatant couple, an Alchemist and a Waste Processor.

“Where to ship in?” I frown, drumming my fingers on my leg. “That depends—”

“Actually, Redeemer, I think I should answer that. Wiza of the Third Pors Immigration Company. We’re the one who booked this room,” Wiza, the Kobold, says as he flashes a toothy smile at everyone. “If you sign up with the Third Pors, we’ll handle all transportation, language, and cultural purchases required for a safe and ultimately fruitful immigration. Of course, we’ll also help assign you to the most appropriate locations on Earth. We, in fact, have deals with numerous local governmental authorities…”

“I thought Oria booked this. And what’s this about signing up?” I send to Ali as I half-listen to Wiza give his spiel.

“Normal immigration policy for those who can’t afford it. They set up a Serf program for repayment, handle the employment and other skill purchases. Most of the people you’re going to talk to can’t afford the cost of flying themselves all the way to Earth,” Ali says.

“No loans?”

“For going to a Dungeon World? Har. No self-respecting loan company will give out Credits to someone who might be dead within an hour of walking onto the surface. The few who do use a very high interest rate,” Ali says. “At least with a Serf contract, they can dictate where and how their Serfs live. Keep their risks down.”

I frown but don’t interrupt Wiza’s speech. I don’t like it, not at all, but it’s not as if he’s forcing anyone to sign on. Then again, when your choice is a slow, grinding existence with little hope of ever getting better, is the only choice offered a choice anymore?

“For a group of Level 10s, how many Credits can we get per week? Safely, that is,” asks the leader of the Combat Classers. I feel weird for moment when the speaker doesn’t speak in broken English, considering he’s got big long ears, stands about three feet tall, and is green.

“Uhh…” I try to figure out how to answer that. Considering I haven’t been at that Level since, well, ever, it’s not something I even considered.

“Depends. How hard are you going to work? Which city are you in? You know, the usual things,” Harry says, stepping in. “But with a well-trained party of five, you could see two to three hundred Credits each.” As murmurs break out at that low amount, Harry continues, unperturbed. “But you have to remember, if you’re on Earth, your food cost is pretty close to nil. As for rent, it’d be maybe a hundred Credits each for a single detached house in a suburb.”

That, of course, ends up starting a long discussion about what a single detached residence is. We even have to get Ali to show off pictures of Earth. I swear, those pictures of sprawling lands and houses that aren’t connected to one another are what interest two-thirds of the group. And almost lose us the other third.

Conversations go on and on, and at the end, I spot Wiza passing on his contact information. Curiosity keeps me in the room until he’s done, as I answer a few more personal queries. Some of which I have to confess ignorance to. Like, how would I know if there are underscale cleaners yet?

When Wiza is finally done with his conversations, I break off from mine by the simple expedient of shoving Harry and Ali into the spotlight.

“You wished to speak with me, Redeemer?” Wiza says respectfully, inclining his doggy head to the side.

“A bit. I’d love to see that Serf contract you’re passing around.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s against company policy. Contracts are individualized for each contractee due to differences in Classes, Levels, and skills,” Wiza says with a lolling smile. “There’s no single contract to show, even if we were allowed to do so.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” The gods know, employees the universe over love spitting out how there’s no regular contract, how every applicant is different. And then when you push them, of course, there’s a standard form everyone signs—with some minor concessions and a tiny band of what they’re willing to pay and negotiate within. “Try again.”

“It’s not possible, Redeemer,” Wiza says, straightening a little and meeting my gaze directly.

“Okay.” Wiza relaxes a little, so I hit him with my next question. “Can you highlight on this schedule which talks you’ve sponsored?”

“I have not sponsored anything directly, Redeemer. The Third Pors are the sponsors, but I can highlight our sponsorships,” Wiza says. A twitch of his fingers and the information is highlighted.

“Thanks.” While the schedule is still shared, I send a mental command that wipes them all from my schedule.

“Redeemer? What?”

“I don’t work with people who don’t trust me,” I say flatly, turning to walk away.

“Redeemer! Please. Wait. Let me talk to my supervisor…”

“Send me the contract. Then we’ll talk,” I say over my shoulder, walking out with a little saunter.

Yeah, it’s a bit nasty to do that to an employee. But they’re contracting Serfs. Even if it is the way things are done here, I still can’t bring myself to like or accept the entire voluntary slavery thing.

Chapter 9

By the end of that evening, the multi-page contract arrives. Truth be told, any contract that needs a damn legal degree to understand always makes me wary, but this one is just plain painful to read. I have to stop numerous times to do the System equivalent of hitting the search engines to understand out what everything means. Well, understanding based off a layman’s skill. It doesn’t help that I’m doing most of it while wandering the sixth and seventh ring. A quick stop at the Shop helped solve the pressing issue of drawing too much attention.

Isekai’s Mask of the Unknown (Tier V)

A basic piece of equipment that provides a modicum of privacy for those looking to hide their actions. This is the most basic mask on offer and is not effective under intense scrutiny.

Effect: Conceals status information from low-level Basic Class Skills.

Cost: 500 Credits

Of course I could have spent more money, but there’s really no point. I’m not going to spend a ton of Credits trying to play rogue or assassin. My enemies will all send people with the appropriate Skills to break a casual purchase, and my Shrunken Footsteps Skill is already making it hard for others to track me. Layering another Skill on top of that, even an active Skill, would be a waste of Credits and Mana.

No, the mask is more a social convention. It’s a way of saying “I’m here to do private business” rather than to actually stop people who are truly interested. It also has the benefit of hiding my race—or at least my facial features. While I do attract a little attention with my mask, with Ali in invisible mode, most people just leave us alone. Which is all I want.

“Harry, have you seen other contracts?” I ask. I mean, I know I sent others out to serve sentences while I ran my settlements, but most of our contracts are pretty straightforward. It’s not as if we’re actually trying to keep them as slaves forever. In fact, in some ways, giving them a job, a direction, and a goal in life might be better.

Or maybe that’s my guilty conscience talking.

Harry’s lips press together. “Yeah. This one’s not that different. A few corporations were trying this on Earth about three years ago. Came through a bunch of major cities. Most of them were shut down pretty hard.”

“Shut down?” I say with a frown.

“Taxes. A lot of the settlement owners didn’t like their population being taken, so they taxed or otherwise restricted their operations. These days, they’re still around but, well, you know. Dungeon World.”

I nod, hating that Harry has a point. Earth being a Dungeon World means a lot of bad things happen. But one thing it provides that a world like Irvina doesn’t is a raft of opportunities. Combat Classers are actively encouraged to go out and fight, to raise their Levels as fast as they can. Non-Combat Classers—especially in the Basic Level—swim in the loot and other materials produced from non-stop combat. It only takes a little motivation to do well in a Dungeon World. But then, a little motivation is all that most people have. The final resting point might be higher, but most people end up stagnating in their Level gains after a while.

Doesn’t help that constant combat is a burden on the mind.

It’s why so many of the surviving humans are switching over to non-Combat Classes. Most people can only handle so much bloodshed and danger. It takes a toll emotionally, mentally, and yes, on one’s soul. With the slowly increasing number of Galactics, humanity has started offering quests and advice, guiding newcomers, and setting up stores. In many ways, I understand why they call us “NPCs”—Non-Participating Classers.

Non-participating in the greater game. Non-participating in the sludge and drudge of Leveling up. There’s a point when growth becomes more hassle than it’s worth for most people, so while they might continue to climb, they do it slowly, gently. A slow grind rather than the mad dash of the motivated and desperate. When the choice is not to level.

“So. This isn’t that uncommon, but it still seems pretty horrible. Best I can see, even if it’s not a non-stop circle of debt and penalties, it’s a damn spiral,” I say. “Am I wrong?”

“Not really,” Ali answers. “These guys aren’t the worst, but they’re not great either. More reputable companies have better contracts, but because the contracts are better…”

“They can pick and choose who they take,” I say. Of course, that meant that those who didn’t get in then went to the worse groups, so companies like Wiza’s had to acquire even higher costs to set up their new Serfs properly. That meant they had to get a higher return from any single Serf, resulting in stricter contracts and longer periods. It was a vicious cycle in a way, one that those at the bottom were forced to contend with.

“They’re shady moneylenders. All we need is a pawn shop…” Harry shuts up when Ali flashes a new map, highlighting a half-dozen locations nearby. “The more things change…”

“It’s not as if there are that many ways of working an economy,” Ali says. “Especially when the System imposes its rules.”

I nod and finally discard the contract. At the end of the day, it’s not really something I can change. More importantly, the lack of audience today was a bit concerning. If we’re looking at fifteen people each meeting, that fifty thousand number will be a very, very long time in coming. “Hey, Ali, anything we can do to increase the number of people attending?”

“Why ask me?” Ali says with a snort. “Do I look like an event organizer?”

I look over my stalwart and sturdy companion, the linebacker with a beard in an orange suit. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. Harry?”

The reporter smiles ruefully, making me sigh.

Fine. In the end, we spend the rest of the day wandering, getting a feel for the sixth ring. I leave my Social Web on, drinking in the sights and sounds while letting a portion of my mind go over the question.

“Dungeon?” Mikito asks the next morning, leg propped up on a chair as she stretches.

“Definitely. Let’s try for deeper,” I say, rubbing my neck.

Last night was… interesting. A night out with the boys ended up with us checking out the Galactic equivalent of a dive bar—not recommended—a pod-racing show—fun but expensive—and finally a Galactic strip joint at Ali’s insistence. And we only ended up in the strip joint because Harry and I firmly turned down the suggestion of the brothel right next door.

“Okay,” Mikito says. “How was your day yesterday?”

“Ummm…” I pause halfway standing and shake off the sudden bout of paranoia. And the rather vivid image of a cat-girl grinding on me while a pair of male Truinnar made out on stage. “Boring. I’ll tell you about the speech on the way.”

“Okay.” Mikito sounds less than enthused but follows me out of the suite. “We leaving Harry?”

I cough, glad I’m not prone to blushing. “Yeah. He said he had more… research to do last night.”

“So. We repeating the same quests?”

“Might as well.”

Later that evening, we’re back at the guild with our haul of the day. The attendant is categorizing and working out our earnings, which really is only slowed down by the speed of me hauling everything out of my Altered Space. Strangely enough, Draco is here too.

“A decent haul for a two-party team,” Draco says, eyeing the screen in front of him. “That extra-dimensional storage space of yours is quite convenient. A lot of newer teams forget to account for the amount of space they’ll need.”

“Thank you. But I’m surprised to see the Vice-Guild Master on the floor personally,” I say, eyeing the lizardman carefully. Intuition tells me this isn’t a random visit.

“You shouldn’t be. I’m here to offer you a quest.”

Draco’s left eye blinks, and suddenly, I’m staring at a new notification window.

Quest Offered: Train with the Devil’s Flute and the Immortal Joes

The Devil’s Flute and the Immortal Joes have recently been formed from the remnants of four previous Adventuring teams. The Vice-Guild Master feels they require additional training to achieve a B-ranking. Your job is to beat the snot out of them till they learn how to work better together.

Reward: +5,000 Credits per training session, battle experience

Penalties: Loss in Reputation. Loss in Fame for declining Quest.

“Interesting.” I stare at Draco as I look over the information. “But don’t you have other people who could do this?”

“I do. But I also promised you training opportunities,” Draco says. “This is it. Both teams have very different makeups. It’s about time you trained against other sentients.”

I grunt, still not convinced.

“I’ll also authorize your use of guild housing,” he says.

Mikito’s eyes widen, and she unsubtly elbows me in the side. “You’ve hit your limit training with me, John. A martial artist needs variety in their training partners to get the most from their training.”

“I’m not a fighter,” I grumble.

“Yes, you are, Paladin. Or shall I say, Duellist?” Draco says. “I’d also point out that while you might have won against many on Earth, they are, like you, specialized monster killers. On Irvina are many who specialize in killing sentients.”

“You guys aren’t going to let up, are you?” I sigh, letting my shoulders slump in defeat. “Fine.”

Draco smiles while a new schedule appears in front of me. “Those are our current open slots in the training room. And those other schedules are the teams’. That is their contact information. I recommend you begin training as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible, eh?” I say, eyeing the schedule. “Can you help?”

“Ugh. You are so damn lazy. I really wish KIM was still here. This was his kind of thing,” Ali sends back.

I can’t help but smirk. Within seconds, all three schedules and my own are lined up.

“How often do you want to do this?” Ali asks.

“How often do you want to hit the dungeon?” I ask Mikito instead.

Draco leaves when he sees me taking the entire thing seriously, and the pair of us step away from the attendant’s table to allow others access.

“I’m going in every day,” Mikito says. “Well, except when I’m scheduled for the Arena. But that’s very busy and I need to work my way up the rankings.”

“Rankings?” I say, my eyes growing wide. “It’s not dangerous, is it?”

“No, oyaji!” Mikito rolls her eyes. “It’s nowhere near as dangerous as challenging a Weaponmaster. Or a dragon. Or taking on monsters thirty levels higher. Or—”

“I get it, I get it!” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Sorry. You show them what we humans can do, eh?”

“Of course.” Mikito grows grim. “It’s really good training. But the variety is a bit much sometimes…”

“Just… yeah.” I shake my head, deciding not to add any more words of caution. The woman can kick my ass in a one-on-one fight if I don’t go all out, and she’s just getting better. Once she gets her Master Class, I have a feeling I’ll be entirely outclassed in close combat. “Let’s say every third day? For the dungeon?”

“Good enough for me,” Mikito says.

In a moment, I’ve got the new schedule set up. There are obviously times when I can’t do a full day with Mikito, and other times when I’m busy with my speeches. And of course I still want to spend time in the Questors’ building. I wince slightly, staring at my suddenly-filled schedule, but push aside the hesitation. Really, leveling is important.

It takes only a single message before the rooms are booked and the Adventuring groups informed.

“Dinner?” Mikito asks, cocking her head toward me.

“No. I have a fight to get to.”

“Already?”

I shrug. Coincidence and weird timing made it all work. That, and a little chicanery by Ali. But in truth, the Spirit knows me well enough. After my last disgraceful showing against an Advanced team, I’m looking for payback.

“Let’s keep this simple for the first fight,” I call to the group when they finally make their way in. To reinforce my point, I finalize the command, and every single obstacle, impediment, and terrain feature fades back into the floor and walls, showing off the bare room.

The Devil’s Flute arrays themselves before me, finishing up their pre-battle buffs.

“Works for us. Let’s get this over with,” their leader, a Hakarta, says.

I scan the group, Ali translating their Classes to the closest human equivalent. The lead Hakarta’s their Warrior Tank, geared toward eating damage. Next to him is a male Hakarta who’s a Soldier with an oversized sniper rifle. A tall, thin, grey, elongated creature with a bulbous nose is a Summoner, while the Pooskeen next to him is a Spellblade. And their last member’s a damn Healer, though weirdly, strings run from his fingers to all his people. Even weirder, the Healer looks like a damn puppet.

“When you’re ready.”

“Ready.”

Ali’s sitting out this fight for the most part, staying invisible and high above us all. I send a mental command to the room’s system, and a big notification appears for all of us. The countdown starts from three seconds out. I watch as all of them tense, their eyes flicking over the room as their leader gives commands. I can’t hear them, and the Hakarta’s smart enough to drop his helmet so I can’t read his lips either.

But I can read their body language, the way they move. I can see what they’re looking for and what they plan. And so, the moment the countdown hits zero, I have a plan. Rather than spend time on the defense, I take the fight straight to them via a Beacon of the Angels.

I’m surprised when the Skill fizzles, canceled out as the Spellblade jumps up and cuts at the forming circle of power. I notice his Mana drop like a rock, but even as he falls, he’s sucking down a new Mana potion. My lips pull apart in a snarl.

And while I’m distracted, the group is spreading out to make my attacks less effective. The Soldier snipes at me as he runs, his first bullet taking nearly half of my Shield’s defense. The Warrior Tank is moving forward to meet me directly. The Healer’s doing nothing right now, while the Summoner is staying behind the Tank and calling forth monsters.

“Ugh!” I say, when the Summoner’s giant centipedes boil up out of the floor. At a glance, it’s clear the Summoner has gone for the “quantity over quality” side of the pet equation. Which means…

“Ice Storm,” I say softly, mostly because I can, as I release the spell.

The spell flies from my hand, but before it can reach the Summoner, it curves and falls into the Warrior’s cupped hands. There, it swirls around and pulses as it tries to expand, contained by the Warrior. Even so, I can see the Warrior’s health and Mana drain.

“Fine. Have two. No. Three,” I snarl, flipping my hand forward as I chain-cast the spell.

Another hiss and crack as the sound barrier is broken, and my Soul Shield shatters under the Sniper’s second shot. Slow. Powerful attacks but slow. Too slow. I throw another spell then have to retract my hand from getting cut off as the Spellblade literally appears in front of me, cutting ineffectually at my spell.

“Forgot about you.” I grin. Fine. He wants to dance with the sword? We’ll dance with the sword.

I conjure my own and we clash blades, all while I keep forming a spell in my free hand. That limits my fighting ability significantly, especially since I’m used to switching hands. Fighting single-handed is annoying, but lucky for me, the Spellblade isn’t used to a bunch of extra swords joining the fight. That I occasionally throw and discard my weapon is messing with his rhythm, forcing him to constantly guess about what to do next.

“Stop that spell!” Tank screams when I lob it underhanded toward him.

It flies, only to be blocked by a giant swarm of centipedes that cover the area in front of the Warrior. The resulting explosion catches both the Spellblade and me, though the freeze effects seem to be negated by resistances from both of us. The centipedes, on the other hand, are turned into frozen statues, thin little frozen legs shattering and sending the creepy-crawlies crashing down.

Lobbing the spell makes me stop for a fraction of a second—long enough for the damn Sniper to take his next shot. The bullet burrows into my body, pain erupting as the bullet digs into my side. I ignore it and the way my body works to push out the bullet. Instead, I conjure another sword and lash out at the Spellblade.

Two swords in hand and a few more spinning around us, our blades clatter and howl, sparks flying as the Spellblade does his best to protect himself. As I’m getting the upper hand in the fight, the damn Warrior shows up, throwing a fist of ice at my head. Within seconds, I’m pushed back by the combined might of the two. I backpedal and swing, trying to keep the fast-approaching centipede swarm away from us. And each time I seem to be getting the upper hand, the Sniper fires again.

“He’s not that tough. I thought he was a Master Class?” the Healer says, wiggling his hand and replacing the damage I’ve done to the Tank. I’m cutting the Tank’s hands each time he punches or blocks, but the Healer fixes the damage within seconds, those strings glowing with concealed power.

“Hey, boy-o, if you’re going for an attrition battle, you should know that the Healer’s Mana has barely dipped.”

I grunt, spinning away from the Spellblade’s cut in an attempt to get around the Tank. The Tank falls back while the Spellblade ducks low and shuffles over to me. It’s not the first time they’ve done something unnecessary, and I’m sure I know why. Those strings are how the Healer sends his Mana to them, keeping his Mana cost down. But it limits their movements somewhat. Since they’ve given me a bit of a break, I hop backward a couple of times and cut the next incoming bullet apart, watching my sword chip as the bullet shatters. I layer another Soul Shield over my body before grinning at the group.

“Okay. Let’s start playing for real,” I say. “Time to come and play.”

As I cast a spell with one hand, the Warrior sets his feet to get ready to deal with the new problem. The Spellblade is moving forward with the centipede horde, wary of engaging me by himself. In the meantime, more centipedes crawl out of the hole in the floor and spread across the room in a wave as they attempt to cut off my line of retreat. The ones that weren’t caught in the initial ice storm are converging around the back of the room, forming an encirclement.

One hand works the new spell, the second goes for something simpler. I toss out grenades. One goes directly toward the Spellblade, who bats the explosive aside. Annoying, but it doesn’t matter. The smoke grenades spill colored smoke. With a snap of my hand, I throw my spell into the sky, watching as the spell container gets dragged over to the Warrior.

Too late though. I targeted it to go off about three feet above my head, so all the Warrior does is drag the entire thing over to him to center over the room. Exactly as I planned. Polar Zone kicks in, lowering the temperature drastically and slowing everyone down.

More grenades come out, lobbed to skip across chitin toward the Summoner. They don’t get far before they’re swallowed by the centipedes. Sometimes literally. Too bad it won’t matter.

F’Merc Nanoswarm Mana Grenades (Tier II)

The F’Merc Nanoswarm Grenades are guaranteed to disrupt the collection of Mana in a battlefield, reducing Mana Regeneration rates for those caught in the swarm. Recommended by the I’um military and the Torra Special Forces, these are the No.1 Most Popular Mana Grenade as voted by the public on Boom, Boom, Boom! Magazine.

Effect: Reduces Mana Regeneration rates and spell formation in affected area by 37% (higher effects in enclosed areas)

Radius: 10m x 10m

What happens next is not what I expected. The centipedes who slammed their bodies on the grenades twitch and scream, their bodies dissolving as the nanoswarm take effect. Literal holes open in their bodies, blood, guts, and chitin dissolving at a rate that’s visible to the naked eye.

“What the hell?” I backpedal and throw a series of Blade Strikes to keep the Spellblade on his toes.

“Summoned creatures are made of Mana. Kind of like me. The nanoswarm are literally eating them to power their replication.”

“Stop him!” the Summoner barks, twisting his hands and forming another pair of summoning circles to flank me. These look a hell of a lot bigger.

Another shot, this one punching into my Soul Shield. I drop a nanoswarm grenade by my feet, along with a smoke grenade, then engage the Spellblade in close combat once more. As the centipedes back off, giving me space, I grin. Isolate and win. The Summoner’s out of play for a few precious seconds while the Sniper will have trouble seeing me. As for the Tank…

He slams into me, punching through my Soul Shield with a Charge and snapping back my head. I impact the wall hard, bending steel and cracking my helmet as I slump down the now-dented partition. Spitting blood from a cut lip, I draw and toss my knives at the Tank, letting the blades sink into his body. Of course, he gets healed within moments, but that’s not the point.

As smoke engulfs the area, I let the pair close in on me before I trigger Blink Step. By that point, the first multi-headed chimera pokes its head out of the damn summoning circle. Luckily, dealing with Summoner is easy. I appear behind the Summoner, Ali having flown down and positioned himself close by to allow me to Blink Step in directly.

The first attack slices apart the Healer’s thread. The second takes off a leg, and the third cuts across his upper body. The Summoner staggers backward then disappears in a flash, the room’s System safeguards porting him out once he hits thirty percent of his total health. A sudden weight increase in my side tells me that my knives are back.

“Go.” Ali speeds off, headed for the second pre-designated target.

A baseball bat of force catches me on my right knee, forcing me to fall sideways as the Sniper continues firing through the damn smoke. I snarl, throwing on another Soul Shield and eyeing my health meter. Still good at just over two-thirds. As the Tank and Spellblade charge me, I raise my hands and trigger a Beacon from Angels. Already the summons are disappearing, forced out of our reality by their Summoner as per the rules of our engagement.

White fire blooms, and this time the Spellblade doesn’t notice till it’s too late. The Warrior sees it though, raising his hand to soak up the damage, forcing the beam to concentrate over him. His health yo-yos as the Healer desperately attempts to keep up his health. That’s made all the harder as the Warrior is taking the combined force of my Beacon. Sure, it does 750 damage normally, but that’s over a wide area. Concentrated…

I ignore the Warrior for now and turn to the Spellblade, who has managed to close to under five feet from me. He’s fast, but my knives flash out behind my Blade Strikes, crossing the distance in a blink. The flashier, more powerful Skill hides the dark blades until they injure the Spellblade in the torso and arm. The third knife misses entirely, but that’s fine. Already the Spellblade is reaching for a health potion, knowing he won’t get help.

“Your turn.” I grin as the Spellblade throws himself backward.

My body winks and disappears as I trigger Blink Step. High above him, I reappear to stare down at my target. Once more, I summon my swords, cutting at the form below me as I land.

The Sniper spins, blocking one of my blows with his rifle. The second catches him on the arm, tearing through armor and into muscle and skin. The Sniper snarls and disappears, reappearing at one of his set waypoints. I spot him on my minimap, but he’s out of my actual line-of-sight.

“Next one,” I command Ali, who sends a raspberry sound over our mental link.

The Spirit is already on his way, flitting forward in his invisible form.

My hand rises and power forms as I recast Polar Zone, layering the freeze spell further. The Warrior is gone, overwhelmed by the damage he tried to stop. The Healer is busy trying to patch up his friends, but his Mana is nearly tapped out. Without passive regeneration, we’re all getting low. But I still have more than enough in the tank to finish this.

“You’re brutal,” the Summoner complains, rubbing his reattached leg. A semi-clear bandage filled with a blue liquid surrounds the cut, bubbling and hissing as it works to reattach the limb. It’s an interesting piece of technology, and I make mental note to pick up one. Probably faster and less painful than regenerating the damn limb by myself.

“It’s the way I learned to fight,” I say.

“Why bother with the Polar Zone?” the Healer says as he sips on elderberry mana wine. Unlike the normal Mana potions, this one is slow-acting, but it has the advantage of being useable even when you’ve hit your potion limit.

“Distraction. I also wasn’t sure if it would break your strings,” I say.

“Har. Not that easy to cut my Strings of Fate,” the Healer says proudly, waggling threaded fingers at me. “They even reform if I put in enough Mana.”

“Good to know,” I say. “Got the recording?”

“Yup.”

“All right, gents. I’ll see you next time,” I say, nodding to the group.

There are a few entreaties for me to stay and chat more, but I’ve done enough of the post-fight briefing. Now it’s time for them to figure out how to beat me. And me, them.

I have to admit, Draco might be right. The fact that they’ve got Skills that counter mine, that they work together so smoothly, it throws me off. I do need to spend some time getting used to other ways of fighting, of winning with methods that don’t involve hitting really hard. And I also need to remember that I actually have more toys. Like my hoverboots.

Time. I just need time.

Chapter 10

Soon enough, my life ends up being one scheduled event after another. Sparsely attended speeches to potential recruits are followed by turns in the guild for training interspersed with time off in the Questors’ library and time in the dungeon. I start ignoring my friends, taking the time in transit to read and catch up on my real goal. Luckily, Harry gets bored with following me around to speeches and disappears to do his own thing. As for Mikito, neither of us were ever the most talkative, so a pleasant silence earmarks our interactions.

Days turn to weeks as we grind on. Sparring. Dungeon. Speeches. Reading. Again and again, round and round. It’s a strangely peaceful life, a break in an otherwise hectic life that I sometimes find strange to believe is mine. Occasionally I walk around a corner and find myself conjuring my sword as I spot a particularly monstrous pedestrian, or I jump and roll, reflexively calling a Soul Shield, when someone screeches too loud. The peace that everyone seems to expect grates on me at times, forcing me to find refuge in my books and the violence of the dungeon.

As I stare at the passage before me one fine evening as we trudge back from the dungeon, I can’t help but frown. It’s an ongoing discussion about Skills, one that I decided to follow in my research.

“Skill evolutions continue to be a complex area of research. Numerous trials have been attempted, but thus far, no statistically solid research trial has been completed. While Grunter & Ross (document 1.82.5719.11) are the hallmark case in such trials, the data set is filled with significant sample bias. In addition, as many know, this data can only be held true for Basic Classes. Thus far, no trial has been successfully completed for Advanced or higher Classes. Researchers have cited the difficulties in gaining agreement from samples to use their Class Skill points in what can be considered a frivolous manner.

It is only via such institutions like the Erethran Army and others that we, the researchers, have been able to achieve a relatively consistent statistically relevant dataset. However, there are obvious concerns in drawing conclusions from such specific data sets, including sample bias and cultural and institutional influences on the System.

Still, it can be concluded that Skill evolutions occur when a significant number of Level-provided Skill Points have been dedicated to a single Class Skill. The number of Skill Points required seems to vary slightly from eight to ten points, depending on the rate and expenditure of such points.

It is believed, in this researcher’s view, that the number of points and the requirement that they be Level-provided not be an artifact of the System but instead a requirement of the individual. It is believed that the individual’s dedication to the Skill, the development of it and the acceptance of the Skill as an intrinsic part of their identity, triggers the Skill evolution. It is why Skill purchases from the Shop do not trigger the same evolution—as the purchases are, by virtue of their providence, an external bounty.

Now, it is clear that certain unique Classes, like the Shopper and Greed Pig, may set aside these personal requirements, as the foundation of these Classes lies in the acquisition of Skills and groups. But in this researcher’s opinion, these very same Classes reinforce his hypotheses.

This research strongly disputes the prevailing belief that the current block on Skill evolution comes from a System edict to ‘level the playing field.’ It is clear, in this researcher’s mind, that such an edict would be lifted on a case-by-case basis for interested and powerful parties. That we do not see such edicts is not proof that our Council members are above such petty power plays but that there is no such edict.

In terms of the increased power from a Skill evolution, further research should be conducted. But it is clear from the provided data sets that a minimum increase of two, to a maximum increase of ten, times the strength of the Skill can be seen. The volume and variety of these Skill evolutions can be seen as…”

I grunt, letting the book disappear. Sometimes I get really annoyed by how some of these researchers write, but information like this is important. And it’s clear, as I eye my increase in experience, that this researcher has some truth to his assertions. Of course, my experience also increased the last time I read a document asserting the opposite. So what, if any, of the entire article is true, I’m not sure.

Pushing the thought aside, I check out the other notification that just showed up. Yay. Another addition to the immigrant list. I’m a little concerned that my quest numbers are creeping up so slowly. Even if Oria has opened the buildings to Katherine—allowing her to lease but not buy the space—I cannot dismiss the fear that she’ll pull back on the invitation if we can’t get more immigrants. Our problem isn’t so much convincing those who show up to commit but convincing newer people. No matter how many speeches I give, it doesn’t seem to make a difference. There just aren’t enough people showing up to those meetings.

On the other hand, I can’t help but appreciate Draco’s quest. Training with the two Adventurer teams has been extremely useful. While I curb-stomped the second team when we first met, they’ve been the fastest to adapt to my techniques.

The Immortal Joes are a pure range combat team, with members all rifle, bow, or mage wielders. Together, they put out such a high output of firepower that they manage to take down most threats long before they close in. It helps, of course, that they’ve secured a variety of Skills like Dimension Lock, Sticky Floor, Surface Tension Decrease, and Web. In our first battle, their tactics were stupidly simple. They attempted to keep me from closing while hunkering down behind impromptu field defenses. What they didn’t expect was for me to get grumpy after falling on my ass for the second time and spam Beacon of the Angels till all their defensive measures failed. Since then, we’ve switched things up and have included terrain. Once that happened, closing in on the Joes has become significantly more difficult.

Both teams have upped their Dimension Lock capabilities to the extent that it costs significantly more Mana and health for me to Blink Step or Portal to them. At best, I can only use either movement spell twice before things end. They’ve also started dealing with my grenades, throwing up targeted force fields or using portable slime eaters to remove my toys.

Overall, our fights have taken on a seesaw property where we figure out new ways of dealing with one another and enact that plan, gaining an advantage until the other party figures out a counter or comes up with a new strategy. Of course, such changes could happen multiple times through a single fight, but staying on the winning side is fast becoming an issue for me.

That thought troubles me, even if the gains from all that training has shown up in our dungeon runs. Learning to alter my tactics and use spells like flight or my new hoverboots has given me a new appreciation for terrain and three-dimensional fighting. During the last dungeon run, I barely touched the earth as I challenged myself to stay in the air. In turn, Mikito spent her time using a rifle to snipe attackers. Overall, it was a fun use of our time in the dungeon, even if it meant it took us longer than normal to clear the quests we received.

Rather than deal with it now, I decide to check into the guild the next day. And also to look into my on-going issue with the adventuring teams.

“The Vice-Guild Master will see you now,” the secretary says, sending me in.

The big-chested lady is surprisingly beautiful in a very human way. If you ignore the extra pair of arms, she’s utterly gorgeous. Even with the extra pair of arms—and the slightly longer-than-human torso—I can’t help but plaster on a flirtatious smile. Not that she notices. Admittedly, that might be because I suck at flirting.

“Draco,” I greet him. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“My pleasure, Redeemer. You and the Spear were as good as your word. Your latest kill count came through, and we have reached a new Mana threshold with the city. Now, what is this meeting about?”

“Training. Or more specifically, my training with the teams.” I run a hand through my hair before I drop it and squash the sudden bout of nervousness. “I’m running into a problem staying ahead of their tactics.”

“What have you tried?” Draco says.

“Mmm… obscuring their vision, splitting them up using Mud and Metal Walls, creating extra chaos via chaos grenades or spell storms, hitting them with large-scale area-of-effect attacks, taking out the healer, hit-and-run tactics, grinding down their Mana, using throwaway gear to suppress attacks, direct charges…”

“And they’ve come up with ways to counter all of those tactics?”

I nod. “Yup. Last match with the Joes, I charged the group while fast-casting a bunch of fireballs. Those gave me the cover to drop a bunch of mines. After the Joes scattered, I pulled back over the mines and let them eat the damage and the webs, but that didn’t last long. Even hunkering down and blasting them with Blade Strikes and my knives didn’t go that well. Barely pulled a win that time, and mostly because they forgot I can fly.”

“If you’ve gotten that far, then you are probably hitting your limits,” Draco says. “I’ll spend some time this evening looking over your fights, but I would not hold out hope for significant improvements.”

“What? Come on. I’m a Master Class and they’re, what? Level 40s at best,” I say, crossing my arms. “I should still be able to win more often than not.”

“It’s true that most Master Classers require a pair or three teams of Advanced Class parties to beat,” Draco says. “But you’re not a regular Master Class, are you?”

“Exactly!” When Draco meets my own indignant gaze with his slit-pupiled, placid one, I rein in my pride and consider his words. “Fine. I’m missing a whole Base Class.”

“Exactly,” Draco says. “Never mind the significant loss in Skills, most of which focus on the improvement of an individual’s base fighting ability, you are missing the attributes.”

“But mine’s a prestige Class.”

“Which has given you the advantage you have needed to win against the groups. But they’re learning your tricks, your abilities, and are developing counters just for you. A focused study like this will always create problems for a Master Class. You do not have the versatility of a Master Class Summoner or Technomaner, allowing you to adapt your drones and summons to their adaptations. On top of that, you face two additional disadvantages,” Draco says.

“Pray tell.”

“Numbers. You’re two against five or six. While each single individual might not be your match, the advantage in being able to selectively counter your attacks is important,” Draco says. “Some of the tactics you’ve mentioned are geared toward reducing or eliminating the options among your enemies, but that is insufficient.”

I can’t help but nod. It’s true that the advantage in numbers is tough to deal with. Even if a single one of my attacks is more powerful, even if it takes two of them to neutralize my attacks, I’m still facing the rest of the team unarmed. There are ways of getting around that, but the teams are realizing their advantage in numbers and really focusing on zone defense plays. That’s part of the reason why I’m finding the battles ever more difficult.

“Secondly, and more importantly, your Class is not geared for such battles,” Draco says.

“Pardon?”

“The Honor Guard Class was never meant to be used sans support. Look at the Erethrans. They work in teams, often dedicating individuals within each team to specific roles. Damage dealing. Support and logistics. Bodyguarding and defense. It is partly why they are so feared. A dedicated logistics personnel with the Portal Skill evolution can put a strike team anywhere in the Galaxy. A bodyguard for the Portal specialist can take any and all damage thrown at the other and erect an unbreachable Sanctum in times of need. A mobile artillery personnel with the Army of One Skill. And that is just in a small team of five. Instead, you spread yourself thin with your Class Skills.” When I move to protest, Draco snorts, body language that my new skill informs me is his race’s way of holding up a hand. “I know you’ve alleviated some of that with Credits, but your opponents can do the same. Specialization works because there is only so much Credits can do.

“Even your Paladin Class is stretched thin. You’ve focused and taken points in everything, making yourself a generalist rather than specializing in any one aspect. That gives you flexibility which you’ve managed to use, but it also leaves you vulnerable to dedicated kill squads.”

My lips press together, but I can’t object. Even I know that spreading yourself thin is sometimes a bad move as a gamer. Min-maxing can provide significant benefits. Among them, Skill Upgrades and evolution. It’s why an evolved Portal Skill could throw me across the galaxy, while my own can, at best, get me across the planet.

“Fair enough. But…” I try to figure out a way to explain my thinking.

“You have your circumstances. And being a generalist is not all bad. Being able to be flexible in a variety of situations is important, especially on Dungeon Worlds or in Forbidden Zones. The Guard is dangerous because they have each other to back them up. But you should understand your Skills, your Classes—they’re not meant to be used alone,” Draco says, pointing at me. “Until you accept that and work with that limitation, you’ll always be at a disadvantage. Now go. I’ve got more work to do. I’ll send you my suggestions for your training later.”

I draw a deep breath to quell my irritation and stand, bowing to him slightly. “Thank you. For everything.”

It’s only when I’m nearly at the door that Draco speaks again. “We’ve all lost friends. To time and blade. But refusing to take on more party members just puts the remainder at more risk.”

I stand there, one hand outstretched toward the exit, for a time before I offer a nod without turning around. The door hisses open and I step outside, my thoughts plagued by the discussion.

The yellow Shop is the same as always. Foxy, my personal sales attendant, seems happy to see me and grateful that I’ve taken the time to actually port in to his interdimensional location rather than using the physical shop in Irvina. There are a few reasons I’ve done that, but one of them is the tall drink of water lounging in the waiting room chair.

“John,” Roxley says, standing. His long hair is purple now, with light blue highlights. It sets off the mahogany skin beautifully.

I let my gaze drop to take in the strong, athletic form of the Truinnar and unconsciously find myself licking my lips. A shake of my head pushes the thought aside. Not the time. Or place.

“Roxley,” I say, walking forward. The damn shameless hunk wraps me up in an embrace followed by a kiss, one that I enjoy before pushing him away. “Hey! Don’t be so handsy. We’re not doing that anymore. Remember?”

“It’s traditional in Truinnar culture to greet one’s ex-lover in that way.”

My eyes narrow while Roxley gives me a perfect poker face. I snort, not believing him one bit. If I hadn’t needed some background information on Oria, I wouldn’t have called the man. Better to cut off what we had cleanly considering… well, we’re galaxies apart.

“Right. Well, I need some information. Background on Oria,” I say.

“The Representative to Irvina. I heard that she contacted you,” Roxley says, leaning forward. “You do know that you are placing me in a very untenable position? I could get into trouble for speaking with you.”

“I would never want you to get into too much trouble,” I say sweetly.

Roxley rolls his eyes, but I know he knows I mean it. And that I trust him to watch how much he says to me.

“Very well. The first thing you should know of the Representative is that she speaks with the Duchess’s voice. She holds an unparalleled position of trust within the organization.”

“Why?”

Roxley visibly considers his words. “There are many reasons. But the most famous is what Duchess Kangana did for Lady Oria. It was eighty or so years ago, soon after Lady Oria entered service in Irvina. Her husband and firstborn had not returned from a Forbidden Zone expedition. The Lady went to the Duchess and begged her for help. In turn, the Duchess launched a full-scale expedition, including her own personal guard, and retrieved her husband and daughter.”

“Huh. That’s… kinda cool,” I say.

“Many called it foolish.” Roxley’s lips pull into a tight smile. “The losses faced in the retrieval party significantly out-weighed the number that were retrieved.”

“Ah…” I wince. I can see why Roxley mentioned this story. It sheds a nicer light on the distant overlord who messed with us, then helped Earth. I’m still not sure how I feel about the Duchess. Still, that matters little. I’m unlikely to ever meet her. Powerful as she is, she’s just one of many powerful figures in the Galaxy.

“The Lady Oria swore unceasing loyalty to the Duchess, and she has become the longest-standing representative in Irvina for the Duchess because of that,” Roxley says. There’s a flicker, so fast and subtle that if I didn’t know him intimately, I’d have missed it.

“What?”

“Nothing pertinent.”

“Let me judge that.”

“Lady Oria’s husband was incensed that she sent others to retrieve him. He was so angered that he separated from her, took a pair of lovers, and eventually broke off contact entirely,” Roxley says. “He died two decades later on another expedition.”

“Oh.” I offer Roxley a half smile. “Sorry. You’re right. Not really relevant. So she’s the Duchess’s voice. What does Oria want from us?”

Roxley snorts, shaking his head. “From Earth? You should know that. Greater control, greater access. Credits and training grounds. The material resources and a location to shift overburdened populations. Everything that the Duchess desires.”

“And from me?”

“To tie a string to you,” Roxley says, pointing at my chest. “You and those of your ilk, the specials who break the System. You hold great potential.”

I grunt. Over time, I’ve begun to realize I’m not as special as I thought. Oh, I’m a cheater—but in a galaxy-wide population, I’m not the only one. On Earth, there are two others who survived the cleansing that I know of. They’re both Champions of Earth. There are probably more individuals who have hidden their strength or just aren’t as flashy. A certain Hong Kong Master comes to mind.

Galactically, there are those who have tried to “cheat” the System. Giving birth in high-Level zones, living in them for their entire childhood to ensure that when they gain full access to their Screens, they gain access to normally untouchable Perks. All of them taking risks and putting themselves in positions of danger or wealth to gain Perks like mine. Or, in some cases, just paying off the Council. Though that last one is as much rumor as hard fact. Some answers are too expensive to be bought.

Those who are “special” in that way are both lauded and feared. Minor Perks are something that most of the rich can acquire. Even some of the poorer individuals have lucked into them—whether through coincidence, fate, or planning. But like on Earth, becoming successful is not just a matter of luck. Too many gifted athletes have injured themselves, lacked the discipline or desire to become professionals. In a world where the fastest route to power is via combat, the losses are astounding.

“Har. That’s it?” I say.

“For now,” Roxley says, opening his hand. “Not everyone is useful. Not everyone is manipulable. Not everyone is trustworthy. A simple task like the one given to you helps create a precedent.”

I grunt, crossing my arms. Right. Like you give a programmer a small job to start with then check their code or the final result. If they take too long, code sloppily, or don’t put in comments, well, now you know. And for only a little cost. Doesn’t matter how gifted a programmer is, if they don’t comment in the script, you might not ever want to use them. Especially for big, complex projects.

“Thank you. So. How are the others?”

“Well enough. The Constable has been pushing me to reform the mounted police of your world. She’s very interested in your Lana’s griffon. We have been looking into the feasibility and have begun a pilot program,” Roxley says. “Aiden has formed a magic academy in Kamloops. The number of students has ballooned, and they are hiring more faculty members. The school pays for itself via dungeon runs and live magical experimentation on monsters.

“Your friends Rachel and Jason? They are looking at a second spawn,” Roxley says, distaste on his face.

I chuckle, recalling a memory of him being given their squalling firstborn child on one of his impromptu visits to Carcross. That had been a sight to behold.

I lean forward, asking questions. Sometimes about people I know, like Colonel Weir and the Champions. Other times about the politics on Earth. And for a time, I forget about the pressures of my quest and just enjoy the Truinnar’s company.

But all too soon, we have to call an end to our visit. The Shop isn’t meant for long meetings, and the longer we stay, the more expensive it’ll be. Still, by the time I port back into Irvina, I find myself smiling. For all that has happened, life manages to find a way to go on.

As good as his word, Draco sends me a document listing my shortcomings and an analysis of the battle videos. As much as he downplayed the gains I could make, Draco listed a significant number of mistakes. Of course, some of them are so small that I’m not sure how I’d ever fix them—stepping a little too soon here, dodging when I should roll there—while others are more helpful and less precise.

Over the next few days, I fall into a familiar routine, but the problem of insufficient immigrants continues to bother me. I finally end up arranging a meeting with Katherine in her new offices.

Set in the second ring of the capital, the new diplomatic offices are part of a complex of buildings that ring a rare oasis of greenery. Well, vegetation at least. The offices for Earth take up a portion of one of the high rises with residential quarters situated at the top of the building. It’s expensive, ritzy, and—in my eyes—no better than the simple guild quarters we stay in. Really, after a certain point, the levels of difference in comfort become too small to really count.

“Katherine.” I sweep my eyes over the diminutive lady’s form behind the large oak desk. I’m slightly amused to see an Earthen affectation, but the desk seems to be part of a concerted effort to give the entire area a human vibe. Though… “The Scream?” I incline my head toward the infamous painting.

“A personal favorite,” Katherine says with a sad smile. “The Shop formed in the middle of the museum in Oslo, leaving the works untouched. It took a little negotiation, but we managed to retrieve it from the Movanna.”

“Riiight,” I drawl, not entirely certain what to say. The loss we’ve experienced in culture, in people, still aches.

I have to admit, compared to Katherine, I’m a bit of an uncultured boor. My favorite pieces of culture were mostly preserved by the System. Movies, anime, the text of novels. But I can see how the loss of priceless paintings, statues, and even architecture could hurt. It’s nice to see at least some things have managed to survive. And maybe, in time, we might be able to get some back. Or create new forms of art.

“But you didn’t come here to talk about art,” Katherine says.

I flash her a grateful smile as she gets the meeting back on track. “Yeah.” I sit down without prompting. “Have you been keeping track of our numbers?”

“The Quest numbers? Yes. Disappointing.”

“I’m doing my best,” I say defensively.

“Of course. I didn’t mean it as an insult. But even Earth wants more Adventurers now. Especially if we can direct them to the right cities.”

I snort slightly. How the worm turns. We fought to keep them out, and now we’re desperate to find more of them to deal with dungeons, to help provide normalcy to the population, and because more Galactics means more money.

“I’m assuming you’ve got ideas?” I say.

“I do. I needed to confirm our budget and some other matters, but here’s what I’m thinking…” Katherine says, leaning forward.

Hours later, we come to the end of our little tete-a-tete. While most of it was Katherine talking at me, I tried to provide my own feedback on what could be done. Over time, we refined the initial ideas, our implementation, and eventually our reaction to what we knew was likely to come from it.

At the end, I find myself offering Katherine my hand as I stand. “You know we’re going to piss people off with this, right?”

Katherine stares at my offered handshake, raising an elegant eyebrow until I drop it awkwardly. “Of course. But it’s why you fought so hard to get us a seat on the Council, right? A chance to make a difference on our own planet.”

“Yeah…” A warm flush of emotions runs through me. Gratitude, happiness, and even a little fear. Because what we’re about to do…

“Our choice, John.”

“I know.” I acknowledge her words with a nod. “How long?”

“Give me a day.”

“Perfect.”

I wave goodbye to Katherine as I exit the room, pushing aside my concerns. As Draco pointed out, I can’t do everything myself. And pushing aside those who want to join me… well, it’s self-defeating. So I take the help and bite my tongue because we’re all adults.

A day later, I’m standing before a suddenly larger crowd. It’s not a massive difference, but there are nearly forty people in the room—so many that we’ve run out of chairs and a few are standing in the back. The mix of aliens is different too, with a larger proportion of low-level Combat Classers. Wiza, who’s been my main point of contact, looks elated, though he shoots a suspicious gaze at Harry, who has made an appearance for the first time in ages. Still, the Kobold pulls his lips into a wide grin. He’s happy. For now.

At first, everything flows, the well-honed speech and show-and-tell portion going over as well as it usually does. There are a few chuckles, a few gasps as I show off the monsters that can be found, a few snorts of derision and moments of wonder as we pan over cities. We’ve honed my speech to focus on the common questions, making our presentation better and more effective. But when we’ve completed the rote presentation, things start heating up.

“I received a System advertisement saying that if we sign up with the Earth Council, you’ll be conducting assisted dungeon runs in Irvina prior to departure. Is that true?” This comes from one of the Combat Classers, the insectoid rubbing two of its four arms in an unconscious act of nervousness and hope.

“Yes. I’m already part of Tig’s guild, so we’ll use my time slots with them to do the runs. Worst-case scenario, if that doesn’t work, we’ll pay for a dungeon use. Also, once you get to Earth, you’ll be slotted into one of our regular city patrols if you wish, which will allow you to gain experience and Credits at the same time,” I say.

“What?” Wiza says, jaw dropping and his tongue rolling out. “What Earth Council? What advertisement?”

Wiza’s words get a few looks of pity and disgust. I kind of feel bad for the Kobold, considering it’s not his fault we didn’t tell him.

“And no Serf contracts?” someone else asks.

“None. Ali?”

A moment later, everyone in the room has new notification screens to review. They list the details of the contract Katherine has slaved over, tidying up the language and the necessary safeguards. That the entire thing is relatively short means the audience gets through the entire thing quickly.

“You’ll provide us with housing, food, and a small stipend, along with materials for our production?” This exclamation comes from a Leatherworker, one whose pointed fingers must make punching holes to sew up leather super easy. I wonder if he wears multiple thimbles when he needs to work with care?

“Yes. Though only once you arrive on Earth. And we’re going to restrict you from taking part in dungeon runs, at least until you’ve paid back your plane ticket. Shuttle. Spaceship,” I correct myself quickly. “Obviously, the deal’s slightly different for the Combat Classers. But after you’ve paid off the initial cost, you’re welcome to join the protected runs or the patrols.”

“What are you doing?” Wiza snarls, rushing up in front of me and revealing his teeth. He arches his back, looming over me as if he can intimidate me.

That lasts until I release my Aura and meet his gaze, staring down the salesman.

He shrinks back a bit, letting out an involuntary whimper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because we’re humans. And a Dungeon World,” I say. “Now. Next question?”

“I’m a Technomancer who focuses on gravity fields. You going to supply me the tech I need?”

“Uhh… Ali?” I look desperately at the Spirit.

Ali snorts, fading into sight in front of everyone and getting a few gasps before he goes on to answer questions. Wiza, now ignored, looks between the two of us before he slinks out to report to his superiors.

Yeah. The shitstorm is coming.

“You look happy,” Harry sends over the party chat.

To that, I can only shrug. But this? This feels right.

“Evening, VG,” I say, nodding to Draco. A little surprising to find him waiting at the bottom of the entrance of our housing, but only a little.

“We need to speak, Redeemer,” Draco says.

“My residence?”

“No. I’ve secured a meeting room.”

Draco leads the way into a portion of the guild housing that I’ve been to, a place I can only describe as a truncated business center. In the meeting room, Draco triggers a number of security measures to cut off outside communication and viewing before he pulls out another little device and waves it around. There are a few cracks and buzzes—even one on me—before the surveillance bugs surrounding us die.

“Ugh. On me?” I say with a snarl.

My Skill and the Brumwell Necklace of Shadow Intent might make my actions harder to track, but if a bug was on me… I sigh and make a mental note to go shopping for a toy like Draco’s. There’s no point in hiding from Skills if everything is getting recorded in a completely separate way. Thankfully, nothing I’ve been doing needs to be that secret. Still annoying.

“You still have a lot to learn.” Draco leans forward, fixing me with those slitted eyes of his, a spark of anger flaring in them. “Along with the matter of asking permission first.”

“Permission?”

“I have received numerous complaints about you offering to bring individuals of the seventh ring to the dungeon. Under the guild’s name,” Draco says.

“I said if I could get your permission,” I protest slightly. Not too hard, because I’m not dumb enough to not realize that rumors and an individual’s selective hearing could easily distort the message. Which, I’ll admit, did come into our considerations.

“And you did not feel it wise to confirm with me before you announced the matter to the planet?” Draco growls.

“Well, I thought about it. But things were moving rather fast once we made up our mind. And we weren’t sure how desirable the entire offer would be.”

“I should kick you out of the guild for this,” Draco says. “What makes you think you can do this?”

“Guild regulation umm…”

“137. Under Adventuring parties and guests. Part four,” Ali helpfully supplies.

“Right. I may, at my discretion, party with other affiliated guilds so long as I’m willing to take full responsibility for partying outside of the guild. This includes entrance to dungeons. The only exception is if said individuals are not registered,” I said. “And since we’re going to have them register with NAGA provisionally, with myself as sponsor, it should be fine.”

It’s a workaround of course. The immigrants will be marked as the lowest Adventurer level possible—G—and even then, only provisionally. I’m required to provide them a significant amount of collateral too, but so long as I get their Levels and combat ability to F, I’ll get the Credit deposit back. In many cases, a single dungeon run would be sufficient to prove that they had an F-level of ability.

That Combat Classers from the seventh ring have never done this before in large numbers is more due to the cost of joining NAGA—or the restrictions in any other guild—than any lack of imagination on their parts. It doesn’t help that NAGA doesn’t have open slots in the dungeons, which means that NAGA entrants either have to slot themselves in when time comes up or find another guild party to join. Not as much of an issue for me, as a Master Classer with friends, but more of an issue for an outsider from the sixth or seventh ring.

“Oh. Of course,” Draco says. “I never realized you were a rules lawyer. You do know the guild does not get involved in faction politics? Or annoy large sections of our potential customer base!”

“It’s not that big a deal,” I say with a frown.

By my side, Ali snorts slightly as he spins in circles. On my minimap, I can see how Harry paces the corridor outside, obviously dissatisfied with being kept out of this conversation. But it’s a guild matter and he’s not part of the guild.

“I doubt we’ll get more than a hundred people taking up this offer,” I say.

“You doubt,” Draco says sarcastically. “Are you being naïve? You are directly challenging the established mode of operation. Not only are you offering to train up the lowest Levels, you’ve offered those in the fifteen and higher range direct tickets to Earth with few strings!”

“Not a few. We’ve got them working for our city patrols for a good year, or until they pay back their transportation ticket with appropriate interest,” I say.

“Exactly!” Draco snaps. “Your offer isn’t just fair; it’s downright generous. There are no margins for error. Your Contract has no insurance or coverage if they die! You don’t even have a secondary signee, so all your funds are lost the moment they perish.”

“That’s unlikely to happen. We’ve gotten rather good at keeping our people from the really hard stuff. It’s not like the first few years. Now we’ve got rapid response teams and experienced group leaders situated throughout our cities. Hell, some of the teams even have ‘porters like me.”

“Death still happens.”

“Then I’d say they’ve already paid enough, no?” I say, leaning forward. “If they die while protecting our cities, it seems that wiping out a little debt is the least we can offer them. Anyway, why do you care?”

“I don’t. Except everyone seems intent on whining at me about it. Your actions disrupt every small- to mid-sized guild or Serf-company that has use for these higher-Level Combat Classers,” Draco says. “Our guild might not care. After all, we’re looking for Elites and we offer the services and benefits to attract them. But the small- and mid-sized guilds? They thrive off these low-Levelers. That’s how they make their money and fill their ranks. And now, you’re offering to pull them all to Earth.”

“Not all. Hell, I’m pretty sure we won’t even get ten percent of everyone available.” I smile slightly, opening my hands wide. “But yes, that’s kind of the point.”

“I repeat. Why the hell shouldn’t I kick you out and save myself one Kelpie-birthed headache?” Draco says.

Strange. I stare at Draco, look at the way he’s sitting, at the thrum of threads, and realize he’s not asking this as a matter of course. He’s asking because he wants me to provide him a good excuse. Because… “You like what I’m doing.”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is your effect on this guild,” Draco says. “If we don’t take action, we’re going to lose at least a fifth of our active contracts on Irvina.”

“A fifth?” I frown, trying to figure out the value of that. After a moment, I discard that line of thought. It doesn’t matter. “True. But do you really want them to know that the guild is willing to cave over a little pressure?”

“Over someone that everyone knows we have little ties to?” Draco shrugs. “I’d say we’d be hurting ourselves even more if we stayed with you.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Any ideas?”

“In or out. Sitting on the fence…”

“Mixing metaphors.” My gaze sharpens as I look at Draco, resolving the answer in my mind. “You’re right. Keeping me in the guild is a bad choice.” I see Draco straighten a little, growing serious, but I don’t stop talking. “But that’s only if you’re not supporting us.”

“Supporting you?” Draco lets out a hiss-snort.

“Yes. Right now, you’re collateral damage. So you either need to get out of the line of fire entirely by letting me go—or get in the bunker with us,” I say.

“In the bunker?”

“Sorry. Place to—”

“I know what a bunker is. I want an explanation of what this bunker is about.”

“It’s a metaphorical bunker…” Draco hisses at me, and I stop teasing the Vice-Guild Master. “Easy. You help us. Earth will issue quests. You help run the recruits through the dungeons on the slots that the guild already has. You’ve got the extra slots since we breached the new Mana threshold.” I wave my hand around, growing excited. “Not only do you make up for the loss in quests, you also get firsthand knowledge of potential new recruits.

“On top of that, I’m sure Katherine will be happy to negotiate additional discounts for the guild on Earth itself. I bet we could get you a few new Guild Halls. Find some great recruits, maybe even a few quests to escort the new recruits to the right cities. You can slot your new recruits right onto Earth, making even more money long term, and build up a great reputation here on Irvina. You can even start recruiting from our immigrants and the humans while having some great publicity. Trust me, we humans love an underdog story.”

“And you think that’ll be enough to offset the anger our actions will create?” Draco says.

“Maybe not from the corporations. But how many Adventurers have come from the fifth circle onward? How many of them would look favorably upon you?”

Draco crosses his arms as he leans back. “You think we’ll be able to poach some other higher-Level Adventurers.”

“Maybe. Worst-case, some of those other guilds have to answer to their guilds why they aren’t doing the same.”

“That’s if this entire exercise works.”

“There is that.”

Draco falls silent. The lizardman stands after a time and walks toward the door. He leaves with one final, somewhat ominous, sentence. “I’ll let you know what we decide.”

“What do you think, Ali?”

“I think we should be looking at what it takes to establish a guild.”

“Isn’t it expensive? And hard to get a damn dungeon slot?”

“Yup.”

Arse. I pull out a piece of chocolate, unwrap the velvety goodness, and pop it into my mouth as I stare at the exit, considering my options. In the end, I let out a little snort as Harry pops his head in, scanning my face for an answer. One that I can’t give him.

Chapter 11

“This is not scalable,” Mikito says, arms crossed as she eyes the eleven Combat Classers arrayed before us.

Unsurprisingly, the majority of the Combat Classers have normal non-prestige Classes, mostly in the melee and direct combat forms. It’s one of the inherent disadvantages for many of these guys—even if they’re guided by their parents, their options of achieving the necessary requirements for a prestige Class are nearly non-existent. On top of that, outside of the most basic long-range weaponry, it’s hard to scale-up damage at the low Levels with crap tech weaponry. Tech at the higher levels requires a large influx of funds, access to the right people to build the weapon and equipment, and even more Credits to pay for the replacements. It’s why melee and magic continue to dominate, except for certain groups like the Erethrans. Still, at least we have a pair of healers. But, of course, none of that is why Mikito is complaining.

“No, it’s not,” I agree with the Samurai. Only two of us here, so there’s only so many people we can run through, especially with the slots we have. “But thank you for coming anyway.”

“Ummm…” A short and busty woman comes up, her ears curved and overly large. She’s an “elf” as per Japanese mangas, not like the Lord of the Rings movies. Being that she’s so much shorter than me and wearing something way too low-cut, I’m getting quite an eyeful. Weird that there are so many variations on the elf idea, from Truinnar to Movanna to whatever she is. “Are we really going into this dungeon?”

“Yup. You guys need Levels more than combat experience,” I say, eying the group again. A little piece of downloaded knowledge lets me estimate their ages, and what I’m seeing is a bunch of late teens or early twenty-year-olds. Which makes their single-digit Levels pitiful. “So we’re going to get you those Levels.”

“But, ummm…” Again, the woman looks at the dungeon entrance. “That’s a Level 20 dungeon.”

“Twenty to thirty, yup.” I flash her a grin, which does nothing to reassure the woman. But that’s fine. “All right, everybody. I don’t care how you all divide yourself, except you healers. One each on me and Mikito. We’re going in in five.”

“Five seconds!” yelps one of the healers.

“Minutes!” Ali corrects.

As the group shuffles and prods one another, trying to divide themselves into a roughly equal split, I’m surprised by the results. Everyone wants to go with Mikito, which is a big and slightly hurtful revelation. I’m frowning, trying not to remind myself of dodgeball practice in grade ten, when I hear footsteps approaching. A turn of my head shows an interesting group of a half-dozen Adventurers coming up to us, arms crossed.

“And who says you’re going in?” The speaker is rotund, bulbous like a beetle on hind legs. The fact that he’s flanked by a frost giant mage makes me raise an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure that’d be the Irvina Dungeon Control,” I say. “This is our slot and time. Cleared it all already.”

“With those scum? You going to run a train for those vermin?” The rather high pitch that the beetle speaks in makes my ear hurt. I ignore Beetlejuice’s Status, knowing I won’t recall it.

“Yup. Mikito, you guys go first,” I say.

The Samurai doesn’t even give me a second glance, waving her group onward. As the troublemakers try to block them, Ali finishes a silent cast of Metal Walls, putting the metallic obstruction in their way.

“What are you doing?” Beetlejuice clicks, his friends glancing at their leader. Tearing down the wall would be easy enough for them, but they’re hesitant to escalate the situation with violence.

“Well, I’m standing here in front of you. She’s going in,” I say. “And in about five minutes, we’re going in.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Or what?” I find myself grinning widely when I realize their threats are a bluff. They aren’t willing to anger the authorities. Physically escalating this is a losing proposition for them—with only a bunch of mid-stage Advanced Classers—and outside of that, their options are limited.

“You—”

“Oh, be quiet,” a familiar voice cuts over Beetle’s chirping. Wiza lopes forward from where he’s been hiding, the stealth Skill sloughing off his body as he becomes visible to everyone else. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Sorry,” Beetlejuice says and backs off.

“Well, about time you came out.” Not as if I hadn’t noticed him, but I am surprised to see him make his presence known.

Mikito has stopped by the gates, a hand resting on the polearm as she eyes the newcomer. Those behind her group together, looking wary.

“Any of you who enter the dungeon will face sanctions by my company and all others. If you have any debts, we’ll buy them. If any of you have family with debts, we’ll buy them. If you have friends, we’ll buy their debts too. And call the debts close immediately,” Wiza says with a vicious snarl. “If you own anything on lease, we’ll buy it. Your jobs, your families’ jobs, your friends’ jobs. They’ll all be lost.”

“You can’t do that!” the little elf lady says, bouncing worriedly. “That’s illegal!”

“Not the way we’ll do it. It’ll all be legal and above board. You think your contracts can’t be sold? Think again. We’ll buy them up and then consolidate everything for you,” Wiza says, his smirk growing. “Of course, there’ll be additional fees for all that, and penalties if you miss a payment. We’ll even give you all the warnings we have to to make sure that you can clear your debts. Properly.”

“We can’t afford to buy out our debts. If we could, we wouldn’t be here!” a Kobold says, his eyes wide as he grips the warped piece of metal he calls a mace.

“Exactly. Leave and we’ll forget all about this,” Wiza says.

“Sir…” The elf lady looks at me, giving me these big, imploring eyes.

I meet her gaze for a moment then sweep mine over the group, judging their resolve. A couple look bored, as if they’re not worried. Most have concern etched on their faces, fear too.

“And if you think we can’t stop you from leaving for Earth, you’re wrong,” Wiza says, smiling. “Anyone whose debt exceeds the primary threshold will find that we’re more than willing to enforce the ‘safe harbor’ clause.”

“Ali?”

“Primary threshold varies depending on the value and income amount of the individual. It’s a calculated threshold. But, umm, figure roughly around fifty thousand Credits. That allows the debtors to dictate that the debtees have to stay in ‘safe areas’ to safeguard the amounts owed.”

I grunt to indicate I got all that. I hadn’t expected this kind of problem, which is a big problem. I’m not sure how many people have that much debt—and it certainly seems pretty high to me—but it surely would cause significant problems. Still…

“Any of you who want to leave, go ahead. Let me know if you want to cancel your contracts too,” I say. Wiza grins, gloating over his win, but I ignore the Kobold. “But realize that these assholes? They aren’t going to stop pushing. Not now, not ever. Right now, you’re in the front of the queue to change your lives. You leave, and someone else, someone with less to lose, less debt, fewer ties will take your place. And you’ll lose your chance. Perhaps forever.”

It’s no St. Crispin’s Day speech, but I see some faces tighten in resolve. Others continue to waver, while a few actually step away, shaking their heads. I understand. It’s one thing to risk yourself, but your friends, your family? That requires a different kind of resolve, of bravery. Maybe even a lack of wisdom.

“Contact some of the others who signed up, especially those on the next run. Let them know what’s going to happen, have them start coming now if they intend to stay. Whoever gets here first gets to do two runs if they’re from the next batch.”

“On it, boy-o.”

We lose a good half of our people, ending up with just six. I send Mikito through with the remnants of the group and find my lips curling upward as Wiza takes note of those entering. I’m sure he’s busy making arrangements to make a mess of their lives. As a thought strikes me, I touch the band that makes my helmet appear so that I can hold my next conversation in privacy.

“Katherine.” Once the call connects to the lady, I fill her in.

She makes a face. Neither of us expected this particular method of persuasion. I admit, our inexperience at Galactic politics and how bare-handed they are is showing.

“Give me what time you can. I’ll think of something,” Katherine says.

While this might not cause too much problems for the middle-stage Combat Classers, it’s going to play havoc for our recruitment of Artisans. Those fellows generally have the greatest debts, as they need to make better and better items to Level up. No surprise that it drives them into debt. It’s workable debt, if you’re smart about it, but it’s debt. And while Combat Classers are nice, Artisans are where the volume is.

“Can do. Just don’t overdo it,” I say.

We’re still a new planet with a lot of programs that need financing. Just the spaceship tickets alone will be a huge drain on our resources. Even though the new residents of our Dungeon World will bring taxes, security, and new skills to the planet, that doesn’t mean those benefits appear immediately. We have a million and one programs drawing on our scarce resources, so we can’t afford to devote too many Credits to this. Immigration might be a net positive, but it could take years before we see the results of it.

“Tell me about it,” Katherine mutters. “I’m already getting an earful over the tickets.”

“Problem?” I mutter, moving away from Wiza.

“Just a lot of complaints. Some valid—our resources are tight—and some, well, xenophobic,” Katherine says. “Lots of NIMBYism going on too.”

“You sound exasperated,” I say.

Katherine makes a face. “It’s familiar territory, except this is just driven by fear and hate. At least when it came to oil pipelines and dams, there was a lot to be weighed on both sides. Here, it’s mostly just hate for the Galactics. It’s not as if we don’t have hundreds, thousands of empty towns. Never mind the millions of buildings and suburbs we need to take back.”

I don’t really know what to say. There is still a lot of anger and resentment over what happened, and much of that anger has pointed itself squarely at anything not human. There isn’t a lot of in-your-face speciesism, but the undercurrent of distrust and dislike is there. It’s not hard to understand, but it’s not particularly useful either. We need the bodies to help contain the Dungeon World. While it happens a lot less frequently, we still lose settlements to monster swarms and burgeoning, unchecked dungeons. And it’s not as if the vast majority of those who have arrived had anything to do with the choice to turn us into a Dungeon World. They’re just immigrants after the destruction. Opportunists at worst.

But still, the anger and resentment, the unwillingness to let go of the past infects us all. We’ve lost so much, and some it will never return. Cultural touchstones, languages, skills. All of it replaced by, well, the System and the Galactics. Is it any wonder that even the most enlightened are angry with the Galactics? Especially when they strut through our streets with their unconscious arrogance, some of them being blatant in their views of us as primitives?

Even when we want to use them for our purposes, it’s hard to forget that it was the Galactics who made the decision to kill ninety percent of us. That these alien species, watched and betted on the outcome, laughed and cheered at our tragedies and triumphs. Enlightened or not, it’s hard to forget our pain. Even if we know that some doesn’t mean all, even if the one you’re talking to is probably okay. And few of us are all that enlightened.

“Well, tell Lana I’m willing to use my investments on this,” I say.

Changing minds, changing hearts, that’s a job for someone else. Truth be told, I’m not that enlightened myself. I just found something bigger to hate. For now, all I can do is what I can. For now, building our world back up as fast as I can is my way of stabbing a thumb in the eye of those responsible. For now, fixing what was broken as best I can is how I can safeguard our world.

“Thank you, John.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I kill the call then, since the next group of recruited Combat Classers is arriving. Seeing the group of helpless newbies stagger, some looking eager, others worried, I’m reminded of a time not so long ago when I dragged out a group of humans. A spark of understanding flows through me as I stare at creatures of skin and chitin, of blue and brown coloration. Maybe we’re all just the same in the end.

We’re all ground down under the System equally.

“Well, go on then,” I say, sword resting idly on my shoulder as I nod toward the whale-like monster with its numerous-tentacled body in the water. Aggressive waving of its tail drive the monster toward us, tentacles waving as it charges our position.

Nima Whale (Level 23)

HP: 472/493

MP: 231/256

Conditions: Aquatic Mammal, Peerless Charge

The dungeon is a semi-aquatic one, which is partly why we could get in on such short notice. Aquatic dungeons are less preferred, since most Adventurers aren’t suited to handling them. The few aquatic races that are in the System generally hog the aquatic dungeons. In fact, because of their ability to run aquatic locations at a faster rate than the majority of species, the aquatic races have a higher proportion of high-Level Adventurers than land-based species. Thankfully, due to the lack of conflict as we take on different terrains, they generally get on well with us non-aquatics. It helps that the System deals with pesky things like land-based pollution, so many of the major clashes in living arrangements between our species is minimized.

There are two major ways of completing this particular dungeon, 6-8. Hard mode, which is currently being completed by Mikito and her group, means submerging oneself in the water and dealing with the more numerous monster threats in their environment. It’s good training and experience in abnormal environments, which is why this city has a few aquatic dungeons. I even hear there’s a sub-zero dungeon.

The other path to completion is the one we’re taking—the normal mode. This involves trekking across the dungeon via the floating platforms that dot the water. The platforms are somewhat unsteady, bobbing along in the water, and are not always connected. Occasionally, Adventurers have to either wait for platforms to float back to their correct position or take the quick swim to the next platform. Or fly. All of which adds to the fun.

“Shoot it!” Ali commands, having changed his clothing to a soldier’s camo uniform. “All of you. Yes, you. The one with the sling. What do you mean you don’t have a ranged weapon? What did you think you were going to do? Piss on it?”

Under the guidance of the Spirit, the group attacks. I watch with an amused expression as everything from slug throwers to slings and arrows lash out. The group even has a pair of beam rifles, though from the looks of it, they’re rather poor quality. Weapons burn and tear, making the whale dodge beneath the water.

“You. Take this.” Ali materializes and shoves my beam rifle into one melee fighter’s hands. “And you, this.” Next comes my pistol.

I grimace, making a mental note to get them back.

“You. Tank. Get ready for the wigglies,” Ali orders.

Under water, the whale makes its way to us and pops up at the last second, long tentacles waving and darting forward in an attempt to pluck people off the walkway. The Tank moves, blocking a pair of tentacles with his body and slicing apart another one with his double-sided polearm. Another tentacle slips past, wrapping around a body. Since this is the first battle of the dungeon, it’s a little too early to let one of them get dragged under. I lash out with a simple Blade Strike, cutting the tentacle off but leaving the monster mostly undamaged.

“You, Healer. What are you doing? Heal them!” Ali commands.

I step back, having done my part, and get back to watching. The group is significantly under-Leveled here, but with Ali and I helping out and lending a little equipment-based aid, there shouldn’t be any issues.

“Why are you crying? You only lost half your health. Get back on your feet!” Ali roars. “Now kill that thing!”

“Ding?” I say, leaning around the large sasquatch-like Tank’s shoulder to stare into the empty space he’s focused on. Of course, I don’t see anything.

“Ding?”

“Human term,” I say, waving away Sasquatch’s confusion. “Did you Level?”

“Yes!” Sasquatch nods. “I was considering where to put my attributes and Skill point.”

“Nice. That’s always fun. Except for two things,” I say.

“Two things?”

“One. We’re in the middle of a dungeon, in the middle of a walkway where monsters appear. You’re on lookout. And have gotten distracted.”

Sasquatch does the furred equivalent of blush—blue eyes turning red and pink—before he blinks quickly and looks around desperately.

“And two. You should use the resources at your disposal fully.”

“Resources?”

“Me and Ali,” I say, pointing between us. “Well, mostly the Spirit. He’s got hundreds of years of experience under his belt.”

“But he’s your Companion,” Sasquatch protests.

I stare at the Sasquatch for a moment before raising my voice, deciding to make the damn announcement for everyone to hear. “Okay, people. If you go up in Levels, don’t allocate your points yet. Wait until we’re in a safe point. Or enough of you are ready that Ali and I will take over watch. Also, you should seriously consider talking to the Spirit and me. We might not be as good as dedicated guild advisors, but we’ve been around the block or two.”

“Or made a few blocks,” Ali says with a harrumph.

“What he said,” I say, nodding toward Ali. “Make use of us.”

“Why would we trust you with that information?” a thin dwarf says, stomping over and glaring at us. “You could be screwing with us to make it better for your guild. Or planet.”

“We could. And you don’t have to. Your call. But it’s worth thinking about what we’ll get out of messing with you. It’s not as if what happens to a bunch of non-prestige Basic Classers will ever make a difference for me. Or him.” Not surprisingly, my words garner quite a bit of anger, but I continue on blithely. “On the other hand, the faster I get you and the rest up to snuff, the faster my quest gets complete. So. Do what you want.”

They look between each other as they take in my pronouncement. In the meantime, I nod to Ali, who straightens up. I already see some of the kids peremptorily wincing.

He bellows, “MOVE OUT!”

“So. Uhh… about my Level up. Ups,” Sasquatch says, looking at me nervously.

“You play tank, right? And you’re a warrior type?”

Now that we’ve found a rather solid island and cleared out the mini-boss, it’s quite a safe area to wait. The mini-boss—who would have been classed as an alpha if it wasn’t in a dungeon—was a weird shellfish creature with long, stabby arms and a body configuration that made me wonder how it worked. I’d just finished announcing a quick rest and Level up before walking over to store the mana crystal when the Sasquatch came along.

“I am the Defender, yes,” the Sasquatch says. I can even hear the capital letter the alien adds to the role.

“Then you should know to build up your Constitution primarily, with Strength and Agility next. If you’re primary Defender, you’re going to be eating a lot of hits,” I say. “Any pain resistances?”

“No. But my species is naturally resistant to high levels of pain. We also receive a small bonus to our health and Mana regeneration in colder climates.”

“Nice. Remind me to tell you about Canada. But you’ll want to consider buying some pain resistances when you can. Chemical aids are fine, but they don’t last long with the System. The more you fight, the more it’ll hurt. Chemical aids end up being more expensive in the long term. So. Do you have a passive or active build?”

“My Class—Snow after the Solstice—emphasizes endurance over the long term, as the winter is long,” Sasquatch replies.

My lips twitch in amusement, gratitude flowing through me to my annoying Spirit for translating that as “Warrior Tank.”

“The first branch of my Class provides increases in my attributes and resistances,” he says. “The second in passive regeneration. The third is damage dealing, mostly via damage reflection and a passive damage collection aura for friendlies.”

I blink, never having heard of that. That sounds useful—an aura that collects damage from friends instead of you having to go to them. Too bad most auras conflict with one another.

“That’s fine. Here are my thoughts. Firstly, do you have a regular group yet?” At the shake of the Sasquatch’s head, I continue. “Then you’ll want to consider forming one. It sounds like you can’t do much damage without equipment, so I’d ignore boosting any of your damage-related Skills entirely in favor of good friends and good equipment when you can afford it.

“Secondly, consider specialization. Your Class might be racial specific, but it’s not a prestige Class, is it? So your total attributes will be mediocre at best. Which is fine, but that means you need friends. Best way to get reliable teammates is being one yourself.” I hear a mental snicker as Ali overhears that bit, but luckily, he’s too busy to laugh at me directly. “So. Specialize. Figure out which branch you want to focus on and get that up as high as possible. Personally, I’d go down the one that gives you the aura and boosts to your passive regenerations. Especially if they’re percentage-based.”

“But they’re less powerful than an attribute increase.”

“Right now, sure. But you weren’t born on a Dungeon World. You can afford to play the long game. And any percentage-based Skill will pay off by the time you become an Advanced Classer. Even when you get to Earth, we’ll be keeping you on routine patrols so you can afford to play it safe,” I say.

Sasquatch looks a bit startled, and I have to remind myself that the idea that they’d be able to become an Advanced Classer is as foreign to them as the idea of surviving the first year was to us. It was just something that we couldn’t hope to believe in. Not really.

“I… yes.”

“You know of Skill evolutions, right?”

When Sasquatch shakes his head, I sigh. Sometimes, I wonder about the public education system among the Galactics. Other times, I know. Then again, why should I be that surprised? Even with all the world’s knowledge at our fingertips before the System, so many people never bothered to look up details about voting, or finances, or something as simple as a rental agreement. Why should it be any different for another species? Another world?

“Fine. Let’s talk about that…”

“Kermit crab?”

“Hermit,” I correct Ali as I stare at the giant conical creature breaching the water. Most of its body is hidden in the water as it paddles back and forth in front of us. The cream-colored spiral of its body is covered by a flowing, emerald liquid armor.

Hus Crab (Level 38 Boss)

HP: 947/947

MP: 478/478

Conditions: Water Armor, Reflexive Hydrospouts

“Are we supposed to fight that?” the thin dwarf says, fear threading through his voice.

I don’t blame him. Even if the entire group has gained a Level or two throughout this dungeon, they’re still miles away from winning against a Level 38 boss. I’m a little proud of the group, really. They’ve managed to handle the growing monsters better and better, with only three of their members ever getting dragged underwater. After babying them for a little, I started sending Ali down to keep a close eye on the submerged fool as an object lesson. Unsurprisingly, they got a lot better at avoiding the tentacles then. Even with all their improvement, expecting them to beat the Boss was a bit much.

“Nah, I got this.” I raise my hand and call down a Beacon from Angels directly onto the bastard.

One disadvantage for a creature that large—it eats a larger percentage of the energy output, meaning that it takes a higher amount of damage than normal. Normally, its armor would decrease the amount of damage it took, but my Pierce attacks solve that problem handily.

When the beam finally fades, the group takes their hands away from their eyes to the sight of the hermit crab bobbing along the water on its side, armor shattered and flesh smoking. It drifts in the boiling water, dead as dead can be.

“Damn it. I barely got any experience from that,” the skinny dwarf grumbles.

I snort. “Be glad the System gave you anything.”

Ali flies forward to loot the monster, grimacing as he eyes the big corpse. “What’d you want to do with it, boy-o? Can’t really fit this in the Altered Storage.”

“Leave it,” I say. A Level 38 Boss isn’t worth the hassle of hauling its corpse.

That’s when the group protests, shouting their objections. I wince, finally managing to shush them by detailing the problem to them.

Which is how we end up walking out of the dungeon, dragging a giant hermit crab corpse behind us to the awe-struck gazes of the next group.

Ali flits over to the new group, arching his back. “All right, you Gremlin-loving recruits. Time to gear up and buff out. We’re moving out in two minutes!”

“You sure you don’t want Credits for this?” Sasquatch says, his eyes wide. “There’s at least three or four thousand Credits of meat alone…”

“Nope. And Ali will disburse your share of the kills later,” I say, waving away his protests. It’s not much to me, but the difference it’ll make in their gear will be significant.

“Thank you. Redeemer.”

Sasquatch runs back to his part of the rope and heaves on the line, answering questions at the same time. I can see the dwarf snorting and a few others looking at me skeptically, but I ignore them. Not as if I care whether they think I’m an easy mark or not. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

“Let’s go.”

Hours later, we’ve run our groups through the allotment. Thankfully, enough people have heard about our offers and are still willing to brave the ire of the corporations and Sects to fill the groups. After we send them off to get their corpses processed, Mikito and I regroup, with Harry making an appearance.

“Any trouble at the butchers’?” I ask Harry. Just in case, I had the reporter poke around the butchering yards. Since the Combat Classers we’re working with are all provisional NAGA members, they don’t exactly have preferred suppliers. That means they can work with anyone, but they also run the risk of being locked out.

“A bit,” Harry says. “Luckily they were willing to listen.”

“Good.” I turn to Mikito. “Any problems on your end?”

“No. They’re better trained than most of the humans we used to run. The only issue was their fear.”

“I get that,” I say, shrugging. The fact that they’re used to dealing with danger only in dungeons means that they’re also used to controlling the amount of danger they’re in. It leaves them unused to pushing their boundaries too hard. To those of us who survived the apocalypse, these guys play it too safe. “Can’t do much about it. Think we can move on to phase two?”

“The guards should be able to handle them,” Mikito says.

“Great.” I smile and message Katherine. One of the few things we can do to speed up the process is to add Katherine’s bodyguards to the rotation. It isn’t the best solution, but it works. The more people we have running the recruits through the dungeons, the faster they’ll level. For now at least. “So…”

“Dungeon run?” Mikito says, eyes brimming with real excitement now. “I’ve got an invite for 3-2.”

“Isn’t that a Master Class-only dungeon?” Ali says with a frown.

Mikito gives the Spirit a big smile then shifts her gaze over to me.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go.” Might as well reward the battle maniac. And I admit, I’m a little curious.

Chapter 12

Amusingly enough, Wiza and most of the other corporations that had sponsored the various meetings canceled all our bookings, and that turned out to be a good thing. Once word got out that we not only were serious but were coming through on our promises, attendance at our events bloomed. Katherine’s aide found herself busy booking ever-larger meeting rooms and extending the times. As for Katherine, she and Peter found themselves besieged with complaints from half a dozen corporations, all intent on working with us if we would change our mind about the dangerous and destructive behavior Earth was showcasing.

Standing before a crowd of a couple hundred sixth-ringers, I found a sudden burst of stage fright attempting to overtake my senses. I fought most of it down with seasoned ease, mental resistances, and a constant reminder that getting eaten was infinitely worse. Slow, steady deep breathing fixed the rest.

“You know, if someone screamed fire, this would cause a stampede,” I remarked to Ali as we stood in the wings of the stage.

“Why?” Ali said, frowning as he eyed the crowd. The fact that two fire elementals were seated near the front, hissing at everyone who came close, showcased why my attempt at a joke died a pathetic death.

“It’s a saying. You know, shouting fire in a public place to create a panic?” I just get more confused looks from Ali and give up, deciding against trying to explain the matter to the Spirit who didn’t have extensive experience with non-System-generated buildings and squishy humans. “Never mind. So. What do you think their next move will be?”

“The corporations?” Ali says before smiling grimly. “Probably the usual mainstay.”

“Of?”

“Violence.”

“Against them or me?” I say, concern tingeing my voice. If memories of Earth conditions are anything to go by, I’m imagining a group of union busters showing up to stop people from entering our talks. Not that this information isn’t being disseminated in other ways.

“Probably you and Katherine,” Ali says, his tone growing grim. “And any place where you intend to take recruits in person.”

“So, here?”

“Unlikely,” Harry says, smiling slightly. “No point in trying to hinder the flow of information when the entire story can be bought for five Credits.”

“Five Credits?” My jaw drops slightly.

“Yes. Seems a farsighted reporter saw the need to head off future conflicts by releasing a detailed analysis—with video and audio recordings of previous speeches and meetings—of this unprecedented offer to the masses. It’s been picked up by quite a few news organizations,” Harry says, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Why is it so unprecedented?” I say. “I mean, we can’t be the only ones to have seen the advantages of doing this.”

“I might have been exaggerating a little,” Harry says, offering a slight shrug. “But not by much. There have been organizations—mostly charities and non-profits—who have made similar offers, but most of them ran into a few major problems.”

I grunt for Harry to hurry it up, considering the crowd is getting restless as the start time gets closer.

“Credits. Or specifically, the return of it. Wiza wasn’t exactly wrong about the fact that what we’re doing guarantees us a loss. Once you factor in losses from death and slow Level-ups, your rate of return looks dismal, especially compared to other options. In most cases, the repayment period stretches out too far to be viable,” Harry says. “Governments that have looked into these programs aren’t interested in adding more to their own population. Even border planets often struggle to feed and train everyone on planets that are being terraformed. They have better things to do than bring in low-Level individuals.”

“We’re also a Dungeon World,” Ali chimes in. “Most planets are flooded with more Combat Classers than their dungeons can handle. Everyone gets put on a rotation, so adding more people to the list is a bad idea. But Earth? We just go for a stroll outside a city’s borders and bang! We’ve got monsters galore.”

“Right. So, basically, because we’re the only actual planetary government with monsters galore, we can make this offer and potentially make a profit on it.” I recall that the total number of aliens we saw on Earth was relatively low at first. Costs, bureaucracy, and the ability to exploit other locations meant that many groups were slow to move in unless they had a vested interest in the planet, like the Truinnar and Movanna. But in the four years that I was gone, the number of aliens had increased. In time, as more and more trade routes connect and the cost of flying over decreases, we’ll see even more aliens arrive.

The clock turns over in my mind’s eye.

Time.

I walk out to the stage, letting my aura turn on and shutting up the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. Ladies, gentlemen, those in-between, and those who laugh at us with our weird gender issues…”

Laughs come from a small smattering of the audience, and I fall into my usual spiel. If our world is to be flooded, better for that flood to be controlled by us.

Harry and I are sitting in the bulbous little vehicle that makes up part of the transportation network here, zipping past high-rise towers at rectum-clenching speeds when things go to hell. The first thing I notice is the minor change in velocity of an oncoming bubble. But that minor change is all that’s needed when vehicles pass by each other by centimeters.

I reflexively throw Two for One on Harry before casting Soul Shield on him. That’s all I get to do before the two vehicles slam into one another. Metal screeches, plastic shatters, and the body of the bubble vehicle warps, jagged edges of ultra-tough metal twisting and spearing within. The inertial compensators give way, throwing us toward the metal even as my Soul Shield Skill snaps into place around Harry. My contingency ring activates too, covering my body as we both are pin-cushioned by the metal and crushed.

The vehicle directly behind us fails to stop. Again, the screeches of failing metal and plastic erupts as the abrupt cry of surprise still issuing from Harry’s lips cuts off as he bounces around. The Shields give way, shattering beneath the massive forces. Surprisingly, not a single safety mechanism activates in our vehicles, forcing us to withstand the damage directly. Already I feel pain shooting through my chest, arms, and foot as Two for One shares Harry’s damage with me. I’m not even sure where his injuries end and mine begin.

Next to fail are the magnetic grips holding the bubble cars in place. The compressed mess that is the remains of our vehicle gets clipped again by another vehicle from behind, sending the remnants of the car breaking apart as gravity takes us.

As we spin around and around, I manage to get up my Harden Skill, toughening my physical defenses further. Once that’s up, I layer Soul Shield on Harry again, offering him additional protection while absently noting he’s begun healing himself. Soul Shield goes on me too. All of this is accomplished in seconds with the exertion of will and Mana. Damage accumulates even through the Shield as Harry bleeds and tears from the metal embedded in his body forcing its way out. I share the pain and injury through my Skill, sucking it all in as I focus on more important matters.

“Status?”

“This is definitely an attack. Goblin’s arse! Brace!”

I don’t even know why Ali bothers saying that much, crushed as I am within the damn vehicle. But the reason for his sudden declaration makes itself known a moment later as a rocket punches through the mangled mess before exploding. I get to watch it work, my mind processing the danger of the empowered weapon before the explosion tears apart the mangled vehicle. Last I see of the reporter, he goes through a nearby wall into one of the high rises, skipping along inside the melted and burning remnants of the vehicle.

Seconds. Everything has happened in seconds.

Dimension Locked!

Reality has been stabilized in the immediate area. You may not enter another dimension or pass through space while this status is in effect.

Note: Dimension Lock may be breached using a Master Level (4) Skill

I get thrown into the air, where additional rockets home in on me. I throw up another Soul Shield, my hoverboots engaging as I literally find myself jumping through the air and cutting apart one rocket. I dodge one only to be struck by another. Explosions ripple from the one that hit and the one I dodged, throwing me around. More rockets fill the air, along with high-powered beam rifles. I’m still falling, but my entire body is buffeted by shrapnel and continuous explosions. I cut and twist, doing my best to dodge even as I fall.

“Unlocked. Go!”

My lips pull back as I engage Blink Step, reappearing out of the blast zone and higher in the air. I spin, engaging my hoverboots as I kick off again. Seconds later, the same dimension lock status appears as beams of fire point at me, but I’m right next to one of my attackers now.

A spider-human hybrid, an Uttu, is standing next to a field artillery beam weapon on the edge of a skyrise, the weapon pointed down towards where I was. As I drop, I can see the muzzle of the weapon swing up as the artillery piece tries to retarget me. The Uttu itself is covered in a silver-and-grey armored jacket, protecting its body and fractal eyes while a portable force shield covers portions of the weapon itself. None of that matters.

A Blade Strike shatters the barrel, and a portion impacts the force shield, which quivers. I throw myself aside as the hover boots whine, their engines badly damaged from the numerous explosions. But they hold for now, allowing me to dodge an incoming beam attack. Another Blade Strike shatters the shield. Then the remaining beam attacks find me.

My skin bubbles, armor melts, and cuts cauterize under the attack. Even as I struggle to get away, I’m caught in another explosion as an arrow I never saw slams into me, wrapping me in green flame and acid. As I fall, my hoverboots finally give way, dropping me faster toward the ground. My throwing knives flash outward, catching the Uttu even as the assassin leans out to continue its attacks.

Down, down I go, spinning and twisting as I streamline my body in an attempt to get away from the incoming rockets and the area lock. My mind splits, one portion tracking the attacks, the other fast-casting the Improved Flight spell, though I hate to waste Mana right now.

“Shit. They locked the area right below you too, boy-o.”

My eyes widen. My health is already down to half of what it should be. Even layering on Soul Shield does little to slow the accumulation of damage as more attacks land on my falling form. My armor is shredded, my body wrapped in caustic acid. Harden does nothing because my defenses are crumbling nearly as fast as I get them up. They have me cornered, and I’m falling too fast to deploy things like smoke.

I finally catch a good glimpse of what’s attacking me from above. A floating gunship, one that uses mundane rotors, anti-gravity skids, and magic to keep it aloft. Beneath its stubby wings are rocket tubes spitting out more firepower than should physically be possible. And in its front are individually tracking beam weapons. There’s no convenient window to show me my attackers, but my minimap tells me there are three within.

I use the sudden increase of thrust as my spell kicks in to send my body toward a hole in a nearby high rise. Another explosion from behind shatters my Soul Shield again, sending me through the hole faster than expected. My hand grips and grabs at floor as I skip along, a sword conjured and plunged into the floor to slow me down. As I skip along, I flex my Elemental Affinity to loosen the bonds of the flooring, allowing me to crash through the floor on my next skip and the one after that. That puts some distance and visual impediments between my attackers and me.

I finally come to a halt next to a reinforced wall, my health down to a fifth, even with my regeneration. I push myself up, groaning slightly as the weapon shop’s interior vault creaks alarmingly. With an exertion of will, my spells are released, allowing my Mana to begin its slow regeneration. Another exertion of Mana and I layer another Soul Shield before I cast my other buffs and scramble for a health potion.

“You guys might want to clear out,” Ali says, making himself visible as he darts in. “You don’t want to get caught in this.”

The employees don’t need another warning. They rush out as fast as they can.

A second later, the roar of engines grows louder. Explosions and beam weaponry chew their way through the building, forcing me to run again.

“Are they insane?” I snarl, wondering how many people have died by now. How much destruction have they caused just trying to get to me? I can’t help but wonder where Irvina security is. Or who was paid off to stay away. “Ali, can you take out the ship?”

“No chance,” Ali says as he floats beside me. “The Machine Meld piloting the gunship is soaking up any damage it’s receiving. And the Master Class who’s sitting shotgun will tear me a new one the moment I start attacking.”

A beam punches through the air ahead of us, cutting across the corridor and burning to death a non-Combatant who hides behind a wall. I snarl, throwing a series of cuts into the floor, and drop through the newly created hole, putting more walls between the attackers and me. “Damn it. Security?”

“On their way. Six minutes for anything effective.”

Effective is the right word. As I run, I scan the information dump Ali is feeding me of what’s happening outside. Automated defenses, robots, and other sentinels have already started their attacks on the ship. But it’s too well-armored, too well-defended for automatic defenses meant to suppress Basic Class troublemakers to hinder it. For that matter…

“Can you channel Beacon?” I say as I stop cutting and head deeper into the building.

I’m safe, for now at least, as I put more masonry between my attackers and me. I pant, eyeing the minimap, and grimace. Too many dots, most of which are color-coded grey for unknowns. Trouble could come from any direction now, and I’m not sure which way to run, even if the dimension lock is gone.

“Possible. But you’d be stuck with the collateral damage from fighting back,” Ali says. “There’s… a lot of people.”

“Yeah,” I exhale, slowing my run and slamming down a healing potion. I watch as flesh and skin knit together, wounds slowly closing as my body fixes some of the damage.

I hate running. But backing off now is the best idea. I form a Portal, picking a location far away, and figure I’ll pay the fine later for Portaling in the city.

“And there they go,” Ali says, interrupting me.

I blink, staring at the information as the red dots pull back. The Uttu disappears from the map entirely while the three in the gunship burn oxygen and run for it, fast disappearing from my minimap.

“That’s it?” I mutter, staggering to a halt.

But it makes sense. They could cut through the building again, but I could easily run. Each angle change forces them to blow up even more areas. And with security on their way, they don’t have the time. They must have banked on finishing me off quickly and didn’t realize my defenses were sufficient to hold them off this long.

Or this could have been a warning. An elaborate and destructive warning.

“Think we should go somewhere else?” I say, cocking my head at Ali, who keeps floating in circles above me, looking uncommonly serious.

“Go where?” Ali says with a snort. “You’re the victim, not the perpetrator. Nor did you try to hide your identity.”

“Yeah…” I say, calling back up the notification when I viewed the Uttu.

??? ????, ???? ???? (???? Level ???)

HP: ????

MP: ????

Conditions: Masked, ????, ????

It did tell me a few things. For one, either it or someone in its party was at the Master Class Level to be able to hide their Status from me. Eye of Insight might not seem that powerful on first look, but its ability to cut through stealth-based Skills of a lower rank means that surprise attacks are much harder to pull off. So I’m facing at least two Master Classers—one who can lock down space and another who can hide their abilities. Potentially one, but I’d be surprised if that’s the case.

“That Machine Meld guy, how’d you know?” I say, realizing something.

“They forgot to shield the vehicle itself,” Ali says. “And I know the ability the Master Class was using. It’s a Mastery Skill.”

“Right,” I say, rubbing my face. “The Uttu?”

“No idea. It was hitting you with empowered attacks, but I didn’t get a chance to dig into the details.”

“John?” Katherine’s voice cuts in, resounding in my ear.

It’s an emergency line that patches her directly into my helmet, making my eyes widen. Shit. Did they attack her? “Trouble?”

“Yes”—my hand rises, a Portal forming even as I ping the map for her location—“but it’s over now.”

I drop my hand, my chest relaxing.

“They left a warning at the front doors of the embassy,” she says. “And killed Kylie and Meo.”

“How?” I snarl, my hands clenching.

“They were attacked on their day off. I’ve recalled everyone and rescinded leave for now. Are you all right?’

“We’re fine. Harry triggered his Skill and disappeared once we broke apart, so they never went after him,” I say, recalling the party notification I had ignored while fighting for my life. “Mikito’s out of contact, but she’s in a dungeon with others from Tig. She should be fine.” I doubt they’d drag in the guild with attacks like this. “I hope.”

“Stay safe, John.”

“I will.”

We cut the call as I hear the tramp of boots making their way toward me. Ali even nicely highlights the security forces in blue on my map. As they close in, I dismiss my sword and layer on a Soul Shield, getting ready to greet them.

Hours later, I’m finally free to leave the scene of the attack and make my way back to my residence. It amuses me somewhat that the investigators felt the need to play good cop, bad cop, even with the use of Skills and all the technology that showcased exactly what happened. I wonder if that’s just a way to extract more information. Or are there enough people lying and setting up fake attacks that it’s something they need to do? That’s a rather disturbing thought. In either case, I ended up spending a lot of time answering the same set of questions, all phrased a little differently. It’s only when I threatened to get up and leave that they finally let me go.

Harry finds me soon afterward, a flask in hand and a slightly glassy look in his eyes. Not too inebriated, but “tipsy” as his status condition says. That amuses me, as does the large and obvious security force that brings us home eventually.

When we’re secured in the flying car, I turn to the reporter. “You okay?”

“Just fine. Takes more than a few overenthusiastic buggers shooting me down to stop me. Not exactly the first time either,” Harry says. “Did I ever tell you about the time Daesh took a shot at the army ‘copter I was in? Took out the tail rotor. Bam! Lots of screaming then too. The pilot had to do an autorotative landing. Threw up so much that time.”

“And the drink?”

“Steadies my nerves,” Harry says, offering the flask to me.

“No thanks. I’ll wait until we’re back safe,” I say.

“Don’t trust the security?” His wave encompasses the multiple flanking vehicles and the security officer in the back with us.

“Don’t trust our attackers,” I say.

A downloaded memory presses into my mind, reminding me that a common advanced ambush tactic is to launch a second one after a failed first. Most untrained individuals would, like Harry, expect that the attack is over. The second ambush catches them by surprise, finishing the job. Of course, I wonder how untrained Harry is. Maybe he knows and doesn’t care.

Of course, under the System, the second ambush would need to happen a lot sooner. Otherwise, outside of the psychological blow and some minor drop in consumables, the effect of a second attack is mitigated. After all, in ten minutes, all the wounds and Mana would have regenerated fully. Which means another attack is unlikely. But, perhaps they could be counting on that.

“Coward!” Harry chugs down the drink again. “Wait till I put out a clip on them.”

“You have a lead?” I say, my eyebrow rising.

Unfortunately, I was too busy running to pay attention to any of their threads. Even the Uttu only left an impression of her connections, one that ensured I would never miss her again if I saw her. But it was insufficient for me to track her down.

“Lead, smlead,” Harry says. “I’m a reporter. Finding sources and investigating is what I do.”

The security guard with us snorts through its big, piggy nose but doesn’t say anything else.

Harry still catches it and stretches himself upward fully, fixing the alien with a serious gaze marred only by the slight green around his eyes. “Just you wait.”

“Of course. Of course. Not as if we don’t have hundreds of investigators of our own. Master Class ones,” the demihuman says.

I sigh, doing my best to ignore the byplay. “Fine. You go do that.” I lean back, half-closing my eyes. “Can you contact all the people who we’ve signed on? Tell them to be extra careful. And let’s look at moving up the timeline for shipping them off-planet.”

“What if they get hit en route?”

I’m unsure what to say. Insurance helps, but that’s no guarantee that the pirates won’t ignore the damn insurance and go ahead with physical attacks. Especially if they’re being paid more to attack than the insurance would pay out. “Find better armed transports.”

“Sure. I’ll just click my little red heels and wish them up.”

“Ali…” I send warningly.

The Spirit sniffs. “You’re always so uptight when you don’t get a chance to hit back.”

Ignoring the Spirit, I close my eyes, reaching out with my Skill to check on the threads that run from me. If someone wants to target me, let’s see if I can find them. And maybe make their day a little bit worse.

Chapter 13

An hour and change later, I’m standing in front of Katherine, having opened a Portal directly into her office. Between the exception granted by the ambassador into her offices and the one offered by the security forces, I’m now allowed to pop between locations with less hassle. While Portaling isn’t exactly banned, it is significantly discouraged via the requirements for a license. One that, until just recently, I had not been granted. Amazing what the destruction of a large swath of a neighborhood and just over a hundred civilian deaths can do to the wheels of bureaucracy.

Interestingly enough, Oria is here too, seated across from Katherine when I walk in. Hondo has his hands behind his back, glowering at me as I step through the shimmering black Portal. I don’t miss the way his hands twitch, sliding a pair of knives back into their sheaths once it’s clear I am who I am.

“Representative Oria. Perfect,” I say, offering her a half-smile. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“And I, you,” Oria says, fixing me with a disapproving look. “How is it that a simple request has become the talk of the town?”

“Talent.”

“Do you think this is a laughing matter?” Oria says, eyes glowing. “Lives have been lost, property damaged, reputations sullied. All because you people could not do a simple task without complicating things.”

My lips curl up slightly as her words dig into my guilty conscience. “You wanted a Dungeon World. You have one. What’s the use of having a Dungeon World in the Edge’s corner if you aren’t going to use it to its full potential? We could easily take hundreds of thousands of people, grind them through all our monsters, and spit them back out to be productive members of society. But you’re too scared to take the steps, too scared of the Traditionalists, the corporations with a stake in the unfair institutions. Well, tough. Time to ride the tiger.”

“Ride the wha… ah. Right.” Oria’s eyes flash as information is injected or searched or something. Her cold eyes regard me as a finger slowly moves in a circle on the armrest. “It seems that Graxan’s warning that you’re a troublemaker and foolhardy actually understated the matter.”

Katherine looks between us before leaning forward, coughing gently to attract our attention. “Whether the actions taken were wise or not, rescinding them would be an admission of defeat. It’s not something my government is willing to do. Nor, I think, something that your Duchess or the other members of the Edge desire. We would be losing reputation with no gain.”

Oria looks at Katherine before she finally inclines her head slightly. “No. We would not want you to rescind your offer now.”

“Yes!” Ali crows.

“That does not mean we are happy with what you have done,” Oria says. “Still, we shall set that aside and discuss appropriate compensation later.”

I growl slightly, but Katherine shoots me a look that tells me to stay silent. I cross my arms and press my lips together. I’ll tell Oria where to shove it later.

“In the meantime, we need to deal with these attacks,” Oria says. “I understand you’ve seen a drop in your recruits since the incidents?”

“We have. There are scattered reports that Artisans are facing additional violence. Some have had their workshops and wares destroyed. Others have been fired. And of course, the companies have been purchasing debts, as they have promised,” Katherine says. “Couple that with the reduction in recruits from the Combat Classers after the most recent incident and we are down by around thirty-eight percent.”

“Not as bad as we feared then,” Oria says. “We have arranged for a few of our troop transports to arrive soon. Those transports will take all your recruits directly to Earth. In turn, Earth will pay a premium on their transportation to cover the dangers we expect to see in space.

“In addition, the Duchess has made arrangements for any of your Artisan recruits to draw upon an interim loan program to cover any increases or repayments needed. If the Irvina have decided to give us such good clients, we will take them. As for the Combat Classers—”

The woman’s shark-like grin reminds me that I do not want to get too far on her bad side. There’s a killer instinct in her, one that has nothing to do with blades or spells but is just as deadly.

Still, I have to chime in. “Let the ones who want to go, go..”

“Pardon me?”

“We don’t want any Combat Classers who are scared away by a little blood in the operating room. They’re going to see a hell of a lot more of it on Earth. If they aren’t cutting the mustard now, they won’t do it on Earth. If you don’t believe me, ask Hondo.” I nod at the glowering Weaponmaster who reluctantly nods in approval of my words.

“Very well then. That shall save some Credits. The ambassador and I will discuss the details of the arrangements to provide additional protection for the Artisans, but there is one last matter,” Oria says.

“The Master Class attackers.”

“Yes. Preliminary investigations and analysis show you were targeted by at least three Master Class attackers,” Oria says. “You are, I must say, fortunate that they decided not to unleash their full array of attacks.”

I grunt but have to admit she’s correct. If they had access to high-Level damage Skills like mine, they sure as hell didn’t use them. Then again, not all Master Classes are geared toward battle. The fact that she knew enough to say what she did means… “You have more details about the attackers.”

“Yes.” Oria’s lips thin for a second. She looks at Hondo, who waves, sending over a series of notifications.

“The attackers you faced are a known for-hire network team currently working for the opposition. While we know of their identities and Skills, their location continues to be hidden from us. The current Credit cost of locating the Wolves of the Air Team stands at just over fifty million Credits,” Hondo says. “Two attempts have been made to take them down. Both have failed.”

“Oh shit. I know that name. One sec… goblin’s children. That explains a lot.”

“Explain.”

“You can stop asking your Spirit to research the matter,” Hondo says stiffly. “I was on the second team to take action. What we did not know was that they had set up a counter ambush. Our team was destroyed, leaving only me alive.”

“How…?”

“I was left alive as a warning,” Hondo says, his fists clenching. “As the lowest Leveled member of the team, I was considered the most… insignificant.”

“Thus your fall from grace,” I say, slowly nodding. “And your bad temper.”

“To scum like you…”

I wave away his words, ignoring the man as I look over the team details he has sent. That makes him growl more, only to be shushed by Oria.

Evanline Brae; Scourge, Lady of Many Rooms, Monster Hunter (Goblins, Hakarta, Truinnar,…), more… (Space Lord Level 14) (M)

HP: 1280/1280

MP: 5280/5280

Notable Skills: Space Lock, Aura of Reality, Spatial Prison, Off to the Side, Dimensional Shards, Squish Your Head. Illu’s Blessing of Mana Regeneration

“Care to explain? Some repetition here.”