Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

I kind of imagine it like a computer. There’s core programming—the Class Skills—that are saved to a solid state hard drive (SSHD). Super fast access, guaranteed to work without a problem. And non-Class Skills end up being stored on the same SSHD for the most part. However, at a certain point, those additional non-Class Skills get to be too much for your SSHD and you off-load them to a cloud computing server. For the most part, it doesn’t mater—but occasionally you get a lag.

Obviously, that’s a problem when you’re in the middle of a fight.

Less of an issue if you’re an Artisan. All that being said, it’s why Legendarys don’t bother purchasing multiple Legendary Class Skills. Or Heroics, other Heroic Skills. A single non-Class Skill of that kind can force all your other purchased Class Skills into remote use. And since most Legendarys or Heroics specialize in their Class for a reason, it makes more sense to stay with what you know and can use.

That’s the other part of the equation. While you get the Skill via the Shop—along with the understanding of how to use the Skill—you don’t get the side benefits of a Class Skill like automatic integration and understanding. Not to say you don’t still have to train your Class Skills, but it’s much easier to do so and doesn’t require as many uses. If you have to test, say, the ability to create a blackhole, the lack of automatic integration can be quite troublesome.

The obvious workaround is to only buy Artisan and passive Combat Skills, forcing the System to keep the passive Skills “loaded” at all times. Unfortunately, that brings its own problems—outside of the obvious decrease in Mana Regeneration—as the Corrupt Questors have found out.

“Sounds good. Set the meeting up with the Testers. I don’t want to overload,” I say.

Foxy flashes me a grin and chivies me over to a private room while he arranges for a Skill Tester to port in. In the meantime, I get to window browse, idly wondering what kind of Skills I should be purchasing. The room I’m in is quite bare except for a lounging chair and a meal dispenser. Both of which I make full use of.

“What do you think, Ali? What should I get?” I ask, staring at the numerous windows I’ve pulled up. Some list my own Class Skill Trees, others show a list of Skills from other Classes, and another a searchable feature by type of Skills.

“Well, added damage, added ability to survive, and escape options come to mind,” Ali ticks off on his fingers. “Socially, you’re actually pretty set. It’s not as if you’re the kind to lead armies or anything, so there’s no need for equipment or Skill alterations to your build. You can tell when someone’s lying. Maybe something to help you lie better?” Ali shrugs. “Then again, anything you can buy at the Advanced Level won’t be that useful in the world we deal with.”

I grunt. That’s the biggest issue for my build. Due to the way I skipped the Basic Class, as far as the System cares, I’m still only Advanced Class—so I can only buy that high up in the Shop. It significantly limits what I can purchase, especially since it makes little sense to pick up things that would harm my Mana Regeneration in passives at the Advanced Level. After all, it just won’t be as good as what my enemies might have. If I’m purchasing a Skill that increases my damage by 50% because it’s an Advanced Skill, it still isn’t as useful as a Master Class Skill of the same kind that increases shield health by 100%. And since, Mana for Mana, my Advanced Skill would cost more, I’d be running a negative.

At least on the numbers side. But that’s where buying the equivalent of a burst damage Skill makes more sense. If I can increase the damage done by a single attack, and use it selectively and surprise my opponents, I might be able to bypass or overpower their defenses. Point for point, burst damage Skills are more powerful than their passive counterparts.

Which is why added damage spells are my best bet. Increased resistance Skills might be useful, but then I’d have to either buy a general Skill that wasn’t as powerful or multiple Skills that targeted a single element resistance. Which, in itself, is a problem. Fine if you knew what you were fighting, but difficult in a surprise attack, which is what I’d be expecting. So. Generic resistance Skills, since more and more of my opponents have resistance cutting Skills.

Then, running away Skills—

“John?”

“Sorry. Just thinking of escape Skills,” I say.

“And forgetting I was still talking?” Ali says, leaning forward. “You’re doing this too much.”

“I know. Too much data unspooling…” I shudder. “Shit. Tell Foxy to cancel the request.”

Ali takes a fraction of a second to realize the problem. He’s on it the next second, sending out the messages while I wince internally at the mistake I just made. Letting someone do a deep scan of my “partition space” might be a really bad idea. After what was downloaded and off-loaded into me, I’d guess my own Skill limit might be really, really tight.

Or not.

But I can’t risk it. Can’t risk people knowing. Which means…

“Damn. I can’t buy anything, can I?” I say. Because the build I have now, while not great, is at least better than nothing. Having it shifted off-site might cause more problems.

“Equipment,” Ali corrects, flicking his fingers. “We can buy better equipment.”

I grin at the Spirit. True enough. “Tell Foxy. And let’s see what we can figure out.”

And even that much is a danger. But… there’s only so much we can do. Before people start putting things together.

***

We leave the Shop grumpier than when we entered. One of the negatives of buying equipment at my Level is that Master Class equipment doesn’t just hang off the rack. You special order equipment, you put in requests and look out for auctions. And then you hope something shows up in a reasonable timeframe. It’s why things like soulbound weaponry and Legacy weapons are so popular. One grows with you; the other grows all the time and keeps growing. They’re both rarish, though soulbound weapons aren’t impossible to acquire with the right Skill purchase. In fact, most Combat Classers will eventually soulbind a weapon.

The argument of doing so early or late is varied. Early soulbound weapons will grow with their users. But due to the limitations on the individual’s Level to bind weapons, you’re limited in the strength of the weapon you bind. On the other hand, binding a powerful weapon at the Master Class stage means you might be able to acquire a soulbound weapon with special Skills, over and on top of the usual strengthening the weapon would undergo. The negative, of course, is that said powerful weapons are hard to acquire and will disappear upon death.

In the end, I walk out of the Shop with nothing more than a slew of one-use items that will be useful for the short-term. Or at least, I hope they will.

F’Merc Ghostlight Mana Dispersal Grenades (Tier I)

The F’Merc Ghostlight Mana Dispersal

Grenades not only disperse Mana in the battlefield, the Ghostlight Dispersal Grenades degrade all Mana Skills and spells within their field of effectiveness. Used by Krolash the Destroyer, the Erethran Champion Isma (prior version), and Anblanca Special Forces. Five times Winner of the Most Annoying Utility Item on the Battlefield.

Effect: Reduces Mana Regeneration rates, Skill, and spell formation use in affected area by 67% (higher effects in enclosed areas)

Radius: 15m^3^

Evernight Darkness Orbs

When the world goes light, the Evernight Darkness Orbs will bring back blessed darkness. If you need darkness, you need Evernight!

Effect: Removes all visible light and mutes infrared and ultraviolet wavelengths by 30%

Radius: 50m^3^

Seven Heavenly Spire Wards

Quick to set up, the Seven Heavenly Spire Wards were crafted by the Thrice-Loved Bachelor’s Temple of the Sinking Domain as their main export. Using the total prayer and faith of the temple, they produce a set of wards every month to ensure annoying pests and ex-girlfriends are kept out.

Effect: Creates a 30’ by 30’ defensive ward; protects against both magical and technological attacks and entry

Simple enchanted protection wards that can be thrown up nearly anywhere I want. Matched with my usual array of force shields, they can make for a temporary redoubt when needed. Not that I expect to need them, but you never know. The nice thing about the wards is that they’ll protect against a number of magical methods of ingress—something the force shields often don’t. Heck, even semi-technological methods of ingress and escape—like Lightwalk and Shadowform—get blocked by the Wards.

Fumikara Mobile Teleport Circles

These one-off use mobile teleport circles allow connection to existing and open teleport networks.

Effect: Connect to open teleport networks within a 5,000 km radius of the teleport circles. Allows teleportation of individuals to the networked teleport centers

On top of that, other than the single-use items, I bought a slew of Mana potions and Healing potions conditioned for reuse. I also put in an order for specialized potions, ones geared for me and my Status. They’ll reduce the potion effectiveness disintegration level, making sure I can use more potions. I wanted a replacement for my Mana Storage Bracelet, but they had nothing better on-hand. Anything else has to be special ordered, so that’s on the pile of things to get fixed. Ditto with a replacement for my emergency Force Shield ring.

And of course, the prize of my shopping trip.

PoenJoe Goleminised-Mana Generator Mark 18

The latest Mana Generator by the infamous PoenJoe, the Mark 18 is guaranteed* to not blow up on you in optimal conditions. This partially sentient Mana Generator can extract up to 98% of a Mana Crystal’s saved energy in 0.003 seconds. Currently loaded with an Adult Kirin Mana Core.

Effect: It’s a Power Generator. Guaranteed to provide up to 98 x 10^99^ Standard Galactic Mana Units

*Not actually guaranteed. In fact, we’re 100% certain that containment failure will occur.

It’s actually a settlement Mana Generator, meant to be used to power an entire settlement about the size of Vancouver. Pre-Apocalypse that is. A million households using Mana for all their needs would easily be fed by the Mana Generator. The ability to increase the draw on the Mana Core is—theoretically—meant to allow the Shield Generator to withstand even fleet-level bombardment. Or the attack of another Heroic Level Combat Classer.

I say theoretically, because its creator—PoenJoe—is just a little insane. The child of a Legendary and Heroic Classer pair, he’s infamous for his desire to create machinery that can withstand his parents’ loving touch. Even in their old age, their abilities are so high that his work constantly crumbles. And rather than take the time to build things right, he cobbles these things together, ever intent on drawing more power, more Mana.

With explosive results.

Luckily, System Inventory puts the entire thing into stasis. So I can carry it around, half-turned on, without it causing any issues. His Mana Generators are a lot cheaper than an actual System-enabled tactical nuke—or the System-damage equivalent—and less restricted. Undestroyed examples of PoenJoe’s work are so uncommon, not everyone knows of him and thus his work isn’t restricted. Yet. It’s only Foxy’s knowledge that got me access to this.

Lastly, I glance down. Hidden beneath my trousers, wrapped around my ankle is the last thing I picked up. It’s an enchanted band with a most interesting Skill.

Payload (Level 2)

Sometimes, you need to get your Skills inside a location. Payload allows you to imbue an individual or item with a Skill at a reduced strength.

Effect: 71% effectiveness of Skill imbued.

Secondary Effect: Skill may be now triggered on a timed basis (max 2:07 minutes)

Uses: 22

Recharge: 10.7 charges per day in SGE

After all our discussion, after browsing through it all, I have to admit, I haven’t bought anything in terms of Skills. Most of what I want, I’ve replaced with equipment, giving me access to the Skills without the concurrent disadvantages. There’s some concern about over-emphasis on enchanted items and their Mana clash, but we were careful to ensure that they won’t cause too much trouble. And, of course, equipment isn’t as fast to trigger or use, or as powerful as an innate Skill. But I’m also about ten Levels away from reaching my next Tier. When that happens, I’ll gain access to Master Class Skills.

Till then, I can hold tight on the major non-Class Skill purchases. Instead, I’ve purchased a couple of new Spells and upgraded a couple of my most lacking Skills. They should, theoretically, not cause issues with the System. At least, as far as I know.

For now, until I gain a few more Levels, maybe even get close to reaching my Heroic Class, I intend to keep the Ring running and hiding my true Level. Changing only that single line is easy—for variations of easy—though recharging the ring in the Shop was expensive. Still, I like the idea of having a little surprise in store, if things go bad.

Drawing a deep breath, I pull up my real Status Screen, reviewing the changes.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Paladin

Race

Human (Male)

Level

40

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead, Duelist, Explorer, Apprentice Questor, Galactic Silver Bounty Hunter,

Corrupt Questor

Health

4620

Stamina

4620

Mana

4240

Mana Regeneration

364 (+5) / minute

Attributes

Strength

312

Agility

402

Constitution

462

Perception

242

Intelligence

424

Willpower

459

Charisma

180

Luck

94

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

5*

Blade Strike*

5

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand Blades

4*

Soul Shield

4

Blink Step

2

Portal*

5

Army of One

4

Sanctum

2

Penetration

7

Aura of Chivalry

1

Eyes of Insight

1

Beacon of the Angels

2

Eye of the Storm

1

Vanguard of the Apocalypse

2

Society’s Web

1

External Class Skills

Instantaneous Inventory

1

Frenzy

1

Cleave

2

Tech Link

2

Elemental Strike

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footsteps

1

Analyze

2

Harden

2

Quantum Lock

3

Elastic Skin

3

Disengage Safeties

2

Temporary Forced Link

1

Hyperspace Nitro Boost

1

On the Edge

1

Fates Thread

2

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (IV)

Greater Regeneration (II)

Greater Healing (II)

Mana Drip (II)

Improved Mana Missile (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike (III)

Firestorm

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Improved Inferno Strike (II)

Elemental Walls (Fire, Ice, Earth, etc.)

Ice Blast

Icestorm

Improved Invisibility

Improved Mana Cage

Improved Flight

Haste

Enhanced Particle Ray

Variable Gravitic Sphere

Zone of Denial

Mana Imbue adds damage to my Basic Attacks, which means both my big finishing move—Army of One—and my more normal attacks are more dangerous. I didn’t upgrade it too much due to the effect on my Mana Regeneration, but it was about time to throw some Credits at it. It’s one of those linked Skills that make sense to increase.

The other one I increased was Thousand Blades. Again, it makes Army of One even more powerful due to the way they’re linked, but just as useful, it adds another floating blade for me to play with. The only reason I’ve not added more to it earlier is the difficulty of coordinating their use. Even with my increased Intelligence, the training required to integrate it properly in my fighting style is onerous. However, since I’m about to be training these children, I might as well get some training in myself. One of the biggest advantages of being on Pauhiri is access to the Paladin’s entire subset of training videos and journals, meaning that I should be able to up my fighting game faster.

As for the spells, I’ve mostly purchased them for the future. Gravitic Sphere is perfect in space to slow down attacks or just annoy people. Unlike most spells, it increases in strength the more Mana you throw in; so used properly, I can divert a missile in space or lock down a bunch of annoying initiates.

Zone of Denial, on the other hand, is a damage-over-time spell. Cast on a location, it targets everyone within that location and does damage to them so long as they stay within it. It’s straight Mana damage too, which means it ignores most resistances. It’s not a lot of damage, even if the zone is variable by Mana use. But when taken into a crowded situation, it can be highly useful.

They both cover areas I’m missing—a damage-over-time spell and an area control spell. I considered getting some specialized damage-over-time spells but figured something more generic would be more useful.

Now, I just wonder what those two crazy munchkins are going to come back with. Thanks to the time dilation on my Shop, I’ve got a bit of time to wait. Rather than waste it, I take over a training hall and leave Ali to keep an eye out for Mikito and Bolo while I work on integrating my new blade.

Chapter 10

Mikito finds me first, Bolo taking his time in his Shop. I was a little bit surprised to find that the Dragon Lord doesn’t have a time-compressed Shop of his own, but when questioned during one of the lulls in the battle on Spaks, he muttered something about loyalty and enjoying the broader suite of services. When he started waggling his eyebrows when pressed, I decided to not push the matter. We weren’t that close. Especially back then.

Mikito saunters over and I let my gaze wander over the Samurai. The short Japanese lady has improved her looks in subtle ways as her Charisma stat gets little boosts. Surprisingly, even if she has received the gene therapy upgrade, she had it done such that she stayed much the same. Including her height—or lack of it. I’m not entirely sure why, though I have a feeling it has to do with her pride in her heritage or her dead husband. Some things, you just don’t ask.

As she arrives, I gesture and let the hard light projections disappear. The moving blue figurines I’ve been practicing against fade, leaving the room bare of anything but us. Even the walls are completely smooth, a pale gray that hides the increased durability of the setting.

Mikito stops in front of me and I offer her a smile, glancing upward to check her Status. I’ve found as she leveled her Feudal Bond Skill that my access to her Status Screen increased. These days, I have full access to her Status and limited details about her Skills. No more than general descriptions, but enough so that I know her attributes and Skill set.

I mentioned it to her the last time I realized this happened and the woman just shrugged. I know I’d be weirded out if someone had that much access to my Status. Well, someone who wasn’t a three-foot-tall, pain-in-the-ass creature of pure Mana.

On that note, I take a longer look at my friend.

Mikito Sato, Spear of Humanity, Blood Warden, Junior Arena Champion of Irvina, Arena Champion—Orion IV, Xumis,…; True Bound Honor (Upper Samurai Level 23) (M)

HP: 3641/3641*

MP: 2625/2625*

Conditions: Isoide, Jin, Rei, Meiyo, Ishiki, Ryoyo, Feudal Bond, Blitzed, Future Projections

Galactic Reputation: 21

Galactic Fame: 14,327

I almost look deeper into her data but push aside the whim and instead, use my words like a big boy. “So, find anything you liked?”

Mikito’s eyes narrow, her lips sliding into the tiniest hint of a smile. “Just a few.”

She frowns in concentration, then the data slides across to me.

Blitzed (Level 3) (M)

A Messenger can be slowed, they can be delayed, they can be diverted. But they can’t be stopped. And Blitzed makes sure that even those minor inconveniences are over in a flash. Speeding up the existence of the Messenger, Blitzed ensures you’ll never live life in the slow lane. Mana regeneration reduced by 15 permanently.

Effect: Blitzed increases all physical and mental reactions by 120%

Caution: Blitzed increases physical existence speed, making subjective view of passing time significantly higher. A high Willpower and meditation skill is recommended to reduce chance of psychosis.

Future Projections (Level 3) (A)

You never know what might be coming up, without Future Projections. When active, Future Projections allows user to absorb and project potential actions into the future. Perfect for dodging oblivious pedestrians, blind teleports, and the occasional monster spawn.

Effects: Allow future projection of actions 1.2 seconds into the future.

Cost: 60 Mana per minute.

“That’s just wrong,” I mutter.

“He gave you enough trouble. And that Skill…” Mikito shakes her head. “It’s better than anything else I’ve seen.”

“Well, considering speed is his entire build, I’m not surprised,” I say. “Do you have activation problems?”

Mikito raises an eyebrow at me and I realize I never told her. I proceed to explain the issue, eliciting a deep frown from the Samurai. She proceeds to test her Skill and then—just for fun, I assume—her basic Haste Skill on top of it. She literally vibrates when she’s standing still, then flickers to the end of the rectangular room. Thanks to my higher Perception, I can just barely follow her movements—which is still an improvement compared to my experience with the Speedster Master Class. Then again, I wonder if it’s a matter of attributes or her lower total speed.

“How is it?” I ask.

“Still instantaneous activation. But there’s a greater than expected clash between my Skills. I’m not getting the boost I expected. It isn’t as high as I was led to believe,” Mikito says with a deep frown. “Mana cost is as expected though.”

“So your need for speed was a failure?”

I hear her sniff, then she blurs and I don’t manage to duck the light smack on my shoulder. After that, she just keeps blurring, activating movement Skill after movement Skill. She’s got quite a few, from the basic Haste Skill and Flash Step, to her more specialized ones that give her smoothness of movement. After a few minutes of movement, she finally comes to a stop, her Mana nearly drained. She continues to look unhappy, reading information I can’t see before she finally turns to regard me.

“You were training?” As she speaks, she draws Hitoshi, her naginata, and places it over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” I say. “Added another sword.”

“And more Mana to them all.”

“You’re angling for a fight, aren’t you?”

In answer, Mikito flashes me a grin and I groan. Getting my ass kicked is going to suck. But she has a point. Due to the way I—and she—grew in the System, many of our attribute increases seem to really take effect when we’re in battle. Even mock battle is enough. But plain training doesn’t seem to work as well at triggering whatever expanded learning our higher attributes provide us. Which means…

“Just go easy on me,” I say.

“I always do.”

“No, you really don’t.”

All I get in answer to that is a slight smile as she backs off. Not that we’re going to start until her Mana’s full, but the point is taken. I sigh and conjure my own sword, ready to do some forms while I wait. Good training never hurts.

***

I hack out the blood pooling in my lungs, watching it dribble from my lips and out my nose. I clear it off with a swipe of my hands before I stagger to my feet. We’ve been at this for the last couple of hours, hammering away at each other, but this is the first time she’s managed to land that particular attack properly. I glare at the Samurai, who retreated after putting the butt of her polearm into my chest, allowing me to recuperate.

“What was that?” I say hoarsely. I spit again, watching blood dribble out. The attack bypassed most of my defenses, slipping in and damaging my lungs, bursting blood vessels and filling my chest with blood rather than shattering the ribs that protect them. “New Skill?”

“No. A skill.” I can somehow hear the lack of cap on the word, though it doesn’t remove my confusion. “It’s a striking technique that projects the force within. Hard to pull off.”

I grunt and pull up the System logs, skimming through it to find the details of the attack. She’s right—it bypassed nearly half of my resistances, but the actual damage it dealt was lower than her usual total. Of course, because she bypassed my resistances, the net damage was higher.

“Weird,” I say. “Never knew you could do that.”

“There are Skills that work the same. In fact, some Skills are just skills packaged up by the System,” Mikito says. “Sort of like spells and Skills.”

“I guess. That kind of makes sense,” I say.

I don’t really purchase many attack-based Skills, rather relying on more magical or passive Skills. But considering how Cleave seems to be a focus of both Mana and body and Harden is basically an infusion of Mana and a toughening of the body, I can see how they’d be something a dedicated individual could learn.

A part of my mind wants to give me the data, the information, but I manage to wall it off.

If that’s the case…

“Should I be paying more attention to my skills?” I frown.

A long time ago, we dismissed the screen keeping track of that data. Occasionally I poke at it, ending up amused by things like my lip reading or alien body language skills getting an upgrade, but for the most part, I ignore it. As Ali pointed out, the skills are more a reflection of reality than something I can upgrade like my Skills. The screen tracks my progress or regress of skills. It’s not a game where each “level” gives me another 5% attack damage or whatever.

“Aren’t you?” Mikito gestures around us, taking in the combat room. Even as we stand in the barren land, nanobots slowly reweave the scarred and thrashed floor and walls, fixing incidental damage. While neither one of us pulled out the big guns—by mutual agreement—our normal attacks are enough to trash the place.

“Yeah but…” I wave at her. “You’re, you know…”

“Better?” Mikito says. “I have decades of experience and the lessons from my grandfather to draw on. And my other teachers, people I learnt from when you were gone.” She puts the butt of her polearm on the floor. “You can get better. You have the talent. But is it what you want?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want, does it?” I grumble. “I always seem to end up in the middle of things.”

“But is it what you want?”

I fall silent as I consider her words. What do I want? Really? Not violence, that’s not really a “want.” It’s just a factor in my life. It’s not helping people, though I do that because that’s what you do. I’m not a bleeding heart like Lara, who has to help people because that’s what she’s built to do. I just can’t look away. Not helping others is a bigger burden than a benefit for me. I don’t even like people thanking me for it.

Which is weird, if you prod at the thought at all.

But it’s not as if I help people because I care about the people. Nor is it because I have a burning desire for justice, for making the world a better place or righting wrongs. The need to “fix” a society or an event. That, I know, drives other Paladins. My mentor for one. Others in their histories. And even some of my initiates. Their need to make sure that the world they live in, their society works. Is fair and balanced for all.

That’s not me. I’m too Chinese, grew up knowing too much history, knowing that corruption and racism and all that crap always happens. It’s a feature, not a bug.

“I’m not sure. An answer, I guess,” I say. Because that’s what it comes down to. The question of the System. Everything else—bounty hunting, saving cities, beating up assholes—are things I do in between reading and learning. Trying to find an answer to the why of it all. “What about you?”

Mikito points her polearm at me instead of answering, indicating she’s ready for the next round. I glare but settle into a fighting stance. She’s been known to attack me even when I refused to play the game.

“Not so easy. I want an answer.”

“Then beat me,” Mikito challenges.

The next moment, she flashes forward. Mikito leads the first pass with a lunge with her naginata. She’s triggered all her Skills, all the ones that allow her to move. And she cheats, using Gi to allow her attack to bypass my hasty block. It floats right over my hovering swords, dodging them by millimeters as I twist my body aside. But Gi is an uninterrupted, unfailing attack.

The curved, elongated blade of the polearm slides through space, popping my Soul Shield like an overextended bubble, and plunges into my chest. It cuts through Hardened skin and reinforced bones, piercing my chest and cooking it as Hitoshi’s body lights up in flame.

I groan, finishing my cut upward, tearing the blade from my body in a splay of blood and a chest-sucking, slurping sound. Burnt flesh and the iron-tang of blood fill the air even as she takes the momentum of my block to spin the polearm around for another cut at my head.

Down. Down low I drop, sliding beneath my own floating weapons, snatching one from the air and cutting sideways at her with it, before dismissing my blade to snatch another. I push forward, stepping close as I begin the blade spin of the Honor Guard.

Five blades, free floating in space, move along the trajectory of the previous motion of the original soulbound blade. Their trajectories alter as I make the original blade appear and disappear, switching hands, switching positions. I fight, throwing cuts, blocking attacks, and launching my own Blade Strikes. The blades cut through the air, sometimes disappearing as I will them gone, sometimes reappearing as I bring them back, darting alongside my body as I attack Mikito.

The Samurai blocks and deflects each attack, her naginata spinning in an intricate dance, moving at such speed that the crack of the sound barrier being broken time and time again resounds through the room. A swirl of air erupts, forced aside by our movements, changing air pressure and creating a mini vortex.

The rush of wind mixes with the ring of metal blades blocked, the spark of ozone as blades clash. The smell of burnt flesh, of healing wounds, of freshly spilled blood swirl past my face, remembrances of our past fight. And the current battle, as cuts and surface wounds accumulate.

I trigger Cleave, swinging down with all my might, almost cutting into her collarbone. She blocks and sags to the floor under the strength of my blow. Her ghostly traditional Samurai armor cracks, shattering around the glowing edge of my blade. Mikito twists her hips and angles her hand, shedding the remnant energy to the side, then uses the same motion to block another swinging blade with the haft of her polearm. A Flash Step pushes her backward, moving her without her using her feet. The blade points at me and Makoto triggers, a beam of power lancing for my torso.

I hop over the attack, dancing across my own blade to continue to close the distance. Never wanting to give her space, a gap in time to recover. Her Stamina is one of her weak points. I pressure her as damage accumulates on both sides, as attacks that I fail to block get through. As Blade Strikes cut across her own blocks or tear away at her translucent defense.

We dance across the room, neither side willing to give up.

In the end, skill and Class win out. She has the advantage over me in terms of total Levels, in terms of a Class geared for solo combat. In terms of skill. I miss a block, get cut, and don’t even see the grapple she set up with the attack, her polearm tangling my arms which she turns into a throw. I land on the floor and the blade sinks into my collarbone, pinning me.

Pain. I struggle not to scream as my flesh burns.

Brown eyes, filled with life and a dark joy, stare down at me. There’s a crazed light there, a need. For a second, I wonder if she’s going to end it, if she’ll trigger a Skill to pile on the damage. She pants over me, hair falling to cover her face, leaving me only to stare into the slitted gaze of her smoky helmet, the flared edges of the curved bell rippling.

Then the blade is yanked out, leaving me curling around my side. It takes a lot to stop from screaming as flesh reknits. I stagger back to my feet, taking a cut from my own still-spinning blades before I dismiss them. And stare at my friend, who has retreated a distance away.

Silence dominates the room as we recover our senses and come down from the fight. And then, two words.

“I win.”

***

We’re seated, resting as I get my Health and Mana back. Nearly ten minutes have passed and I’m back—statistically at least—but there’s a difference between stats and reality. Mentally at least, I’m not in the mood to duel again.

So I sit quietly, doing a light meditation of breathing in and out, letting tension and pain flow out. Finding an equilibrium and grateful that the System seems to ameliorate some of the pain, some of the terror. Not all of it—not even a lot in some cases—but a little. It makes it possible to consider another training session.

In the future.

“Sorry,” Mikito says softly, breaking my reverie.

“Hmmmm?”

“I went too far.” She gives herself a quick shake of the head, her lips pursed in anger and self-recrimination.

“Just a little.” I’m used to my friend being dangerous. Just not necessarily a danger to myself. Especially with her Skills being tied so tightly to me. “What happened?”

Mikito falls silent, not answering me for a long time. Then she slowly speaks. “When it started, I was angry. Upset. I didn’t want to live. I couldn’t die.”

A fist clenches around the polearm, around Hitoshi. The weapon her husband gave up his Classes, his boons for. All to give her a better chance to live. And I understand. The burden of that sacrifice, survivor’s guilt—it can break people. Has broken many.

“Then time passed. And we did good. Killed the aliens. Saved the world.” She shoots me a quelling look when I shift at the last sentence, forcing me to still rather than interrupt her mistake. “The pain lessened. But the anger didn’t. And I was lost. I helped out when you were gone. Fought the monsters. The aliens. They called me the Spear of Humanity, because I was fighting. Always fighting. But… I couldn’t stop…”

“You didn’t know what else to do,” I say. I know that feeling. The insanity that creeps up on you, the restlessness, the thoughts of anger and loss. “You can’t stop, can’t stop moving. Can’t let go. Can’t look back. So you keep moving, keep fighting.”

“Yes.” Mikito’s assent is quiet. “You understand.”

“I’m sure others do too.” I remember Therapists, Psychiatrists, and Mind Healers, all offered to us. All available to help people heal, to get better. I even paid for some of those programs. They only work as well as you let them though.

“They did. And didn’t.” Mikito purses her lips, glancing at me sideways. “They don’t… I can’t… letting it go…”

I nod. She doesn’t need to say it. Doesn’t need to finish the sentence. And I realize why she’s with me. Because unlike the others, unlike her friends, the other Champions, I won’t push her to get better. To find healing or to make a life for herself in this new world.

I don’t, because I refuse to get better myself.

I can’t let the pain go.

I won’t leave the quest alone.

Some people get over things.

Some of us, we nurse those grudges like fine whisky. Because if we let it go, if we accept it and move on, there might not be anything to move on to.

***

“What?” Bolo walks in on us twenty minutes later, silent and brooding over our losses. His eyes flick over our still forms, narrowing.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking away the darkness. It takes a bit of effort, but I manage. After a while, pain like this isn’t an all-encompassing thing. It’s just the ache in your back, the hitch in your steps—metaphorically speaking. You get used to it, and only once in a while does it slow you down. “What’d you buy?”

Bolo shifts his stance a little and looks awkward. “So. You know. About that…”

“Yeah?” I prompt him.

“We never discussed me being here. Or you, you know…” He gestures between himself and us. “I mean, Harry didn’t get anything.”

“He did actually,” I say. At least, I sent him the option, but the reporter was in the city when I did. I’m sure he’ll decide on his buy later, when he’s done filming his “first days in Erethra” episode. Having him wander around getting information and playing reporter is more important. For now.

“Right. But he’s, you know, human.”

“And I’m racist?” I frown. “Speciest? Alienist? The offer’s open to Dornalor when he gets here too. Whenever that happens. In fact, I probably could upgrade his ship…” I trail off, my mind flashing with the implications.

“No!” Bolo snaps. “I meant, he’s your group. You guys…”

“Dornalor’s a merc. Well, mostly. I pay him very well and he does what we want,” I say. “One day, I expect he’ll probably leave. Once he’s earned enough. And Leveled.”

“I’m not a mercenary.” Bolo crosses his arm in a huff. Then he freezes, eyes narrowing. “You drake-swapped egg. You’re doing this on purpose.”

I finally crack, breaking into gales of laughter and slapping my leg. I’m too busy chuckling to dodge the compressed air attack that throws me back into the wall. I still don’t stop laughing as I peel myself off the wall and floor.

“Chill. You want in? You’re in.” I gesture to the smiling, cross-legged Mikito then out the door. “This isn’t the Paladins. This isn’t a…” I frown, looking for the word. “Cult. I don’t even own these Credits. So if you want to use it, go ahead.” I shrug. “No skin off my nose. Though I’d like it if you let me know if you’re choosing to leave. I’d have to work out what to do without you.”

“Without me for what?” Bolo says, frowning. “I understand giving the soldiers new Skills. They’ll need some training to integrate them, but that’s not really my Skill set.”

“As if I’d trust you with training. You’d probably squash them like a pancake. That’s not what I need you for. I want to see them in action.” I pause, considering, and add, “And I want to see the kind of world I’m going to be putting them through.”

Mikito frowns, while Bolo grins.

“What?” I eye the grinning Dragon Lord.

“This is going to create chaos, isn’t it?”

I shrug. Bolo laughs, slapping his thigh a couple of times, before turning around and walking out.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To buy Skills!” Bolo continues to laugh until his voice is cut off by the closing doors, leaving Mikito and me alone.

The Samurai stands, shaking her head, and levels her polearm at me.

“Nope. I’m out,” I say. A thought has me Blink Stepping over to the door. “Have fun!”

Mikito snorts but lets me run away. Even as I leave, hard light projections of her opponents appear.

Chuckling to myself, I saunter off to do some thinking. Reading. Despooling. Whatever you call dealing with an entire library in your head.

The first steps are taken.

Now, I just have to wait.

Chapter 11

I have to admit, one of the few things I’ve kept with me over the years—through apocalypse and international travel—is my love for food. Good chocolate for certain, but just food in general. And now that I’m in a new alien city—one that doesn’t require me to hide out while finding my prey—I take full advantage of it.

B’oolyn is the equivalent of a three-star Michelin restaurant. The reservation list to get in is about a year and a half long, and that’s if you can get on the list. They’ve got a limited number of tables open for those without the requisite connections. And a few tables set aside for those with the status to ignore things like reservations.

Which is how I end up eating here with the team. Harry’s having the time of his life, tiny drones flying around and taking videos of the building. It’s all carefully arranged and agreed upon by the owner of the establishment, ensuring that his guests—who all have their own privacy clauses active—are either not bothered or featured as contracted.

The pale cream walls and the marble-like columns that dribble down like melted candles, making the entire place look like the inside of a sculpted ice cave, show well, as do the lingering hints of past meals. A Galactic array of spices combine with the smells of perfectly blackened meat, glazed vegetables, and other foodstuff best not considered too carefully. Even so, Skills and extractors ensure that none of the smells are overpowering, the lighting set perfectly to ensure that an amiable atmosphere is available for all.

As for the patrons themselves, they’re a wide array of celebrities, socialites, noblemen, and military personnel. In Erethra, the last mixes with the first three in strange ways, with the concept of the celebrity soldier dominating their culture. Entire units are created—or kept together—because of specific individuals. Individuals who might have been given unique Classes for their actions or because of their natural Charisma. There’s even a subtle powerplay between various Generals as they promote their own armies, with Celebrity Soldier an actual Class. Of course, part of the requirements for them to be popular includes a series of death-defying stunts, so the lifespan of such soldiers is often limited.

When you add in the fact that the Erethran Empire spans literal solar systems and dozens of races make up their population, the array of patrons within B’oolyn is staggering. The need to draw support from a wide range of sapient races makes the breakdown of celebrities on species lines a little more equal than you’d think. The only reason there isn’t a wider range is due to natural population and recruitment numbers among member races. After all, certain races—like the living rabbit-looking fuzzball Bignief—are just too cute not to use for publicity purposes.

All of which is a long way to say that even in a racially diverse cast of patrons, our particular table still gets a lot of eyeballs as we eat.

“You seem to be taking to the looks well,” I say to Bolo, who chows down on his food.

The Dragon Lord is a big contrast compared to Mikito. She’s hunkered down, glaring at everyone who even looks halfway at her. If she had Hitoshi out, I’d be a little more worried, but she’s chosen to store it in her Inventory. Ali’s floating above us, out of sight, in a portion of the establishment reserved for companions. They’ve got their own servings, their own set up which keeps them out of our hair. Though the occasional complaint from Ali tells me it’s a lot less nice than the main room.

“We were much the same in

Xylargh,” says Bolo. “Attention, when earned justly, is not to be shirked.”

“Good to know.” I lean back, grinning at the occasional glances.

The restaurant maître d’ appears by my side. It’s a bit magical, the way he manages to glide through the room, making himself known but yet not disturbing his guests’ enjoyment of their meals. He makes his presence known subtly, so no one gets twitchy when he does want your attention, yet he never impinges on our conscious consideration. It leaves people like Mikito able to handle his presence without stabbing.

“Is the meal to your liking, Paladin?” the maître d’ asks, bowing low. He’s a full Erethran, dressed in a variation of a pale-yellow-and-blue-trimmed serving uniform, almost looming over me as I sit. Almost, because he’s standing far enough back that he doesn’t tower. Nor do his luminescent yellow locks distract from the professionalism of his outfit and demeanor.

“Definitely,” I say, gesturing to the empty plate before me. “That last dish was amazing. What was it called again?”

“Leontophone haunch, braised with walmer nuts and a touch of the opin herb mix, caramelized afterward,” the maître d’ replies. “We can bring a second serving, if the Paladin desires.”

“No, not yet. Let’s finish the suggested course,” I say, shaking my head. No need to mess with their suggested menu. At an establishment like this, their menu is certain to build upon itself.

“Of course. Also, there’s a gentleman who would like to join you,” the maître d’ says hesitantly. His eyes flicker to the side and I get a new notification.

So. And so.

Just about time then. I smile to set the maître d’ at ease. “I’d be happy to speak with him. And his friend.”

No sooner have I finished speaking than waiters appear, moving our utensils and adding a pair of chairs to the table that grows to fit another pair of diners with ease. I don’t even have to scoot my chair back as it moves by itself. That gets a little yelp from Mikito and a glare that the waiters all studiously ignore. I don’t ignore the small blade that Mikito disappears back into her Inventory with a twitch of her hand.

“Who’s joining us?” Harry asks.

Before I can reply, our guests arrive.

Brerdain Ramanner, the General, leads the way. He saunters over, his Charisma washing over us all even though he’s not projecting his Aura. Per usual social conventions, people keep their aura retracted around others unless they’re looking to make a point. Even portly and older like he is, there’s a Charisma to him and his presence that the vid did not showcase.

Beside him is an Erethran female, decades younger. She’s clad in a twinkly, tight sleeveless dress that shows off the muscles in her arms and legs—thanks to the long slit up her leg—while the tasteful makeup on her face and coral ears accentuate her features. Interestingly enough, she’s a little on the short side for an Erethran, at just about six feet six. As she smiles at me, I can’t help but notice the way the light around her brightens a little, angling to deepen the cleavage, shadow her cheeks, highlight parts of the shimmering rainbow of her long hair.

“Paladin. Thank you for letting us join you,” Brerdain greets us with a polite smile. He holds the seat next to me out for his date, letting her slide in. “This is Catrin Dufoff.”

I flick my gaze up to Catrin’s Status, curious about the light-bending companion as she sits down next to me, offering me a smile.

Catrin Dufoff, Empire Top Companion, Class 2 Human Resource, Slayer of Goblins, Wexlix, Crilik, (more)… (Administrative Companion Level 38) (A)

HP: 1210/1210

MP: 3480/3480

Conditions: Always in Place, Never too Late, Perfect Lighting, Pheromones, A Good Impression

Companion it is. I’m debating if there are perks—or what kind of perks—to her Class before doing a mental shrug. None of my business. From what little I recall about Erethran society, they have no specific hang-ups about paid companionship. No more than they do with any job that isn’t directly in the military, that is.

Society’s Web, already running, let me verify the thread between them. Thin, almost insubstantial, and green-gray, the color of Credits and duty. There are more, many more, of those radiating from Catrin. She’s as connected to those in this room as any who have walked in, some of those threads heavy with scarlet and burgundy, passion and lust. Others are threaded with black and gray, heavy motes of duty and obligation. And there are the common ones leading to the Queen, a brown-gray thread leading off into the palace, a trio of purple-yellows headed straight up into the atmosphere.

Brerdain’s even more interesting, his threads numerous. Lots of steel-gray for his soldiers. For those beneath him. I have to sort those out, cleanse them. Then I cleanse his companions, his casual dalliances. And still there are threads, so many to review. Even as I sort, I idly flick away a failed Charm notification.

Brerdain takes his seat while returning introductions with the rest of my team. My attention is pulled back to Catrin as she places a hand on my arm. The heat of her touch and the chemicals in her skin set off another Charm notification.

“Do you prefer to be called Paladin, Paladin Lee, Redeemer, or another of your many, many Titles?” Catrin’s voice is low and husky at the same time, like thick maple syrup coating the waffles of my ears.

“John. I prefer John,” I reply. Brerdain’s ploy is rather obvious, the use of her almost laughable. I do a quick search through the System, tapping into local news sources and blazing through the data with the neural link and confirm my guess. “And you, Administrator? What would you prefer to be called?”

“Catrin.” She smiles, inclining her head slightly. I absently note that her chair has reconfigured slightly, lowering her a little and allowing me to meet her gaze more easily. It also, I idly note, gives me a better view. I find myself smiling, drawing in a slight breath, catching hints of nutmeg and other, unidentifiable Galactic scents in her perfume. “Are you enjoying the meal?”

“I am.” I flick my gaze down to her hand that rests on my arm, but I don’t comment. Instead, I turn to Brerdain, offering him a smile. “So, General. Or is it Chief of Staff?” I cock an eyebrow.

“Well, if we are being informal, it would be Brerdain.” He gives me a congenial smile, nodding thanks to the waiter who deposits their servings in front of them. “Thank you for letting us join you. Many of us are quite curious about the first Paladin to return in many years.”

“I’m sure. But a bit obvious, no?” I nod to the young lady and the hand. She retracts it gently, picking up her utensil and not looking at all flustered. “She’s not your usual companion.”

Brerdain laughs, shaking his head. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I enjoy the company of young women.”

I grunt. That’s true enough. More than enough recordings and news articles to prove that. He and his wife have an open relationship, especially since his wife continues to serve on-board ship as a Marine Sargent. Sexual relationships are rather more open in their society, acknowledging the need for flexibility when partners might be literal light years apart for years, if not decades. Add in the extended lifespan—theoretically—of soldiers with high Constitutions, and their society has grown to accommodate a wide variety of relationship norms. Because of that, Brerdain’s known for indulging his preference for pretty young female things.

Which, I guess, is why he brought her and not a man. Harder to pass off a new male companion to throw at me as a subtle bribe when you aren’t known for them. But his most recent indulgence only started a week ago, and on average, he takes about a month to bore of his new friends. This is definitely a change in routine, even if the thin thread between them wasn’t clear enough.

“Catrin is a friend of a friend. She’s been wanting to indulge in the food here and I could help,” Brerdain says. “I like doing favors for my friends.”

Bolo lets out a loud snort while Harry picks at his food, head down.

“Just so you know, all recording has now been blocked. Everything I’ve got running is being blacked out. Overridden under a ‘Need to Know,’ National Interest order,” Harry sends over party chat.

“A bit heavy-handed, no?” I return while sliding the latest delicacy into my mouth. Some green-and-yellow squirming thing that tastes sweet at first before going bitter. Just not too bitter.

“Not really. His Skill is always active. Makes it harder to sort out what’s important, when everything is blocked.”

Mikito flicks a gaze between the young lady and Brerdain then waves down a waiter and doubles her order of the dish before us. After that, she returns to ignoring the entire interplay. I wish I could do the same.

“I’m sure,” I say. “So what do you want to know?”

Brerdain stares at me for a second, that congenial smile widening. “It seems you really are as blunt as the recordings.”

I shrug while I note how Catrin seems to pull back, almost fading into the woodwork. I note the swirl of Mana around her, the way she triggers a Skill to help make her innocuous.

“But in truth,” Brerdain say, “I have no great agenda here. I wish to learn about you. Your personality. Your history. Your plans.”

“The first two are easily purchasable in the Shop,” I say, pointing toward where the palace should be. “I’m really not that hard to understand. As for the last, I have a bunch of Paladin initiates to train. I’ll get them up to speed, then let them loose.”

“Let them loose…” Brerdain says, drawing out the last word. “And what would that mean?”

“You’d have to ask them,” I say, opening my hands and the utensils I carry in them, letting them balance on the edges of my hand. I’d morphed the weird spork and knife combo into a simple human knife and fork combination, having decided that I wasn’t interested in working with alien cutlery. Cultural assimilation is all well and good until you drop your two thousand Credit steak on your lap in a three-star restaurant with hovering paparazzi drones everywhere. “I’m just their trainer. Not their boss.”

“No, you Paladins don’t have that kind of hierarchy, do you?” Brerdain says, sounding almost satisfied.

I make note of his satisfaction, of the way he says it. And I remember that the Guards, for all their indication of being outside the hierarchy, are all still soldiers.

Silence falls over the table as the next course arrives. Another small portion of food shaped like spheres, glowing and individually colored like planets. Each fried, squished, or flash-frozen ball tastes different, even though I can tell that the material itself is the same.

Weird.

My comment elicits a more congenial conversation about the material used and the cooking methods for Mana-sourced monster meat, and that leads us to a friendly conversation about food across the Galaxy and the Empire that lasts nearly an hour. Catrin rejoins the conversation, but surprisingly does not stop her subtle flirting with me. She’s toned down the expulsion of scent pheromones and other direct Charm attacks, but the obvious interest is not gone.

When the last dish—a dessert that towers nearly as tall as I am seated and made, of all things, human chocolate and ice cream—arrives, Brerdain turns the conversation back to business.

“This training you intend to offer the Paladin initiates. What are your intentions?” Brerdain asks. “I know that there have been requests for trainers…”

“Yes. Quite a few,” I say. “Through the right channels, or so I’m led to believe. But of course, live fire exercises will be needed.”

“No better training.” Brerdain smiles. “If you want—”

“I’d be open to hearing about any problem areas that you need fixing,” I offer easily. “Preferably something that a single individual or a small group can manage. Multiple problem areas in the same locale would be preferable.”

“Threat level?” Brerdain says.

“High. I’d almost say deadly.” I grin.

Catrin freezes for a second in the process of spooning her chocolate, before she continues. Harry gives me the side-eye but doesn’t comment. Bolo, as usual, is grinning wide at the thought of more violence. That man has a problem.

“Complexity?” Brerdain asks.

“For this? None at all.” I shake my head. “No need to make it hard for them. Yet.”

Brerdain leans back and laughs, eyes twinkling. The lines along his eyes crinkle, his ears catching the glint of light. “I think I like you, Paladin.” He flicks a glance at Catrin, who offers him a smile, and he gestures at the meal before him. “Though I must admit, I’m not a fan of this… chocolate of your Earth. Your ale, on the other hand, is a respectable addition to Galactic cuisine.”

I pause and consider how much of an incident it’d be if I kill him. I am a Paladin…

“No, boy-o. Down!” Ali sends the thought to me, almost making me laugh.

“Well, we’re all allowed our own tastes,” I say with a smile. If there’s a little more teeth than there needs to be, that’s okay.

Having said his portion, Brerdain makes his excuses and takes the young lady along with him. She, at least, has the grace to look disappointed at not being allowed to finish her dessert. I can’t be too sad about her departure. After all, I’m willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of Galactic hunger and waste.

As the pair stroll off, arm in arm, Bolo sighs. “That two?”

“Yup. One more to go.”

Bolo shakes his head and turns back to the consumption of dessert. Somehow, he’s sneaked the General’s portion over to his side of the table. My eyes narrow before I dig into mine. As for the rest of the politicking, that can wait. More important things are at hand.

“Touch her dish, and I’ll stab you.”

***

I’m not surprised when, later that night, I receive a visitor. She arrives about half an hour after we finally make our way home. The others are taking the break to meditate, train, or just relax in their portion of the building. Leaving me to stare at the notification window of our visitor standing outside the gates.

“John?” Catrin stares at the small hovering drone, her eyes wide and alluring. The shift she wears is artfully draped off-shoulder, accentuating her charms as she looks up.

“Catrin. I’m surprised to see you here,” I say. And that’s the truth. I was expecting a much higher Level visitor.

“Well, your rather blunt refusal didn’t make Brerdain happy. But he’s a fair employer,” she says with a smile. “Better than most in fact.”

I grunt. “Doesn’t really answer why you’re here.”

“Well, I’m no longer employed…” She bends her neck, letting hair fall over her eyes and hiding the cat-like-slit pupils for a second. “But I did find you intriguing. I’ve never met a Paladin before. Are your attribute gains as high as they are rumored to be?”

The way she arches that eyebrow makes me cough. She’s rather blunt about her intentions here. A quick query sent to Ali at least assures me this isn’t unusual. Between being a militaristic society used to clear commands and their more open policy about sex, Erethrans don’t waste time on subtle flirting when they really want something.

“So, boy-o? You going for it?”

On the other hand, just because she says she’s done with the employment doesn’t mean that’s true. Even Society’s Web offers no help here. The thread tying her to Brerdain still exists, but it doesn’t say why it exists.

Her presence, no matter what she says, comes with strings, of that I’m sure. Though strings based off female companionship seem rather a weak one to pull upon in a society that doesn’t frown on such dalliances. Then again, maybe there’s more to this that I’m not seeing. That I’m not—.

“If this is too complicated, I can leave. But it’d be a pity,” Catrin says, shifting on her feet and making her body wiggle in a rather distracting way. I look for the notification but don’t see it. So this is all skill, not Skill. “I understand it’s been a while since your last visit with Lord Roxley.”

Huh. The room is getting rather warm. Something definitely needs to be done about the heating…

In either case, Catrin’s reminder makes me think. But Roxley doesn’t care, and Lana was a long time ago. And, truth be told, it’s been a long time since… well. Since.

And what can I say? There’s a certain level of curiosity involved. Aliens are… alien. A hand pauses, and I find myself asking Ali for his thoughts. The query causes the Spirit to send back a rather risqué image.

I laugh and will the gates open, giving the Erethran Administrator access through the security systems. Sometimes, caution is all well and good. But as I told the initiates, sometimes, you just have to risk being shot at.

I watch Catrin sweep in. And if there’s a self-satisfied smile on her face, I’m not sure I can blame her.

Chapter 12

“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Harry asks as we float high above the ground on the anti-gravity platform.

Around us, low-hanging gray clouds filled with soot and other, worse pollutants float, obscuring the ground from normal vision. Thankfully, multiple screens float alongside us, showing the feeds from the military drones. High above, I know the sun shines brightly, the large red dwarf of this planet’s star offering scant heat in comparison to its size.

Alongside myself and Harry are the rest of the team—all but three of the initiates. Everyone has their own portion of the float to themselves, watching what plays out below and keeping an eye out for threats. And there are threats. Some of them are dangerous enough that the automated drones I’ve dispersed around us won’t be enough of a defense. Among them are swarms of razor-beaked, insect-like creatures and larger, floating gas bag monsters with too many tendrils.

On the torn and shattered land below, three Paladin initiates make their way through the desolate landscape of the planet Seepgra in a separated V formation. Around them float a wide array of drones, feeding back telemetry data. Rather than green earth, the soil is black with charred carbon and foul pollutants, only broken up by the occasional lurid, mutated plant.

A drone floats too close to one of those plants and its orange leaves shoot outward, grabbing and twisting metal. We can’t hear the drone’s demise, but my mind adds the scream of metallic pain as the floating eye comes apart, its defenses insufficient. A second later, the component pieces are swept toward the heart of the plant. Roots burst from the ground, grabbing at other pieces and dragging them deep below the earth before the plant stills.

“It’s good TV, isn’t it?” I say, waving at the screens. “Not often we get to see a border planet like this.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Harry says, eyes narrowing as he eyes the Zone Status information once more.

Warning! You Have Enterred a Restricted Zone!

Due to lack of Management by its owner, the planet Seepgra is facing significant Mana flow disruptions. Currently Zones are facing a ±87 Level differential in designations.

We’re technically supposed to be in a Level 100 zone, but it could easily be much more. Or less. Though from our experience, it’s much higher.

Kino releases another drone from his inventory to replace the gap in his net, while Freif takes a moment to fire upon the plant. His attack arches up high then slams straight down onto the plant, burrowing deep before exploding and showering the ground with plant matter and dirt. The last of their group, Ropo, just flicks his gaze over before returning his attention to his quadrant. I hear him murmuring orders as they close in on their target.

“Well, this way people will know why,” I say to Harry, gesturing down. “And Brerdain was kind enough to find us these problem spots. It’d be rude to turn down his generosity.”

Bolo snorts while I idly eye the way the initiates shift uncomfortably at what I say. Not to say Brerdain’s disliked, but most think I’ve been compromised by my current, two-week-plus dalliance with Catrin. Even if she’s indicated she’s not in his employ, few believe her. Of course, she’s not been my only visitor in the last few weeks, though most weren’t as personal.

Even Julierudi’s managed to make an appearance, having made arrangements to transport us here. That meeting was less than spectacular, with conversation stilted and formal over the Captain’s meals. I get the feeling her position isn’t as secure as Ali’s initial analysis showed, with competing factions arguing over the reintroduction of the Paladins.

“But a Restricted Planet?” Harry says, shaking his head. “There’s not much point for us to do… whatever it is you’re having them do.”

“Destroy dungeons,” I say, clarifying the trio’s orders below. “They’re there to destroy three dungeons at least—more, if possible—in the next three hours.”

Harry’s lips thin. I know what he’s thinking, and the number of dungeons as well as timeframe does seem a little arbitrary. Especially when Levels, and thus the threat rating they’re facing, can alter so easily. But that too is part of the test.

“What’s the point? Anyone with any sense has left the planet. Outside of a few highly fortified Guild and military bases, no one lives here. Not really,” Harry persists.

I hum in thought then raise my voice, calling, “Magine. Explain to the reporter why we’re here.”

Harry, not one to lose an interview opportunity, spins around to face the pretty elf. Magine keeps his face neutral, though I can tell from the flicker in the strings that tie him to me that he’s annoyed. All this time, training and goading the group has allowed me to read them—and their threads—much, much better.

“Restricted planets are not Forbidden Planets. Travel to and from Restricted Planets is not forbidden but is tightly regulated. This is due to the need to lower casualty numbers and, in some cases, to help the rehabilitation of those planets. In some cases, such as the planet Seepgra, it’s introduction as a Restricted Planet is due to sapient disruption of Mana.”

“English. Try English,” I call to Magine. When he frowns at me, I grin. “Dumb it down. Harry’s audience is a bunch of neo-barbs.”

Magine’s hand by his side twitches, and for a second, I can see him regulating his temper. Then he turns his attention back to Harry.

“Seepgra was the epicenter of four different battles between ourselves and the Mo’thma Kingdom. Multiple spells and Skills, as well as certain near-forbidden technology, was put into play. In the last war, two different Heroic Classes clashed. All of this induced significant Mana flow effects, damaging the System’s hold on the planet as well as the System orbs that regulate Mana flow.” When I narrow my eyes at Magine, he sighs and dumbs it down even further. “The Mana here is messed up. But it can be fixed, because we messed it up. It’s not an overflow issue like other Restricted Planets near the Forbidden Zone.”

“Good man,” I say, clapping my hands together. “I knew you could do it.” I turn to Harry, who focuses on me. “It’s possible to pull back, even keep, Restricted Planets as residential planets, at least for a time. It requires a significant expansion of personnel, as you have to kill monsters, clear dungeons, reset them to the right locations, plant and build out settlements, and the like. But it is doable, as history has shown. We’re just tackling an easier example below.”

Below us, the trio pause for a fraction of a second as they cross the invisible boundary of the dungeon they’re here to clear. This is an open area dungeon, meaning that Mana density is vastly increased within the dungeon itself, making dungeon monsters spawn more frequently. In fact, looking at it from the air, you can see the boundary—the way the earth changes, the increase in Mana-suffused vegetation. We can even see the sudden change in motion as monsters that lay dormant wake and approach the group.

“But why dungeons?” Harry asks.

“Dungeons are Mana sinks. Sometimes, that’s a good thing,” I say. “City dungeons allow cities to broaden the Safe Zone by adjusting Mana flows and sending overflows to the dungeon. Wild dungeons though, those created by chance, can create… whirlpools in locations. Areas where Mana keeps flooding in, making the dungeons bigger. Stronger.

“Rather than let that happen in zones where they’re not meant to be, we destroy them. Help the System regulate.” I run my mind over options before continuing. “Think of it as selective burns. The planet is an overgrown forest with too many trees and underbrush. Easy to set off. Rather than let it get worse, we do selective burns.”

Harry frowns, then asks the obvious question. “So what’s the fire?”

“Uhh… the monsters?” I pause, rubbing my chin.

Not exactly. Monsters are a by-product of the System attempting to shunt Mana into something it can control, but they’re not exactly the fire. Or are they? After all, the production of powerful monsters, including over-Leveled Alphas or worse, do drop the surrounding Mana density. Not by a lot, but by a little. In fact… I look at Bolo.

The Dragon Lord meets my gaze placidly. “You are correct in your thoughts, Paladin. This is how Dragons were first created. A shunting of excess Mana. Though they then took the Mana and made it their own.” Bolo grins. “Magnificent creatures.”

“Uh huh,” I say.

But his words trigger another avalanche of memory, of data. Streams of recordings about dragons, about their care and upkeep. Of how they end up in other worlds, helping to regulate the Mana flows, and how captive breeding of them has been attempted. A million tests, as many as there are worlds, all of it streaming along.

And at the same time, another data packet unveils itself. My head hurts as I struggle to grasp the information. Tests. More tests. This time, the experiments are to create another dragon, another creature that is as in tune with Mana.

The Kirin. Or the Galactic equivalent of it. A successful experiment, though their significantly decreased reproduction cycle was considered a failure.

But more often than not, failures as experiments go horribly wrong. Hydras, one of the failures, later taken by the System for use as monsters. The Ymir, the Namyz, more. So many more failures, creatures that were born and died, forced to evolve under a variety of Mana over-saturated environments. Sudden and gradual, over generations or a single instance. In and out of the System, right on the borders. And in Forbidden Zones.

My mind whirls as pain and data flows, giving me information that I never asked for. And when I come back, the boys are two-thirds of the way through the nest, fighting swarms of creatures. The monsters are warped messes, twisted versions of what they should be. The dungeon is meant to help them reproduce faster, to form and swarm and allow Adventurers to use their bodies, their Mana for the System economy. But with Mana overrun, with the System breaking down…

The creatures are macabre parodies of what they should be. Some have too many limbs, others too few. Hunched and twisted, fur, carapace, skin, and organs hang off them. They swarm and fight, unleashing claws, gouts of poison, and plasma in unequal portions.

Bolo and the initiates watch without moving a muscle, having seen all this before. On the other hand, Mikito has her face twisted up in disgust. And Harry… well, Harry is hocking his lunch over the side of the platform. Ali, being true to himself, is eating popcorn, watching a baking show on another screen at the same time.

“How, how can you stand staring at those things?” Harry says. “They’re monsters. Demons.”

“Eh, less disgusting than the ones I fought in the Forbidden Zone. You don’t want to deal with warped slimes,” I say.

I note the increased pulse in interest from the initiates when I mention my time away. They all know the history, the story of how I got my Class. This is their history, their heritage. If they pass. Not surprising that they’re interested.

But I ignore their interest, turning my regard instead to the people below. They reach the dungeon heart and are met by the Alpha. The Hmefa Alpha. Cancerous growths sprout from its body, making it slow and sluggish. But as they land attacks, its body heals. As they fight, I take note of their styles, their flow.

Kino stands in front of the Alpha, literally brawling with it. For a Soulbound weapon, the Risen doesn’t have a sword or polearm or anything traditional. No, instead both of its arms are covered in metallic gauntlets, gleaming dark red and brown as he blocks and attacks, keeping the creature’s attention on him. His build is almost purely defensive, so he doesn’t bother manifesting his equivalent of the Thousand Blades Skill. Instead, the other Skill he purchased is in play, a dark brown glow infusing his body with each blocked strike, each point of damage taken.

Retribution Delayed (Level 3) (A)

Passive effect that allows the Grudge Holder to collect damage done to it and release it in a single, retributive attack. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 15 permanently.

Effect: 6% of Damage Taken is stored in a Mana Cloud. When triggered, the next attack will deal 6% of stored Damage.

At first glance, the Skill might not be that useful. 6% of 6% is just 0.36% of damage taken. But there’s literally no limit to how long Kino can store this damage. Which means in a dungeon crawl like this, he’s been storing all the damage he’s taken as he journeys in. All the damage, even damage he’s healed, is just waiting for him to release.

That he isn’t using it right now is a bit surprising, but I wonder if he considers the Alpha too weak for him to bother. After all, the longer he holds off, the more damage he can do. It’s the kind of Skill that I considered, but even if I do play tank, I rarely get a chance to wait around for a single person. Still, I’ve mentally bookmarked the option for when I can find a Master Class equivalent.

Freif, the sniper, on the other hand, is showcasing the difference in his Skills. While his initial build mostly focused on stacking Mana Imbue with a small increase in Blade (Gun) Strike to increase range and penetration and a single point in Thousand Guns, his amendment has been to purchase up Thousand Guns. Now, rather than a single weapon, he has multiple rifles floating around him. Each of those are linked passively with other Skills, allowing him to independently control and fire them. They’re almost automated, using his other Skills to increase damage and accuracy.

What it really means is that unlike his initial build of being a single-shot, high-damage sniper—with an alpha strike option of Army of One—he can now hold off the swarming minions on one side by himself. His floating guns fire and retarget constantly, drawing upon the base Mana density to make him a one-man army without triggering the Skill.

Of course, there’s a negative to that—part of the reason he’s so effective is the huge disparity in Mana density here. Otherwise, the guns he’s using would run out of Mana much faster. On top of that, the damage is lower than his main weapon—unlike melee weapon variations of the Skill—which means he often needs multiple shots to kill a monster. Still, with his base Skills, he’s able to cripple them with the first shots.

“New tactics,” Mikito says. “They listened.”

One of the aspects of our briefing was instructing them to mix it up, to change how they were going to do things. Normally, it’d be Freif who ends the fight while Kino holds off the monster. While Kino is still the tank, Ropo is the finisher this time.

I watch as the Grimsar sneaks around the back, using his smaller stature and enchanted equipment to make him easily ignorable. He lines himself up, his traditional axe by his side, and waits. Unlike the others, Ropo’s used a generalist build in his attributes for the Honor Guard. He’s a little like me, with a ton of different Skills all over the map, though he’s put a greater emphasis on Sanctum. Sadly, he was a little unlucky and missed an Evoution for the Skill. That left him with the problem of lacking a finishing move. Even his secondary Classes don’t help, since the poison and toxin Skills he has just don’t add up enough.

Now, he’s using a new Skill he purchased. It’s not what I would have picked, but that’s his call. And in this case, it makes sense.

The Waiting Doom (Level 10) (A)

A base Skill for the Assassins of Hansen, the Waiting Doom allows the assassins to prepare a finishing strike on their target. Feared for its ability to increase base damage of a single type of attack while hiding the point of origin, the Assassins of Hansen are barred from 2,985 solar systems at this time. Luckily, their need to be flamboyant and have a specific calling card makes them slightly less of a Galactic threat.

Effect: Total calculated damage of designated primary attack increases by 55% per minute while user is still and unmoving. Charged attacks can be interrupted. Upon use of attack, assassin gains a 0.55 second time displacement on light, sound, and other incidental effects of attack.

Cost: 100 Mana per minute

Duration: Channelled

It’s not base damage, so this includes buffs and other damage increases. Combined with his Skills as a Poison Specialist, it allows him to stack damage in his attacks. On the other hand, the disadvantage of the Skill is that your primary attack has to be chosen, decreasing your attack options. If you’re sneaking and hiding, waiting for the time to launch your attack, it’s less of a concern.

In Ropo’s case, he’s able to combine the ability to sneak and Skills like Soul Shield and Stand my Ground from the Basic Class to ensure he can charge up the attack, even in a crowded battlefield.

Kino snarls, punching outward and catching a swinging claw as it arcs toward him. His punch shatters the claw, leaving it limp—much like the monster’s other appendages, mutated tentacles. A few formerly mangled limbs twitch and rise as regeneration brings them back into play, but Kino charges in, grappling the monster via its arms, while a remaining sting-like appendage beats on his back. Freif looks back at the group, the reinforcements having died off. Literally.

Ropo is finally ready, the Alpha held still. He throws himself forward with a single, glowing swing, his attack launched from behind. Waiting Doom lights up his axe, highlighting the Mana imbued into the weapon and leaving a trail of golden and sickly green light. It’s the least assassin-like attack I can think of, but there’s a slight delay in what I see and his actual motion. The statistical number of the effect is tiny, but the actual effect in a fast-paced fight is huge.

By the time we—and the Alpha—see Ropo move, the dwarf has already cut through his opponent, leaving a six-foot-long gash across the creature’s body. The wound pulses gold and green, the green rot spreading at speed as the poison modifiers within the attack stack up.

Damage notifications flare all over, but even with Ropo’s charged attack, it’s not enough to kill the creature. Not immediately. As it turns to flee, Freif fires a single shot from his rifle, burning through the stinger arm and tearing it off before it injects itself into Kino. Freed of the distraction, Kino roars and twists, tearing at the torso and the flesh that holds the monster together. The injured portions part, blood and viscera spilling out like a wet, noisy fart.

Probably smells just as bad too.

The Alpha dies, and with it, the Mana storm that makes up the dungeon dies almost immediately. The cleansing of so many monsters by itself was sufficient to start the process, but now, without the anchor of the Alpha, the System has more control.

The trio pant, staring at one another for a few seconds. Freif absently kills straggling dungeon monsters. And then, in unison, they run.

For this is only the first of the three dungeons they must clear.

***

Three hours later, the second team of Magine, Gheisnan, and Anayton are cleansing the fourth dungeon of the day. Deep within the remnant and twisted town, the group clear buildings—or in some cases, just tears them down. They’re making good time, having taken over from the original trio, and are busy decimating the remaining monsters.

The monsters here are a weird semi-sentient amalgamation of golem and matter, so the group has to switch attacks constantly to deal the most effective damage. However, Gheisnan is making his usefulness known by calling out resistances well beforehand, allowing the damage dealers to really go at it.

Unlike the first trio, all of the combatants are clad in full powered suits, using their tech advantage in a different way. They still use a few drones, but those are tasked with dealing with smaller menaces—the usual array of Leveled insects, prey, and scrap eaters that make up the fauna of a world.

I’m only paying partial attention to the fight below. Instead, I’m facing the original trio. They’re looking worse for the wear, though damage is quickly healing on Kino’s side, leaving his rocky skin pristine. As for Freif, his scout power armor has been stored away, having taken quite the beating in the second dungeon. And Ropo is clad in his traditional enchanted outfit, axe casually held in one hand.

“Report,” I say.

“Three dungeons destroyed as ordered. Thirty percent of forces in fourth dungeon were eradicated, but Alpha was not located for completion. We used seventy-eight percent of all allocated consumables, with no loss of life on allied part,” Ropo barks.

“And how do you think you did?” I say.

“We completed the objectives as requested,” Ropo replies without missing a beat. When I meet the Grimsar’s gaze, it has no give in it. Nor any hint of his other thoughts.

So I turn from him. “Kino. Your thoughts.”

“We comple—”

“Thoughts,” I snap. “I want you tell me what you think, not repeat what Ropo said.”

Kino freezes in place, the gentle crumbling of rock that makes up even the smallest of his motions stopping. Then he speaks, looking directly at me. “We could have completed the fourth. If we were allowed to use normal tactics. If we went with a trash-and-burn plan for the fourth dungeon when we realized the terrain.”

I note Ropo shift, and I gesture for him to speak.

“We are Honor Guards. And Paladins-to-be. Our job is not to destroy planets, but to save them,” Ropo says. “This town only fell two years ago. There are significant salvage options available, as well as numerous remains of our citizens. Destroying it to expedite a useless—” Ropo clamps his mouth shut.

“A useless training exercise?” I finish for the Grimsar.

The old Honor Guard refuses to finish his sentence, so I ignore it. Knowing him, he’d probably add a lot more inventive cursing to it. The only reason he’s not right now is because we’re on the battlefield. Even then, I’m curious how long discipline will hold.

Dismissing that thought, I turn to Freif. “And you?”

“The new Skills give me more flexibility in small group tactics,” Freif acknowledges. “It decreases my Mana regeneration, which is inefficient in long-term engagements. It decreased my effectiveness by the third dungeon.”

“And you were already heavily invested in Intelligence with low Wisdom,” I conclude for him. “I’d look at fixing that on your next Level ups.”

Freif inclines his head.

“Anything else before Bolo has his say?” I ask, flicking my gaze over the group. Challenging them to challenge me. To voice their opinion.

“I am considering purchasing another Skill to increase regeneration,” Kino says. “It is more efficient for me to take damage and heal with my new Skill than to block damage. It might be even viable to respec entirely.”

I frown, tilting my head. There’s a little truth to what he says but getting a respec done is a painful and expensive process. There are also negatives in terms of experience gain in most cases. Resets of just Skills are even harder, requiring specialized individuals.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Efficiency is one thing, but putting yourself out there to constantly get hurt gets old fast too. Training and will will only take you so far,” I say. “I’d also hold off on any major changes until we get to phase two.”

“Phase two?” Ropo frowns.

I wave Bolo forward. I have no reason to explain my plans to them, not till everyone is here. Instead, I let Bolo dress them down, explain where they failed in their tactics in working together, with the occasional interjection by Mikito on their individual failings. I keep half an ear out, mostly because I can learn a lot from the Dragon Lord on these aspects.

In truth, I kind of feel bad trying to bitch them out about their team tactics. Even with their new Skills and their new formations, they’re smoother and cleaner, more professional than myself and my team. I’ve been learning a lot from watching them, seeing how the pros do it for real compared to the way myself and my team have done.

We’ve been learning and putting it into practice late at night, when the teams are done for the day or with their own trainers. Because at the end of the day, I’m just a talented amateur.

Luckily, Bolo isn’t. And he’s more than happy to advise and critique. I’ve not seen the Dragon Lord this enthused about anything before, almost as if he’s missed working with groups, missed training others. Even if the Dragon Knights aren’t as team-oriented as the Honor Guard, they still train and work together. They have to.

And so, half-listening, half-learning, I watch the group below take on the new dungeon.

***

Hours later, we’re on dungeon number five for the second trio and time’s running out. They’re pushing faster and harder than the previous team—so much so that I’m a little concerned. I eyeball their Health and Mana bars, gauging their needs, and frown further. They’ve used all their potions, popped them into full regeneration and instant increases. Thrice. Additional uses will see significantly lower gains, to the point that it’s not really worth it.

They’re cutting it close with the way they’re pushing. Taking risks, being aggressive. Trying to impress me? Or are they just competitive?

Magine is in the front of the group, dancing past the swarm of monsters coming at him. They got lucky in the previous dungeon, finding a low-level swarm spawn, creatures that looked like mobile tadpoles. Low-level, large numbers. They pulled out their grenades and high explosives, using area effect attacks to clear their way through. Easy.

Now, Magine is facing larger, canine-like monsters with stinger-like tails and eyebeam eyes. Their attacks dig up the ground, tear at his Soul Shield as he swings his swords and rips apart skin and fur, lops off limbs. He’s in the middle of the pack, forcing them to choose to shoot and hit their own friends or face him in melee.

But these are monsters. And self-preservation and care for their own kind is low on their list of concerns. They attack their own friends, Magine, and the rest of the team with abandon, filling the air with the bright flare of their eyebeam attacks.

Anayton forges in behind, dancing around the group with her own weapon. She wields a chain and blade weapon combination, sending the burning, Mana Infused chain to wrap around, punch through, and rend apart monsters, all the while blocking attacks with the blade portion. Unlike Magine, she stays close, playing bodyguard to Gheisnan, buffing him with Two are One and intercepting attackers.

Gheisnan’s the one guiding the group, the reason they’re on number five. He’s found the way to the nearest dungeons quickly. Worked out the weaknesses and routes to the monsters with his Skills and coordinated the pair. He’s an amazing addition to any team, but in return, he’s a liability.

A damage counter floats next to each head, showing the percentage of damage taken. And Gheisnan’s hogging nearly sixty percent of damage of that statistic. Soul Shields, Two are One, resistances, all of it deployed to keep him alive. Small, mobile force screen drones hover around him, blocking attacks. And still, he is bleeding, injured, his regeneration barely able to keep up. His Mana hovering at the last fifth.

“Think they’ll make it?” I ask Mikito and Harry.

Harry shrugs, content to not guess. Mikito holds up a hand, waggling it side to side.

“Yeah, me too,” I acknowledge her hesitation. There’s too much variability. Too much chance. It depends on the Alpha, on what they face. But… “Magine’s doing well.”

“He’s leaving his friends behind,” Mikito says disapprovingly. “Not working as a team.”

“Only this dungeon.”

“Only needs to be once,” Mikito says.

“Once what?” Ali asks.

“To die, baka.”

Ali crosses his arms, glaring at Mikito from where he twirls around. “Rude. John’s the baka.”

“You both are.” She points at Magine’s image on the screen. “Just like him.”

I grunt and fish out a piece of chocolate to ease the pain of truth. It’s from a chocolatery that restarted in Nepal of all places. However, it’s really, really good and my current go-to chocolatier. Something the Yeti craftsmen do make it all the better. “Why do you think he’s doing it?”

“Pride,” Bolo chimes in. “I know his type. If we can temper it, he’ll be a good Paladin.”

“And if we can’t?”

“Then he’ll be a good target.”

I snort but watch the fight below. Time continues to run out, with Anayton finally making the executive decision to pull back. She triggers a series of explosions in the nearby drones, clearing space for herself and Gheisnan to retreat. Leaving Magine as he continues his journey toward the Alpha, disobeying orders, even as time ticks down.

A minute and a half before Magine’s out of time, the dungeon boss makes its presence known. The canine-creature is the size of a rhinoceros, its skin thick and plated with a reinforced dermis, dotted with multiple eyes. The good news is that those eyebeams only fire five at a time. The bad news is that there doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason for their activation other than need.

Magine rushes forward, only to be targeted by three of the beams and thrown backward. His Soul Shield shatters, his health plunges. And I twist my hand sideways, creating the Portal so that he flies through it and onto our hovering platform. He lands and rolls, coming up to his knees, body smoking, blood dripping and making a mess. He rushes toward the Portal, intent on entering it, only to face the broad back of Bolo. The Dragon Lord is slow too, for Mikito’s already through the Portal. I snap the Portal shut behind the Dragon Lord the moment he’s through.

“No! That was my kill,” Magine says.

“No chance,” I say, shaking my head. “You don’t have the Mana to pull off an Army of One,” I say. “And you don’t have the time to wear it down, even if you could.”

And the last part is important, because I watch as Mikito eats fire from the eyebeams of the creature as she attempts to weave her way in. Of course, when Bolo makes his first big attack, the boss fully turns its attention to him. That big hammer of Bolo’s, and its high damage output, is a clear indicator of who is the greater threat.

“Why are you letting them fight?” Freif asks, frowning.

“Might as well finish the dungeon,” I say with a shrug. “And while we debrief, they can pick up a few hundred thousand more experience.”

A large explosion trickles up from below the platform, echoed in the monitors of the ground below. I frown, anger trickling in. A gesture makes the monitors go dark and another makes a second Portal open, allowing the remainder of his team to stagger in.

“So what was that?” I ask.

“Four dungeons and a nearly complete fifth. We would have completed the fifth. If someone had backed me up.” Magine’s lips curl in disgust as he turns around and glares at Anayton and Gheisnan. “I told you not to retreat.”

“And you were not in operational command,” Anayton says. “Gheisnan was. You didn’t listen to orders.”

“As the Paladin has pointed out, we’re not training to be good little soldiers anymore,” Magine sneers. “We’re Paladins. And running from a little danger is ill-befitting a Cha—Paladin.” I frown as Magine corrects himself. “I expected cowardice from the Pooskeen, but from you? I’m disappointed. With your standing—”

“My standing has nothing to do with what was a reasonable and logical choice,” Anayton says. “There was no advantage to us pushing ahead. Receiving significant damage—or losing one of us—for a project that could be done with more safety and care made no sense.”

“You’re thinking of gains and losses like a guard. Like this was an army mission,” Magine says. “But the Paladin is here to train us. We’re here to show what we, as Paladins, can do.” He spins and stares directly at me. “Isn’t that right?”

I don’t answer him, instead locking my gaze on the quiet third of the group. The one who has been key to their success. And yet has kept silent thus far. “And you? What do you think?”

“This one has naught to say,” Gheisnan says, bowing his head to me. “We train at your pleasure.”

I don’t miss the slight mocking tone or structure of his reply. But my own reply is waylaid by the party chat request from below. I open my hands and twist, pulling open the Portal to retrieve my friends from below. They tramp out, covered in blood and guts and smoking a little. I don’t bother waiting, reopening a new Portal moments after I shut the previous one, dumping them in front of the next dungeon. Harry hurries after them, preferring to join the pair and earn a little experience that way than stay up here and watch the drama unfold.

Once my friends are gone and our platform begins its slower journey over, I reply at last to the impatient trio. I raise my voice to include the others. “These training exercises are for me to understand who you are. So, yes. Do what you think is right, like Magine. Or Anayton. Or bitch me out like Ropo and still do your job. Because the gods know, you’ll not have a chance again after you’re a Paladin.” I shake my head. “But you’re also showing me who you are.”

“Think you said that already, boy-o.”

“Shut up.”

At Magine’s frown, I continue. “If you’re so intent on leaving your friends behind, I’m not entirely sure I’d trust you as a Paladin. Maybe, sometimes, that’s necessary. To sacrifice everything for the mission. But you do that when it’s necessary. Not for a stupid test by a guy who you barely know.”

I point at Magine. “Fail.”

Anayton. “Pass.”

“Fail.” Gheisnan doesn’t seem surprised.

Ropo is next. “Fail.” That makes the dwarf frown.

Kino straightens when my finger passes in front of him. “Pass. Barely.”

Freif looks stressed as I point at him last. I let the silence linger, watching the sniper twitch before I speak. “Fail.”

There’s a long silence when everyone takes in my words, then they all talk at the same time.

I snort and wave them down. “I’m not done.”

The group silences pretty fast at that point.

“You have a month. Group together. Work alone. I don’t care. You’re going to clear this planet.” I rub my nose. “We’re going to clear the planet.” I twitch my hand sideways, making a series of drones float over to the group. “These are the drones I’m gifting you. If they get destroyed, buy another. I recommend you buy a lot. I’ll watch what you do. How you do it. Now, you’re dismissed.”

I don’t wait for them to reply, instead jumping backward. A Portal opens up behind me, depositing me in front of the dungeon I’ve picked. From the group, I hear more than a few curses, but I can’t help but smile.

Time to see what they do.

Chapter 13

The specter tears at me, its razor-sharp fingers filled with ice bearing down on my armor. Hod’s Triple-Fused Armor is amazing for most things, and it peels portions of the Mana-generated cold away, but it does nothing to stop the insubstantial hands from passing through and scoring my skin. It and the dozens of others that float around me.

-14 Damage (90% resisted)

-17 Damage (90% resisted)

-3 Damage (90% resisted)

-16 Damage (90% resisted)

-9 Damage (90% resisted)

The damage notifications flicker up again, reminding me of how much my resistances help. I ignore them, absorbing the pain even as the Specters continue to tear into me. Because the biggest problem for the specters as they float around me is that they have to get close.

And my own swords have formed their bladed barricades around me. They spin and twist, lopping off ectoplasmic limbs and torso, tearing gaping holes that trail misty whiteness. Damage accumulates fast for these creatures before they die. But killing them isn’t the problem.

It’s keeping them dead.

If they weren’t mostly insubstantial and translucent, if I didn’t have as high as a Perception attribute and the ability to see across multiple wavelengths, I might not be able to see down the choked hallway. Even then, it’s like staring down a road on a foggy winter morning, on those occasions when the temperature dropped below -40C and the water vapor from the river kept rising, cloaking the grounds of Whitehorse. When it gets that cold, the world itself blurs.

And it is cold. The walls are frozen, the ground is slick with ice, and the creatures themselves are shards of angry frost. I plow through them, refreshing my Soul Shield once in a while when I get tired of eating damage, when I need a little relief from the pain.

I plow through them, one after the other, while Ali strolls along, full size for once, hands behind his back. The specters try to attack him, try to tear him apart. They should be able to do so—but the damn Spirit has pulled out another trick. And so their attacks pass through his body.

“You could help!” I snap at the Spirit as I throw my knives, letting them tear through the specters. I’d noticed my lack of use of them, of using their ability to return to me, in my previous altercations. And, I admit, watching the other Erethrans fight gave me inspiration. The last few weeks have seen me doing my best to integrate the throwing knives into my new fighting style, especially since I’ve got a new sword to deal with.

“And give away my actual position?” Ali snorts. “Unlike someone, I don’t like getting torn into bits. Also, most of my skills aren’t particularly useful against them.”

I know that for the lie it is, but I’m a little too busy to call him out on it. I catch one of my swords, switch its position as it cuts down, deflect another of my own swords with my forearm and send it on another trajectory while making a third sword disappear before it lops off my toe. In the meantime, one floats above my head, ending its trajectory by decapitating a specter. Another finishes dismembering another specter, and the last just floats at my back, fending off potential attacks.

“And I am helping.” Ali floats on as another portion of the wall highlights itself.

I cut upward, watching my swords shift direction again, and I duck low, releasing my soulbound sword and snatching a knife from its sheath. An underhand toss and it tumbles through a specter, cutting through the wall. Behind, the totem shatters and a half-dozen specters howl and disappear.

Experience rolls in, discounted as the monsters aren’t true monsters but dungeon creations. Specters, half-formed immaterial golems, are held and replicated by totems laid throughout the building. I’ve been grinding through this dungeon, the sixth largest in the damn planet, for the last three days. Plunging deeper and deeper each day, and all the while, a portion of my mind gets updates.

Data streams in from drones, verbal communications, and the party chat. Even the occasional report. All of it flowing through the neural link, all of it mixing with the slew of knowledge that keeps bursting into my mind from the library. Tests on golems, System creations that the Questors try to make sapient, AIs driven mad by the prods of Questors and System-manipulation, destroyed in fire and flame. Long-winded diatribes.

And more updates. On how my friends are faring. How the initiates are managing.

Magine fighting in a team this week. Chopping apart a half-dozen flying monsters, literally hopping from one monster to the next before bouncing off the mountain walls to ascend higher. Freif, hiding in the distance, providing covering fire and picking off monsters. Even as Ropo continues to climb stealthily to the top. Where a giant egg resides, the prize and ending for their dungeon.

Kino is fighting by himself, plowing through a marshy dungeon. Water-logged, dragged down, and pounded into the ground, the Risen struggles to his feet time and again to tear at the wet, seaweed-like tentacles that attack him. He punches his way through, the Thousand Blades option on his gauntlet making them larger, allowing him to hit harder. Blade Strike becomes a power punch projection from his gauntlets, shooting Mana-infused attacks into the water and showering him with seaweed and gore. Always pushing ahead, never concerned about being drowned. Or being alone.

Gheisnan is by himself too. He’s been alone for the last half of the month, even as the other Paladins join together and split apart, tackling challenges in makeshift teams as necessary. Except for him. Where the Shaman used to rely on others, buff others, he’s in the midst of the fight now. Teeth bared, small daggers plunging in and out of the creatures he fights like a sewing needle. He’s savage, using teeth, claws on his feet, and his knives as he clears dungeon after dungeon. Trying to prove himself to me.

But I’ve noticed he never takes on one that’s over-leveled. He always knows when to pull back. When to retreat and recuperate. And come back later with even more savagery and determination.

As for Anayton, she’s working through the remnants of the fourteenth-strongest dungeon. She’s been there for the last week, even when the other members of her initial team split off, deciding to clear other areas first. She’s stubborn and persistent, constantly hunting the myriad monsters that have made the dungeon their home.

For the fourteenth-strongest dungeon is also the physically largest. Monsters of all kinds live in the remnants of the alien, skyscraper city. Forcing Anayton to travel up multiple floors, across creaking, worn floors and skywalks, to battle among crumbling remnants of civilization. Buildings fall, thunder rumbles, and monsters hunt her in a never-ending swarm. And still, she refuses to leave. Refuses to stop as she hunts for the boss. As she thins their numbers, all in preparation for the rest of us to help her.

Or end it herself.

There’s a staggering arrogance involved. I would have dropped a couple of nukes—or Beacons of the Angels—and called it a day. But she’s in no such luxury. Her Army of One Skill would drain her too much, take away her other options. She needs to grind them down. Step by step, kill by kill. And she does.

It’s impressive.

It’s idiotic.

It’s perfect.

***

“WHO DARES DISTURB MY REST!?!”

The voice rocks my world, thrumming through my flesh and blood, vibrating within my very bones. It’s dark and ominous, eerie in its pronunciation, more felt than heard. It cuts through Hod’s Armor with ease, throwing up damage notifications with each syllable.

Fear Effect Resisted

Aura of the Final Passage Resisted (94%)

Even through my mental resistances, the pressure of the creature’s aura, the terror it invokes with its words batters my mind, clutches at my soul. Reminds me of how mortal I am, that it is only a small step from life to death. When that eternal embrace will hold me, bringing me to my final end… just a small step, a closing of eyes, a blade in the gut.

“Yeah… creepy voice. Check.” I eyeball the creature floating before me. The boss monster is nearly a hundred feet tall, having emerged from the ground itself when it finally deigned to make itself known. “Faceless void for a face. Check.”

Black chains erupt from its body, crisscrossing the space between us. I jump and spin, dancing across the rattling chains, stepping on them, the air, and my own blades as I cross the distance to it.

“And of course, big flowing, spectral robes. Check.”

A chain glances off my armor, throwing off sparks. More damage notifications flash up, reminding me of the danger I’m in.

“Chuunibyou confirmed.”

Blade Strikes erupt from my sword, cutting at the monster. Spectral chains block the cuts, wrapping themselves together into an impromptu shield. I don’t stop, cutting apart spiked chains as they reach for me, throwing out a few more Blade Strikes while dropping a couple of grenades. From the corner of my eyes, I’m watching, waiting. A trio of knives fly out, criss-crossing the space between us as I near the monster. But the closer I get, the denser the chains become.

Eventually, I slip up and get smashed backward. I land, flipping around and rolling, as I note damage reports. Soul Shield, even in its upgraded form, barely stops the blow. My own attacks have done almost nothing, with only a few edges of my Blade Strikes catching it. A quick cast places a Zone of Denial right on top of the monster, stacking area effect damage and degrading his chains. But I watch as its passive regeneration ignores it. I snort, absently debating using one of my Mana grenades on it, then dismiss the waste of equipment.

I have enough information now. Enough to gauge damage numbers, to understand resistances.

“I WILL SUP ON YOUR SOUL!”

The monster has been muttering things like that the entire time. It’s rather embarrassing really. You’d think a faceless boss monster would have better lines than a twelve-year-old’s first writing attempt. Thinking that, I can’t help but repeat the thought out loud.

“YOUR CORPSE WILL BE REANIMATED, YOUR SOUL RETURNED TO ITS MANGLED REMAINS, ONLY FOR ME TO CRUSH IT ONCE AGAIN!”

“Okay, that was better,” I say, cutting aside a trio of chains that manage to reach me. “Maybe if we keep this up, you might even get a decent repertoire.”

“John, it’s nearly time. No more playing around,” Ali tells me. He’s well back from the fight. Even his ability to adjust his position by bending light and displacing himself with his Elemental Affinity can’t help him when there are so many chains flying around.

“YOUR FLESH WILL BE FLAYED FROM YOUR BONES AND EATEN BEFORE YOU. YOUR—”

“I get it,” I say.

I’ve got enough information, so I start with the simplest of my Skills. Above the creature, a ritual circle appears, energy building. The boss notices—it’s impossible not to notice—and additional chains erupt from its body. But for the first time, I see a limit, as it retracts some that it used to protect itself in order to build its defense.

Beacon of the Angels calls down a column of white light, a cylinder of burning energy that tears at the monster, melting the chains that protect it. One after the other shatters, dissolving into motes of Mana and steel. A single Beacon isn’t enough though, and I trigger another and another, layering them on the monster and keeping it busy. Damage notifications flash, but I’m not done.

Next, I grab one of my knives and mentally trigger the Skill I bought. Payload activates, and I reach out to imbue the knife with Army of One. I then Blink forward, bouncing right past most of the chains and catching dumbkoff by surprise.

Partly because I’m entering the attack range of my own spell. But not all plans are perfect. And in this case, in the midst of my Blink Stepping in and out, twice in rapid succession and adding Blade Strikes and the glare of my attack, the knife flies. Hidden.

To aid the spell, a simple area denial via Gravitic Sphere is formed, low to the monster’s body. It drags chains down even as I channel more and more energy into it. Making its defense, above and below, difficult.

The knife goes right through the creature’s remaining defenses, such a small thing that the boss specter never sees it. Never sees it before it lodges in its body, glowing. And then, in one second, all the strength of the attack, of Army of One, is unleashed.

Point blank range.

There’s no replication of multiple blades, no showy special effects. No, it’s just a bolt of pure energy that explodes through the boss, carving it apart and blowing a giant hole in it. And since the knife was still rotating a little when it impacted and twists, because gravity has a say, it continues firing and bisecting the monster. Body torn, defenses compromised, the remaining Beacon cuts through.

The scream it unleashes hurts, making my bones vibrate even as I Blink Step the heck out of there. I trigger Blink Step three times in quick succession, dodging the dying end of my spinning blade of doom, before the specter finally dies in an explosion of dark energy, its body parting in mists and shadows, Mana dispersing into the world and returning to the System.

I watch it die, bat aside the experience notification, and watch as Ali loots the glowing remnants. I idly kill off a few more specters that appear next to me, still intent on finishing the job. But without their alpha, their strength has diminished greatly. So much so that a few dozen drones keeps them busy while other hunter-killer drones get to work. In the meantime, I ponder something much more interesting.

Level Up!

You have reached Level 41 as an Erethran Paladin. Stat Points automatically distributed. You have 21 Free Attributes and 2 Class Skill Points to distribute.

Finally. It’s taken ages to crawl up to Level 41, and that’s after my big fight at the end of the station battle. Technically, this is the Level the Queen’s been waiting for. The one that would give me access to the third tier. I’m not going to tell her though, because I want a few more Levels first. In addition, I can’t afford to take a Class Skill—just in case the new Skill shows up on their reviews. Which leaves both my Free Attributes and Class Skill points unused.

Just as interesting, as I browse through my notifications, is the lack of dungeon completion notice. No dungeon completion notification. No title. No increased experience. In fact, the entire experience is quite different. And I realize once again why Dungeon Worlds are so important.

Back on Earth, this dungeon might not disperse at all. It’d stick around, allowing people to grind their way through multiple times. Depending on the System and the local settlement owners. But just as importantly, it’d give completion bonuses, experience boosts.

Here, nothing. I just get a notice that the dungeon is dispersing and I’m left to make my way out.

I’d ask why the difference, but I know. It’s in the underlying structure of Dungeon Worlds and “normal worlds.” The way they’re first introduced to the System, the way the connections are built. They’re quite different, and so, some aspects, some robustness of a Dungeon World’s underlying systems are in place that just aren’t on other worlds.

It’s why Dungeon Worlds can take more Mana, why they can handle more monsters. And why they’re so lethal for sapient species.

As I leave, abandoning Ali to do the looting and sorting of the drones, I can’t help but wonder if there’s an alternate reality where Earth never became a Dungeon World. Where our envoy was never killed, where Galactic politics hadn’t interfered.

Where my family still lived. Where seven billion people integrated…

My eyes tear up a little and I swipe at them. Stupid headache. High Constitution or not, grinding and not sleeping for multiple days has consequences.

“John? We’re all waiting for you.” Mikito’s voice comes across the party chat, interrupting my thoughts.

“Sorry. Just cleaning up. I’ll be there in a second.” I draw a deep breath, wipe my face, and cast a Cleanse. Best look presentable. There’s still work to be done.

I can rest later, when I’m done.

***

“Welcome back,” I greet the initiates after stepping through the Portal.

The group is looking fine, if a little weary and frayed around the edges. Most are slumping ever so slightly, the shine of their new training worn off. Most have changed into their everyday uniforms, their equipment damaged and worn after a month of continuous fighting. Even Kino, the rockman, is looking crushed, left arm cradled tight to his granite body.

We’re standing in the middle of the same floating barge, hovering over the remnants of the city Anayton was fighting in. To complete that dungeon, the vast majority of the city had to be destroyed under the combined assault of the initiates. Even then, they’d have failed if not for a last-minute assist from Bolo. Surprisingly—or not—our information had been wrong. The city had not been a single dungeon but a pair, with a much smaller, much higher Level dungeon hidden deep within the city itself—in its sewers. Its boss had risen upon provocation, nearly costing a few lives as it soared into the sky.

I’ve got partial recordings of the fight, since the incidental damage was sufficient to wipe out most of my drones. Enough to make me wonder how powerful Bolo really is. He’d taken the damn monster on by himself for the most part, going toe-to-toe, hammer and claw.

The boss had been a multi-story creature of darkness and dripping poison, lurid purple-and-green liquid flowing from its body, leaking from wide open pores. Bat wings, four of them, sprouted from its back, a horned half-head with a single, baleful eye that stared back. It screeched constantly, its wings twitching and guiding the half-blind monstrosity as it fought. Its very presence warped the air, poisoning it, decaying stone and steel in equal measure.

I remember the last few seconds of their fight, caught on one of the remaining drones.

A claw smashes into the ground, kicking up dirt and rubble. A nearby building, already teetering on its last legs, falls to the ground, throwing up more debris. The monster pulls its claw back, swinging its other arm as it does so. Poison drips down its body, coating the ground and making it sizzle, with each movement.

A small figure, almost too small to see at first in comparison to what he fights, appears from the smoke as the claw retracts from the dust cloud. It runs up the claw, flame wreathing his entire body, originating from the hammer head. It grows with each second, burning away the poison that tries to infect the Dragon Lord.

And then Bolo jumps—as the boss notices him. As it launches globs of living, twisting poison blood cells. Bolo blasts one away with a gesture, using a spell to cast it aside. To let him close the distance. Air parts and burns around the blow, the concussive force and speed pushing the poison away even before the hammer lands.

When it does, it crushes and tears through the monster’s reinforced skin, muscle and skin warping beneath the blow. Flesh crisps and burns, kinetic energy pushing all the way through the creature’s chest, delivering pain and damage. Energy, contained and released. The force travels through the monster, held inward for a second, before it bursts apart like a grape swung at by a golf club. Its body collapses backward, wings unable to hold it aloft as it crashes into the ground. A crater forms as even more debris is blasted apart. A crater painted with its insides.

Organs, spine, and nerves spin through the air, blasted miles away. Covering rubble and torn apart streets with gore.

And the boss dies.

“So you all survived,” I say, flicking my glance over the others then shaking my head. “Even if some of you are worse for wear.”

I take in the information about the state of the world. We failed, of course. One month for nine people to clear out a whole world of its Mana oversaturation problem was just a little much.

“You failed. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

Silence greets my question as the initiates regard me. I wonder if I’m doing it right. If there’s a right in all this. I understand a little about Erethran military culture, and a little of our own, pre-System. I wonder what it’s like now, after the System. How armies and other groups work together.

I know, theoretically, that elite teams were a little more relaxed in the way they interacted with one another. The way they talked back and forth, argued. Because everyone was an expert, how everyone had to know the whole plan to ensure they could carry it out. The Erethrans are the same way, because everyone who is in the Advanced Level are elites.

But I’m trying to train them to become Paladins. And that’s different too. Because we are lone wolves who have to work in teams. We have to step outside of the boundaries of social custom to enforce justice. Or what we view as justice.

And really, the truth is, I’m making all this up as I go along. So…

“Come on, speak up.” I gesture. “This is your chance to complain about how unfair it was. That this wasn’t a viable mission to begin with.”

“Why would we want to tell you what you already know?” Magine says, lips curling. “You never expected us to finish this. You just wanted to see us expend Mana.”

“Mana and Health,” I reply languidly. “I was curious how you’d react to pressure. And if you’d succeed. Because this was no impossible task.” I turn to Bolo. “What did you say were their chances of finishing?”

“Twelve percent. If they took into account and planned for the formation of new dungeons in inappropriate locations as they continued their assault,” Bolo replies.

“Exactly. And, it seems, none of you did,” I say. “Any other mistakes you saw?”

“Not using us,” Mikito pipes up, her arms crossed. “We never received a single direction from them.”

“Would you have listened?” Ropo growls, arms crossed beneath his barrel chest. His beard floats and ripples in the high altitude winds, showcasing the white roots beneath.

“You’ll never know now, will you?” I reply.

“Their coordination with local forces was decent. But they failed to call in additional help,” Bolo says, shaking his head. “Some of the initiates”—Bolo stares at Magine and Kino, one after the other—“took too long in their mop-up. They should have left local forces to finish the minor spawns after they dealt with the boss.”

There’s a slight stirring at those words, but Kino nods slowly.

“And, of course, some felt the need to prove themselves more than finishing the job.” This time, Bolo’s words are directed at Gheisnan and Anayton. Their faces flush—or at least, Anayton’s does. I have a hard time telling what’s going on under all that fur with the Pooskeen.

“So. Final score?” I ask.

Bolo shrugs, not wanting to answer. I look at Harry, only to find the reporter slumped in the corner, sleeping. I snort, amused to see the reporter down. Unlike the rest of us, he’s not specced for Constitution, but he’s had the most work to do, recording, editing, and finally, broadcasting our results. It’s only the debriefing that he has no hand in.

“Not for us to say,” Mikito voices her thoughts softly.

“Nor mine. Ali?” I say, gesturing for the Spirit to do his thing. I’d already passed the message to him mentally, so this is just theatrics.

A moment later, a much larger viewscreen blooms, one that’s visible for everyone to see as the light projectors form the face. It’s a familiar face, at least for the initiates.

World Leader Hanna of Seepgra stares at us, coral ears scuffed and unpolished, bags under her eyes and lines across her face. But when she speaks, it’s respectful. “Paladin. You called?”

“How is the cleansing going?” I say.

“Slowly. We don’t have enough settlement cores or the personnel to guard the ones we do have. Reinforcements are still a week away, but we’ve been able to lock down at least seventy percent of the locations freed,” World Ruler Hanna says. She runs a hand along her coral ears, then when she realizes she’s doing that, she snatches her hand away. “Our Elites are dealing with some of the smaller, newer Alphas that are popping up. Your people did good work, cleaning out so many dungeons. Especially those in the top ten.”

I nod, flicking my gaze sideways as a notification pops up. I grimace at the information it offers. “The Guilds?”

“Whining,” Hanna replies flatly. “But they didn’t get the job done. And we’ll have more dungeons they can raid soon.”

“Then, World Ruler, your final opinion?” I say.

“Passable,” Hanna says. “In another year, we should be able to regain control of the planet. If we’re able to hit my immigration goals.”

Something in her voice at the end made my eyes narrow. But it’s not something I want to tackle right this second. Another call then, later. “Thank you, World Ruler.”

“You’re welcome,” Hanna says. And then she flicks her hand, killing the feed before me.

Her abruptness makes me smile slightly. I guess even the rank of Paladin doesn’t hold much sway when things are as busy as it seems.

“Well then, boys and girls, you heard the lady,” I say, turning to the initiates. “You passed.” There’s a stir from the group, surprise and happiness that quickly gets masked by concern as I continue speaking. “Good thing too, because if you’d failed, I’d have to kick a few of you out.”

I offer them all a smile then wave a hand. A Portal opens, one that leads back to the main settlement base of Seepgra. “You have three days. Rest, reequip, train. Stage two will get a lot worse.”

As the group trundles off, I lipread Kino as he rumbles to his friends, “That wasn’t stage two?”

I can’t help but grin, especially when Mikito meets my gaze.

Yeah, stage two is going to be fun.

Chapter 14

It is the night of our return to the capital planet Pauhiri. Instead of having a nice, relaxing break, I’m here. Striding up the hallway, being stared at by many, many jealous figures, while I hang off the arm of my more beautiful and graceful companion. Multiple cloth banners—reproductions of military unit standards—hang from the walls, telling their own tale of victory. Scattered throughout the hallway are small pedestals holding captured trophies, military equipment, and the occasional Legacy weapon. And that’s just the entrance walkway from the teleportation chamber.

We’re in the Viscountess of the Purple Sky March’s abode, invited to one of her semi-annual soirees. The invitation had been waiting for me when I got back, Catrin’s call not far behind. She had been so excited, so thrilled by the idea of going, that I couldn’t say no. I have to admit, it was smart of the Viscountess to send an invitation to Catrin as well—dependent on me coming, of course.

I still would have declined, mind you, if I didn’t have my own objectives tonight. After my private talk with World Ruler Hanna, it was quite clear that certain steps need to be taken if all our hard work is not to be wasted.

“Are you sure about this, boy-o?” Ali floats alongside us, visible to everyone even if he wasn’t directly on the invitation. After all, Companions are considered part of one’s retinue, and a single addition like him is nothing compared to the dozens some of these nobles have.

In fact, as I walk, I spot a young lady—the Countess of Jade—with floating butterflies all about her head. Strange form for a companion, but then again, Ali is really a floating ball of spiritual energy and Mana. The only reason he looks like an overweight Middle Eastern man is because I somehow, somewhere in my brain, felt that was the ideal form for a spirit.

“Got to get going on stage two.” I turn my head from side to side, searching for my target.

Problem is, even after gene therapy, I’m six feet two and everyone else, even the women, is at least seven feet tall. That means I’m at a major height disadvantage. Mostly, I see a lot of chins and necks, suited bodies and gowned women. And others, who float in between. Erethran biology is kind of fascinating…

“John?” Catrin leans in and murmurs into my ear, waking me from my reverie.

“Right. Keep moving. You lead, I’ll follow.” I offer her a wan smile. It’s a bit annoying how fast she’s picked up on my inability to stay focused.

“Find him for me, will you?” I send to Ali.

I get a mental assent from Ali before he buzzes up to the ceiling. He joins a bunch of other flying companions—some of them sapient and verbal, others just glowing balls of power. There are even a few flying AIs running drones up there. In either case, I’m sure he’ll let me know when he finds who we’re here for.

In the meantime, Catrin’s tugging me along, dragging me over to meet our host.

Julierudi K’nillam, Viscountess of the Purple Sky March, is a striking figure clad in a purple outfit that swirls and shimmers with every motion. Stars appear, flare, and die on her clothing while projections of spaceships swoop in graceful arcs around the curve of her hips and down the slits, caressing her long legs. The entire dress is a masterpiece of military valor and glory, underscored by the subtle background of capital ships in muted colorings.

Unlike her military photograph, the Viscountess is significantly more striking in person. Makeup does a good job of masking the size of her nose, decreasing the visible projection of the extremity to make her beautiful. The mutation makes what is normally a tiny knob of a nose a dominating feature of her face, drawing eyes to it and her lush lips below. Of course, that’s based off human tastes. As I understand it, she’s considered incredibly ugly among Erethrans. It explains, among other things, her lack of companionship and relationships outside of the Admiralty.

It also says something about her personality that in a world where buying a new nose probably wouldn’t cost more than a few thousand Credits, she refuses to do so. Not entirely certain what it says, but it says something.

“My dear Paladin, such a pleasure to see you.” Julierudi steps forward, doing the entire air kissing next to my face thing. We get a couple looks, and I lipread people muttering about strange human customs.

I’m a little too amused to tell them that that’s a European thing, not a North American greeting. And definitely not a greeting you’d give a physically repressed Chinese Canadian. Of course, having blood and guts spilled all over me and being in close contact, grappling and training, with all kinds of creatures has ridden me of my issue with physical contact.

Mostly.

“Viscountess. Pleasure to see you too. Thank you for the invitation. I’m sure you know Catrin,” I say, stepping back and detaching myself from the Viscountess. At the same time, I offer up Catrin.

The two women offer their own greetings. This one is more restrained, a smile, a sweep across the tops of their chests where medals might have hung if they were in uniform. All it does is drag my attention to certain areas of the body. But it’s a more traditional Erethran greeting. So who am I to say anything?

While I’m busy admiring the women, the two ladies have passed on their verbal greetings. But just as quickly, Catrin is discarded, relegated to a footnote as Julierudi focuses her attention on me.

“I heard you just returned from Seepgra?” she says. “I trust it was a good training period.”

“It was good enough.”

“Is the planet stabilized?”

“Not yet. It will be, once more immigrants arrive,” I say those words with the same tone, same inflection as I would use to talk about dinner. Maybe a sports game. I’d be much more excited about dinner.

“Ah.” Julierudi smiles at me, head tilting ever so slightly. “It’s like that, is it?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Julierudi goes silent, her eyes going distant before she focuses again on me. “Well, I won’t keep you. Do try the food and enjoy the dancing. Perhaps in the north hall?” When I nod, taking her hand and kissing over it, Julierudi smiles. “Do make sure to see me before the end of the evening. I would hate to not speak with you again.” The Admiral then gestures to the side, and a young man bows slightly. “If you can’t find me, please ask for my nephew. He’s quite well-versed in most of my affairs and can help you with anything you need. Tonight, or in the future.”

I incline my head in thanks, for both the directions, the invitation, and the introduction.

Seconds later, she’s off, greeting another important noble, another player. Some corporate industrialist, from what I recall. It’s only when she’s gone and I’ve beaten off a couple more wannabe social rank climbers that we manage to begin our journey to the north hall.

Catrin leans into my ear and murmurs, “What is this about?”

“You’ll see.” I offer her smile, content to let her wait.

It’s not a big secret. Not big enough that it really would change things in the next few minutes if I told her. But some aspects of their military culture have started catching on. Like operational security. She doesn’t need to know. So I won’t say.

We enter the north hall, sweeping past open doors with a smile and nod. Unlike the main greeting hall, the northern hall is decorated with a more tropical theme. Floating fish—chirping five-limbed, lightly furred creatures—swing from what I’d call tropical rainforests. If our trees moved and tried to eat its inhabitants. A significant amount of solid light projections are involved in the display, but as my fingers brush against one of the plants and come away slightly sticky; I realize there’s just as much real vegetation scattered about. It gives the entire display a surreal and physical sense that hard light projections miss, for the plants bring with them the smell of turned earth, fresh oxygen, and bleeding sap.

“I found him.” Ali’s flashing waypoint on my minimap directs my feet as we edge around the hall.

Ali’s floating high above, along with some of the more active guests. They’re swooping through hanging branches and vines, dancing and playing. There’s a game of laser tag—with real lasers—going on above, shield drones taking care to soak up errant blasts. A cyan buzzer goes off and one of the Erethrans grumbles, floating down to the floor as he’s knocked out of the game. For now.

The sight catches my attention, and another piece of data unfolds. I shake it off, pushing aside the information. I have no idea how the rules and intricacies of a social sport has anything to do with the System Quest, and right now is not the time to explore.

Catrin shoots me a worried glance, leaning in close. “Are you okay?”

I can only offer her a half-smile, placating her. Telling her would be a bad idea. For millions of reasons. But I reassuringly pat her arm. It’s nice to have someone show they care. Even if it is fake.

As we near my target, I turn on Society’s Web. The Mana drain isn’t the problem with the Skill—it’s the strings that float everywhere. Even with training and practice, I still have to focus to make some strings disappear, make others come to the fore. After all, Society’s Web shows all the obligations, all the duties and feelings we create with one another. And even for an introvert, it’s a significant number. To help me focus, I turn to stare at Catrin, taking her in.

My date’s in a shimmering dress, all tight curves, off-shoulder beauty, and plunging neckline. But I’m more focused on the threads that erupt from her body, that cover her form and attach themselves to the individuals around us and fly deeper into the city and the palace. A deep, dark purple, thick but shimmering in the way that denotes a shared obligation. That string is similar to the ones every single individual in this room has, all leading to the Queen.

Another, this one dark red with flashes of pink and mauve, twists and beckons. For an ex-flame I’ve never met, but for whom she still holds a little feeling. It isn’t the only red and pink string. In fact, there are more of those than I care to count. Or should. A lady has her secrets and a gentleman doesn’t pry.

Idly, I confirm that Brerdain’s string with hers is the same. There’s still some minor connection, but the color and thickness hasn’t changed. I’d assume she’s being paid a little for some information. Or it could very well be the simple acquaintanceship he mentioned.

There are numerous such connections, threads of those she’s been with, obligations and favors owed as she continues her social journey. A dark brown-gray thread leads into the city. Another, lighter purple-white, that I know is for her hairdresser. She’s arm candy and companion, friend and confidant. And more. And all that means she has one of the most fascinating webs I’ve ever seen, more layered and complex than the majority. Her relationships are never simple, all of them complex. Even the one she has with me…

“You’re staring, my dear,” Catrin says as she breathes into my ear.

I blink, tearing my gaze away from her, realizing we’ve stopped. Like the social chameleon she is, Catrin’s hanging off my arm just enough to make it seem as though we’re having a discreet conversation, and not that I’ve wandered off again into the maze of my mind.

“Can you blame me? When you dress like that? I love the necklace,” I say, covering up my mistake. I push with my mind, shedding the majority of the strings, and look around, letting my subconscious work the angles, the data. It’s harder than it seems, especially because so much of my processing power is taken up by the damn library.

“Well, we could leave and you could take it off me. Or we could find some place quiet…” Catrin teases, her voice low and husky.

I feel a stir down below but ignore it. She’s good, but Roxley was better and I spent years learning to ignore that damn elf. I feel a flash of guilt but push it aside. We never promised anything to one another, beyond the barest of connections. It was never a viable relationship, not when he’s a Truinnar and I’m… me. And if I know I’m lying to myself, that’s between me and my conscience.

“Down, girl,” I say. “There’s work still to be done.”

“For you.” She smirks at me.

“And you. I’m sure there are few connections you want to make.” I flash her a grin and she shrugs unashamedly.

“If you’re willing. It’s not as if you’re going to be my sugar daddy for ever.”

I scratch my temple, wondering if it was a translation error in my brain or if she really used that term. It’s not as if it’s an organic learning of languages, this Shop download of Erethran. I don’t exactly have a dictionary in my brain to check against. Occasionally, terms we hear are just close approximations.

“After I’m done,” I say. “Though we’ll have to see who wants to talk to us afterward.”

She laughs, squeezing my bicep in support. “It’s okay. If necessary, I can leave you to fend for yourself. I’m sure you’ll find more than enough company either way.”

She traces her gaze to a number of women, and a few men, who are eyeing us. Not in the political “what can they do for me” way, but in a more carnal manner. At first, I’d dismissed their gazes as being focused on her. But among other things, Society’s Web ensures I’m not mistaken where their regard leads to.

I really could have used this in my twenties, in the club scene. Or maybe not. I’m not sure my ego could have handled it back then. Young, male, and unsure? I might have retreated into my code further.

Either way, it’s a new thing. Being a person to be lusted after. And I know part of it is because of my Charisma, my aura, my status. It’s still kind of nice. Not that I intend to take advantage of it, not anymore.

All of those thoughts fade away as I finally spot my target. Like most others in here, he’s filled with lines, threads that lead between him and others. Except unlike most others, most of those obligations are toward him.

The Lord of the Infinite Keeps is from an old and prestigious house, having provided soldiers for the imperium since their very beginning. For their loyal service, they’ve been given great lands, entire solar systems. And of course, they’ve garnered the arrogance that comes with such prestige.

Kremnock Ucald, Duke of the Infinite Keeps, Cretigrad of the Spears, Malefactor Imperium, Slayer of Goblins, Slimes, Grishnak,… (more) (Level 34 Erethran Vice Marshal) (M)

HP: 3480/3480

MP: 2480/2480

Conditions: Aura of Marshal’s Command, Under my Rule, Only Death and Taxes, Personal Force, Confidential Business

“Vice Marshal?” I send up to Ali.

That’s a new one. Most go direct to General or in a few cases Admiral. I’ve not seen Vice Marshal, though I’m assuming it’s an air force designation. Then again, from what I understood, the Air Force has been subsumed into the general army, since so many of the army can fly or are abusing things like hoverboots and mecha. In fact, outside of a small branch of dedicated transport specialists, the Erethran Army is mostly divided into the general army and the space navy.

Of course, there are units within those designations with individual Generals deciding on how they like to split things up, but the uniformity of the units and general training means they can also work together with only the slightest hiccup. It’s still a little complicated, especially for someone like me. And, truthfully, I don’t really need to know.

I seem to be saying that a lot.

“Vice Marshal. It’s a general rank for those without a unit directly under their command, but who still want some of the perks of being a ranking officer. Quite common about a hundred years ago but fallen out of favor recently among the Erethran nobles. Splits skills between personal bonuses, unit bonuses, and domain bonuses. Most put emphasis on the unit in their domain,” Ali provides the details as usual, having anticipated my question.

But as he was detailing skills, we’ve already reached the man. He’s noted my approach and hasn’t made a move away from me. Which is a good thing. I’d hate to have to chase him down in public.

“Ah, Paladin. It’s good to see you,” Kremnock says when I approach. He even offers me a formal greeting, that weird salute from the chest. “I was just telling my friends that we’ve sorely missed having Paladins overlook our activities.”

Even if I didn’t have a finely tuned sarcasm detector, I could pick it out here. So instead of returning the greeting, I look him over. He’s not wrong about the friends part though, as threads around him vibrate to his words. Multiple lines of obligation vibrate and twitch as his hangers-on and audience laugh as he wishes. More surprisingly, he’s got a thick, brilliant red, burgundy, and pink thread leading to his wife who swoops and ducks above. The thread speaks of love. True love, if you believe in things like that.

Otherwise, when I filter for business and military contacts, the strings he has to pull on are numerous. They don’t just include the nobles clustered around him, but more—much more. Prestigious, old, and connected.

When I notice that Catrin, in her usual social mode, moves to pacify him in my silence, I pull gently on her arm hooked onto mine. She’s smart enough to stop, shifting from the beginnings of an apology to a demure smile.

“Paladin? It is common to reply to others, in Erethran society,” says Krenmock.

“Oh, I was going reply. I just trying to decide if it was with a punch or not,” I say.

My casual threat isn’t taken lightly, with a few of his hangers-on putting their hands on weapons.

“But it would be poor taste to spill blood outside of a formal challenge,” I say. “And that isn’t the kind of party that the Vicountess has chosen to host.”

“How have I generated the ire of our illustrious Paladin? After all, I do not believe we’ve met,” Krenmock says. “Did I, perhaps, tread upon an Earth custom?”

“The planet Seepgra. Your men have been interdicting transports in,” I say.

“It’s for their safety. Seepgra is a restricted planet. There are too many dangers for the unprepared. We do not need to be feeding the monsters, increasing their Levels,” Krenmock replies. It’s smooth and almost plausible.

“Yet somehow, Guilds who have paid you off, who have close contact with you, get through without a problem. And on top of that, any native Erethran who is looking to Level is able to reach the planet.” As we speak, I note the increasing number of stares and scrying orbs. We’re good entertainment in a place that is always looking for gossip. “It’s only non-Erethran groups, Guilds that are out of favor, and competing companies that get stopped.”

“I don’t deal with the details.”

Krenmock’s very careful, making sure that he never tells an actual lie, only partial truths. He doesn’t deny knowledge. He doesn’t deny stopping or giving those orders. Just that he doesn’t do it himself. Its one way of escaping truth-telling Skills. Not that I have one. My Eye of Insight only stops Skills from working on me. They don’t tell the truth.

I think the old Paladins were cynics like me. Society’s Web tells the tale of actions taken, obligations and duties and emotional resonance. But only when those things are acted upon. At the end of the day, it’s the truth of what we do that it shows, rather than the platitudes of what we say. Or try to say.

“I really don’t care.”

My words send a ripple of shock racing through the hall, and a few of his minions hem us in, trying to intimidate by presence alone. They are stilled by a look. Not mine, but the Viscountess, who has made an appearance, though she takes no other overt action.

I say, “Your obstructions stop now. In fact, you’re going to make sure that every single immigrant ship arrives safely.”

“That’s an extremely wide-ranging order. I cannot stop bandits and pirates and lousy maintenance,” Krenmock exclaims, playing to the crowds. “Surely you don’t expect me to provide those immigrants with new ships if theirs break down.”

“Again. I don’t really care.” I give the man a grin filled with teeth. “Get it done, or I’ll find someone else who will.”

The Duke’s gaze sharpens. But before he can ask for clarity, if he’s going to ask for clarity, I walk off with Catrin on my arm. I said what I wanted to say, and maybe it’s the crowds, the way he acted, but he reminded me of Minion, of the mayor. Of the way they tried to shade what they did in the guise of a better world. And it sparked an old hurt. Made me be blunter, cruder than I needed to be.

Whatever.

What will come, will come.

For now, what is, is. And what is is that I’ve got a beautiful lady on my arm who wants to meet a lot of people.

Chapter 15

Julierudi finds me late that night, when things are dying out and I’m seated by myself in a corner. After my last pronouncement, the number of individuals wanting to get to know us had died down a little. A little. I still had to gladhand a bunch, talk to them about their problems, learn a little about what they wanted me to do for them and who they wanted to point me at. I listened, recorded everything, and promised to look into it. And then sent them on their way.

Toward the end of the night, Catrin parted with me, intent on making her own connections. That worked for me, allowing me to find a place to settle down, conjure chocolate, and steal passing food while watching the threads dance. I’ve got a minor headache from keeping the Skill up and running for so long, a mental exhaustion I’d be loathe to carry if I expected violence. But for all my warnings to the kids, this is one of the few areas I’m pretty sure I’m safe.

And the reason, arriving before me in her tall, elegant gown, offers a mocking smile. “Paladin. That was… interestingly done.”

“Sometimes being blunt is the easiest.”

“And sometimes it makes things harder. But you’re not one to shy from the hard work either, are you?” Julieurdi says as she takes a seat across from me.

“Don’t have the time,” I say, gesturing around the group. “If I was here longer, I might have favors to call in, ways to get him to do what I want that aren’t as blunt. But”—I shrug—“I don’t. So I use what I have.”

“The threat of violence,” Julierudi says.

“Yes.”

“And when that fails?” The Viscountess asks.

“We’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Julierudi’s eyes narrow, then she laughs. “You certainly are a breath of fresh air. I’ll be interested to see how Krenmock deals with you.” And how I deal with Krenmock. It could turn out badly for me, solving their problem of more Paladins. Which, I assume, is why she’s supported me this much. “Tell me, are the initiates you’re training going to be similar to you?”

I shrug. “That’s up to them. I’m sure a few might be more diplomatic. Some might even support your abuses.” I lean back in the chair, enjoying the plush comfiness, feeling how I sink into its cream-and-yellow embrace. I dismiss Society’s Web, saving myself from the headache and beginning the recovery process.

“You say abuses, we say efficient distribution of work. Or do you think we should set out bidding processes for every contract? We should try for equality when it’s quite clear who will get the job when we have the Levels and the Classes?” Julierudi says. “Equality is a nice ideal, but it pales under the light of the System.

“Classes and Levels are fixed and clear. There are Classes that are better than others, Levels which are higher. Put together into a corporation or Guild, it is easy to quantify and note who is superior. Why should we waste time taking part in pageantry and sacrifice efficiency? Why should those who have better Levels, who have strived for those Levels, sacrifice for those who are too lazy to improve themselves?”

“And what does Brerdain say of that?”

“Perhaps you should ask him. I wouldn’t want to put words in his mouth,” she says.

I flash her a tight smile. “But I’m asking you.”

She hesitates before indulging my question. “He, and his people, would say that we are too dependent on a few groups. That in doing so, we leave ourselves vulnerable to shocks in the system. That our enemies could exploit that. By hogging Leveling chances, by keeping our services constrained, we harm the growth of our Empire.”

“And?” I raise an eyebrow, curious to hear her rebuttal.

“His way sees the creation of a large number of low-Level Master Classers at best. Focusing our attention on a few, we can push a select number of Artisans to Heroic Levels.”

“Not Legendary?” I say, lips curled up slightly.

Julierudi sniffs. “You should know the answer to that by now.”

I nod in acknowledgement of her point. The gap between Heroic and Legendary is vast. Even for someone like me, my growth has slowed significantly. For “normal” individuals, the climb to Legendary could be considered impossible. At that point, even Artisans need to venture into the Forbidden Zone, need to achieve a number of truly lucky opportunities and take part in some extremely large battles, just to scrape together the experience needed.

No. The jump between Heroic and Legendary isn’t something an Empire, even one as powerful as the Erethran Empire, can achieve just by desiring it. Not with the way experience is gifted, not the way it gets discounted when too much danger, too much help is blocked. I know this better than most.

For I have seen the statistics, watched as specialists, statisticians, and researchers run the numbers. As I think about it, the data floods back. The research tables, the videos, the memo notes. As Questors draw information from across the System Galaxy, across thousands of years. Data, compiled and tested, scenarios modeled. The simple answer is that the System wants individuals, needs individuals, to achieve Legendary Status alone. As if… as if it doesn’t trust an empire with the power to make Legendaries.

This time around, as the information floods past me, I spot something else. Another piece of information, a discussion I’d missed last time. A series of research papers that had been redacted in the normal archive. Of changes in experience gains by the Council, jumps in Levels by those sponsored by the empires and the sudden shift, of new rules and Titles, of deaths. And the sudden cessation of their growth.

A battle played out between the Galactic Council and the System itself, as one and the other tries to push their own goals. It reinforces my knowledge, my understanding, that the System is self-correcting. The question is—is it a sub-routine or a deliberate choice? The problem with a good, self-learning program is that Turing’s Test can easily be fooled. Even so, there are answers here in the way it discounts Titles or alters experience gains from Perks or—in one case—elevated an entire neighboring race to wipe out a hive-mind, single-organism race. The answer it hints at is a guiding intelligence, one that is more than just a sophisticated program.

“Well, it has been a while,” Julierudi says, drawing my attention once again.

I blink, staring at her, and realize I did it again. Faded out as information passed through me. And in the corner of my eye, I notice the System Quest update blink and flash away as experience is provided to me. “A while?”

“Since I have been so thoroughly ignored,” the Viscountess says. There’s a slight smirk on her face, and a bit of a glare.

I’d flush in embarrassment, but I lost that particular concern a long time ago. “Just thinking.”

“Of course,” Julierudi says. “About what?”

“Your support. And those of the others.” I look to the side, watching a few stragglers as they linger.

There’s a group of them clustered around Catrin, chatting with her, vying for her attention. In another corner, a gentleman holds court over his own ensemble of men and women. Ali feeds me details, but I dismiss them. Handsome boy’s a socialite but a non-player. Sprawled across a divan, an older Erethran man, portly with a metal foot, lies, insensate off a concoction of toxins and boosters.

Robots move around, picking up and cleaning the area, putting it all back together. Ali’s flying high above, floating on clouds—literally—as he chats with other Companions.

For all that, I’m also recording Julierudi’s reaction as I speak. “I was led to believe I’d be facing more headwinds in the reestablishment of the Paladins.”

“Oh, many aren’t happy. They remember the purges, the audits. But you’ve done nothing thus far.” She gestures toward the north. “Until tonight, that is. This, and how you and your initiates act, will see your Mana levels rise or fall.” She sniffs. “We understand the need for your Paladins. And better a group that we know than…” She shrugs. “Well, let’s just say the majority are waiting to see what we get. We do recall times when Paladins came from our ranks too.”

“You mean when you found people who would help you nobles get your way,” I say.

“We’re not parasites, no matter what others might tell you. Unlike your politicians, we serve the Empire. Much like those nobles of yours once did,” Julierudi says. “Noblesse oblige, was it? The improvement of our Classes, of our families and guilds, are for the betterment of the Empire. We have been the lance that pierces our enemies’ hearts from the very start.”

“And what many enemies you have. How many active wars are you fighting now? Ernak, Giel, KuzlaMana…” I trail off, trying to remember.

“Uswain, the Spiral Arms of Trenn,” Ali says, floating down finally. “And those are the ones that are hot right now. There’s another half dozen in abeyance, though not at peace. Never mind the other half dozen minor kingdoms which are working with your current opponents to strengthen them. Because they know they’re next.”

“The problem with constant expansion is that everyone knows sooner or later, they’re going to be next. Which means everyone has a good reason to join together to fight you guys. If not for your espionage teams, you’d be facing a much bigger problem.”

“I think you’re mixing my stance with Brerdain’s,” Julierudi says. “While I intend for us to win our current battles, I do not believe further expansion is in our interest at this time. Our population is somewhat more stretched than I would prefer.” She shakes her head. “We need to expand our population, consolidate our latest gains. Including our base on Earth.”

I flash her a half-grin. That too is true. Having that space to develop has ensured the Erethrans can train a large number of their people in a Dungeon World environment. One of the other negatives of a Restricted Zone is the negative experience modifier we all face. It’s due to the System breaking down, just like in a Forbidden Zone. And just like a Forbidden Zone, the experience is banked, but to a lesser degree.

“Not exactly true. You actually have a higher population density than ever,” Ali says. “At least on the fringe worlds.”

“Those undesirables?” Julierudi sniffs. “They aren’t the right kind.”

“You mean native Erethrans,” I say as Ali shoots me the data he’s picked out. It takes only a glance to tell the truth. For a galaxy-spanning empire, it’s still the native Erethrans who hold the majority of the positions at the top. Well. Except for the initiates being trained by me. Which… is interesting.

Huh.

Sometimes I can be a bit oblivious.

“I meant those with the right Classes, the right heritage and training,” Julierudi says. “Those you speak of have little to contribute. Most never make it past Basic Class.”

I grunt, deciding to stop arguing. For one thing, I don’t know enough to say if it’s a structural problem or an actual societal one. Classes matter. A bad Class mix, especially in a militaristic society like this, might be a real problem. If a race trends toward artists and entertainers, they wouldn’t do well in Erethra. Then again…

I shake my head. “Seems simplistic.”

“The numbers are there. If you care to look,” Julierudi says. “The military is open to everyone. Whether they take the offer or not, that is up to them. And once they’ve served their time, they are welcome to move to other planets, to find opportunity elsewhere.”

I offer her a nod, acknowledging her point. I’m sure it’s more complicated than that, but at least I have her stance. And I know what to expect, in part at least. She won’t come after me or the initiates. Not yet. Not until I’ve shown myself to be her enemy. Or a problem.

While I’m contemplating the future, Julierudi stands, smoothing her dress down. “I should continue circulating. There are a few others I’d love to speak with. I’ll trust you and your men to do what is best for the Empire. You might not agree with our society, with what we’ve built, but it has lasted thousands of years. Which is more than most can say.”

As I watch her leave, I can’t help but reflect on her words. As much as I’d like to discount her words, she’s right. For all the flaws in their system, all the problems that I can see, they’ve survived. Where other empires, other kingdoms, other dynasties have fallen.

She glides off, already turning on the charm as she meets another of her wayward guests. And I contemplate the arrogance of wanting to change an entire Empire as an outsider.

***

Morning light peeks out from the horizon, slowly working its way up. I know the dawn will be on us quickly now that the sun has begun its rise. Daylight comes fast on this planet, at least this time of year. The planet’s second moon hangs overhead, glittering with sunlight. After the ball, we’d used a public Portal to hop back to Pauhiri just so that we could rest in peace. Even if the residence they’ve given me isn’t mine, we’ve taken steps to fortify its security.

Turning from the windows—which are already darkening at my behest—I stare at my companion. Her eyes are closed, her breathing deep and even. There’s a smell coming from her body—flowery and light with that hint of nutmeg that I’ve realized is all hers. I know it’s a tech upgrade, nanites working deep within to ensure her olfactory residue is pleasant for her companion. Have to admit, it works. But her hair is disarrayed, coral ears twisted, sheets carelessly discarded with a single foot out. So different from my other companions.

Roxley would be out of bed already, on his neural link and notification screens, working hard as he stretched out muscles. Every moment, every second packed with work and Leveling. Of course, he’d stop the moment he realized I was awake, to join me for breakfast or a meal. But he’d always have that hint of impatience as he longed to get back to work. Impatient to get back to Leveling, to rebuilding his prestige, his people that he’d once failed.

Lana was a morning person too, but she loved lounging in bed. She’d work because she felt it was necessary, because people counted on us. But she’d do it in bed, hair disarrayed, that bountiful, curly red mop of hers splayed around the pillows. If we had any. The gods know, we spent more of our time moving from city to city, fighting monsters, than staying in a single bed. Our times together were rushed, intense… and often heart-breaking in their tenderness.

As for Catrin, it’s lovely. She’s athletic, skilled, and willing to give time and patience. Willing to let me set the tone of our relationship, while insisting on lazing around, sleeping in late. For all that, there’s a distance between us. One I’m not sure either of us really wants to bridge. Our time together is lovely, it’s professional, but it’s not real. What we have, it lies between a one-night stand and a relationship. And if I was the kind of person who brooded about relationships, I’d be concerned about it.

But…

Yeah, fine. I do, but only mildly. Too much of my mind, too much of my life is caught up in other pressures. Like the nosebleed I woke up to as my mind continued to process the library. I had to discard the pillow, store it away to hide the evidence.

“Morning.” Catrin greets me with a smile and a quick kiss. It’s minty and fresh, unlike my own. Nanites again. But she doesn’t complain about my breath. “Admiring, or do you intend to do something about it?”

I briefly consider but discard the idea. I have something else to ask her. “What did you think?”

“Of?”

“Last night. Brerdain and Julierudi. The nobles.” I gesture around. “All this.”

“This being the initiates?” When I nod, Catrin smiles. “Are you really looking for my opinion?”

“I have a feeling your opinion will be quite illuminating.” I open my Skill again, staring at the threads that dance across her form. Stare at the ones that reach into the palace and back into the city, the myriad numbers that fly into space. I let them fade a little from my notice so that I can more easily see the changes as she speaks.

Catrin regards me for a moment before she sits up, pulling the blanket along with her to cover her chest. With her other hand, she nudges displaced hair back into place. “Krenmock is going to ignore you. In fact, he was working on a coalition to block your actions. I’d be surprised if he hasn’t requested additional bodyguards from the Guilds.”

A quick mental query to Ali sets the Spirit to searching.

“If you really are going to kill him, you also need to deal with his family.”

Her words surprise me, and I have to ask for clarification.

“A wife who loves him, a husband who hates him, and his four children. Of those, you can expect to have to kill the wife and the husband and two of his children. The youngest is probably too low Level for you to worry about.” Catrin flicks her fingers, and notification windows bloom, providing me biographical information on those she speaks about. I glance through them quickly, realizing that most are in the low Master or Advanced Class stages. Only the two youngers are really low Leveled. The first hasn’t even reached the age of System majority; the other is struggling up the mid-ranks of his Basic Class.

“Are you certain I’ll have to kill them?”

“Most likely. His partners are fully complicit in his actions and are unlikely to change their minds, even after his disposal. Unless you intend to remove him from power and give it to someone else, they’ll still be in charge,” Catrin says. “Even if you did hand over ownership, the new nobles would have to deal with the loyal retainers.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t exactly thinking of rebuilding the entire noble sector for them.” It would probably be a more elegant solution, but I have other things to deal with. Never mind the fact that I have absolutely no idea who to give his peerage to. “But what makes you think his family wouldn’t stop after I kill Krenmock?”

“Pride. You don’t become and stay a noble for as long as they have and just give in to the first threat.”

“And the kids?”

“They might change, but they’d still have to confront you. You could never be safe with them out there,” Catrin says this blithely, as if murdering people just because they’re an inconvenience in the future is acceptable.

And I guess it is. For them. I’d object about how callous this is, but I’ve realized that for the Galactics, life is cheap. Any life but their own.

“The Viscountess won’t take action until you do. But if you do kill him, she’ll be forced to act.”

“Because he’s part of her standing?” I ask.

“Yes. Whether or not she likes them, whether or not she agrees with his actions, she can’t let you chip away at her faction and do nothing.”

I sigh. Nothing she says is particularly new or surprising. And maybe I shouldn’t have threatened his life. Any action I take after this that doesn’t involve me taking his head will make me look weak. Realistically, what I want to do is deal with the blockade. Not him.

I do wonder if Catrin’s viewpoint is slightly wrong. After all, to stop me after I kill Brerdain, Julierudi would have to kill me. Kill the initiates maybe. And if that happens, they’ll have no other choice but take part in the civil war that will come since there was no other option for the inheritance. Is losing one member of her faction worth that?

Then again, it’s only a risk if she thinks I won’t pick her. And if I destroy her base, she might take it as a sign that I’m not looking favorably upon her candidacy. I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming along.

Catrin make a little sound in her throat and shifts to lay a kiss upon my lips. Dawn light continues to filter in, slowly brightening the room as the windows note our increased wakefulness. It’s a gradual process, just like I prefer.

“And Brerdain?” I asked her while reaching for the sheets and pulling them over her body to keep her warm. And to lower the distractions.

“I can’t see how he’d object to your actions.” She shrugs, shifting the sheets and threatening her decorum again with each motion. “He’s never liked the nobles. All his objections surround the recruits and what they might do.”

I finally give in to her distractions. I’ve gotten what I wanted as I watch the threads across her body pulse. I release my Skill and roll over, pinning her down before I begin my assault on her lips and skin.

***

“So?” Ali floats beside me as I walk out of my residence to my designated Portal zone.

Having been cleared to jump around—on a limited basis—has made my life so much easier. As I take in the weirdly colored vegetation of the planet, I mentally locate the image of my destination.

“About what we thought,” I say. My conversation with Catrin confirmed some suspicions and musings, which means phase two is a go. But to get there, I have to have a conversation with my designated aides.

I step through the Portal, only to be greeted by Saimon and Braxton. Like most Portal and teleportation locations, I’ve been dumped into a carefully reinforced security room, one that has numerous safeguards and security weaponry in place. I stride off the platform and grin at the pair.

“Did you get my list?” I say.

“We did. The Chief wants to know what is going on. It might behoove you to actually talk to him,” Lord Braxton says. “Just because we can, doesn’t make it right, for us to take these units. Especially when withdrawing them from a variety of armies.”

“A variety?” Ali asks.

“We thought it better that we not draw down any single force.” Saimon explains. “It makes it more polite. Also, it doesn’t allow them to accuse us of favoritism.”

“But we have enough, right?” I don’t really care about the politics, not yet at least. I’m more concerned that we have what we need.

“Six teams, ten members each, as per your specifications,” says Lord Braxton. “In addition, they all have their designated assault shuttles and destroyers, ready for your use.”

It’s not a large force the way an Empire counts things. Not even when you account for the Levels I asked for. Still, all of the team members are close to Master Class, and some already are. It means that they’ve got more punching power than the raw numbers would indicate. The teams’ smaller sizes is why Brerdain’s only making noises about wanting me to talk to him, rather than demanding I do so.

“And the logistic basis and the necessary permits?”

“All done. They’ll go public in a day,” says Saimon. “We also have the permit for your friend who has arrived. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

That last sentence makes me grin. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Dornalor—not since he quite resolutely turned down the production of his ship in Erethra. I’m really curious to see what he’s done with his share of the earnings.

“Well, that was fast. We could’ve done all this by email,” I say, lips twisting in a grin. When the pair of them don’t react to my amusement, I sigh and throw my hands in the air. “Galactic language packs really don’t do humor well, do they?”

“No. You’re just not funny, boy-o.”

I ignore the damn Spirit, confirm what Society’s Web tells me about the pair, sign a few more documents, then I open up a Portal. I can’t wait to meet my initiates after their break. I’m sure they’re just dying to know what stage two is all about.

Chapter 16

The wind kicks up, blasting against my face, throwing up dirt and debris as the ship lands. It’s a gorgeous ship, long and sharp-nosed to keep the vessel streamlined. Silver paint with just a touch of gold and blue lining on the edges. Bulbous equipment slots carry missiles, and gun turrets sit on the wings, carefully reshaped by projected force fields for atmospheric flying. Even from here, I can see how the weapons can pivot, shift, and retarget in full 360-degree angles. Multiple jets are arrayed along the wings, helping guide the ship and hurl it forward, aided by the main engines at the back.

Just before it lands, the ship’s main engines switch off, engines in the wings altering direction and angle to do a vertical landing. Landing struts emerge from the ship itself, and it lands with the gentlest of thumps. I eye the bird, data about the ship scrolls past my eyes.

Nothing’s Heartbreak II (Customized Cyrus Fast Destroyer v 172.5)

Core: Cyrus Fast Destroyer v 172.5

Speed: 12.8 Doms

Processing Unit & Software: Class A Xylik Core

Armor Rating (Space): Tier I

Stealth Rating (Space): Tier I*

Hard Points: 14 (9 Used)

Soft Points: 21 (14 Used)

Crew: 1 (+4 Maintenance Drones)

Crew Capacity: 7

Weaponry: 4 x Ares 8.2 Miu Beam Turrets, 6 x OneLir Missile Turrets

Defense: 4 x qBitum Point-Defense Force Shields, 1 x Repulsive Blurza Field, 24 x Point Defense Lasers

Core Durability: 100% (more…)

As the data streams in, I’m amused that I still have vice-captain privileges. After I lost him his vessel, I was sure Dornalor was going to bitch me out before letting me in. Once the engines die, the personnel doors open and Dornalor walks out, shading his head with one hand.

“I see you’ve planned for me,” I can’t help but tease the pirate. Beyond being a general upgrade over the first Heartbreak, the second Heartbreak also has a much higher number of redundant systems. Nearly half of the hard points and a quarter of the soft points in the ship are used for redundant systems.

“Oh, trust me. I’m adding it to your bill,” Dornalor replies, crossing his arms in distaste.

I grunt, walking up to greet the man even as the rest of the team makes their presence known. Mikito, on the ground, uncrosses her legs as she finishes her meditation. Bolo flicks his fingers, dismissing the TV show he was watching with Ali, offering the pirate a grin. And Harry hurries over, tucking in his pants, a smear of lipstick still on his lips.

As I greet the ghatotkaca, I sigh mentally. Everyone I’ve been meeting recently is bigger than me. Like Bolo, Dornalor’s nine feet tall, but unlike the Dragon Lord, he’s entirely hairless, with a head shaped like a pot and a weird, dandelion-yellow skin.

Dornalor Xyrralei, Journeyman Trader (Master Merchant Captain Level 3) (M)

HP: 420/420

MP: 5490/5490

Conditions: Shortened Trade Routes, Shipboard Awareness, Hyperspace Fold, In His Place, Mana Drip

“Level 3 Master Class?” I splutter when I notice his Status. Even if it’s mostly a lie, his Skill isn’t good enough to hide his base Class tier. “Weren’t you just Level 1 when I left? What the hell did you guys do?” I shoot an accusatory glare at Mikito and Bolo.

“Nothing. Nothing happened,” Bolo waves his hands. “Isn’t that right, Dornalor? Nothing that the Redeemer needs to know.” He fixes the grinning Pirate Captain with a look and pulses his Dragon Fear, just once.

Dornalor’s grin only fades a little since he’s still standing on his ship’s gangplank.

“Bolo…” I mutter. I stare at Dornalor since I know the Dragon Lord isn’t going to tell me.

Dornalor hums, that pot-head rocking from side to side. It’s weird, especially since he doesn’t have ears, but in the end, the grin widens as I growl impatiently. “Nah, it’s more fun watching you twitch. I won’t tell.”

I glare at the pair before I look at Mikito.

“It’s settled. Relax,” Mikito says, patting the air as if she’s patting my shoulder. Or head. “Or don’t. We could use that anger.” With those words, she strolls up the gangplank, muttering appreciations to Dornalor as she regards the ship.

“Gah!”

“I could buy the information…”

“Don’t bother. If it was really important, they’d tell me.” I say, only allowing a small smile to break out when they’re inside. I turn around, staring at the empty fields behind.

“She did say she wouldn’t see you off.”

“I know. Wasn’t what I was looking for.”

“Uh huh.”

I snort out loud and ascend the ship. I know, in other fields, the rest of the initiates are doing the same. Soon enough, I have to brief them. Just before I slap the blast doors closed, I look back at the empty fields.

Once more into the breach.

Or something like that.

***

It takes a bit of time before we’re up in space, but once we are, I open comms to everyone. Six displays, one for each of the remaining Paladin initiates, hover beside me. In a smaller window, identical ships are displayed—the vessels that the initiates will be in command of. I know I said that we can’t really rely on the Erethran Armed Forces for support, but needs must. Anyway, with the data we had, we filtered out the untrustworthy.

Exactly how well we did, we’ll find out. But among the requirements they had for this portion of their training was deciding who and what their team would look like. What I won’t tell them is if I have time, I’m going to take a gander at all of their choices later on with Society’s Web. It’s not a foolproof method, but it might raise some interesting and unspoken alliances.

Each of the ships they’re in, the Randolf III model, is in general classification, similar to the Nothing’s Heartbreak. That means they’re midsize military scout ships, armed to the teeth, but more focused on speed and stealth than being able to slug it out. Unlike Dornolar’s, which has a few specific spots to allow people like Bolo and myself to make use of our Skills, the military vessels are geared toward tech solutions to the firepower question. On the other hand, their ships are also much higher-rated for speed. They’re also configured to use a higher variety of disposable stealth drones, unlike Dornalor’s.

“Welcome to phase two, ladies and gentlemen,” I say, and the group shifts slightly, staring at me in impatience. “One of the things you’re going to have to learn is that actions have consequences. And that our job isn’t just swooping in, killing a bunch of people, and moving on. If you want to do your job properly, as a Paladin, you have to make sure that the unintended consequences of your actions, and the intended ones, all play out the way you need them to.”

Memory rises, of a conversation with another. We’re seated at home, a blasted, shattered remnant of a cave holed out from the mountain by a missed attack. Cracks from overheated stone abound in the ceilings and walls. The ground is the only thing that doesn’t move, and that’s because she’s taken the time to use a spell to fix it up. In fact, most of the furniture is reshaped earth, easy to use, easy to discard.

Over cups of fermented mucus and vegetable matter, we rest. It’s been another long, exhausting day of fighting on the walls. Technically speaking, having both of us off the walls is not necessarily a good idea. But with Blink Step and Portal, getting where we need to be isn’t too difficult. And at a certain point, we all need a break.

“Why am I here? Unintended consequences. And obligations.” Suhargur laughs bitterly, waving the dented mug around. It’s not even a real mug, but a torn and reshaped plate of armor with a hand etched onto it in a slipshod manner. Not that she gives a damn, since it holds alcohol just as well. “I screwed up. Should never have killed them. Should have stayed behind, waited another month, another year. But I was impatient. There was always something else to do. I thought it was fine, that we—I—had fixed the problem. There was other work, other quests to finish. And I was so alone then. But I was wrong. And they slipped from normal to Restricted to Forbidden. All because I killed them.”

I try to protest, to point out that she couldn’t have known this would happen.

“Doesn’t matter. Learn from me. Learn from this. Always finish the job. The real job. Protect the Empire, not the system.”

Memory fades, and I find everyone still looking at me. Waiting. This time, luckily, it was only a few seconds. It just seems like a very long pause.

“The planet we just saved needs immigrants. Problem is, the only people who would immigrate to a Restricted Planet are undesirables. People who are born in Forbidden Zones, rim planets where the Empire has yet to complete rebuilding. Those who have no hope of a better life where they are. Failures, rejects, even deserters and draft dodgers.”

Magine, Kino, and Gheisnan react at the last group. Interesting to note, but not surprising to some ways.

“Currently, they’re being blocked from immigrating.” A hand waves, a map appears. “Conventional immigration routes, the routes our targets need to use, mostly flow through Lord Ucald’s holdings. Most are turned back, delayed. Others are thrown into jail, forced to work in mines and other undesirable locations because they can be targeted.” I shake my head. “Lord Ucald has been informed to stop that bullshit. He’s refused. Your job is to show him the error of his ways.”

Silence lingers until Anayton speaks up. “And how are we supposed to do that?”

“With violence, of course,” Freif says.

“What kind?” Anayton replies bitingly.

“First test. You tell me,” I say, crossing my arms. I have ideas, but it will be interesting to see what they have to say.

“Kill him,” Magine says.

Freif nods immediately.

Gheisnan, the little Pooskeen who has to hover in the air just so that he can reach the console, objects. “No. Even more unintended consequences. We’d have to deal with the succession.”

“And if we let him get away with ignoring the Paladin—us—we create even more trouble in the future,” Magine says, shaking his head. “Better to kill him now and make it clear the kind of Paladins we are.”

“We could hit his holdings. Take them all out,” Ropo offers. “Ulcer-refuse nobles all hate losing their stuff. If we take them away, he’d get the point. And it’d make a much stronger point than just killing him.”

“Death is a very strong point,” Freif says.

“Slow. Attacks on his holdings are slow. And we don’t have the expertise to take away any illiquid assets,” Kino says. “The immigrants are being targeted now. We need to fix that immediately.”

Gheisnan’s eyes go unfocused, his lips moving wordlessly. I stare at them for a second before realizing he’s muttering in Pooskeen. Which I’ve picked up a few words of here and there, but not enough to lipread. Anayton has caught sight of the little Pooskeen triggering his Skills and shushes the group. She fails, as Magine, Ropo, and Kino continue to argue their points.

As for me, I stand there, hands behind my back as the ships head out of the local gravity wells. We could open up hyperspace jumps close in, but it’s a significant toll on the engines. Easier and better to do it outside the local gravity wells, when Skills and tech don’t have to strain as much.

We’re in no rush.

After five minutes of increasingly angry conversations between the initiates, Gheisnan looks up. Watching them argue is interesting, since it’s all very professional but heated. Well, except for Ropo, but constant, inventive cursing is his way of speaking.

When the Pooskeen first starts talking, no one listens. He has to let out a piercing, deep-in-the-back-of-the-throat shriek to shut them all up. It makes ears hurt, though the Erethrans seem more affected than the others.

“Checked the paths of the pack. Killing by Magine is bad. He dies. Killing by Freif works. Till he is killed later. Other paths are slow, uncertain of results. I smell blood, a lot of blood on all paths,” Gheisnan says, ears turning down. “There are no paths where success is guaranteed and quick.”

“No, there aren’t,” I say. “You’re going up against an entire position. A powerful noble house. And they’ll be bringing in more help from outside.”

“Then let’s negotiate,” Ropo says. Magine and Freif nod reluctantly. “I might not like the moon-cratered, pustulant corpses, but they’ve likely got a good reason. Over and above their slime-infested Credit accounts. Reducing manpower on civilized planets for a Restricted Planet is a poor trade-off anyway.”

“Not your decision,” Kino rumbles, crossing his arms. “They have chosen. We have the right to choose.”

“Goblin shit. The immigrants just don’t know better. Better for us to send them where they won’t die in a few months,” Magine says. “I don’t think we should let him defy us, but Lord Ucald has a point in stopping them. Restricted zones aren’t for the under-Leveled. They’ll be happy when they understand what we’re doing for them.”

“Not your decision,” Kino rumbles again, even more angrily.

“Enough. You guys can argue about politics. Right now, we have our marching orders.” Anayton draws a deep breath. “What if we did it all?”

“All?” Magine asks

“Everything that’s been suggested,” Anayton says.

Gheisnan is already going cross-eyed, running his Skills.

I interrupt, figuring I should clarify before things get out of hand. “No killing the noble immediately.”

“But it’s still on the table?” says Freif.

“Nothing is ever off the table.” I give the initiates a wolfish grin. No need to get them too excited about the idea of killing though, not unless we really have to.

“Understood,” Gheisnan says before he falls silent. I watch as he runs the math, using his skills to look at the future.

I know of transcendent strategists who can take plans and do the same, analysts who look for the most likely scenarios. I’m curious to see what he comes up with, what his Skills tell him. The problem with Skills like his is that they all look at an uncertain future, one that is constantly altered as others activate their own Skills. As mortals, giving into whims, alter their choices. And all of it under the shadow of beings who might as well be gods.

“Better. Less blood. There were fewer trails leading off, but still. Danger, enemies all around,” Gheisnan finally speaks up. “Too many ending in his death. Lord Ucald.”

“That sounds about right,” I say. “So you’ve got your marching orders. And a failing grade. Most you guys really need to start thinking outside of a single-point solution. I know you’re used to taking orders, having a clear objective. But as Paladins, you’re going to be struggling with multiple objectives, unclear final results, and solutions that might not be perfect. Iterative fixes rather than a single solution will be your future. Remember that. Otherwise you’re just going to be back at the start, making the same damn mistakes all the time.”

It reminds me a lot of building websites for companies, throwing something, anything, up to fix the client’s needs. As good as you can, but only eighty percent rather than a hundred of what they asked for. Then you move on.

Because the budget is out, your time limit is over. And in the end, they’ll come back, asking for another change, another alteration. Because their business has changed, the environment has changed, or they just thought of something new, and that last twenty percent doesn’t matter anymore. Iterative changes on an ongoing basis. It certainly kept the company in business, and me, bored.

“Were you always going to have us do this?” Freif says.

“Yup. Unless you guys came up with something brilliant,” I admit quite readily. “Your marching orders should be downloaded into your ship’s computers. We’re splitting you guys up, taking his assets, freeing up some of those already taken, and dealing with this interdiction.” I stare at the more confident group, watching as they look happier with a clearer set of marching orders. “Just because violence is the easiest option here doesn’t mean you have to keep reaching for it. A lot of the time, you should be able to talk your way to a better solution.

“I recommend you do so.” I fall silent for a time, waiting to see what they have to say. If they have anything else to say.

They do. Mostly to deal with the details of the orders. One thing that gets clarified is that they’ll be swapping out regularly. Won’t be much of a test if they all don’t get a chance to experience the different aspects.

Once the initiates ships jump out, I turn around to see my team standing by, looking highly amused. “What?”

“Just funny, seeing you be responsible. Recommending they talk rather than beat people up,” Harry explains.

“I can hope they can be better than me, no?” I offer them a half-smile, thinking of the poor initiates. My trainees. Is this what it’s like to have kids? If so, they’re doomed. For we paint our children with the colors of our failures, then somehow expect them to be better than us.

“And us?” Bolo says.

“Doing what they can’t.”

That’s the problem with sending a bunch of Advanced Classers to do this. The targets they’ve been given, they’re just about manageable for their Level and team. But we’re facing an entire solar system and a bit of trouble. There are targets the initiates can’t touch, not alone.

Good thing I’ve got a team of my own.

***

We jump in just above the battleship. The thing is huge, a floating rectangular structure. Impulse occurs from numerous engines placed throughout the structure, allowing it to shift direction in ways that no atmospheric craft is ever engineered to do. Of course, considering its size, re-entry into a planet would cause problems. It’s a couple of kilometers across one edge, more reminiscent of a Borg cube than anything I’d expect to see. Which makes “above” a rather loose concept.

We blip in, and immediately, Dornalor maneuvers for the closest entrance dock. Once we’re close enough that momentum will slingshot us in, he uses the equivalent of a railgun system to launch us.

“Target locks everywhere,” Harry calls out moments later.

Beams of criss-crossing energy target the Heartbreak—or where the ship should be. But Skills, technology, and a little bit of subterfuge keep us safe for a few seconds as we fool the sensors, allowing the Nothing’s Heartbreak to begin its jump protocols while white death enlivens the area a short hundred meters away.

If not for the auto-generated overlays in my helmet, there’d be no way to spot the lasers criss-crossing space. Not until they struck. The railguns and mass drivers, on the other hand, are much clearer to see—for variations of clear for things moving at thousands of kilometers a second. Point-defense is mostly lasers though, since by the time most missiles activate, the attacks or the enemies would be gone.

I turn my attention to my own problems, even as chatter from Harry playing copilot fills the channels. Dornalor replies with grunts, focused on flying the ship and keeping it hidden. My problems in this case are the second layer of defenses—close-in mines. These things aren’t even that powerful, they’re just numerous, locked into place by a Mana field. They’re so dense, there’s no way for anything larger than a cat to float through without trigger them. By the time I notice, consider action, and dismiss most options, I’m already touching the mines.

“That tickles!” Bolo laughs as he plows feet first through the explosions.

Mikito’s much more stoic when she goes through, but the mines are just an early warning signal. The retargeting of nearby point-defense is the more important thing.

I watch as lasers wash over me, lighting up my Force Shields, ticking down their durability. But I’ve got an idea, so I reach out. Toward the fast-spreading energy from the explosions, toward the closest mines. And I tap into my affinity, my gift from Ali. It’s not a Skill. It’s not even really part of the System. Much like Spells or Mana, it’s categorized and subsumed to some portion, but it’s not part of the System itself. It’s something older, more innate.

And it lets me adjust the level of energy, lower the resistances, and increase the sensitivity of materials around me. Mana Sense reaches out at the same time, almost unconsciously, and I find myself manipulating the Mana-reinforced nature of the metal, the System-generated strength of the drones. I find myself tapping into the edges of the System, seeing the weird System-glyphs as I do so, the way they affect things. I don’t try to adjust them, but the Mana around them.

Explosions begin, but my mind and sense are racing ahead, moving faster than light itself as I hop-scotch between mines. They go off, one after another, creating a daisy chain effect all across the side of the battleship at first, then crossing over to the other sides. My head pounds, but the defense system is over-loading, point-defense lasers targeting non-existent enemies before the AI shuts it down and begins recalibrating its decision tree.

My feet slam into the bulkhead, creating a minor crater. I trigger the Abyssal Chains, hooking myself down as magnetic boots fail to hold. I use the Chains to drag myself to the docking bay doors which Bolo and Mikito, more focused on their landing, are already tearing apart.

I do all this subconsciously, while my concentration focuses on spreading the explosions. Focuses on the new mines being ejected outward, tracing them back, and setting them off. Shutting down point-defense, creating problems as internal batteries light up.

Ali floats alongside me, his face strained. What I’m doing is being aided by the Spirit, his greater expertise and Affinity multiplying my results. The battleship rumbles and bucks slightly, contained explosions as ammunition stores deep within the ship go off under our manipulation. Contained, but still dangerous.

“We’re in!” Mikito shouts across party chat, bringing my attention back fully.

I spot Bolo ducking in even as fire targets him. Mikito follows seconds later.

By the time I enter, the breach they created is half-closed by flowing liquid metal. I tear through with my powered armor, shedding melted metal on my Soul Shield as I fall in, artificial gravity twisting me in the air. A second later, I refresh my Soul Shield as I search for my enemies.

There’s nothing left to do. The pair have torn apart the droids and sailors within. I feel a flash of guilt as I notice the floating corpses. A Yerrick floats, missing his lower half, intestines unraveling in space, frost and ice crystals floating away from him. The majority of the corpses are Erethran though, all of them dressed in orange-and-pale-indigo house uniforms.

They’re dead because I couldn’t think of a better way to do this. They were just doing their jobs…

Then I dismiss it. The guilt, the pain, it can all be dealt with later. For now, we have a job to do. Get to the command center and deal with the captain. No time for guilt, not with everything moving so fast. So I focus.

For I’m getting left behind.

I rush through wrecked corridors, defensive doors and installations rent apart. Occasional floors are smashed open as the pair take a faster and more direct way to our goal. They make good time, often not even bothering to deal fully with sailors and marines as they continue the assault.

“Down three corridors. He’s moving… teleport circle… on… We’re… bzzttzz… jam him…” Harry reports, his party chat flicking on and off as communication flickers in and out.

“Payout better be good…” Dornalor mutters.

I sense it when they jump in again, staying close to where I’ve destroyed some of the point-defense. A momentary pause, then the Heartbreak deploys jamming drones to stop our target from fleeing.

I catch up to my team when they get stymied. They’re in an all-out brawl as they face off against a team of Advanced Classers and a Master Class bodyguard. Mikito’s on the Master Classer, polearm cutting and blocking beams as the man opens fire. Four arms and another half dozen metallic tentacles are in play, each of them firing at Mikito as she struggles forward, deflecting beam after beam. What he doesn’t see is the ghostly horse she conjures behind him, charging forward.