Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

Bolo’s busy fighting the team. Unlike other groups, they aren’t trying to face him directly. Instead, they hit him with slowing spells, momentum-robbing Skills, and gluing grenades. Trying to stop him from moving. They take away his friction, quadruple his weight, debuff his Strength. When that fails, their tank blocks him off with conjured shields. The Dragon Lord’s struggling to get to them as they dodge out of the way and kite him forward.

“Go! We have them,” Mikito snaps when I slow down.

In answer, I cut downward with my Blade Strike, tear a hole into the floor, and drop, ignoring the blasts and spells that follow and ping off my resistances. They’re powerful spells, but Hod’s and my resistances to Skills and spells are incredibly high. As is Bolo’s—but they’ve had a lot more time to debuff him.

“Goblin’s nest!”

“The hag’s hanging tits, he’s getting away!”

I laugh softly to myself, barrel past the next group that gets in the way, and keep going. An elbow to the face of the only marine dumb enough to not move aside brings him down. Ali shoots ahead of me, turning the corner, and I watch beams and a couple of missiles impact the corner. Moments later, he lights up the waiting defensive point with lightning.

In the corner of my vision, I spot the moving purple dot reach its destination. I pour on the speed, using Haste, the Aura of Chivalry, and even Thousand Steps to clear the way and speed me along, Blink Stepping every time there’s an open space and the spatial lock falls below my ability to breach it. Trading pain and health for speed.

The last corridor shows up soon enough, and I trigger Vanguard of the Apocalypse. Ali’s ahead of me, already engaged in battle. He’s bleeding light as the Mage and dimensional weaponry tear into his energy form, ripping him apart. No way to Blink Step closer, no way to Portal—they’ve tripled the Spatial Lock here. So I swing my sword, sending Blade Strikes down the way, and toss my knives, watching as they cut through armor and defense and pin the defenders to the bulkheads.

Unlike many of those we faced before, they’re all armed and armored in full power armor. It glitters yellow and pale-blue, sleek and beautiful and meant for shipboard action. Faces covered in non-reflective helmets, personal force shields buzzing. All of them are dressed and ready to do war, anti-Master Class beam cannons and defensive shields emplaced before them.

It’s not enough, even as the beams burn through the Hod’s defensive shield. Not enough to slow me down. Not enough to stop me from closing in or destroying their defenses.

Vanguard of the Apocalypse is built for charges like this, for that last-minute clash just before you hit an enemy line. It boosts my speed, my recover, adds itself to all the momentum generated from my other spells and Skills. So when I hit the flickering vestiges of the force shields, I go through them like an arrow through a soap bubble.

The metal barriers formed from the floor are like wet tissue paper, and the people behind are impaled on the blades of my Thousand Blades Skill. Thrown aside, disoriented.

As for the actual doors? Those are a little more difficult to break through. I find myself bouncing off them, the accumulated momentum wasted as the doors warp. I snarl, spin, and cut, watching as my conjured blades tear into them.

My enemies don’t stop, some of them grappling with the lightning tentacles Ali wields, others jumping in with daggers and shivs, trying to cut through Hod’s armor. I trigger the next use of Abyssal Chains and lock them down, rather than fight, and kick at the door again. Penetration is my main Skill, my most powerful ability, and even a simple kick is enough to shatter the weakened doors.

I stride in, smoke curling up around my armor, warning klaxons going off all around me. An underhand toss of a Mana Dispersal grenade disrupts the building teleport, shutting it down for a brief moment.

“Paladin! You cannot do this,” the target screams, bald face sweaty, eyeliner running slightly, her admiral’s uniform wrinkled and torn, smoking slightly as the teleporter sparks, sending energy surging through her body and failing as the grenade eats away at the Mana.

Next to her, weapons drawn in heavy hands, the rest of her staff stand.

I flick my hand sideways, sending the Toothy Daggers into the teleporter and saving up on Mana. The teleporter blows up, the Mana dispersal grenade and the added damage enough to override whatever safeties it might have.

“Watch me.”

***

Clean up, after I capture the enemy Admiral, takes a little longer. Bolo and Mikito have to make their way to the power cores before the crew eventually decides they can’t afford to piss us off further. We have to fight off a couple of Advanced teams each and two more Master Classers. Still, we’re lucky. I don’t think anyone expected us to take this kind of action.

Once we’re secure, we kick off every single crew member but the Admiral and select staff. Mostly high-Level Advanced Classers and the couple of Masters Classers who survived. The rest of the crew are released into space.

In escape shuttles and capsules. We’re not monsters.

Dornalor is laughing his ass off as he slaves the giant battleship to his own and hyperjumps us in unison, seconds ahead of the retaliation. We jump three times, losing our tails as Dornalor does his magic. Then we’re back in Erethran Empire-controlled space, floating above the capital planet.

Of course, Ayuri shouts at me for a bit. The Queen sniffs at me in a very brief conversation. But they take possession of the ship and the men, as per my orders.

And then we turn around. To do it all over again.

Chapter 17

“Six battleships, including his flagship, the Titan of the Seven Nebulas. Two space stations, half a dozen mining locations, two prison complexes, and one fortified palace in one month,” Empress Hasbata glowers at me over the communicator, projected larger than life into the cockpit of the Heartbreak as we float in the dead space between the stars. And somehow, her projection is still smaller than her presence, the pressure she’s emitting.

In the corner of my eyes, just below in the pilot and copilot’s seats, Dornalor and Harry are white-knuckling their chairs. They can barely breathe, her presence a physical weight upon our chests. Bolo’s lounging out of sight, looking blasé about the whole situation. Except for the strain in his eyes, the way he cracks his neck every once in a while. Mikito’s smarter, hiding in the engine room, taking care of the ship.

“Seems low,” I say, doing my best to keep my face neutral. “Doesn’t it sound low?” I turn to Ali, who is giving me wide-eyed looks of horror.

“Those are just your personal team’s numbers!” the Empress snaps. “Are you trying to weaken my Empire?”

“Most of them are in one piece,” I say. “We’ll be able to return them once this is over. And the damage the initiates are doing, that can’t be helped. Doesn’t really matter anyway. They just have secondary locations.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Her nostrils flare, so small that they’re almost imperceptible. She leans forward, growling out her next words. The Aura she bends on me increases even further. I should have had Dornalor jump us outside the Empire for this talk. That way her Aura would be less severe. “Are you trying to have me order your death? That’s millions of Credits and hundreds of lives! Advanced and Basic Classers we have built up over years.”

“And the immigrants, the refugees, and travelers he had taken?” I reply irately. “There were two Master Classers we found chained to their desks in those prisons. A dozen more Advanced Classers at the highest Levels. All trapped, forced to work for him. For… trespassing.” I spit the word, shaking my head.

Of course the legal terms he’d used were more complex. Entry without permits. Fines for non-payment of the permits. Problems with their transportation that resulted in more fines. Lack of permits for Skills or spells, for transportation. All of it just so that they could capture those who traveled through.

And, of course, it worked. Because anyone traveling by mundane means or via short-hop teleportation is doing so because they can’t afford the more expensive, long-range teleportation.

“Duke Ucald grew their Skills—”

“By selling their work. And then buying more materials and making them work on it again and again,” I snap, pressing down with my legs against the bulkhead floor to burn off some energy. “He’s been doing this for two decades, and you did nothing about it. So yeah, I have to break a few eggs. But he had it coming.”

Memory comes back, recollection of the blood-soaked month. Thirty-five days, as per their calendar. Our first attacks went well, then his reinforcements poured in, teleportations of his best people. Things had gotten hairy for a bit as we fought his guard, his eldest son—who I’d been forced to kill—and the reinforcements from other nobles and a couple of mercenary guilds.

They’d even managed to track Dornalor down once. If not for the fact that the pirate is professionally paranoid, we’d have been caught. As it was, the close-in fission mines we’d set up had nearly torn the Heartbreak apart when they went off. Only the use of our combined Skills and me linking everything together, including Disengaging Safeties, had left us alive and limping out.

“Your actions have more consequences than just your problem with the Duke!” the Empress says. The chain around her neck trembles, swinging back and forth as she leans forward, glittering gold and emerald. “You are hardening their stance against you and your Paladins.”

“The Empire’s Paladins,” I correct. “And so be it. We aren’t going to stop until he stands down.”

The Queen tenses for a second then calms down, leaning back almost languidly. My danger sense pings, and I tense a little. “And if I ordered you to end this?”

“Then I’d say you’ve got the wrong person for the job,” I say. “Because I’m finishing what I started.”

She nods, her eyes tracking upward to my Status above my head. When her eyes move back down, they are cold as her words. An arctic wind, blowing across a lake when it’s -40 below. “Then end it. Soon.”

I don’t get to reply, as she kills the connection. The pair before me let out exhalations of relief in conjunction, while even Bolo relaxes further. As for me, I wipe my forehead, finding it slightly damp. Damn, but that woman can pressure.

“Well,” Ali says, floating back down through the ceiling from where he’s been hiding, “I guess we’re done.”

I purse my lips, hating to be pushed. But… she’s not wrong. It’s time to finish this.

“Call them back.”

***

It takes the initiates the better part of a day to arrive. The last ship to flash in is Ropo’s, and it does so in a dramatic fashion. The moment it materializes, alerts resound all across our notification windows. It’s leaking fuel and radiation, large rents torn across the starboard aft of the ship. It’s lost all of its cloaking abilities. Even the shadow skills of the Captain have been blasted away. Two-thirds of its weaponry is down, its main engines barely spluttering along. Repair drones deploy immediately, from ours and other ships nearby, burning fission materials as they near the damaged ship.

Ropo comes online seconds later, his bearded face half shorn of hair, burnt off in his latest scuffle. The bridge itself doesn’t look much better, nearly half of the consoles wrecked, sparking electricity and releasing wafts of smoke. Good thing that for most ships, the physical controls are only built as a secondary failsafe. System-enabled controls are faster and more efficient. They’re also more difficult to destroy. Though sometimes its easier to block. Thus, secondaries.

I draw a deep breath and dismiss the slight hint of funk that comes from not using a Cleanse spell for a full day and the remnants of chocolate bars on my breath. This time around, it was dark chocolate, the hard bitterness of the bar still present in my mouth, the slight hints of the strawberry and nougat lingering. I want another, but this isn’t time.

Whether it was because I was pulling the initiates out or because the universe has a strange sense of humor, the Duke launched his payback today. Because of that, the team had been struggling to disengage.

Ropo’s ship was the least worrisome. At least he made it. We lost Kino’s signal in the middle of the day, and even Harry’s access to the Shop cannot provide us details. They’ve locked it all down under multiple Skills. There’s no way to know whether anyone survived without finding out ourselves.

Some of the other ships have come out fine. Magine had finished his attack, leaving him free to scuttle off before they launched theirs. Gheisnan never planned to do an attack today. I can’t help but wonder how much of that was because he foresaw the attack. The rest were a mixed bag in between Ropo and Magine.

“Welcome back. I think that’s all of us not.” I nod to Ropo and gesture, reading the various communiques from the others.

The initiates have nothing to do with running the ships, so there’s no reason to delay our discussion. They all look a little harried, just a little stressed. Even if we have access to the Shop and have adequate inventory and supplies to keep us going, a month of hit-and-run tactics, ostensibly against allies, can make people grumpy and stressed.

“Any word about Kino?” Magine asks.

I’m a little surprised the Dueling addict has paid enough attention to even realize the Risen isn’t here. Then again, maybe that’s just me projecting my own biases.

“Nothing,” Harry answers for me, a frown etching his dark skin, deepening lines that are normally quite well hidden. “Not even an announcement of his victory.”

Surprising that. Our attacks have been local news, news that has grown more and more harried over the month as the attacks from “unknown sources” have escalated. The Duke has a bit of a PR problem, with the truth of our face-off kept from the public. Still, we’ve done enough damage that they can’t afford to say nothing.

“Did you know about the attacks?”Anayton is glaring at me, obviously having an answer to that question in her mind.

“Nope.” I shake my head, letting my gaze flick over the blue screens filled with the initiates’ Statuses.

At the same time, I get a glimpse of our own cockpit displayed from the camera feed of the ship. Myself above in the vice-captain’s chair with full access to the system, Bolo at weapons and security console, and Mikito seated in the passenger chair behind. The new cockpit is big enough to fit all five of us, which is kind of nice.

“I had a call.” When my pronouncement doesn’t elicit a reaction, I continue. “From the Empress.”

That gets a reaction. More than one of the initiates hiss, and Freif mutters, “I knew it.” They all have the look of someone waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or a System notification to update, as the Galactics would say.

“She wants us to finish this. Now.”

There are a lot of firm nods, straightening of spines. No surprise there.

Most of them have been doing well. Picking their targets with care, exploiting holes in defenses, using fake-outs and overwhelming force as necessary. Just as importantly, they’ve also come into close contact with the policies of Duke Ucald. And even the most blasé, the most supportive—like Magine—have begun to see the problems.

It’s one thing to espouse intellectually sound policies, to weigh the lives of the masses against the needs of the few, to do what is right for the many at the expense of the minority. It’s another thing to look in the face of those few and tell them they aren’t worth it. To drag them out from their kennels, to unchain them from tables that have locked them in production forever. To stare at the children who ask you where their parents are. And know that you have no good answer.

Stage two was never really about training or Skill development. Stage two was all about reinforcing the only thing that’s truly important to a Paladin. We serve the Empire. And the Empire isn’t some corporate monolith or the nobles or some abstract series of rules and regulations that dictate the order of our lives. It’s not even the social structure that holds it all together.

The Empire, society, is about the people.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe some of them can look at the choices the Duke made for his own good, for the good of his domain, and call it fair and fine. Maybe all I’m doing is screaming into the dark. Maybe that’s okay too. Because we’re only a few, even with all the power we have. And if I’ve learnt one thing from the apocalypse and the library in my head, it’s that there’s no single solution. Maybe conflicting beliefs might be able to right wrongs in all kinds of places.

“What’s the plan?” Gheisnan asks, ears curling down around his head.

“Duke Ucald has doubled down, refusing to change. We can’t make him. So no more going around, no more playing nice. You have—” I stare at the estimates and dismiss them. It’ll take too long for Ropo to fix his ship. I compose other orders to have him join another initiate. “An hour to get yourselves ready. Jump to the nearest Shop if you need it. But then, we’re going.”

All their faces go flat, game faces slipping on. Only Gheisnan has a slight smile on his face, as if he’s seen this all. As if this is the best option. I hope it is.

I draw a deep breath, closing all the windows, and pull out the Duke’s palace blueprints. A gesture brings over the rest of the team, and we pour over the details. Going over the plan one last time, making adjustments now that we’re certain we’ve only got five.

And I can’t help but wonder if I’m going to lose anyone else.

***

The center of Duke Ucald’s domain is the Infinite Keeps. Are?

There’s a different name for it in Erethran, one less flowery and more practical, but Ali translated it for me as Infinite Keeps. And I can see why.

It’s a weird, highly defensive structure. The external structure is reminiscent of a stumpy fortress, something built in the fifteenth century, when we were still transitioning between guns and bows. It has multiple towers, sprawling crenellated walls that reach up and up into the sky. The walls themselves aren’t just defensive structures, but residences too, apartment complexes for the unworthy.

There’s technically a central keep, a location for defenders to fall back to. The obsidian walls shroud the inner courtyard in perpetual twilight, no matter how many lights they install. The Infinite Keeps were built for three reasons, and they do them well.

Firstly, the Infinite Keeps are where the Duke and his extended family reside. Because of the folded space design of the keeps, each location is embedded within the next, growing larger as one passes through the layers. Those individuals who are most in disfavor at the present moment are left on the outer rings, with the larger, more expansive grounds inside reserved for those in favor or within the direct line of descent.

The punishment of being forced to live in noble squalor, having only a few thousand square feet of space to oneself, was enough to drive the various branches of his family to compete.

Secondly, the smaller and more portable nature of the outer keep meant that the Duke could use it as his mobile fortress. Using its defenses, the Duke and his retainers could unleash their strength upon problematical locations throughout the solar systems. Whether it was a monster population that needed culling or an invading fleet, the keep could deploy forces directly.

It helped as well that as a mobile residence, the Duke could enjoy the various festivals and entertainment opportunities his planets offered.

Thirdly, and the reason why we’re launching our attack, is the System Settlement Sphere. The Erethran noble Title system is a strange little thing. Not to say that other Galactics haven’t taken it up, but it isn’t extremely common. To reduce the burden on the System and to allow their nobles to anchor their Skills over a wide plane, the Erethrans created these Settlements Spheres.

Each sphere is like a pin in a staked-out handkerchief, warping the local area around it. By tying the noble Title to it, the Empire could rule over large swaths of space with lower System requirements and populations. In that way, pound for pound, a designated noble from Erethra had more powerful Skills than another of the same Level. On the other hand, it also left them more vulnerable.

A vulnerability we intend to exploit.

I take a deep breath, staring again at blueprints. Like an inverse Russian matryoshka doll, each keep we defeat will lead to another of greater size. Inversely, that also means that the concentration of fire and personnel will grow smaller. That doesn’t mean less danger though. After all, Classes and Levels as much as politics dictate who stays within. The deeper we delve, the more dangerous it will get. For that reason, I sent the initiates in first.

“In three,” Dornalor calls.

I give my head a quick shake and focus on what’s happening. Exactly on time, the ships with the initiates drop out of hyperspace. All five of them deploy drones and fire missiles at specified locations. These are custom-designed missiles meant to punch holes in settlement shields rather than destroy them. They work, however briefly, before the shields regenerate.

It took a little bit of wrangling to get those missles from Brerdain. He hadn’t wanted to let them go, especially because of how expensive they are to make. Each of them had components from Master Class Artisans, but they were the only way I could see to punch through in short order.

Ahead of me, leaning forward over his console and guiding the ship using his fingers, Dornalor controls the Nothing’s Heartbreak as we fly along behind Gheisnan’s craft. We drop down toward the keep as well, but so much more quietly. Whereas the initiates are here to make noise and deal with the main defenses in the front lines, we’re supposed to cut through and take out the main target.

I eye the surroundings, taking in where we are as Dornalor flies us in. Beside me, Ali is focused turning aside lasers and electric beams with equal prejudice.

When we dropped out of hyperspace, we were just outside the shields. With the settlement shield down, the apartment walls have opened up almost immediately with attacks, firing upon us as we swoop in. Dornalor weaves us between fire, letting the lead ships soak up the attacks as we pass through where the shields should be.

The moment we cross the threshold, artificial gravity takes hold, enforcing its arbitrary concept of down. The hunk of land that makes the keep look like a floating castle in space is what we target, the open ground unrestricted—unlike the already cluttered space above the keep. Cluttered with lasers, missiles, drones, and rail-gun-driven masses of metal and enchanted rock. We get in low while the rest of the ships land, disgorging their occupants around the keep.

The initiates throw themselves out, rushing the wall-cum-towering-apartment-buildings, using tactical movement and cover fire to get close. They combine force shields, distracting robots and drones and moveable defenses to keep themselves moving. All the while, they return fire, using the ship’s on-board weaponry and their own Skills to tear at the walls and defensive weaponry.

I can’t help but wonder who else we’re killing, who else might be injured by their indiscriminate attacks.

“Watch out, drones incoming,” Harry barks. The War Reporter is in the copilot seat, doing his best to help without participating directly.

Luckily, passing information only mildly affects his status of non-combatant. It only really restricts his use of Skills, but in this case, his main Skill, Just a Bystander, is actually useful. It makes those targeting us, technologically or mentally, ignore him—and thus the ship itself. It doesn’t stop stray shots from striking us, but by hovering off the ground and not firing anything, we’re avoiding drawing attention for now.

“I see them. Now, stop bothering me,” Dornalor snaps at Harry. He is focused, staring at the monitors, eyes flicking sideways at times to take in other images that only he can see.

The Hearbreak is jerking and weaving between drones, laser fire, and the occasional impelled mass as it attempts to keep us in the air, avoid the welcome party, and wait for our turn. Dornalor uses both fingers and mental commands, weaving the entire thing into a ballet of metal and gravitic impellers.

Bolo, seated in the gunner’s seat, sniffs audibly. He has nothing to do right now, because any attack he could launch would break Harry’s Skill. If Harry’s Skill breaks, if we break it, the War Reporter would face a tremendous backlash. And while Harry’s mostly not a huge factor in our fights, Dornalor can always use a second pair of eyes.

“Your initiates are breaching the main walls. Entrance in… two minutes for the earliest group,” Bolo reports, having judged their progress. “The Pooskeen’s at seven.”

I grunt in acknowledgement. Gheisnan is running behind compared to the other initiates. His people are hunkered behind multiple layers of shield walls and projections, shifting forward in a turtle formation. They pop up to attack once in a while, taking out artillery weapons or concentrated groups of attackers. It’s smart and safe, but slow.

Everyone else will breach in, at most, four minutes, but the Pooskeen is holding back. I’m not sure if it’s because he has less firepower—his lack of personal offensive Skills is clear—or if he’s doing this on purpose. Those lagging behind are more likely to survive, after all.

“Get us to Freif. I want us behind the sniper’s team.”

Dornalor acknowledges my order and hits the burners, risking revealing the ship to make it across the compound in time.

In the meantime, I sweep my gaze over the landed shuttles and their disgorged passengers.

Magine, the Duelist, is far ahead of everyone else. He’s the first to breach, and even as I watch, he’s leading his team into the gaping hole of a second-story apartment building. Soul Shield on, he jumps in, his tiny swords flashing as he cuts apart the gathered men. Seconds later, an explosion rips out from the wall as they detonate mines.

I watch Magine’s health drop like a rock and stops about a quarter up. Briefly. Then it rises as Health potions, regeneration, and a Soul Shield trigger. Luckily, the explosion was sufficient to keep his attackers off for the precious few seconds his team needs to catch up. Shield walls slam down around his body while healing spells are cast, fast raising his health.

Unlike the vast majority of his team, Magine hasn’t changed his style much. If anything, they’ve just doubled down on his Skill and preference. The team uses him as the spear-point, focusing on support, providing health to the damage dealer and keeping him alive while the rest of the team brace and hold the ground taken.

In contrast, Ropo’s and Anayton’s teams are more balanced. They move fast, using chained Thousand Steps to give the entire team the equivalent of a Haste Skill—without the need to cast the spell individually on the group. Chained Two are One’s keep their tanks alive when damage exceeds the Soul Shields layered on those drawing fire. Ropo’s focus on the defensive side shines through here, unlike Anayton, who has a noticeable dent in her Mana. At the same time, they use concentrated fire from soulbound gun-wielding members to either take out troublesome attackers or provide covering fire.

Still, the two initiates have their own individual style in this fight. Ropo uses his new stealth Skills, leaving his team to take the brunt of the damage. They’re geared up to do so, while the little Grimsar is making his way to the base of the walls. Occasionally, he reveals himself to launch a series of poison gas cannisters at the wall, cloaking the attackers before he fades away again.

Once Ropo makes his way to the wall, he stops and switches out for his axe, charging up his new Skill. Combined with Army of One, he waits for a full two minutes, until his team is nearly with him, before he launches the attack. The energy from the attack is sufficient to tear a hole directly through the base of the wall and create a scar a third of the way up.

Unlike the upper portions, the base of the wall is thickened and reinforced to provide the foundational supports for the towering skyscrapers within. Even so, the sickly green light from Ropo’s attack spreads, reaching outward and infecting the building material. Which makes no sense, but that’s the System for you.

Anayton, on the other hand, is working with her team, commanding them and their actions. It’s a surprising turn of events from her earlier solo work. Here, she leads, but not with her face like Magine or Kino.

In fact, she’s switched out her soulbound chain and sword for an assault rifle. Unlike the others, she actually has two soulbound weapons—a gift from her Title of the Everlasting Light. That both weapons are as powerful as one another can be attributed to Mana Fount. The viewing of the particular boondoggle that got her both Titles and forced her to purchase the Skills to balance her new weapons was rather entertaining.

Let’s just say that you should never let yourself get dropped into the middle of a combat zone without checking your comms. The fact that she managed to drag half her team across a hostile planet was the main reason she’s on the roll for Paladin.

It probably also explains why she’s babying her people, even against her personal inclinations.

“Get moving to the exits, John. I’m not hanging around,” Dornalor calls, snapping me out of my review of the battlefield.

I stand and follow Bolo, hurrying down to the emergency exit chutes, where we strap in. They’re the same exit chutes we’ve used before, geared to shoot us right out from the bottom. I’m wondering how Dornalor intends to get us in, because from what I’ve seen, Freif is already inside.

Information keeps feeding to me from the gaping hole in the fourth floor. I see glimpses of light, flashes of beam weaponry as they open up. The constant sizzling crack of lasers and driven masses, with Freif’s figure shrouded in smoke and the glint off his Soul Shield. His team is right next to the man, small dots on my minimap as they bulldoze through the opposition.

Ever since we gave the man his mass combat Skills, Freif’s taken to the calling of upfront damage dealer with a vengeance. Combined with his team, who have a preponderance of damage-dealing Skills, he’s taken to heart the idea that victory can be achieved by having the biggest DPS.

My stomach lurches suddenly as the Heartbreak twists, angling itself in midair. Beneath my feet, the end of the escape chute opens, offering a brief view of the breach.

Brief, because the escape chute triggers, sending me shooting toward the opening. I accelerate at hundreds of kilometers per second, the G forces enough to slam my mouth shut, catching the tip of my tongue and filling it with the copper and salt taste of blood. Just as quickly, the damage is gone as the System heals me.

I careen past the startled members of Freif’s team, clipping one of Freif’s hovering guns before my feet impact undamaged internal walls. They tear asunder as I bleed velocity and Soul Shield defenses. It takes multiple walls before I finally come to a stop. My Soul Shield flickers, detailing damage taken, even as the crash harness detaches and ignominiously drops me to the floor.

“What happened to subtle?” I shout over the party chat.

Mikito drops down next to me, scanning the empty storage room, bits and pieces of reinforced metal cladding still raining down around us. Seeing no threats, the samurai strolls over and taps her arm. “Tick-tock.”

I start, wondering where that polite samurai has gone. Once, a long time ago, she’d done the entire strong silent type very well. Of course, part of that had been her lack of English language skills. But now, now she’s gotten used to me. And is giving me shit, just like the rest of them.

Bolo interrupts my musings by jumping through and widening the hole we made. When I raise an eyebrow at his image in the party chat, the Dragon Lord grumbles. “Smashed into a supporting strut.”

My grin widens as Ali catches up, floating through the walls, cackling all the while.

“So glad I recorded that. Now get moving, boy-o, before the guards arrive. Donalor got you into the third ring, but we’re going to have to get moving to the keep itself.”

Mikito’s already moving, running as fast as she can toward the nearest exit. The insides of the wall are utilitarian, burnished steel-gray metal, littered by pale yellow light every twenty feet. Occasionally, graffiti can be seen, gang signs and the occasional drawing of local entertainment shows. Some of the art is startling, graphic in its violence, 3D paint giving it all-too-realistic lifelike properties if glimpsed out of the corner of your eye. Others are risqué, showing anatomically impossible scenes of athletic splendor with aliens of a wide variety.

Beneath our feet, the floors are worn, scuff marks showing in even System-regenerated pathways. It says something about the amount of wear when the System is unable to complete regeneration. It’s quite possible there are even worse areas, places that have broken down further.

We race down corridors, led by Ali and Mikito’s summoned horse. It’s not a real animal, the spirit horse. Recent Level-ups have allowed her greater control, and now the creature rushes ahead, playing both scout and tank. Not that we need one. Not just yet.

“No guards,” I say.

It’s not a call for them to appear, or a raised flag, just an indicator of my concern. There should be guards. Should be personnel blocking us. And even if my minimap glows with dots, most of them are pale gray. Marked by Ali as non-combatants, probably via a quick surface scan of their Statuses.

Mikito grunts, slowing her headlong rush. I note the sudden drop in her Mana at the same time. “Barrier.”

“How many?” Bolo asks as he moves up.

Rather than wait for Mikito to inform me, I borrow Ali’s sight. Arrayed just before the exit from the wall is a good score of the missing guards. Led by a pair of elite members—Erethran nobles with Advanced Classes. One’s a Trick Shooter, the other a Baronet. Beside them, the others of the group block the way, reinforcing the exit and creating a chokepoint. Almost as if a signal was given, additional dots appear, hemming us in.

Between the layers of force fields, the personnel, and the in place firepower, it’ll take us a few moments to break through. I frown, glance at the map again to ascertain that this is the fastest way in. We could go through the walls, but these are reinforced. Especially the exterior wall.

“Bolo, Mikito, punch us through,” I command them. “I’ll be right along.” Already, my hands are filling with toys to slow our pursuers.

My friends charge ahead, Mikito reconjuring her steed and jumping on it. She has to duck low so that she doesn’t knock her head, but that’s fine. She levels Hitoshi over the horse’s ears, ready to use. Bolo just starts running, conjuring his hammer.

I’m not worried that they’ll be stopped. I do, however, have concerns about the initiates. Even out here, drawing the majority of fire, they all have their own targets. Unfortunately, the moment we entered the wall, communication between us and them dropped. I can only pray they don’t die.

Traps in place, the sounds of Bolo and Mikito meeting our enemies resounding through the corridors, I hurry after them. Not a moment too soon, for a cluster of dots cross the line of installed traps.

The Galactic equivalent of a bouncing betty goes off, releasing enchanted shrapnel into the air. To my surprise, I get experience notifications almost immediately. And while I’ve filled the corridors behind us with equipment, drones, mines, and automated machine guns, I’m still surprised.

Are these guys that weak?

My answer appears as I reach the exit, stepping over broken bodies and shattered pieces of equipment. Yes, they are. I’m once again grateful that my helmet filters out the smells of battle. I’ve fought without it before, or when it’s been damaged, and the smell of cooked flesh and viscera from torn-apart bodies is haunting. It leaches into everything, coats your mouth and stains the food you eat for days on end.

Once out of the internal wall corridors, the grounds open before us. A vista of pale green and purple grass and shrubbery. Even as we run, Mikito and Bolo are swinging their weapons, projecting energy at the emplaced artillery and defensive grid that breaks up the peaceful view. Temporal enchantments in the ground slow us down. Increased gravity weighs every action, draining Stamina. None of the defenses or artillery last longer than a single swing, but they keep popping up. Even the weapons on the walls have swung around, aiming at us with the ships grounded.

Even through our defenses, our health continues to drop as we enter the kill zone.

My Soul Shield shatters, metal around Hod’s outer layers boiling away. Rather than let it continue, I trigger the next skill in the armor. Mirror Shade lets me hide among my doppelgangers as we split off and run in different directions.

Bolo and Mikito use their own Skills and equipment to lighten the load, adding purchased automatic weaponry, a conjured summons, and moveable shielding to the mix. Ali floats above, hands held apart. A semi-transparent dome forms around our small team, curving beam attacks, breaking apart mass projectiles, and weakening the bonds between them.

And all the while, we run.

A rumble starts without warning, and the ground beneath Mikito’s horse gives way. A trench nearly six feet wide and twenty feet deep appears, dropping her into its depths. Bolo falls in a few inches before he kicks off against the crumbling ground, driving himself forward with a flip to land on stable dirt on the other side. I just keep running, triggering the hover options built into Hod.

From within the depths, Mikito rides up the steep wall of the trench, flames chasing her, catching me as I run. Massive shields spring into existence, pushing Bolo back before he smashes them apart. And we keep running.

Only our Health is down to half and our Mana is still dropping. Previously destroyed defenses pop back into existence as the defenders spend Credits like water.

“Where are they?” I snarl, spinning around and tossing my knives at an emplacement. I slip Blade Strike into the daggers. Otherwise, the tiny weapons would do nothing to the emplaced weaponry. But their ability to penetrate shields, added to my own Penetration Skill, gives me the oomph needed.

There’s no answer to my question. I growl again and eye our health. In the end, I give in and trigger the Evolved portion of my Penetration Skill. Penetration’s Evolved ability flicks on, and I throw Blade Strikes with abandon, sliding more of them into my daggers as I cast them at oncoming shields without regard to effectiveness. It all piles on, making the Evolved Skill Shield form around me, bolstering its hit points.

“Let me be the vanguard!” I call to Bolo. At the same time, Vanguard of the Apocalypse and Eye of the Storm are used.

Bolo glances back, only for his eyes to widen as the majority of the attacks switch to target me. The storm of fire lights me up, such that it’s impossible to see my form within. But the Penetration Shield holds. In the meantime, with Bolo stopping his attacks on the defenses, I get a chance to replenish as I rush ahead and start cutting.

“I need an Evolved Skill,” Bolo mutters.

I don’t have time to listen to him, knowing I can’t keep all these Skills running forever.

A few last automated emplacements—too dumb to be affected by my Skill—target my friends, but for the most part, I am in the Eye of the Storm.

“What took you so long?” Bolo grumbles as his health slowly creeps up.

“Uhh… I don’t like using things when we don’t need to.” And truth be told, I’d never really wanted to use it so soon. Or have a reason to remember to use it. It’s not as if I’ve often needed this Skill.

The secondary effect of my Penetration Skill has a duration of eighty-five minutes, and the cooldown on it is variable. Unfortunately, it seems cooldown for the Skill is affected by several factors outside of my control, including System resources, ambient Mana levels, and—I think—my own Intelligence and Willpower. What that really means is that once used, I often can’t reuse the Skill for at least a day or two. Which is why I don’t use it very often.

And that means I forgot.

Thankfully, there’s no way for Bolo to know any of that, or my forgetfulness. Instead, the Dragon Lord stays a step behind, focusing his attention on emplacements while I forge ahead, tossing my knives out whenever they return and taking down shields. Even so, three quarters of the way in, we slow to a crawl as the sheer number of automated defenses and shielding systems block our way.

When I hesitate, Bolo snaps, “You want me to take it down?”

“No.” I shake my head, glancing at the plethora of hostiles showing on my map.

Ali’s shrunk down the size of his shield, the strain taking its toll on the Spirit. Mikito’s dismounted, using her steed and her weapon to play rearguard. Even as we gather, our enemies are tightening their encirclement.

If things don’t change soon, we’re going to end up as just so much carrion. Bolo knows this, so my refusal makes his hands tighten on his hammer. But…

It’s time for the kids to show us they have what it takes.

“Now or never, children,” I mutter into the open comms, hoping they can hear me.

Silence greets my words as the air sizzles, the ground melts, and the acrid tang of ozone filters into my breathing.

Silence.

Chapter 18

“Redeemer!” Bolo’s voice is growing frantic.

As more time passes, the greater the resistance grows against my taunt Skill, allowing more and more targets to switch over to my friends. Add the fact that a good portion of the defenses are automated and Bolo’s health is dropping again. Mikito’s not doing much better—in fact, her health is even worse.

“All right, on my mark,” I snarl. Can’t wait any longer then. I throw a returned dagger straight ahead, watch it plunge into the shield and pop it, only for another to spring into place. That’s the problem with cutting our way through right now. Each time we take down a shield, another one forms in its place. Yet not all of them are active, so we can’t destroy them all at once. “I’ll strike after you.”

“On three,” Bolo snaps. “One. Two. Thr—”

Rather than move, the Dragon Lord freezes, because the shields we were staring at have disappeared. We look around quickly, trying to spot additional trouble, but in short order a quarter, then half of the emplaced weaponry stops firing. As we run again, the automatic fire grows even more sporadic while the few living guards look confused.

“About time,” Bolo snaps in exasperation.

Hefting his hammer, he rushes forward, smashing aside the remaining guards. Without the majority of their defenses and artillery, the guards aren’t as eager to do battle with us. They pull back, leaving us an open route to the keep’s gates. Some of them aren’t even bothering to fire their weapons, instead conserving Mana and health.

“Slow,” Mikito complains as she rides past me, grabbing hold of my arm and pulling me along.

“Well, they’re still learning,” I say.

I can’t help but agree though. The initiates took way longer than I thought they should have to complete their objectives. And, eyeing the shutdown weaponry, it looks as though they went for the smash-and-bash approach rather than taking them over. It’d make our lives easier, but I can settle for good enough.

Pushing aside the thought, I return my attention to our headlong charge. Through the main gates, into the main keep itself. The keep itself is a trick, in a way. The Portal to the next level stands within the main hall, right after we enter, rather than deep within. So all we have to do is run in, trigger the Portal with the password we bought, and fight our way through another two dozen levels.

The good news is that so long as we control the external keep, the keep isn’t going anywhere. Not easily. Not without sacrificing decades of work. And I’m betting they aren’t willing to do that.

Not yet at least.

***

A forest spreads out before us. We’re two levels in, the first being a miniaturized town of double-story buildings connected to one another by walkways and narrow streets. We tore through them by the simple expedient of destroying the walls between, unleashing one after another of our ultimate Skills. Then we’d stepped through the entrance to the next teleportation circle and slid into the next zone.

We run through the transplanted forest where kept monsters are reared for training, for sport. I grab the Earth Troll that forms out of the ground and rip its head off with a yank of enhanced muscles. The wet tearing sound fills the air, blood falling in a rain around me.

The head thrashes, trying to bite me, its body already attempting to repair the damage, to fill in the rest of its mass. Earth rolls toward it, and flesh forms around the ragged mess of its neck. I drop the head and a plasma grenade at the same time, riding the explosion as I run.

I’m the vanguard still, my Evolved Skill Shield taking damage from the persistent acid in the atmosphere and the monsters and vegetation that try to stop us. Again and again, I unleash Blade Strikes and toss my knives, rotating through my attacks with abandon. I target everything, from vegetation to monsters, just to add damage notations to the shield. The ground doesn’t count—much—since it’s the transfer of Mana that is the true reason for my Skill to activate. So tearing up the earth doesn’t do much, which is why Beacons of the Angels isn’t on rotation.

Unless, of course, there’s a clump of monsters.

I feel my Mana pulled from me, my Skill triggered, and watch as Ali holds up his hands, shrouded in a halo of slowly growing light, a runic circle right above his head. He’s cackling with glee as he calls down the equivalent of artillery fire on the monsters in our way. That he’s invisible to most eyes makes the entire act even more disturbing.

“How are they making even the jackalopes attack us?” Mikito mutters as she idly cuts one of the bouncing, horned rabbits apart.

“Forest Keeper, Druid, or maybe a Game Master?” Bolo says. “This isn’t a true forest, so it might even be a Park Ranger. If they extended their domain over this entire area…”

“Stupid Skills,” I grumble.

But we keep running, because we’re on a timer. Not just for how long the initiates can stay alive, but for how long my Penetration Skill can last. Because once it’s down, one of our major advantages disappears.

We run. And hope we can make it in time.

***

“Who lives in a damn maze?” I snarl, punching the wall. It cracks but doesn’t give way, which is saying something when you consider my Penetration power is in play.

I shake my head, letting my anger bleed out while waiting for Ali to report back. Between him and Mikito’s conjured horse and the half dozen drones we’ve deployed, we’re mapping out the maze as fast as we can. Problem is, the walls keeps moving and the drones keep getting shot down. The walls are breakable, but every time we do that, the maze goes into overdrive. Considering they could be changing where the damn teleport pad is located with each second, each creak and twist as the floor rotates, as walls disappear or rise, we’re taking a more subtle approach.

“They’re running out the clock,” Bolo states, eyeing the wall ahead of us again. I glare at him and the Dragon Lord shrugs.

“Ali will get us through,” I say. But, truth be told, we’re waiting on someone else. Someone a little more reliable.

“Head left, straight through two crossroads. Take the crossing at two o’clock, then go up three levels,” Harry mutters, his voice appearing on our party chat.

A moment later, we’re moving, following his orders. Even if they change the maze, Harry has learnt they can only alter it so often. The cost of shifting the walls and the center is quite high, and—luckily—they’ll eventually have to decide between draining the main Mana batteries for the keep or letting us through. Already, their attempt at keeping us out of the first Level has cost them.

I’m hoping they make the mistake and drain the main batteries. It’ll mean access afterward will be easier. I’ll take annoyance now to unknown traps later. But in either case, they’ll run out of tricks on this Level soon enough.

It doesn’t help that every time we find a Mana gathering point, I drop one of my Mana Dispersal grenades, letting it destroy the effectiveness of the environmental recharge levels. It’ll speed up the rate that we get through the maze. It’s a little wasteful, but between my Altered Storage space and a near unlimited budget, I can afford to be.

In the meantime, as beam fire and smoke wafts in from the corridor we approach, we’ll continue to cut down their men. At the very least, it’s experience.

“Thanks,” I send as I catch a chain on my arm, let it wrap around my shield, then yank, pulling the surprised Erethran into my fist.

It’s always good to have a ringer on the outside.

***

Idyllic clouds floating through an artificial sky, blocking out the trio of captured, shrunken suns, while forest-covered mountains in the distance are blanketed with white, powdery goodness. I almost wish for a set of skis and a few hours alone to carve some trails. It reminds me of another mountain range, one where a dragon whose child might have been born lives. I certainly feel a flash of homesickness pulling at me. A reminder of what I left behind, the people I cared for. It clenches my stomach, tightens my throat before I push it all aside.

Damn library. Dragging my thoughts here and there.

There’s one additional feature here that isn’t part of the Yukon, or at least hadn’t been when I left. The giant floating platforms, like the ones under our feet as we hover in space. Wide, expansive gaps between them all. And no ways across, beyond jumping.

“What exactly is the point of this?” I don’t feel the cold, though a small reading in the corner of my eyes tells me that it’s -63.3 C. Frost rims our armor, coating Bolo’s horns and the head of his hammer. Not that it seems to bother the Dragon Lord.

“Point?” There’s a big grin on Bolo’s face as he regards the platforms, the gaps, and the numerous guns and other defensive emplacements that make it all the more challenging. “Fun, of course. Don’t you have obstacle courses in your world?”

“Ours don’t include lethal weaponry.”

“Actually—” Ali begins.

“Japanese game shows don’t count,” I snap.

With her free hand, Mikito smacks me over the back of my head. “Are we doing this?”

“Do we have a choice?” I shake my head, amused that the defensive emplacements haven’t shot at us yet. I guess, being a sport, firing upon nonparticipants is a foul. I figure a man who actually knows what the hell is going on should be ahead in this case, so I say to Bolo, “Do you want to lead?”

“I haven’t done this in four decades.” Bolo’s grin widens. “Don’t break the rules.”

He crouches then launches himself at the nearest platform. He lands with a thump, shaking off gathered snow before he continues sprinting, jumping over laser barriers, pivoting around a cannonball the size of a Mini before jumping for the next platform. The moment he leaves the original platform, it shifts, changing configurations.

“What rules?” I shout after the Dragon Lord in exasperation.

Mikito shrugs. Then she’s off, chasing the Dragon Lord. For a moment, I have a flash of déjà vu. Is this what it’s like to be chasing after me all the time? When I don’t tell people what the hell I’m doing, keeping all my plans to myself?

If it is, I don’t like it.

“We going, boy-o?” Ali taunts. “Tick-tock, you know.”

I exhale a tired breath and run. Hopefully we don’t break any rules. Whatever they may be.

***

Fire burns above us, magma flows beneath our feet. Obsidian rock juts out from the hellish landscape where little black-winged imps, their skin highlighted with red, sit in glowing cracks. They form balls of plasma between their legs and thrust them at us. Each attack makes the temperature around us spike, and we’re already taking environmental damage from the heat.

The Hod is whining, its Mana levels and durability dropping as it struggles to cleanse the air, feed cool liquid to my body, and repair surface damage. My Penetration Shield ticks down constantly, even as heat bleeds through to the armor beneath and is trapped. It’s an interesting failure point, if it wasn’t potentially going to kill me.

I’m grateful that the armor continues to provide clean, fresh air at least. Even if it is drawing from reserve tanks. I get the feeling that the outside air is less than savory. Idly, I conjure my sword and bat aside an incoming fireball before tossing my blade at the imp. The attack causes the imp to explode, taking out another two of its brethren. Heat rolls out from the exploded imp, making the temperature rise again.

“Stop doing that!” Bolo snaps. “Some of us aren’t in expensive, heat-resistant armor.”

I eye the Dragon Lord, noting how his health fluctuates as his regeneration fights against the heat. Unlike myself, he’s taking damage at a significant rate. Only he’s healing it backend. That is, it’ll continue working to a certain point until the System will stop regenerating him, considering the constant yo-yo a matter of torture.

***

“This new provision by your Galactic Council will impact our information-gathering abilities. You have to vote against it.” The speaker is a tentacled, squid-like being with an aborted body that just kind of stops. All mouth and tentacles, without many other parts. I know, from the library, that the remainder of its body is semi-displaced, in another portion of the universe.

“You will have to learn to live without it. The Council has learned of your tests. Some of the members strongly disapprove. You know they don’t want you to do this. And then you had to take the boy’s nephew.” The speaker glares at Tentacles.

Information flows, reminding me who they are. A Questor, an old Corrupt Questor, now dead at the hands of an incensed Heroic.

And a Legendary. A member of the Council. One who still lives. He has a lot of names, a lot of Titles. But is best known as the Weaver. Short, thin, all angular bodies once upon a time. Now, his bloated body is pushing the edges of his robes. Seven eyes spin constantly, watching the world from the corners of his face, while a pair of eyes on individual tentacles rise from his forehead, fixing on the Questor.

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s not good enough,” The Weaver stares at the trembling creature before he flicks his hand sideways. Tentacles flinches, but nothing happens, and it relaxes. Only to tense again when the Weaver speaks. “Do not fail me again. This lesson should be sufficient.”

The memory ends, but further information streams in. Details about the Weaver, his abilities, his Skills. And what happened to the Corrupt Questor. It wasn’t him that the Weaver killed, but his family. All of them. Two hundred thirty-eight members. With the barest twitch of his hand and a single Skill.

The action was actually counterproductive, driving Tentacles mad. He’d stopped researching, trying to Level, trying to find a way to beat the Weaver. He failed when a vengeful Heroic found him. And along with his death, new data, new information had flowed into the Questor’s library.

Scarily enough, I get the feeling that the Weaver is actually on my side. He wants to know what the System is about. Wants it so badly, he’ll do anything, kill anyone, destroy anything to find out.

I shudder, coming back to find myself still floating down the lava river. I don’t even understand the point of this particular keep, the creation of a hellscape like this. It’s not even for fun. It’s just pain and annoyances.

“Can you ride the Dragon, Redeemer?”

“I’m fine.” I reply to Bolo, pushing aside the problem of the quest for now. Instead, I return to an earlier issue. “Maybe if we were all on board about what the rules are, we’d all know what not to do.”

“Are you still upset about that?” Bolo says. “Everyone knows not to have two contenders on the same platform.”

“Obviously not everyone,” I snap.

Mikito, at the back of the raft, guiding the cobbled-together vessel with her polearm, lets out an audible snort. “Enough. You two can bicker later. Let’s get out of here fast.”

The river of lava might be flowing at a decent rate, but at this speed, I’ll be well out of my Skill use by the time we’re done with all these keeps.

“Fine.” I flip over backward, landing in the lava. A few short kicks gets me to the back edge of the raft, then I push. Flutter kicks, added with the Hod’s own internal thrusters, move us at speed. My Shield starts dropping, but I don’t need to regenerate it anymore. It’s going to die off soon anyway. Might as well make full use of it.

As if our new emphasis on speed has pissed off the imps, they act out, throwing more fireballs. With Ali playing lookout and guide, Bolo and Mikito take over defense.

And me? I play human motor in a river of lava.

***

Infinite Keeps is a bit of a misnomer. There aren’t an infinite number of levels or infinite number of structures we have to break through. But they do fold their defenses within one another, again and again. Each level, each keep, is larger than the other. Surprisingly, after a certain point, the resistances taper off. Automated defenses keep at it, but we stop seeing Erethran guards.

Doesn’t mean that the fight on top is getting any less intense. In fact, a glance at the notes Ali has sent has filled me with grief. We’d lost, more than I care for. More than I wanted, more than I estimated. But, loss or not, we can only keep going.

It’s only when we emerge into the very last keep, an idyllic city in the distance, that we discover why.

We appear on the outskirts of the city, towering skyscrapers before us, floating cars and wind turbines surrounding us. After everything we’ve gone through, I’d expected a castle with a forlorn princess within rather than a city. Small, as these things go, by Galactic standards. But a city nonetheless.

And right before us are the combined guards and defenses of the last few keeps. I’m a little intimidated, looking at the sheer number. Ali helpfully provides Status data, showing that the vast majority of those facing us, all one hundred forty-three, are Advanced Classers. There are another fourteen Master Classers in the group, but only two are Combat Classers. The others are there to provide buffs and deploy their manufactured equipment.

There’s a momentary pause when we appear. A brief second when everyone takes in their surroundings, the environment, and the situation. When their brains ask “Are we really going to do this?” They answer, dumbly, yes.

And chaos and carnage begins.

Mines go off, a rainbow assemblage of beam weapons and lasers target us while sonic and mass disruptors thrum. Even mental and magical weapons are used, all to end our progress. The bubble and hiss, the sharp cough of weaponry is only dampened a little by my helmet. Gases, toxic and distorted, boil up from the ground even as it softens.

Bolo steps forward, twisting his hand sideways. A shape forms around him, a watercolor sketch of a dragon. Legs explode from the crouch, hammer in hand as the dragon roars, screaming its defiance. We charge behind, Mikito on her ghostly companion equine, myself skimming across the soupy ground in my personal armor.

We have just a few minutes before the dragon conjuration Bolo is using runs out of energy. Without a linked dragon of his own, the Skill is much less powerful than it could be. On the other hand, when it does end, it’ll explode. That’ll save us time, but we still need to get to the settlement room.

“Ali? Are we ready yet?”

“Nearly there,” the Spirit says. His face is scrunched up, his body invisible to most. He’s flying beside me, staying out of sight because most is not all. And he’s got more important things to do than dodge Mana missiles.

I watch, in the lee of the roaring, ripping energy dragon, as the guards are thrown aside, their wall torn apart. The two Master Classers are attempting to stop Bolo, but the dragon fights alongside him, stymying their efforts.

It’s only when the dragon turns a deep, dark purple, that Ali shouts, “Go.”

So I go. Blink Stepping, leapfrogging, my way out of the encirclement. Into the city itself.

Behind me, Mikito triggers a last-minute Skill, covering herself and Bolo in a protective bubble as the dragon explodes. The energy contained within Bolo’s Skill, absorbed from attacks, tosses apart earth and bodies, shattering equipment and force shields. I just hope they can hold out long enough for me to do what I need to do.

I keep Blink Stepping, heading deep within, dodging any attacks that chase me, thankful that Ali managed to figure out a workaround the Spatial Locks. Given enough time and effort, any lock can be broken. If you’re willing to take the pain, pay the cost.

***

I expected Master Class defenders in mass numbers. Maybe even a couple of golems or a mecha ready to stop me as I Blink Stepped past the outer walls of the final settlement structure onto its main grounds. Located in a tetrahedron of a building, I Blink toward the front door, past open ground, ready to punch my way in. I expected resistance.

Instead, there’s Bob.

“This way, sir.” The protocol droid bows, its rotund black-and-white body guiding me through the front doors and down the corridor to the settlement sphere.

I look around warily, concerned that this is a trap. But nothing in my map—and nothing that Ali can find, even darting through walls and ceilings—shows that there is anything else. “Where is everyone?”

“Greeting the other guests, sir,” the protocol droid chirps happily.

We come to the main doors and they slide open without a problem. I glance at them, eyeing their thickness, their density, their enchantments. And mentally wince. Would’ve taken me at least a couple of minutes to break through. Unless I trigger something like Army of One.

“And Lord Ucald?”

“The Lord has left. A rather hasty departure,” Bob informs me, spinning its head all the way around.

Seeing no danger, I walk into the room, still expecting to be assaulted. Nothing. Carefully, I place my hand on the settlement sphere, beginning the countdown for takeover. I eye the entrance, wondering if they’ll appear now.

Instead, I get a call.

“Baka. They stopped,” Mikito’s voice is a little incredulous.

“Who stopped? Stopped what?” I reply.

“Attacking us. They are pulling back. All of them.”

I blink, then call up their information. Linked to her own armor and Bolo’s, I can see the truth for myself. I also note that they’re both a little bruised and worn, their health and Mana only now recovering from the quarter level. “Why?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll take it,” Bolo says, breathing a little heavily. “This was more of a workout than I expected. Those Master Classers were pretty decent.”

I grunt, then turn my attention to the only thing that might have an answer.

“Lord Ucald left orders that if you were to reach the inner keep, to allow you to take the sphere. According to him, he did not want his city destroyed.” Bob pauses, flickers, then a recording appears, video and audio of Krenmock Ucald.

“So. You have made it. I hope you didn’t destroy too much of my keeps. If you did, I’ll have to take it off your head,” Krenmock says. I snort while the man glares at me. “Do not think this is over, Paladin. You and your worthless impostors are a thing of the past. A useless, defunct past that has no place in Erethra’s future. We will have your head. Yours and your initiates.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Ali mutters, making himself fully visible. He waves at Bob, who shuts down the recording.

“Hey, I was listening to that!” I protest.

“Really?” Ali raises an eyebrow.

“There might have been something useful in there…” I say. After all, people who felt the need to monologue might give away something.

“Whatever. We can listen later. For now, maybe you should take the settlement?” Ali says, pointing out that I’ve got a waiting notification.

I sigh, then mentally acknowledge the prompt.

And just like that, I take away his seat of power.

And create a whole new set of problems.

Chapter 19

Once I got back, after dumping the Lordship onto poor Saimon to deal with, I’d been literally jumped by the young lady. We’d had quite a vigorous welcoming party, so common after death and lost.

Dark green hair leans against my chest, a fingernail tracing down my body. A glittering ring of dark gold with a small inset ruby gleams on it. I eye the ring and the individual the finger and hair belongs to. She’s shifting slightly to get the corals around her head to settle better.

We’re both naked, and I feel the pleasant warmth of her body pressed against me as we lie in post-coital happiness.

“And you never found him?” Catrin says sleepily.

Our conversation has been lazy, filled with small intimate details at first, before moving on to my recent foray into the universe.

“No. We tried to track him down, but he’d taken enough Portals and teleportation that locating him was too difficult. He’s got a Skill running so that even the Shop’s information dump shows him in one of three locations,” I say, shaking my head. It’s a pretty neat Skill, to be able to split information like that within the Shop.

Of course, we could still break it if we threw more money at it. But all three of those locations had significant political implications if we went in. So for now at least, we’re going to let him stay. I might not care that much about politics, but starting a new war or restarting two cold wars is a bit much. Even for me. Anyway, it’s better to let Lord Braxton and Saimon try the diplomatic option first.

And if that fails, when I do kick in the door and drag him out, it’ll cause a lot less problems.

“You sound disappointed,” Catrin says softly.

“I am.” I try to shrug, realize I have her on me, and just kiss the top of her head. “We killed a lot of people and still didn’t get the guy on the top.” I chuckle softly. “Was easier when we were just bounty hunters.”

Catrin shifts, sliding along my body to put her chin on my chest and look back up at me with those slitted cat-eyes. “You don’t like leaving things undone, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” I smile, meeting her gaze. “And you? What do you think of what I’ve done?”

Catrin laughs, hair spilling across her eyes as she shakes. “What does an Administrator know of these matters?”

“Mmmm… we used to call secretaries the gatekeepers to those in power, so I’d say… a lot,” I say, tapping her on the nose.

She opens her mouth to object, then, seeing how serious I am, rolls off me and sits up, pulling the blanket with her. “You’re a strange one. Asking the thoughts of one like me.” But when I wait, she brushes her hair out of her face. “I think what you did was right. The nobles have taken to running their fiefs like their personal empires. The Empress—May the System Guard Her—is too busy holding the borders to divert our legions to deal with them. If she could…”

I raise an eyebrow, and she offers me a wry smile. “The nobles produce the weapons and the equipment our armies rely on. If a General was to act against a single noble, he’d find himself cut off.” She shrugs. “And even with the Shop and the System, the shipping delays, the additional cost, it would harm them. No General, not even Brerdain, would upset the nobles for such a minor matter.”

“Tens of thousands of immigrants, lives enslaved for decades… that’s a minor matter?” I say with some heat.

“To them who fight on the borders and lose as many soldiers in a year?” Catrin asks rhetorically.

I clamp my mouth shut, once again remembering how big the Empire really is. It’d be unwieldly without the System. Or maybe it is unwieldly even with the System.

“Not a fan of the wars?” I cock my head, having heard something in her voice.

She turns her head to the side, and I watch the lines of Society’s Web pulse and flash, watch as she considers what to say. How to say it. Picking at truth and lies, or truth and partial truths.

“I understand the need. I understand why we do it.” Catrin falls silent, then shakes her head. “But I grew up on the border. Near the Forbidden Zones. I knew we would one day be swallowed. We had monsters spawning all the time. And we could have used the armies there, fighting them. Instead, we had to rely on… on Adventurers.” The last word she says with some distaste. “The Guilds and the nobles who ran them, they were our best hopes. Because any guard, any individual who had any talent, was snatched up.”

“We?”

“My family.” When I make a noise, she shakes her head. “Nothing to worry about. I have no older brother looking to protect my chastity. No family left to worry about me.”

I frown, then sit up and wrap my arms around her. She might make it sound light, but I hear the pain in her voice. The loss. It’s an old loss, much like some of mine. But that kind of pain doesn’t really go away—it’s just forgotten. Until you remember it again, and it hits you like a truck.

I hold her in silence until she pushes away. “Are you going to continue then?”

“Continue?”

“Cleaning up the nobles, sorting out their… their mistakes.”

I pause, then shake my head. I catch the flash of disappointment in her eyes, the slight turning down of her lips. It’s gone in a blink, but still remembered. “Nah. I got to get the kids going onto the next stage. And sort out the funerals.”

She sucks in a slight breath as I remind her why I’d been so passionate only a short while ago. Death and loss is a good reminder that life is worth living.

A lesson the apocalypse taught me.

One of many.

***

The funeral is held in space. We stand in the docking bay of a space station not far from Pauhiri’s primary sun, staring at the baleful glare of the star and protected by the energy shields of the station. Solar collectors spread from the wings in a thin halo of monomolecular sails, absorbing energy to power the station, to be collected in batteries and beamed off to feed other stations.

Within the docking bay, we stand in lines, facing the pair of caskets. The remnants of the initiates I’d led to battle, or what we could find of them. On one side of the caskets, we stand, my team and me and the remaining initiates. On the other side, we have their families. I see tears, blood and hair torn asunder, the ravages of grief.

And my stomach clenches tightly. Bile rises in my mouth as I realize I have to say something, the Erethran equivalent of a chaplain slowly droning to an end. I have to say something, and I don’t know what. Because of all the funerals I’ve been to, all the loss I’ve faced… it’s rare that I had to speak. And even rarer have I been a direct cause of the loss.

They fought on my orders, for a cause I chose for them. Not like on Earth, where we fought for our lives, for our own planet. These people, these deaths… they might have walked away. Might have refused if they had a choice. But I never gave them one.

And now, they’ll never have a chance to choose again.

Maybe my understanding, my feelings on this isn’t exactly logical. Loss. Grief. Guilt never is.

If I’m also mourning the lives of the guards I killed, the people I murdered who were just doing their jobs, no one else needs to know.

“… and to the System and the flame, we consign the bodies.”

“To the System and flame,” echoes the voices of those in the building. Bolo and Harry do so without a problem, while Mikito and I are left stunned, catching up a second after everyone.

At the chaplain’s and everyone else’s regard, I smooth out my grimace and take the place the chaplain has vacated. I let my gaze travel along the initiates for a second, stopping on Kino. We found him locked away in a cell, unharmed if annoyed.

Then I turn to look at the families as I speak. “Ropo Dhagmath and Gheisnan of the Two Palms were… good soldiers. Brave Grimsar and Pooskeen. They fell finishing the tasks that I set out for them.”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Bolo grimace, even as the Grimsar family of Ropo straighten. He’s got a big clan, multiple children and their grandkids. All of them paid to be Portaled over. There aren’t many tears there—maybe because Ropo was that old. Even so, some beards look a little more bare, their roots torn off.

On the Pooskeen side, there’s a lot more wailing and gnashing of teeth, fur torn out and long bloody scratches left on their skin. While I wanted his whole clan here, when I realized it literally numbered hundreds, I cut it down to immediate family only. Even then, they’re double the size of Ropo’s group. My gaze is drawn to the small clutch of grandchildren who stare around mutely, eyes full of unshed tears as they’re caught up in the emotions without truly understanding the cause.

“John…”

I shake my head slightly, dismissing the message from Ali. “They were great soldiers and would have made great Paladins.” A lie. I was about to fail Gheisnan. He didn’t have what it took to survive, not with his Skills. Not really. I should have failed him before. That was my mistake. “I would have been proud to fight alongside them.” Truth. “I know that they fell doing what Paladins do. Fighting for the Empire.

“For everyone in the Empire.” My gaze falls on the families, shifting from adult to adult. “Not just those who have the luck, the fortune to be born in the right place, at the right time, to the right parents. But for those who are crushed under the wheel of progress, who just want a chance for something better.”

I draw a deep breath, seeing the echo of understanding in their eyes. Because, and I know it’s true, they understand. They’ve seen it. Experienced it.

“And they succeeded.”

I turn slightly and gesture to the ceiling. Notification windows appear, visible for all to see. Videos of Ropo and Gheisnan. Taken from news feeds, from their suit cameras, or from above, via the drones they used. So many videos, so many scenes. A prison cell thrown open, Ropo standing in the door as the individuals within shrink away in fear, then approach in wonder as he calls to them. Another of him standing on top of the smoking form of a mecha tank, enslaved miners staring at him with wide eyes, some falling to their knees. Grubby, emaciated, broken individuals seeing a glimmer of hope.

Gheisnan gets much the same reaction in the half dozen windows showcasing his own victories. Ushering the captured out of the “merchant” ship, receiving thanks from a transport vessel’s Captain. A more savage video as, fangs bared, he tears out the throat of the medical scientist while the research subjects cheered.

Freedom, hope, justice. Vengeance and punishment.

They deliver it, as Paladins were meant to do. And I let their families view their successes. What they managed to do. I let them stare, to remember, and if there are a few more tears, there are also straighter backs. Grim smiles.

“They died doing what a Paladin should do. And for that, they have my gratitude. And that of a thousand others.” I pause. “They have my gratitude and my promise—I will have Lord Ucald’s head.”

My last words bring forth a baying from the Pooskeen clan and a heavy thump of fist to chest from the Grimsar. I get approving nods. And then I’m done and I step back, letting others speak. Letting old friends, the other initiates, their old commanding officers talk.

I let them speak, and I try not to think about what I didn’t say. About my own failures. And my own regrets.

***

In the distance, the coffins float to the sun in a slow and stately progression. Not really that slow in actual velocity terms, but slow when viewed on the projection of the solar system that is being shown at the wake. Part of the ritual is the watch as friends and family mingle, waiting for the coffins to be drawn into the sun. Depending on how much time there is, the thrust set upon the coffins vary, making some wakes take days and others, mere minutes. Ours is a little more reasonable, a couple of hours long.

We’re hosting it in one of the viewing galleries at the top of the station, the stars displayed in clear glass windows. Of course, much of the sight is dominated by the sun taking up a large portion of the starscape, but there are sufficient windows to glimpse other, non-gaseous views.

Floating between the attendees are droids, plying both station personnel and funeral attendees with the Galactic equivalents of alcohol. There’s a wide variety of drugs and poisons on hand, all of which will bypass System regeneration. It helps that the entire viewing gallery is blanketed by a debuff, lowering poison and toxin resistances of those within by 50%.

From the second floor of the gallery, hiding in the shadows, I watch the group below as I nurse my drink. I did my duty, spoke with others for the first hour, shaking hands and offering words of consolation. But now, I glower at them all, wondering if I should have overruled Bolo’s recommendation of a few hours and gotten this over with.

“Not much for parties, are you?” Anayton asks as she walks over and leans against the railing beside me.

She’s got a glass in hand, the drink reminding me of a lava lamp more than something I’d consume. I could try to figure it out, but I’m not that curious. I do note though that rather than needing to drink it, the grip in the center allows the liquid to slowly absorb through her skin itself.

“This isn’t a party.” I say.

“True.” Anayton pauses. “Your speech wasn’t horrible.”

“Not good either.”

The initiate shrugs in reply.

“So are you here to tell me you’re out?”

That catches the woman by surprise, making her look at me head-on. “Why would you ask that?”

“I can’t think of another reason to speak to me. Debriefing is later, after all.”

Anayton lets out a huff, her nostrils expanding. I hear the exhalation, smell the hint of myrrh on her breath. “You really aren’t very good at this social thing, are you?”

I shrug.

“I came by to check on you.”

My eyes narrow, then I chuckle. “Drew the short straw?”

There’s a moment of puzzlement before she nods. “Yes, I got the lowest Mana clip. We all noticed your… distraction.”

“Smooth,” I say at her choice of words. “But I’m fine. I’ve lost others before.”

“To your orders?”

“Yes,” I say. And that too is true. Just not in the way she thinks.

“They chose, you know, just like we all did. Just like Smo’kana did. To try to be Paladins. And it’s not our first excursion. We’ve fought, we’ve killed for worse reasons,” Anayton says. “This. This opportunity you offer? It’s perhaps the first time we’ll have a chance to do what we think is right.”

I shake my head in negation of her words. Their choice, my orders.

“Our lives for our honor?” Anayton shakes her head, something dark passing through her eyes. “A victory at twice the price.”

I consider the young lady for a moment, then glance at the attendees below. I watch them walk around, cluster and break apart, chat and laugh, with that tinge of despair and grief that rises and fades around the edges. They’re a militaristic society. They’re used to loss, so there are no giant outbursts of anger or raging. But the grief is still there. Because loss is loss.

In the end, I pluck a memory of her from her reports and speak. “The Diyamant attack.”

Anayton flinches.

“That’s your reason, isn’t it? For becoming a Paladin.”

Anayton looks away, refusing to meet my eyes. But her hands clench and she shrinks a little into herself. I can be patient, so I stay silent. Waiting. Eventually, my patience is rewarded.

“We were seconded to the Lord Sockuya. It was supposed to be a regular assignment. Guard him, make sure he survived his trip, come back. We didn’t know where he was going. We didn’t know what he would do when he got there. And when they came for him, braying for his head…” Anayton shudders. She tries to say more, to explain. She tries and fails.

I put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. I know the rest of the story. The things she didn’t say. He massacred the town—not because of anything important, but because his ex-lover’s family had come from it. He couldn’t touch her, not anymore. Not since she got together with his sister, received her protection. But he could destroy his lover’s village. When the others came for him, he let the Honor Guard do their job, follow their orders. Made them choose between orders and what was right.

They chose their orders. Because that’s how they’re taught.

It’s what soldiers do.

“It’s not what Paladins do,” I say out loud. Finishing my own thoughts.

As if she managed to follow along, Anayton nods. And then she walks away as if she can’t stand to be near me anymore. Maybe it’s herself she can’t stand to be near. Self-loathing is a pernicious poison. Hard to get rid of, no matter how hard you scrub, no matter how much you drink.

In the silence of the second floor, as the hubbub of those below caresses my senses, as I sip on the drink in my hand and grip the lava lamp Anayton left behind, a figure emerges from the shadows. I don’t jump. I don’t even startle. Hard to miss someone when you’ve got a big glowing thread leading right to them.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Catrin says as she sways over. She leans against the railing, brushing her shoulder against my chest as she does so, putting a little weight into my body and passing on the heat of her body. “It looked serious.”

“It… was,” I say, shaking my head. I breathe in, catching the hints of nutmeg and flowers that is all hers, and find myself taking a deeper breath. “Just a talk of loss. And pain.”

“Ah. That kind of talk.” Catrin lowers her gaze.

I reach out, pulling her closer. “You know it?”

“I’ve lost others. Friends. Family,” Catrin murmurs.

“Work?”

“Mmmm… and life. I grew up—well. You know. It wasn’t easy.”

“Yes.” I look down. “What do you think of them? The initiates?”

“They seem good. Strong. Dedicated.” She nods to the group below.

I absently note how they’ve gathered again, talking amongst themselves. Already, I see the way the lines are drawing between them and everyone else. Even if members of their teams are here, there’s a line. Between those who eventually have to make the calls and everyone else.

“They trust you. To lead them.”

“More fool them. And you?” I say. “Do you trust me?”

There’s a slight hesitation, one that makes me reluctantly turn to meet her waiting eyes. There’s a light smile on her lips, amusement at my question. She makes me wait, makes me regret asking such a stupid question.

“Yes.” When I open my mouth, she places a finger on it. “If you say I’m foolish, I’ll throw you off this balcony.” I clamp my mouth shut. “They’re no fools. Nor am I, Redeemer. They’re exactly what you wanted, aren’t they?”

I cock my head to the side but eventually nod. They very much are. I find myself drawing a deep breath and exhaling as I realize what it means.

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Catrin says softly.

“Soon. Debriefing and then… well. The next step.”

Catrin makes a face.

I pull her close with one arm and give her a squeeze. “Make my excuses for me?”

When she wrinkles her nose at my request, I chuckle and plant a kiss on her lips. It’s time. For the quest. For setting up their next step.

***

We meet in the pale yellow room of the Shop. The meeting rooms are often rented out, the time dilation affect one of the few time-related effects that are viable. I’m not entirely sure if it’s an aspect of the teleportation to the location or if the entire Shop is affected by a time dilation bubble. In either case, time seems to move at a much slower rate within the Shop, compared to everywhere else.

I’ve done some research into Classes that mess with time, in the very limited ways that the System allowed, and with the library in my head, I’ve learnt the hell a lot about it. Time, movement within it, and all the resulting research takes up a large chunk of the information in my brain. Even now, there are research projects in play.

So far, time dilation is the extent of the System’s effects on the timeline. We can look into the future by guessing what will happen, but it’s all estimation. Sometimes eerily accurate guesses, but still guesses. You can look into the past by using various Skills to shift light, to draw on spiritual energies, to read the vibration of quantum entanglements. But you can’t go back in time or forward into the future.

That doesn’t stop us from trying.

Magic, unconstrained by the limitations of the System, is the go-to option. Numerous mages have attempted to manipulate Mana, trying to pierce the veil of time itself. The most successful of those spells rebounded, damaging their casters. The greatest failures had a tendency to create horrors.

Monsters that grew too fast, that aged and died in the blink of an eye. Sapient creatures whose very life force was sucked out to power the spell. Even the mass replication of the spell using an entire city’s lifeforce was insufficient to make a dent. The veil was more like a diamond wall than diaphanous cloth. You could slow time down, dilute it. But you couldn’t move through it.

“Cider?” the dark elf asks, holding out the clear glass of alcoholic apple juice.

When I take it, he shifts his hand slightly, making sure I touch his fingers. I have to admit, his touch still sends a thrill through me. Even when a portion of my mind records the ongoing Charm effects I resist. Roxley has a full suite of Skills and tech to make him alluring. I would almost accuse him of vanity, except I knew he’d just bask in the accusation.

It’s due to his past. Being a competitive dancer in Truinnar society meant he had to look good. No, better than good. While the winners were generally easy to pick out, the sponsorship of the contenders was another thing entirely. You couldn’t just win; you had to win with style.

And that meant looking good.

And smelling good.

And yes, feeling good.

“We could adjourn somewhere else,” Roxley drawls. His dark skin frames the now purple-and-yellow hair, highlighting those sharp ears and that wide smile. He leans against the table, pushing his hips out as he does so, and stretches.

The ass.

“No. Not getting distracted.” I step back and sip on the drink to buy time. Immediately, I get notifications that I’m resisting a variety of drugs, over and above the normal alcohol content. “What the hell?”

“Third Sol apple cider,” Roxley says. He makes the bottle appear, and I look at the very long list of warnings. “Quite in demand. The orchard is a dungeon, the loot drops the apples. Only way to make the drink is via, well, questing. It’s even more in demand than Apocalypse Ale.”

I can’t help but chuckle and take another sip of the drink. I should’ve guessed. Even in our world, apple trees have mutated. “Tastes pretty good. But this isn’t a social call.”

“I assumed so.” Roxley grows serious as he puts aside the flirting. It’s like flipping a switch, and I kind of envy him that ability. I’m still letting my gaze linger on his biceps. “I’ve heard about you and your latest… fling.”

“Jealous?”

Roxley doesn’t answer, instead wandering over to a seat. When he’s facing me again, he just cocks an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I figured.” I sit down across from him. One of the advantages of our relationship, if you could call it a relationship, is the lack of strings. Roxley understands, something Lana never could. “You still taking care of the Duchess’s place?”

“Of course.”

“Good. And you’ve got contacts with the rest of the council.” I say.

That’s a new thing, as they’ve formalized the power structure within the planet. The major players in each faction have divided the seats into a semi-permanent ruling Council. Rob’s still the World Leader, but the Council has chipped away at his strength, forcing him to play politics. Or lose his seat. It’s still shaky foundations, with a lot of maneuvering. But they’ve managed to keep the planet united so far.

In fact, from what I hear, a number of Dungeon Worlds have made moves to unite their own worlds. The advantages we’ve managed to acquire by locking down the entire planet have made it apparent that they’ve been leaving a lot of Credits on the table. Now that they’ve got a working example, old rivalries that kept them apart have driven Galactic groups together. Still, there’s a weight of history behind a lot of the fractious enmities on other Dungeon Worlds. And so while plans might be in play, nothing has actually happened. Yet.

Roxley nods, confirming my understanding.

“Good. Because I have got a business proposition for all of you.”

The Truinnar cocks an eyebrow, and I can’t help but smile back. Just because I’ve left doesn’t make me any less a child of Earth. And I still need to have the initiates pass their quest.

Chapter 20

“This is a blatant abuse of power!” Magine complains.

I grin at the Movanna, then turn my gaze on the surviving Paladins. Only four of them are left: two Erethrans, Kino, and Magine. I’m surprised Freif hasn’t broken. I’m surprised Magine hasn’t flamed out. A lot of surprises, including Kino’s survival. But considering I started with seven, having four left is a pretty decent number, I figure.

If only I could have gotten to this stage by kicking them out. And not losing them.

“Yes, it very much is.” I grin.

We’re in a briefing room, back on palace grounds, where we’ve been training for the last week. There’s a little more polishing left to do for the initiates to learn how to work with their team, to fix problems we focused on in the debrief.

They weren’t happy after that meeting, not at all. Between Bolo, Mikito, myself, and three guest lecturers from the armed forces we’d invited, we spent the better part of the day tearing apart every single mistake they did. Everything they could have done better. Everything they could have done so that their friends hadn’t died.

We go through the recordings, sparse as they are. We pull out the video of the main fights, and when the cameras are destroyed, we go through the reams of reports they and their people provide. Lines and lines of data, of people explaining where they were, why they went there, why they were separated. More than enough, for all of us to dig in.

Because that was the underlying point. If they had pulled enough aggro, done enough damage, freed up enough of the weaponry, turned off the safeties on the mobile drones, or taken over the first level fast enough, then maybe instead of four, maybe five or six members would be here.

We drove the point home, again and again.

We traced how Freif, at the controls of the shielding station, destroyed it rather than hacking it. Not because he didn’t have the personnel who could, but because he got a little too gun happy.

We showed how Gheisnan was swarmed, forces turning on him, hemming him in. Till he was stuck in a corner, unable to break out, his Skills no longer as useful. He and his team had fought, back to back—till the sensor grid went down and we lost the ability to see his end.

The grid had gone down late because Anayton had been too slow, too careless in dealing with the personnel in her own target. They’d refused to listen, refused to hand over the work, and when she finally acted to kill them and release the controls, it was too late.

Magine, focused on taking out the AI controlling the wall, had torn his way through two different command centers, searching for the right person. Never taking the time to actually locate the main control personnel, relying instead on speed and violence. And failing.

Over and over, we went over their actions, what they could have done better. Should have done better. We didn’t even spare the mistakes made by the dead. Because there’s a lesson there. We drill in their mistakes, their failures, the tragedy of their actions.

And the initiates don’t break.

Irritated, hurt, maybe a little ashamed. But not broken. Maybe it’s their old training, maybe some of the steel we’ve managed to bury in their backs. But even after everything, they’re still willing to bitch me out. In public. Just less colorfully.

“We do have a facility there,” Freif says, frowning. “The training you want us to do, it won’t be that much different—”

“Not training. Your Quest.”

“You’re finally ready to give it to us?” Anayton says, distrust deep in her voice.

“Yes. You’re ready. Or as ready as I can get you.” I shake my head. “You know all the dangers now, have an idea of what you need to fight for. The rest, you’ll figure out yourself. Or not. That’s the only other lesson I have to impart.”

“We’ve got to figure it out ourselves?” Magine says derisively. “That’s worse than an unClassed fortuneteller’s five-Credit pronouncement.”

“I’d have gone with fortune cookie, but you do you.”

Of course, the Galactics all looked puzzled. I doubt System downloads on Earth culture contained fortune cookies. I don’t think I’ve even seen one since the end of the apocalypse. At least, not one that wasn’t pre-System. Though the cookies all taste the same, even years later.

“The test?” Kino rumbles.

I stop teasing the easy target that is Magine and flick my hand. I don’t really need to do that, but a little drama is useful once in a while. The group falls silent as they read over the System notification.

System Master Class Quest: Paladin of Erethra

You have been granted the opportunity to become a Paladin of Erethra. To do so, you must complete a Master Class Quest of sufficient difficulty at the behest of your Paladin of Erethra mentor (John Lee).

Do you accept?

[Y\N]

“Are you sure of this, boy-o?” Ali sends to me. There’s a tinge of concern coming through the mental pathways that the System carves for us.

“Yes.”

Truth is, I’m not. But I do know that holding off any longer is a bad idea. In the last fight, I managed to eke out another Level, between the deaths and the System updates from the library. I’m trending up, and up, and there’s only so long before the Queen gets impatient.

As for my doubts about what happened? The niggling concern that the two pureblood Erethrans are still here and my losses have all been non-Erethrans? Those I keep to myself. It could be coincidence. It could be something else. I could research it, dig into what really happened. Even through the Skill-shrouded Keeps’ defenses, even if there are locks in place that stop me from buying it directly from the Shop.

I have my doubts. But in the end, we need more Paladins. Or at least, the Erethrans do.

System Master Class Quest: Paladin of Erethra

Your Paladin of Erethra mentor (John Lee) has designated the following requirements for your Master Class Quest:

- Defeat 5 Master Class Monsters (Level 150 or more) in the designated locale (Earth) without aid beyond your bonded team.

“What the hell is a bonded team?” Magine calls.

“Whatever you decide to make it.” I lean over the table, dropping my voice to help make this clear. “But make sure it’s a nice, tight bond. Because otherwise, the System won’t count it. Make it a Serf contract, make it an Oath or a Gaea’s. Or a Feudal Bond.” I incline my head toward Mikito, who smiles slightly. “But these people are people you’ll trust with your life. For now. And for the rest of your time as Paladins.”

“So like your group,” Kino accuses.

I glance back at Harry and Bolo, then turn back to the group and shake my head. “Not exactly. Those guys are more hangers-on.”

I admit, I cheat. I use the security cameras installed in the meeting room to watch Harry’s and Bolo’s reaction to my dismissal of their loyalty. Bolo glares at the back of my head, as if he could bore through with just his gaze. Harry’s steadier, shrugging as if what I said was true. I know Dornalor would agree. It’s not as if he’s ever made any bones about his loyalties. It’s a good thing that I’ve got the Credits.

And he’s one of those rare, rare pirates. He stays bought.

“But you guys aren’t me. You’ve got friends, comrades, brothers in arms. People you’ve fought with that you can draw upon. Your job, what you’re going to do, is quite well-defined. At least in societal terms. They know what they’re getting into.” I lean forward, looming over them, the feel of the hard light table cool against my touch. “And if you don’t have anyone, I suggest you start thinking really hard about what you’ve done to achieve that in your life.”

“After all, even this mutilated corpse of a human has one person who’d follow him into the depths of hell,” Ali helpfully adds.

Mikito coughs into her hand, trying to hide the laughter that bubbles out. Bolo and Harry don’t even bother, guffawing behind me. The initiates are a little more wary, but they do all crack a smile.

“Five Master Class monsters. That’s quite a number.” Anayton shakes her head before regarding me fully. “Do you really expect us to survive doing this?”

“I do. And so does the System.” I pause, then admit, “At least, some of you.”

“And you did this? You beat five Master Class monsters?” Magine says, eying me up and down. There’s a glint of the competitive Duelist there. And something more.

I raise a hand and waggle it side to side. When they frown, I explain. “Probably. The Quest was the same. Mostly. But I was in the Forbidden Zone, so Levels were a little weird. I mostly just killed the biggest, baddest city-stompers I could find and hoped that it was enough. We couldn’t even check that often.”

“You and your team?” Kino says.

The other initiates are already shaking their heads, remembering details, but I answer him anyway. “No. No team. The Champion tossed me in alone.”

Those words bring a long, long silence.

Kino shifts, little rocks trembling across his body, ground dust falling. Magine continues to eye me, and I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him. He only gave Mikito that look—as if she was worthy, unlike me—until now.

The other two are silent, possibly reviewing their own chances. Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure how I survived. A hell of a lot of stubbornness and a good dose of luck. My affinity helped, that I know.

“But this is the System Quest. Kill, defeat, or otherwise deal with five Master Classers while you’re in Advanced Class. I adjusted it a little for the Dungeon World, but the goal is the same. Do more than you think you can,” I say those last words, facing each of the four initiates in turn, meeting their gaze and weighing them. “You have a week to get ready. Build your teams, bond them however you wish. Pass the information to me. We meet in a week. And we’ll Portal you straight in.”

I don’t tell them I’ve already decided where they’ll each go. It doesn’t really matter. It’s a big world and there are a lot of monsters. Dividing them up across Earth will keep them busy and out of each other’s way. And give my allies a few more favors to call in in the future.

Seeing that I’m done speaking, the group troops out. Ali’s already deposited the basic information they need, but for the rest of it, they’ll have to do their own research. No handholding this time.

As the last of them trundles out, leaving rock dust in his wake, I feel a weight leave my shoulders. I’ve done everything I can for them. Now…

It’s time for me to deal with the rest of my obligations.

***

Ayuri finds me lounging on a deck chair beside the pool in my residence. I’ve had to reconfigure the building a little, replace the basement with the deck chair and diving pool. Finding pool water was an interesting experience. Especially when the building offered a million and one different variations. From seawater from different atolls and planets, to different kinds of spring water, specially curated and oxidized H^2^0, and more. It was kind of annoying, especially when I realized that I had to add some chlorine anyway. Thankfully, Ali swept in and helped with the reconfiguration before I blasted a hole in the building itself in exasperation.

So.

I lounge beside my pool under an artificial sun conjured from the holographic projectors hanging overhead. Blue skies and rolling wisps of clouds float by, while the occasional caw of birds and insects blare from the speakers.

“This is where you are?” Ayuri says, glaring at me.

I smile at the tall champion and raise my glass at her. “Pina colada?”

Ayuri eyes the blended, pale-yellow slushy of a drink with vague interest before she shakes her head. “I’m here on business, Redeemer.”

“Your loss.”

“You gave the initiates their Master Class Quest.” Ayuri says.

“You here to kill me now?” I reply, mostly in jest. After all, they still need my help for one other thing. Though rumors are that the Queen is doing pretty well. She might last another couple of decades before someone kills her.

“Obviously not. I do think you should be raising your Level instead of lounging.” Ayuri crosses arms, glaring at me. “Or are you waiting for your indulgence?”

“Indulgence?”

Ayuri raises a single eyebrow, skepticism and suggestion written across her face in broad strokes.

I laugh, shaking my head. “I think Catrin would find being called an indulgence amusing. Don’t you?”

I open up Society’s Web and stare at the numerous lines radiating out from the Champion. There’s a very thin line that touches upon my current flame. Nothing like the thread Ayuri has to Saimon. A lot of old feelings there, between her and the Seeker.

“Are you using that Skill on me?” Ayuri says, anger flaring. She steps toward me, fist clenching. “Don’t you know that’s rude?”

“Actually, pretty sure it isn’t.” I sip on the pina colada, ignoring her show of temper. This isn’t the time or the place for a fight. Nor is she gonna commit. “So what are you doing here? If not getting drunk?”

Ayuri stares at me for a second more, then snorts and flops down. Seconds before she hits the ground, a floating, cloudy chair forms, catching her in its pillowy goodness. She twists her hands, making a drink from the sidetable float over before she pours herself a glass. Only when she’s suitably seated does she speak. “The cover is blown. Add your acts against the nobles and… well. You’re in danger.”

“Heck. As if they weren’t pushing it already,” I say, chuckling a little.

Mana mourns, I’ve had to fete the two major contenders. Then there are the half dozen other wannabes who have made their way over, watching our training, offering suggestions, Credits, and other less subtle bribes.

Spuryan has been much more subtle, sending members of his congregation to meet me, to talk to us quietly whenever they have a chance. Just small ways, messengers and other documentation, to show that his people, his way can work too.

I’m not looking forward to the hard press. But I need to speak with them all more. See the other options, learn a little more of their world. I’ve only seen a half dozen worlds so far, after all. There’s more to learn, more to fight.

“You need that level.” Ayuri says rather firmly. “On top of that, Unilo has something to talk to you about too.”

“About time she asked for her favor.” I wonder what she needs from a poor benighted soul like me. “Anything I should know?”

“You know, she is my teammate,” Ayuri says.

“That a no?”

I watch as Ayuri fights herself. Loyalty to the Empire warring with loyalty to her friend. In the end, the Empire wins out. It always will with someone named the Champion. “She’s a noble, as you know. But the family has been in disgrace for years. What she might ask will benefit her family more than herself.”

“No hints on that?” I continued to prod.

“No.” There’s a little doubt, a little concern in Ayuri’s voice. I wonder if she even knows. She tilts her glass back, draining it, then pours herself another. “What is this astringent taste? And why is it so enticing?”

“Pineapple.” I go into the building menu. A second later, a pineapple pops into existence, teleported here by the System. I wince at the extravagant cost. I catch it and hand the whole fruit to her. “This one’s unmutated. Which, by the way, makes it a premium product these days.”

Ayuri dubiously eyes the spiked, bright pale-yellow fruit. Eventually, she puts it into her inventory. And then, she downs another glass.

“Let her know I’ll see her tomorrow. And get Mayaya to come so that he can port me over directly.” I stand, leaving my glass behind. As I walk over to the water, I add, “You know, your pet Paladins might not be what you think they are.”

There’s only silence from behind me as I approach the edge of the pool.

I stare at the pale blue waters, rippling from the artificial breeze I have blowing through the room. “But that’s the thing about people, isn’t it? They can always surprise you.”

I don’t let her answer before I dive in. Letting the cold wrap me. Letting the fear of the water clutch at me as old wounds, old memories rise up. But this is a fear I’ve learnt to deal with. I’ve learned to live with. It clutches at my chest, stutters my heart, and makes it beat faster. It consumes my mind.

As for all my other worries, of the Empire and the games being played? Those get driven out, at least for a time.

Chapter 21

We step out of the Portal together, dubiously eyeing the small island we’ve arrived on. Already, Ali, who had gone ahead, is updating my minimap, giving me location data and information about the surroundings. He’s blocked off from a lot of information and restricted in his flight paths, but basic geography and the Galactic equivalent of GPS is fine. All of that tells me we’re on another planet, though I could have told you that from the shift in gravities. Three times Earth normal, which means little when your Strength is in the hundreds. But annoying anyway.

“Paladin. Thank you for coming,” Unilo says, greeting me when I walk forward. The Erethran is clad not in her military uniform but something more relaxed. It’s a mixture of a corset, floofy dress arms, and ultra-tight pants, all in dark pink and lined with white fur.

That’s the other thing. The crisp, freezing air tugs at my exposed skin, leaving ice crystals. The temperature is just above -40 Celsius, not including windchill. Sadly, I have to admit, it reminds me of Whitehorse.

Not that I’m a native. I still think of Vancouver as home more than Whitehorse. But that city—really, a town—is still central to who I became. And so my memories of it dominate. Including the damn cold. On top of that, the white snow that layers itself over the landscape, the snow glare the makes my pupils shrink, is another reminder.

“Unilo. Good to see you.” I give her one of the Erethran salutes, sloppily done because, well, no one ever told me how to do it properly. Also, I must admit, I never bothered to find out. “Your invitation was… expected.”

Unilo sniffs and turns, popping open a Portal. She steps in, and Ali and I follow. Harry is the only other member of my party who decided to join, raring at the chance to see another planet. One that isn’t trying to eat his face.

Dornalor decided to spend the week running another job, wanting to test out his ship on a more routine assignment. Those were exactly his words. I really didn’t want to ask.

Given the choice between lounging around and joining Dornalor, my friends ran off. Even Mikito. I feel insulted, but I’m not a fan of politics either.

To my surprise, rather than leading me to a board room, Unilo brings me to the entry courtyard of her residence. Then she keeps walking, past servants and a doorway to a living room. The entire place is tastefully done, luminescent pale blue and white, shades of a dark purple accent highlighting the wallpaper. The couches have a light brown accent with yellow trim and are placed in a rectangular circle with one end open and sitting tables alongside each couch.

Unilo takes a seat on one of the chaises, and I take a more traditional couch diagonally opposite hers. Harry, on the other hand, is taken by the arm and guided out by a waiting servant, to be shown around the estate.

The moment he walks out, both spatial locks and privacy locks appear. Surprisingly, there are three in place. One for the room, one for the residence, and one for the planet. Powerful enough to stop me from jumping out if I need to and to keep the vast majority of our conversation hidden.

“So what is this about?”

“One second. We’re waiting for one more person,” says Unilo.

She turns her head, and a man saunters in. He’s older, lines on his face, his neck, and his hands. He has tattoos all across his face, branching swirls reaching from his neck and up to his face, highlighting the coral on his ears. And his hair is shorn short, unlike the common flowing locks I’ve seen sported by most Erethran nobles.

He’s also sporting an assortment of Mana enchantments. Multiple rings, bracers, anklets, something around his chest region, more attached to his belt. And they’re not low-level enchantments either. At least three are Master Class level.

“John Lee, Paladin of Erethra. I present to you my older brother, Kilgave d’Cha, Warden of the Thrilsala System,” Unilo says.

Kilgave bows to me, while I offer him a half-hearted wave from my seat. Ali slips around, coming to hold a position just slightly behind the man as he stops next to Unilo’s seat. Ali’s out of their direct line of sight though. Only I can see him directly. This gives him an opportunity to stick out his tongue and waggle his fingers in suggestive ways.

Kilgave d’Cha, Warden of the Thrilsala System, Champion of the 631^st^, 632^nd^ and 648^th^ Mithril Man Competition, Monster Bane, Slayer of Goblins, Hakarta, Movanna,… (Level 33 Sundered Champion) him (M)

HP: 8480/8480

MP: 5230/5230

Conditions: Warden’s Reach, Broken End, Aura of the Sundered Champion, Mana Warden

“Sundered Champion?” I send to Ali.

“Disgraced? Might be better. It’s not exactly right. There are a lot of cultural connotations involved. I think disgraced is a little too much.” Ali shrugs. “It’d take a bit to explain. But he’s the ex-Empire Champion. Class got changed.”

“I thought there was only one.”

“There can only be one.” And because he’s Ali, he plays an all-too-familiar riff. I snort, but he doesn’t take too long, considering the two of them are blathering at me with the usual pleasantries of our meeting. “He had the job before Ayuri. Before his fall.”

“Oh boy.”

I tune back into the conversation, something about the drink and snacks that have arrived. A part of me has been busy chatting with them, grunting and making tasteful, social noises. And stuffing my face with the little lemon bar snacks they’ve put out. Of course, they’re not really lemon bars, but a close enough Galactic equivalent.

As they talk more, going into detail about the recipe, I trigger Society’s Web. It takes minutes before I gain an understanding, watching the way the many, many threads fly out from Kilgave and touch others. The only people I’ve ever seen with more threads are the Queen and Ayuri herself.

I guess that’s part and parcel of being a Champion.

I’m almost tempted to ask about his Skills. A surge from the library has me almost choking on a bite as I struggle to pin down the incoming information. I don’t need another download right this second.

After swallowing the bite, tasting the astringent sourness and sweetness, and washing it down with a gulp of flavored water, I gesture at the pair. “All right. Enough already. What is it that you guys want?”

Unilo almost makes a face at my abrupt change of topic. She looks exasperated, but the former Champion laughs.

“I was beginning to wonder if the stories were true. I’m glad they are,” Kilgave says. “It’s simple. My niece tells me that you owe her a favor. We are here to collect.”

“I’m not going to kick Ayuri out of her place,” I say. “I don’t even think I’m allowed to.”

“I would never do that to my beam sister,” Unilo says, looking scandalized. She’s so angry that the cup she was holding cracks before dropping to the floor and shattering.

We’re all distracted for a second, before the cleaning bots sweep and tidy it away.

By that point, Unilo’s got her temper back in control. “We want you to do something else.”

“Yeah, I don’t really have daddy issues. At least, not like that,” I say.

Ali, over and behind him, is flipping in circles, choking on laughter. It’s a nice contrast to the two who just looked very puzzled.

“Stop talking nonsense, Redeemer,” Unilo snaps. “We want you to give my brother the Paladin Master Quest.”

“Huh.” I lean back, sinking into the chair as I regard the pair. I could say it was a surprise, but really, when she brought him in, there weren’t that many other options. Well, other than me being dragged into a random, erratic quest for justice. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. You owe me,” Unilo snaps.

“It does.” I cross my arms, fixing the pair of them with a firm gaze. “Talk, or I won’t do it.”

“You’ll break your word!” Unilo says, raising her voice for the first time.

“Yep.”

Before Unilo can dig herself any deeper, the man puts a hand on her shoulder. She subsides almost immediately. There’s no doubt who’s in charge of this little conversation.

“It’s very simple, Redeemer. I might be old, and my honor might be questionable to some. But I still serve the Empire,” Kilgave says. “This, this opportunity is the best that I can find.”

“So why me? Why not go to the Forbidden Zone yourself?”

He hesitates before he answers. “I did. Your mentor turned me down.”

I snort, staring into space. More correctly, at the line that leads to my mentor. There’s a lot packed in there—both duty and obligations, and something personal. In fact, that personal bit wraps itself around the thread that holds them together. It balloons and sizzles in every interaction, tainting every responsibility and duty they might have.

“Why?”

“We disagreed. About what she was supposed to do, what I was supposed to do. We disagreed about the King and her duties, and by the time I realized she was right, it was too late.” Regret flashes across Kilgave’s face and I start piecing together their history.

“You were the Champion for the mad King,” I state.

“He wasn’t mad. He was just…” Kilgave seems to try to find a word. In the end, he shrugs. “Selfish. In need of control. Narcissistic. But not mad.”

I snort at him cutting such a fine line. But it’s past history, not one I’m interested in digging up. I fall silent, regarding him. Prodding at the System in my head even as data, at the slightest loosening of my will, floats in. Information about his Skills, his abilities, what he can do, what he lost, and what he gained. A lot of information, but a fallen Champion is something the Questors would be very interested in.

I come back to myself, the pair still staring at me patiently. I can’t help but shake my head, wondering if they thought I was considering the offer. Or accessing information about them. I wish Harry was here, but even the party chat is blocked right now. Communication seems to be off the tables.

“You’re a Master Class. With quite a few Levels. How are you going to take mine?”

“I’ll give this one up. I’ll take the penalty. If you’re willing to give me the opportunity,” Kilgave replies, his voice firm and without any trace of hesitation.

“Again? You’ve already lost quite a few Levels, changing Classes once.”

“It is what it is. For the Empire, losing a few Levels is nothing,” Kilgave says fervently.

I stare into his eyes as he speaks, trying to judge how true he is. Not just because he’s not using a Skill, but how true it is in his soul. And I’m not surprised to see, to believe, that he’s telling the truth. He would give it all up. For an Empire that threw him aside once before.

“And the Queen?” I turn to Unilo, fixing her with my stare. “What does she think of this?”

“She doesn’t know,” Unilo replies, her voice dropping as she stares at the retreating cleaning robots now that they’ve done their job. Now that they’ve removed any speck of the liquid or glass she had broken. Leaving us in beautiful, serene, blue cleanliness.

“And if she did?”

“She would be less than pleased,” Unilo replies, the words seemingly dragged out of her.

“Does Ayuri know?”

“She… guesses.”

I sit back, idly picking up one of the lemon bars and biting it. This one is more raspberry than lemon, but it’s tart and sweet and something to do with my mouth while I think. Plus points—it’d annoy the Queen. Negative points—it’d annoy the Queen.

On the other hand, Ayuri knowing what is about to happen means that while it might anger the Queen, it probably is good for the Empire itself. That’s one of the constraints about her Class. Though I’m not entirely certain how constrained she is. Even that giant library in my head doesn’t have specifics—mostly because they haven’t done in-depth research into the Champion’s Class directly.

Class restrictions are a known issue, but while it was useful for knowledge’s sake, it didn’t seem to help the System Quest. So that branch of research was dropped by the Questors. At least, in general. Others have continued to do research, of course, and it’s from those studies that I know more of Class restrictions. Which, as with most things in the System, can be as loose or as constrained as the System deems it. The trade-offs in power are significant though, which is why many continue to explore the intricacies.

“Why do you want to be a Paladin?” I say. It’s almost a rhetorical question now, because I think I know. There are only a few kinds of people who become Champions.

“To serve the Empire. The real Empire,” Kilgave says. When my silent and steady gaze demands more, he sighs. “I failed. The first time. Thinking I served the Empire, but what I served was a man. Now… now I want to make it right.”

“You know, I put the initiates through a lot of training…”

“Which I do not need,” Kilgave says, sounding almost affronted. I can’t help but chuckle, seeing the spark of arrogance in his eyes. “I have fought more and harder monsters than those you sent them for. And I learnt my lessons, the lessons you tried to impart, decades ago. At greater cost than I would wish on anyone.”

“One last question then. Tell me the story.”

“What story?” Unilo says.

But Kilgave knows and squeezes that hand on her shoulder. She looks at him and he offers her a pained half-smile.

“It is not an easy thing, to tell of your failures…” Kilgave begins, before he launches into the tale. It’s one of mistakes, of indecisions. Of lives taken and lost. And in the end, of a man who chose to stand aside when it was necessary. To fail his own Class to save an Empire.

When that somber tale is over, I ask, “And what? You’ve been chilling at the family estates since then?”

“I’ve been doing what I can to aid the Empire. Even a fallen Champion is a powerful force,” Kilgave says. “But I’m limited in what I can do internally. By those who believe what I did was wrong. By my former position. By my present Class.” He gestures upward. “I cannot affect the change I need…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” I wave, shutting him up. I see the flash of anger, the pride that he bites down on while I run pell-mell over his need to monologue. At his peak, he was nearly a Heroic. Then he lost it all and has had to claw his way back. “Don’t care. You want the Quest? Let’s see what the System has to say about it.”

I feel for the System. It’s kind of like reaching behind your back, except not with your hands but with the tail that you never realized you had. And then punching a bunch of buttons, still sight unseen, with that same tail to make it dance to your commands.

It’s weird.

And, sadly, with the way the System has increased my Intelligence, with the way the library has downloaded so much information, all too doable. I find the portion of my Class that lets me designate new Paladin initiates, that allows me to offer them the Quest.

It balks at first, because he’s a Master Class. And when I press, overriding the initial resistance, I feel the mental fuzz it throws at my will, the shock of its cold jaws clamping down on my desire. It strains and bucks at my commands, refusing to let me do it.

That’s the worst thing the System could have done. Because suddenly, I want it.

Not because of Kilgave and his idiotic need to serve an Empire that doesn’t give a damn about him. That might even hate him. I want it because the System doesn’t.

I grunt out loud and ignore the pair before me as my head throbs, as my vision goes red. Will against System, I bring all the tools I have to play with—Mana Sense, affinity, knowledge from the library, and will—to bear.

It buckles and finally gives in. Because while it might not want to, the Quest is still a possibility. Like stabbing a fork into a clogged up, dirty electric outlet to free it up till you could slot your computer in. It’s not smart and you might get shocked a little, but it’ll work.

Eventually, I stare at the Quest notification.

System Master Class Quest: Paladin of Erethra

Your Paladin of Erethra mentor (John Lee) has designated the following requirements for your Master Class Quest:

- Reset and lose Master Class Levels (XP will be refunded and banked at a reduced rate)

- Defeat 11 Master Class Monsters (Level 150 or more) in the designated locale (~Error!~) without aid beyond your bonded team.

Huh. I blink, prodding at the Quest with my mind and will. But that last error keeps throwing itself up, firmly deciding not to resolve itself. I get a feeling it won’t, not till it’s given.

“Redeemer?” Unilo calls.

“So… this might be interesting.” A push of will and I make the blue notification screen show up.

Unilo’s face scrunches up and she leans forward, trying to assess what the hell it says.

Kilgave’s reaction is much more dramatic. His knees give way and he flops down onto the chaise, missing it by inches and being saved from an ungainly spill by the chaise itself moving to catch him. His jaw is working while the couch moves itself and its occupant back into place.

“Can’t have the furniture at the wrong angles,” Ali says, sounding amused.

“You know, being shocked over a simple Quest doesn’t engender a lot of faith in your ability to complete it,” I say, drawling.

“That… you… the location. Why…?”

“The Error? Not my fault.” I lean forward, pouring myself more of the fruity drink, then glug it down, trying to wash away the slight headache conjuring that damn Quest notification had produced.

“What error?” Kilgave says, sounding confused. “I’m talking of sending me to Bohmer.”

The name sends a shiver through me. I know that name, though I rarely use it. Because that name brings too many bad memories. Too many horrors from the four years I spent there. And so, instead of facing the fear, I wall it away, pushing it down and focusing on something else. Something a little more incongruous.

“Why there?” Unilo mouths my question.

“I…” I shake my head. The System… sometimes. I wonder about it. Some of its decisions, some of the things that happen, it makes no sense—unless it’s alive. As circles get completed, as narrative and karmic ends… fit. For Bohmer is more than just another Forbidden Planet and the center of my own slew of nightmares.

It’s also the ex-capital of Erethra. And where their ex-King fell.

Where Kilgave chose to stand aside.

And where Suhargur refuses to leave, fighting her never-ending battle to save those citizens who refused to go. Or, in many cases, have nowhere left to go, on pain of death.

So many circles completing. And staring at the Quest, I laugh softly. And do as the System wants. Because I can think of nothing more fitting. I offer him the Quest and all that it entails. The danger, the despair, and the return to his failure.

And maybe his salvation.

While Kilgave stares at the Quest notification, his brash certainty gone, I stand. My motion does nothing to distract the pair, so I walk out, leaving Unilo and the ex-Champion to their considerations.

Though not before snagging the plate of snacks.

Chapter 22

They came for me when I was Leveling. Gaining access to the city dungeons was simple enough, just a matter of showing up. I’d gone alone, leaving my friends behind. Not wanting to be burdened by their XP debuff, not wanting to be slowed down by Harry. And, most importantly, because they’d found better things to do.

Like indulging himself in the city for Bolo, and fighting in the arena for Mikito. Dornalor left almost immediately after his mission, to run another trip. From what the trio said, the “routine” mission had turned out to be just that—a pure pick up and deliver event. When asked, Dornalor had pointed out that most missions didn’t involve violence.

Harry was enjoying himself on the planet, bouncing from city to city. Restricted as he was in the palace, he’d found a niche doing touring documentaries all through the planet. It wasn’t his preference, but he was still waiting on additional approval to get to the frontlines.

Which left me to myself. Alone and vulnerable.

The dungeon itself was nothing special, other than the fact that it wasn’t a fantasy rip-off. Instead, we had robots in all kinds of configurations that you could think of—swarming across walls like spiders, flying through the air as hordes of mini drones, even a few humanoid terminators.

Most interesting of all were the bipedal robots wielding gun arms, firing upon me as they twisted all around their torso. They were mini-bosses, roaming sentinels. They popped up every time I was between zone transition in levels, before I hit next level boss.

The city dungeon itself is twelve levels deep, and I’m down in level nine when they come.

I’d started at the top, working my way down in quick order before slowing down at the last couple of levels. Partly to keep my Mana levels high, partly because things are beginning to get interesting.

I skip along the pale gray walls, armored feet tearing into the metal as I run along it, mass impacts ringing throughout the rectangular room we’re fighting in. For the creativity shown in building out the robots, in developing the variety of androids, the actual environment is a letdown. Other than the occasional blockade of metal, most of the rooms and corridors are smooth surfaces, leaving open lines of sight and few places to hide. Good thing I’d recently been fighting in a space station with almost the exact same problem.

An exertion of will and the spell finishes, the formula for the Mana escaping my mind as I release it, creating a small hill on the floor. Not a large hill, but more than adequate to throw off the aim of the sentinels as they fire. The small hill grows, metal warping and bulging, and the sentinels stagger, trying to right their balance.

I’m grinning, ready to destroy the staggering sentinels, when a pair of two-foot-long blades fly through the air. These attackers are new, and definitely not a dungeon feature as they make their presence known.

The first two blades sink into my back, punching right through my active Soul Shield and Hod’s Armor before digging into muscle and bone. I fall off the wall, the weapons embedded in my back as I tumble to the ground. Notifications flash, too fast to keep track of all, but I get glimpses.

Successful Dual Backstab!

+1787 Damage Inflicted

You have been Poisoned! (54% Resisted)

+214 Damage per second

Additional Effects: You are Disoriented!

Duration: 6.3 seconds

The blades fly out seconds later as my emergency Shield Ring kicks in, throwing the weapons away from me. Hod’s secondary defensive shields turn on as well with a quick exertion of will. I roll on the ground, coming to my feet, but the others are already attacking.

Mana, that I hadn’t noticed building up, is unleashed. No fancy elements here, no special projection, just raw, harnessed Mana slamming into the shields. I tumble through white light, trying to balance out the damage the moment it pierces my shielding. It doesn’t do much, especially when I bounce off the floor.

Instinctively, I reach for the Mana with my Elemental Affinity, hoping to see it off a little. And, of course, fail. Mana has no electromagnetic force, no physical aspect for my ability to grasp. Whatever it is, it’s not one of the fundamental physical aspects of the universe.

A second after the raw Mana flames die off, as I regain my sense of balance, I’m slammed into by another figure. The Ram’s Rush throws me into the wall again, bouncing me off it, the ceiling, then the floor. My armor is smoking, damage notifications flaring everywhere and reminding me that I’m in a dire situation. Surprise assassinations are a nasty, nasty business.

As I roll onto my knees, I spot the rushing, eleven-foot, stone-like creature—one of the Risen—on his way to finish the job. I feel Mana rising as the Mage continues his casting, readying another powerful spell. All of this in microseconds…

More than enough information gathered. That’s when I act.

“Standard formation,” I send to Ali.

Abyssal Chains, rising from the ground, wrap around the tank and the mage, restricting their motions. I wish I could get the rogue, but he’s gone, a ghost in the System.

That’s fine, because I keep moving, throwing my daggers at the tank, layering another Soul Shield onto my defense. Hod’s force shield flickers back on after a second, regeneration kicking in as the Mana Engine goes to work. If the rogue wants to backstab, he’ll have to get into position, and I’m not looking to make it easy.

Even so, uncertain if there might be more waiting, I keep angling around the tank as he breaks free. A second team perhaps, waiting for me to waste my Mana on these guys. So rather than do that, I use my knives, the inbuilt beam weaponry on Hod’s Armor, and my blades to trim down the Risen.

Risen Tank (Erethran Vanguard Level 47) (A)

HP: 2138/4840

MP: 983/1780

Conditions: Structural Integrity, Wrath of the Masses, The Sacrifice of One, Earthen Density, Lightfoot, Greater Health Regeneration, Greater Mana Regeneration

A quick stutter in his health, when it drops after an attack and starts rising, makes me grit my teeth. The poison coursing through my blood is painful, fogging my thoughts, eating at my nerves and slowing down my reactions. That’s why it took me so long to realize it.

An exertion of will, and threads appear. I dismiss the minor ones, then I dismiss those that lead to family, to those he loves. His crazed obsession with the Champion and another Legendary Artiste. Within seconds, the details of their team are all too apparent. I feel someone slide into my mind, share my senses for a second, then Ali pops out.

“Three o’clock, three feet behind that crushed mass.”

I can only grunt my reply as I block the swings of the Risen. He sends me skittering seven feet in the wrong direction. I wince, my hands throbbing, my blades all scattered by the sheer force of his attack. The Risen winds up again, getting ready to throw another gauntleted punch with a Power Punch combined.

But I’m already murmuring, both hands up, my sword dropped to the ground. Power floods into my hands as the spell ignites. I can’t help but grin as I mutter, “Fastball special, coming right up.”

Electricity, lightning drawn from the very air around us, erupts from my hands. I reach out with my Elemental Affinity even as I note how Ali swoops down to join the stream. He’s adding his gifts, but seeing the battered, shattered remnants of the monsters we’ve been fighting has given me another idea.

I reach for the energy sources of these creatures, touch upon the Mana batteries. I can’t control Mana, but the engines, the converters, are using enough electricity for me to manipulate. I make them go into overdrive, using a combination of Mana and Elemental Affinity. It’s easier than it ever has been—partly because of the library, I think.

The ground before me erupts as lightning, flowing from my hands into the tank, strikes the ground and the shattered corpses of the robots, going into overdrive and jumping right out with even more of a charge. It skips, low to the ground, into the air, directed by Ali and me. Creating a chain of destruction through the entire dungeon floor.

My eyes squint and water even as Hod filters out the light. The smell of ozone permeates the air, sinking in through the armor, its environmental seals cracked under the onslaught it had faced. I pick out, over the crackle of lightning and the muted screams of the tank, the screams of the mage and hidden healer as they’re caught in the web of electricity.

“That’s right, eat lightning!” Ali cackles, his invisibility faded as he directs the flow like a conductor at a symphony.

I bring lightning to the world and I don’t stop channeling Mana into my attack until the robots’ batteries are drained, until the corpses are smoking husks. I stare at the crispy figures of what used to be sapient creatures. Their bodies, their equipment are so damaged, it’s impossible to tell what most of them once were. Only the Risen is still vaguely recognizable, a melted slag of rock and metal.

And all I can really think of is that I’m rather disappointed. I was expecting more of a challenge.

“Four…” I shake my head.

A normal team would be five strong. The thread I noticed showed a fifth, but it was frayed, broken. This was a team, there’s no doubt, but recently restructured. A team of four Advanced Classers sent to assassinate me.

The plan was good, but I guess they hadn’t thought of my Elemental Affinity—and what I could do with it here.

Then again, it’s hard to blame them. I hadn’t thought about it until just now.

“Looks like you ranked up again on your Affinity, boy-o.” Ali’s eyeing me slightly dubiously, having flown back after collecting the corpses.

“What?”

“Never seen someone get so used to playing with Mana and their Affinity so fast before,” Ali says.

I open my mouth to counter the Spirit, then pause. I remember my struggles, the way I fought to learn even a basic Spell modification in space. How hard it was.

And this… this was simple. Just a matter of creative thought, focus, and desire. And poof, I was suddenly generating multiple nexus points of energy, drawing from Mana batteries and transforming it. It was…

“Weird.”

“No shit.”

“Any idea why?” I say as I wait for the Hod to begin its healing process and for my Mana and Health to recover. Thankfully, the poison had timed out at some point in my little bout of madness. Which leaves me a lot clearer-headed.

“Only thing that changed was you being poisoned. And the you know what,” Ali says flatly.

I freeze, and for a second, I feel my heart speeding up. I draw a breath, inhaling and exhaling to steady myself. And I wonder, once more—what exactly did Feh’ral do to me?

***

Finding Saimon was a matter of a few calls. Finding him and a secure location where we could have the necessary discussion was a little harder. Not that there aren’t secure locations scattered throughout the city, but finding one that’s secure for our purposes was little more complicated. Which is why we end up in a private room of the Galactic equivalent of a strip club.

You have to give it to sapient creatures, privacy when you’ve got weird kinks—and Erethran kinks are really weird considering how open they are about sexuality in general—is a common theme. Considering how powerful certain Skills are, and the need for this level of privacy, the highest quality clubs are highly guarded.

Which, amusingly, sets up almost a sideline of non-sexual meetings. After all, getting caught arriving at such a location can be a lot less embarrassing. Safer too, than being suspected of plotting treason or the sale of state secrets. It’s still not agreeable, but it’s better than nothing. And so, when I make the request from them for a private room, one with a large enough area and a sterile environment, they don’t even blink.

“Those really aren’t the kinds of bodies I want to look at when I come to a place like this,” Bolo complains.

The Dragon Lord is why I located this place on such short notice. He’s also invited himself along. Mikito’s still stuck fighting her tournament but has promised to arrive soon.

“Not asking,” I reply to Bolo once more.

What is it with a certain type of person who feels the need to tell you all about his exploits? I don’t want to know, I don’t care, so please stop talking.

“I have to agree with the Dragon Lord,” Saimon replies. He’s staring at the corpses laid out, floating in midair due to the room’s gravity checks. They’re all shrink-wrapped, or the Galactic equivalent of it, so that they don’t smell or otherwise stink. Considering how they died, that’s something we all find comforting, I’m sure.

“Very funny, you two.” I point at the bodies. “These were military personnel. Their Classes are a clear indication of that, along with the information I managed to pick out. Now, there’s an obvious culprit. But Harry and Ali have already begun to hit a lot off cut-outs. So the obvious culprit might be just a red herring.”

“Is that a human saying?” Saimon asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “You’ve got the resources, so I’m leaving this to you.”

Harry looks up from where he and Ali are seated on one of those plush red couches with a lot of space in front of them and glares at me. I give him a shrug. I doubt he has the ability or the Credits to find out who sent assassins. These guys, they’ve been playing these games for decades, centuries even. And while Harry might be good at his job, he’s still learning the new landscape of the System. Given enough time, he might be able to track down the people who ordered these assassinations.

But time isn’t what I have.

“Perhaps we should look at this from another point of view,” Saimon says, even as he makes the bodies disappear into his storage.

“What view?”

“Who would want you dead?”

Bolo laughs as Ali snorts. He’s focused on trying to crack the trail of payments. Either that or he’s given up and is watching another Earth TV show. Sometimes, I can’t tell.

“The Redeemer is very hateable,” Bolo helpfully adds. “And all three of the major contenders have reasons to end him.”

“Yes, but why now?” Saimon says. “They’ve existed with him, without such overt action, for this long. What triggered the attack?”

I narrow my eyes, thinking about it. The obvious answer is the release of the initiates. The other one is the inclusion of the ex-Champion as an initiate. Both could be a tipping point for contenders. When I mention it, Saimon nods.

“That could certainly drive some to action.” When I raise my eyebrow, prompting him to go further, Saimon continues. “The Viscountess might take objection to the inclusion of a man who stood aside when the royalty died. She is, distantly, related.”

“There’s also the concern that your Paladins are in the majority all Erethran natives.” Harry looks up. “I could see the Prophet being concerned about their introduction. Magine is known for his support of the nobility.”

“Anyone have a reason why the General might want me dead?” I ask, just to check. I can’t think of one, but I’m not perfect.

Saimon shakes his head, as do Bolo and Harry. Ali’s the only silent member, and he spins himself in circles.

“So… I might have one,” Ali says. “Boy-o here is sleeping with one of his women.”

I snort, and the others just shakes their heads, discarding Ali’s suggestion. It’s pretty clear Brerdain doesn’t give a damn about Catrin.

“So we can assume that he’s out,” I say. “What do we do?”

My question brings a long long silence. The way I see it, there isn’t much we can do. Take the usual precautions, start looking into who might want me dead. And that’s it.

“Great. Pleasure talking to you all. If that’s the case, I’m going back to training,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. If there’s nothing else better to do, I might as well get back to grinding during the day and meeting with the contenders—and wannabe contenders—in the evening.

“I’ll double your protection force, shall I?” Saimon calls after me as I stalk out.

I ignore him, knowing that any team can be suborned or bypassed.

“I’m gonna stay here for an hour.” Ali calls, his voice much louder and deeper.

I glance back, realizing that he’s increased in size, and I wince. Sometimes, I really don’t understand the Spirit. Then again, sometimes, I don’t think I want to.

***

The last three Levels of the dungeon have been a pain to handle. Not just because monsters have cropped up from Level 100+ to Level 150+, but also because they kept coming in swarms and launching themselves at me. I’ve got to keep my Mana and health at at least 50% at all times. Add the fact that while I wait for the Hod to fix itself, I’m borrowing a suit from the Erethrans, and my combat effectiveness and speed are just down.

It’s not even as if the suit is bad. It’s the kind of thing they give to the Honor Guard to use. It’s biggest bonuses are to my strength and agility, with some increases to my defenses and resistances. However, it doesn’t have any useful Skills, just a short range Blink and a trio of movable force shields. None of them are that powerful, but because they’re built-in layers, they’re useful against certain types of attacks.

For all of that, my experience bar creeps up ever so slowly. At this rate, I’ll be grinding for the next couple of weeks or so to hit another Level. Even with the high-Level monsters involved, the experience requirements I have are just getting ridiculous.

But that’s for tomorrow. Right now, Ali and I have something much larger to handle.

Maydi Duz Dungeon Boss (Level 176 Final Boss)

HP: 17,613/17613

MP: 283/283

Conditions: Coalesced, Movable Parts, All for One, the Dungeon’s Gift

What I see before me is a towering mass of droids, robots, and other mechanical servants. It’s a hive mind kind of thing, except not. Each of the droids is a portion of its body, each individually run, but also beings managed by a central processing unit somewhere deep within the creature’s body. I’ve learnt of numerous ways of beating this creature, from slowly wearing away at the robot pieces and other appendages to shattering off portions and dropping them away into different dimensions so they can’t reattach. Acid baths melt the creature into a puddle of liquid metal.

There are other, more subtle approaches. Cyber hackers send in tracers, burrowing their way through communication links, destroying network accesses, corrupting files, and making the entire thing come apart before they destroy the CPU directly.

Mages who pull power drain the Mana from the environment and the creature itself, until such time as it’s no longer able to move, making it easy pickings. Oracles who are able to pinpoint the exact location of the CPU in the flowing mass of robots are able to direct their team to destroy the boss in one single combined blow. Necromancers, conjuring phantom facsimiles of ghosts, send them spinning into the center of mass to pull and extract bits and pieces.

There are a million ways of getting this done. But I’m a simple man. I take the simple approach to things.

Grinning, I conjure my swords and rush the boss. Daggers go out first, followed by Blade Strikes, each impacting a different location.

Missiles, fast-driven masses fired from railguns, lasers, and other beam weaponry, explode around me. Electricity arcs through the ground, sweeping at my feet, while gravitic mines turn on, trying to pull my balance off, to crush me or tear me apart in their competing spheres of influence.

The world goes insane, and for a time, I forget my problems and get lost in the fight. The minutes of peace when there’s nothing to do but struggle and survive.

***

A circle of light and alien glyphs form around me, punctuated by the temporary presence of additional, conjured soulbound swords. There are fifteen blades around me now, each glowing with compressed power. A single swing of the original weapon in my hand is copied fifteen-fold, sending a compressed Blade Strike at the torn and tattered Boss.

The Dungeon Boss is smaller, significantly smaller, than before. I’ve attacked it multiple times, destroying robot spiders, humanoid fighters, robotic sentinels, and the various liquid-metal externalities it’s used to attack me. I’ve littered the floor with pieces, shattered remnants of the monsters that appeared from the multiple hallways in their vain attempt to form up, to heal their master.

It’s why, through the fight, I’ve worked to control the environment. Lava rivers flow from one section of the hall to the other, blocking off easy access for respawns. Metal and earth walls clog up spawning entrances, making the creatures work to exit, while gravitic mines of my own sweep aside falling figurines, shifting their trajectories. Some land in traps, others on the spiked piles of other, older corpses. I have temporary wards set up in one section of the Boss Chamber, blocking off a swarm of tiny hornets, none of whom individually can shatter the wards.

And more.

The only thing I don’t have are my automated drones and weaponry. The wreck of an artillery drone, hacked and turned against me, lies discarded in a corner. A failure of imagination on my part.

I’ve fought the Boss for an hour, tearing him down until he’s half his original size. Just about big enough to be covered by my final attack.

Army of One’s manifestation is a screaming mass of bound Blade Strikes, spiraling in a formation of criss-crossing crescent energy to impact against the Maydi Duz. The Boss doesn’t take it lying down, reforming its mass to create a temporary shield of adamantium and electronics. I hear the tortured screams of drones and metal as they face my ultimate attack Skill. As it tears them apart like a six-year-old’s dreams of getting a pony.

One attack.

And the glowing green-and-red sphere of the monster’s core is exposed briefly. Before a chunk of it is torn aside, damaged but not dead. It managed to scoot aside just enough to avoid a quick death. Sadly, it never notices Ali floating down from above, a giant cartoonish hammer of formed energy in hand.

He swings with all his might, all the while sporting bunny ears and crowing, “Gotcha, doc!”

“Oy!” I shout at Ali. “No playing around.”

Ali sniffs, but the energy hammer he formed from the remnant energy expended by Army of One and the sizzling corpses is more than sufficient to end the Boss. I fly down, kicking off with hoverboots until I land next to the monster. I’m too late, as Ali loots the corpse and stares at our earnings.

Grumbling, I check my notifications.

Maydi Duz Dungeon Boss (Level 170 Final Boss) Defeated!

+98,484 XP

I grunt, waving away the rest of the information. While Ali blathers on about the loot, I walk toward the exit. Tomorrow—later today—I’ll hit the next City Dungeon, and the one after that. And then I’ll Portal to the next one and keep doing it. Grinding, till I hit my experience cap. I still have to find time for my interviews with the various members of the Erethran society, but I’m in a rush now. To hit my Levels before it’s time to let the Queen know. To protect myself from what might be a nasty confrontation.

Because I’ve got an idea of what I’ll do. Who I’ll choose.

And I know the Queen won’t like it.

But for now, rest.

***

“I got to admit, I’m a little disappointed,” I say softly.

My words startle the figure hovering over my bed, not with a knife or dagger or even an explosive, but with a bottle and dropper. It jerks, glancing at me then at the form lying there, finally spotting the differences. The way the hardlight projection shimmers just a little, at rates that would be impossible to see with naked, non-System eyes. The way its breathing is too regular.

My poisoner—which is what I assume the bottle is—doesn’t hesitate to flee, heading straight for the wall and the opening it had created. A neat trick that, making the nanite-created walls open up. It made no sound at all when it changed, and a simple force shield kept the wind and exterior temperature and pressure at bay.

My throwing dagger takes it in the thigh, sending the figure stumbling. I watch the overly generous curves go bouncing, a lock of colored, rainbow hair escaping its mask. The figure rolls and comes up to its knees, reaching for the dagger, only for it to disappear and return to me.

There’s a low hiss before it darts for the exit again—only to bounce off the elemental shielding Ali has formed. No touch of Mana there, just an adjustment between the air molecules. Making the loose air molecules harder than titanium.

“You can stop now,” I say.

I don’t throw my other knife, though I’m ready to. There’s something disturbing about the figure, something off about it. The way it lacks any threads leading to others is paramount among them.

Nothing—no one—can go through life without attachments. Without debts and obligations tying them down. Even a simple transaction of purchasing coffee sets up a reciprocal thread between you and the server. Those who think they are islands are just blind to the ground that connects them to the continents of humanity.

“You will fall.” The voice is high, pitchy. Feminine.

Before I can reply, the figure dissolves, the shadows that held it together coming apart. I reach out with my senses, Mana and Affinity, hearing and smell, and note that it’s gone. Completely. No hint of its scent, no trace of the Mana that bound it. I don’t bother checking my minimap, since it never showed up. Or the building’s security—for it had shown up, but as a friendly. And I sigh.

“Interesting. Doppelgangers don’t get threads,” I mutter. I recall how my own doppelgangers from Hod never gained any. They’re not real, just temporary constructs with no soul. Like a broom. Or a golem. No obligations, no duties, no threads. And thus, no way to track them. “Smart.”

“Yes, it is.” Ali floats in, already commanding the System to fix our bedroom. “So, basement?”

“Basement.” I open a Portal and sigh. “That’s two.”

“Mmmhmmmm…”

Chapter 23

“Kino,” I say to the Risen, “I met one of your relatives recently.”

“My fissure-sire is no longer of this earth. Was it a grotto mate?” Kino says, rumbling over the table in the Shop.

Around the conference room, the other Paladin initiates are seated, some of them taking the few minutes in the Shop to look around, quite impressed by the surroundings. Others look more blasé, like Magine.

“Risen, not a close relative. He was quite insistent on meeting me. Had a very rough way of talking,” I say.

“He tried to kill you,” Freif replies, not all amused.

“Mmm, yes. And I only made one knock-knock joke,” I say.

Even Ali doesn’t get my joke, the Spirit in his full form.

So I give the jokes a rest. “All right, boys and girls. It’s been two weeks. Brief me. How’s it going on Earth?”

The group looks a bit awkward, most of them looking surprised that I want to talk to them.

Eventually, it’s Anayton who breaks the silence. “Were we not meant to do this quest… well, alone?”

“Oh, you mean, throw you guys into the middle of nowhere, watch you flounder and die?” When the group acknowledges my words in their own ways, I snort. “Yeah, that’s the way the Paladins used to do it. Kind of dumb, really.”

Freif reacts hard to that, leaning forward and almost snarling. Anayton isn’t far behind in her reaction, mouth opening. Magine is the most interesting of the group, the way he just stills.

“Don’t you dare—” Freif starts.

“What? Tell the truth?” I cut him off. “You’re going to be Paladins, if you survive. About time to take the blinders off. The way they used to do things? It was broken.” When Freif continues to try to speak, I twitch a finger and mute him, letting the sound distorters neutralize his words. “Sure, they kept you guys running. But there were barely two dozen Paladins at the best of times, and the vast majority of times, we’re talking about seven or eight.”

“Standards were high,” Freif says.

“Standards were idiotic,” I say. “Five Master Class monsters while you’re an Advanced Class? Do you know what the survival rate on the Master Quest was?”

There’s a long pause as the group looks from one to the other.

It’s Anayton who answers. “Seven percent. We checked.”

“Exactly. The best and brightest of you guys, and not even one in ten survived,” I say. “And so, you bled people. Again and again. And the ones who survived, they weren’t even the best people who could uphold what it was to be a Paladin, just the best killers.”

“Yes. That’s what Paladins are. The best of the best,” Magine says. “Well, with one obvious exception.”

“Bullshit.” I turn to Kino who stirred at Magine’s answer. “You have something to say?”

“Paladins are the pillars of justice, the levers of equality. They fix what must be fixed, when no one else will do so,” Kino says. “They were never, they should never, be just killers.”

“Exactly,” I say, pointing at the rockman. Freif is almost shouting now, or maybe he is. But he’s struggling and I realize I’ve still got him muted. I wave a hand, killing the mute and letting him free to speak again. “You have something to say?”

“They might not have been perfect, but neither are you.”

“All too true, as my friend will tell you,” I say and point at the Spirit.

Ali, in his corner, has a plateful of snacks rising from the table, which he’s hoarding over on his side. A twitch of my fingers drags one plate of yellow lemon bars and chocolates over, along with a glass of Apocalypse Ale. The group starts making orders for their food, and for a time, there’s silence.

Anayton, rolling a rainbow slime across her fingers and letting her skin absorb the poison, says softly, “So they were not perfect. And you think you can change that?”

“I intend to start.” I tap the table. “The rest, that’s up to you. We’re going to start by pushing the limits of the rules.” I see them stir, and I wave at them. “Relax. I checked. It’s fine.” I don’t tell them how I checked, or about the pounding headache created by reaching backward and prodding at the Quest. “We can talk. Offer suggestions. Recommendations. Training. But you can’t fight in teams with one another. Just as the Quest says.”

There are a few relieved looks, Freif seeming to stabilize a little. Magine is still eyeing me in that too-still manner he has. He’s got the smallest pile of snacks before him, as if he’s unhappy with the selection. Or uninterested in such talk.

“The rest of it? I’m just an interloper. Making do with what I can. But if you don’t want your Empire to be stuck in this same situation in a few thousand, a few hundred years, I’d start thinking, and thinking hard, about what needs to change.”

***

The actual process of the debrief was routine. The initiates informed me of their various activities, the monsters they’d met—and killed—the Earth-based teams they’d worked with or avoided. More of the last than the first, though Kino seemed to have integrated better than the others. In short order, I berate them, pointing to Kino’s continued success at integrating and developing his contacts, including finding out about the monster he needed to attack.

“The Guilds might not be as prominent in Erethra, but they’ve grown very important on a Dungeon World like Earth,” I say. “You need to make friends, work with them. Just because you’re supposed to fight the final boss alone doesn’t mean you can’t simplify your way there. Most of them live in treacherous, dangerous locations. Use the resources available, use the environment available. That’s the only way you’re going to win.”

“Is that how you did it?” Freif asks.

“For the most part. I sometimes ran away, sometimes got the monsters to fight one another. Other times, I trapped them, injured them, slowly bled them out. Piled on damage inches at a time until they couldn’t handle it any further.” I shake my head, remembering. “Sometimes, rarely, I did what you guys were going to do. I faced them straight-on without concern for my life. I fought them to a standstill and I won. In other words, I was an idiot.”

That last sentence brings a round of laughter, but I continue. “Sometimes, being an idiot is all the choice you have. Sometimes there isn’t a better option. But let’s at least try for something more than the depths of idiocy, shall we?”

I work with them, helping them figure out some initial plans, some goals of what they can and should do. And then we set up the next meeting. They disperse soon afterward, chatting among themselves, a slowly developing team. As I stand up after they’ve left, Anayton pops her head back in.

“I do have a message for you,” Anayton says. “From a Lana?”

I gesture her in, frowning at the question mark in her statement. “What’s with the hesitation?”

“A woman’s intuition. That you might not want to hear it,” Anayton says.

I glare at the initiate before gesturing for her to hurry up and speak. When she’s done, I find myself shaking my head. It’s nice of Lana to send the message, to let me know of how things are going. It’s kind and thoughtful, just like the woman. I sigh, loudly and deeply.

“That bad?”

“No. Not really.” I consider for a second, then flick my hand sideways. Pictures, a slew of them. Little children—Lana’s own eldest and a slew of older kids, nieces and nephews, all playing with a triplicate of babies. “Just a reminder of what could have been.”

“Oh…” Anayton looks at the pictures, letting her gaze roam over the laughing children. There’s a bit of longing in her voice, squashed soon after. “They’re quite cute. Strong. Though this red hair. Is it a mutation? It seems to be a quite prevalent one. Over half of these children have it. “

“You could say that. Harmless, for the most part,” I say. “And you? Do you have any regrets?”

Anayton looks surprised. She hesitates a second and glances at the photos again. In the end, she shrugs. “I’ve had opportunities. But nothing ever felt right. Being in the Honor Guard, being a Paladin, that’s what I want to do. Serving the Empire, doing the best I can. And children…”

“Children get in the way,” I say.

She nods, looking a little uncomfortable with that though. “I should get going. The others are already browsing the Shop. You said we didn’t have that long?”

“Forty-five more minutes. That’s what I’ve bought for you,” I say.

The guest passes will run out soon, though Foxy might decide later to extend a permanent invitation. If they survive. After all, Paladin Master Classes are rather rare. I watch as she scurries out, ready to go shopping, curious to see kind of things there might be.

Leaving me alone. With pictures of redheaded children and memories of what could have been.

***

“You’re quiet tonight,” Catrin says, leaning against the table.

We’re at another restaurant, another mildly expensive indulgence. Now that I’m grinding Levels again, I’ve decided to put most of these meals on my personal tab. All things considered, the cost is insignificant. Not when compared to the amounts I’m earning from the dungeons every day. One of the advantages of the Altered Space Skill is being able to drag along expensive corpses when they’re left behind. And, at worst, extra loot.

This restaurant is a variation on a deep sea vessel, one used to explore the world beneath the oceans. Sloping ceilings, braced metal plating, projected imagines of creatures in the deep approaching our “windows.” They swim from the inky blackness, highlighted by floodlights, to stare at us as we eat before they swim away again. Occasionally, the entire room shakes as a particularly large and enthusiastic projection prods the “ship.” It’s highly thematic and immersive, going well with the seafood menu.

The food itself is delivered to us on polished coral, seashells, and giant mollusk platings. The restaurant has even gone so far as to hire semi-aquatic waiters, who move toward us with gills and flippers flaring as they serve.

“The meal not to your liking?” Catrin mouths the words, not wanting to start rumors. Considerate of the restaurant.

She enjoys coming to these restaurants, letting her presence be known. It’s a chance to see old friends, to glad-hand nobles and businessmen, establish connections. And potential relationships, later. For her, it’s work and enjoyment.

I admit, her running commentary on those we see has added to my understanding of Erethran society, of how it works. And those who control it at the highest levels.

“Nothing like that. Just thinking.” I shake my head, then fix her with a gaze. “Past regrets. You know the kind, don’t you?”

“Dresses not bought, shoes not purchased, a limited line of grenades passed by?” Catrin chuckles lightly. “Oh yes, I have many.”

“I was thinking more paths not taken. Choices not made. Because we couldn’t, we wouldn’t, let things go. The things we gave up in pursuit of duty. Or our dreams.”

Catrin grows serious, eyeing me. She sees how I speak, what I’ve revealed, and she matches my somber mood. The truth I’ve alluded to. “Yes. To all that. Too many dreams given up in pursuit of duty, of what has to be done. Rather than what I would want.”

“You could change. Make a new path. You’re still young,” I offer, seeing the regret in her eyes.

She laughs, but this one is not filled with mirth but a tinge of bitterness. “Sometimes the choices we make, they are permanent. Because others won’t let you change. Sometimes we find what we’re good at, and it might not be what we’d want to do, to be. But it is what is necessary.”

I stare at her, seeing the truths in her eyes. The strong sense of duty, the refusal to bend, even when she probably should. And once more, I turn on Society’s Web. I see the threads that lead between her and those she’s known, between her and those she serves. And for once, I see how the thread wraps her close, holds her tightly in her place. Sometimes the threads we bind ourselves with are all the stronger because they were our choice.

I see the hidden pain, the way she struggles, in her own way. And I squeeze her hand. Because I don’t have an answer.

We eat, and there’s a more somber silence for a while.

We finish another two dishes before she places her utensils down. “I’m done. Shall we just go?”

I acknowledge her request and lead her out. It’s only a minor effort to send a notification and payment to the waiter, making sure they know it’s nothing to do with them.

When we are outside, waiting for the shuttle car, she speaks again. “You know, you could change too. Pick a new path.”

I laugh and pull her close as the air shuttle drops, blasting air around it, catching at her skirts. It throws her hair around, bringing a whiff of her perfume, of that hint of nutmeg that is hers, and the burnt ozone smell of electric use. I hold her tightly till the doors slide open and I usher her in.

Memory, too much memory, pulls at me. Threatening to sweep me away, threatening to drown me in a whirlpool of regret and sacrifice. My memories of a red-headed man, fallen and lying bleeding, his sister holding him tight in dark caves, illuminated by the glow of steady, yellow Mana lights. Another of a woman with sun-kissed skin, a friend, a sword driven through her body on white-steel decks. A failure, when I should have acted. When I could have…

And memories not my own. Of experiments. Of screaming men, women, and Yerrick. Mana stripping the very flesh and bones as Classes are removed. Of a Heroic, the Hakarta’s limbs removed, trying to grow them back and failing. His body, his System, failing as the ship records his destruction as it leaves System space. Until, eventually, the Mana levels fall too far and the recordings stop. Decades later.

Atrocities and losses. Questions answered.

And still, one question left.

I get in, never answering her. Because some paths, some questions need an answer, an ending. Or all else that came before would be wasted.

***

They come for me again when I Portal in the next day. Not in single numbers. Not even in small groups. But as a horde. I almost conjure my weapon, staring at the group awaiting my arrival. And I can’t help but curse, because the law forces me to use only specific locations. Unless there’s a need. I could have broken the law, done what I wanted. But I was trying to be polite. Must be the old Canadian in me.

“I’m sorry, Paladin, they were insistent on waiting for you.” The captain of the guard is, at least, brave enough to speak with me directly.

I step off the teleportation platform, getting out of the way. Staring at the hungry masses of servants and minor nobles, all of them baring invitations. Some, I’m sure, are just here to curry favor. Others want to progress the campaign of their chosen leader.

It seems, along with the attack by the assassins, other social norms, including the quiet dismissal of my presence, have faded away. Now, they’re all bent on making their cases. All bent on making sure I know what is best, truly best, for the Empire.

“Saimon.” I make the call, bugging the man directly.

Saimon answers my call almost immediately, making me smile. I do like competent minions. “Lord Braxton is on his way, Paladin. Just wait a few minutes. He will handle this.”

A couple minutes later, Lord Braxton appears, fading in next to me from the teleportation platform. He takes one look at the group, grunts, and turns to the people he brought along. “You may begin.”

To the increasingly frazzled Captain of the Guard’s relief, Lord Braxton puts the minor horde of functionaries into order within minutes, each of them providing business cards, contact information, and details. A brief conversation with Braxton confirms that I’ll have to meet with them, but for now, I can grind in peace.

He only asks that I inform him when I intend to exit the Dungeon. I admit, I hesitate at that, realizing how much of a potential opening that might offer. But then, staring at the crowd, I realize I’m much more of target as I am. Some changes to my routine will have to be made.

Chapter 24

“Paladin! I’m sorry for the late introduction. No one told me you were coming!” The manager hurries up to me, wringing his hands.

I stare at him, then dismiss him from notice. Instead, I turn back to the factory floor beneath my feet, where the Artisans are hard at work. Lines and lines of them, each of them at their own workstation, attaching, building, creating drones. Putting together the expendable equipment for war that drives the Erethrans onward.

Dirty gray-steel robots move between stations, picking up finished drones, marking them off, and moving to the next, delivering the finished work for inspection. A few inspectors check over the work, scanning the Status of each item before they’re packed away in appropriate bins.

In the meantime, the Artisans work unceasingly. Garnering small amounts of XP as they grind away at their job. Small amounts—for the lack of innovation, the lack of development—means that most Classes get nearly nothing from this process. Just Credits, paid by the factory owners.

It’s why there’s such uniformity between Levels for those below. Why so many peak and hold steady, whether they’re twenty-year-olds or seventy-year-old Artisans. The only real continuity among those below is the diversity of races and the lack of Levels. Even clothing—or lack of it—is different except for the lack of enchanted material. There’s no need for uniforms, and dress styles are wide and varied. Fashion—on a Galactic scale—is so varied, and yet, can often be local.

“Paladin?” the manager calls again, hesitantly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Tell me about the factory,” I say.

This is the fourth such location I’ve visited in the last three days, popping in in between my grinds, when it’s unexpected or when I’m done. Unsurprisingly, these factories work all hours. Churning out drones, ammunition, even repurposing monster parts.

“Ah, well, we make the d’Ius line of sentry drones here. They range from the Mark IV to Mark VII prototypes. Once made, we classify the results”—a wave of his hand encompasses the QA trio—“pack, and ship them. All those below are independent contractors. They purchase the rights to use the respective blueprints, then manufacture them to the best of their ability. Completed works are then paid to them, direct via the System.”

“Interesting system,” I say non-commitally.

“It certainly is. Ever since we’ve instituted the commission rate system, we’ve seen a tripling of our output,” the Manager says proudly.

I grunt, staring down below. What he doesn’t say, what Harry found out when Spuryan’s people sent us the note, was they’d also managed to keep their payroll cost from ballooning by reducing payouts. The people below are producing more, for less pay. Unfortunately, Credit loans for the purchase of the blueprints lock the workers in, forcing them to work themselves to the bone. Worse, when someone does manage to Level up and thus increase their production levels, they’re often convinced to try their hand at another blueprint in another factory. Of course, there’s more chance of Leveling with a new blueprint, but it also means they’re locked in again.

It’s a vicious little circle, and one of the ongoing trends in industrial production among the Erethran capitalists. The Generals don’t complain—they get cheaper equipment to use. The Adventurers are happy, because their loot drops sell for more. And the merchants and nobles, they laugh at their Credit balances.

It’s just the Artisans, caught in the middle and exploited, who have issues. And no one, at least not yet, is talking for them.

“How many d’Ius factories are there?”

“In this sector?” The manager appears to mentally count. “Eleven of this size. Another two larger. And another forty subsidiaries.”

“And you’ve implemented this in all the factories?”

“Yes, Paladin.”

I don’t bother asking further questions, opening a Portal and walking through it. This one takes me to the nearest planetary teleportation point. I’m done with the dungeon on this world. So it’s time to move on.

***

“Paladin, thank you. If you hadn’t arrived…”

“No thanks needed. It was the right thing to do.” I offer a smile to General d’HaBarn, letting my gaze flick across to the battle plot next to him. “I’m surprised though, that you got caught out like that.”

“It’s rare that planetary invasions are done before the space battles are complete,” the General admits, shaking his head. “I never expected the Uswain to be so bold. Or that they’d let their Lesasson come.”

I grunt. That had been a painful beating. If I hadn’t been able to get Mikito and Bolo to come with me, fighting off the equivalent of a mini-Heroic Champion of the Uswain Confederacy would have been… impossible. It’d taken all three of us, pounding away at him, and the four Master Classers on the planet to make him run. If we hadn’t managed to displace the majority of the fight out of the city and over what used to be the local newbie hunting ground, the damage would have been a lot more extensive.

“Why did they?” I say, frowning. “Harry tells me that they’ve never let him leave his Empire before.”

“Ah… well, what can one say? The Uswain are difficult to understand,” d’HaBarn says, waving in dismissal.

“I’d think you’d want to understand your enemy,” I say, letting my voice cool.

“Bah. Crezar are too animalistic to really understand,” d’HaBarn sniffs.

“Really.” My voice grows flatter as I stare at the General. Information from Ali, from Harry scrolls up at a thought. I’d set the reporter on it the moment we learnt of the attack. And what he managed to dig up—from tapping into non-Erethran news sources—was enlightening. “So you really have no idea why the Lesasson might show up?”

“I don’t try to understand the thoughts of such enemies,” d’HaBarn repeats.

“Fair enough. I’ll be sure to let Brerdain know,” I say.

“Let him know what?” d’HaBarn’s voice goes higher.

I smile grimly. “About your lack of imagination. Understanding that attacking the Crezar Creche and ‘accidentally’ killing a generation of their pups seems like a simple conclusion to draw. Even for a non-military man like me.” I lean forward, glaring at d’HaBarn. “I expect the Chief will have his own words on the matter.”

To my surprise, d’HaBarn relaxes a little. My eyes narrow, and a quick query to Ali brings up the information. And the respective family trees. A quick check with Society’s Web confirms my feeling and I internally debate the matter.

Throw him out of the airlock and leave the fleet without a commanding officer? Weakening this sector of space? Or let him pull the strings he thinks he can pull to keep his position? I’m reminded, once more, that the army he controls holds loyalty to him, not Brerdain or the Queen.

“We all have much to do, Paladin. In lodging our respective reports,” d’HaBarn says, his voice cool too. “If you don’t mind…”

“Yeah, I get it.” I walk to the exit of the command deck. Already, I’m composing a message to Brerdain and the Minister of War.

Let’s see how they handle this. And if not… well. I can always space d’HaBarn later.

Or let one of the other Paladins do it.

***

My fist hammers into the prison, and it cracks. Seconds later, the prison reforms. I growl, kicking at the prison again, watching it reform and feeling a little of the shock from my attack rebound. I can feel the prison of light and Mana they used moving, the assassins taking me to another location.

Smart. They couldn’t kill me, not here. Not in the middle of the city. But move me to a different location? Maybe torture, mind-smash me into submission while getting their person in play? That’s doable. Especially since a half dozen Mages are forming this ritual prison.

I could try breaking it with Army of One. But the secondary rebound effect on the prison would kill me if I failed to break through. I can’t help but wonder if the cracks I see are there on purpose, to make me overconfident.

“Ah hell. Let’s try this…” I mutter and pull out a grenade.

Not a Chaos Grenade. I’m not that desperate yet. Just a Ghostlight Mana Dispersal grenade. Four dropped at my feet, and three minutes later, it’s sufficient to make the poor prison falter, the Mages who’ve been holding it aloft drained and unable to continue feeding the prison Mana.

Cleanup after that is simple. I even leave most of it to the local police force—after beating the Mages to the ground and locking away their escape methods. Idiot Mage team seemed to have forgotten to bring non-Mana based backup.

Afterward, while I watch them get carted away, Lord Braxton makes an appearance. The Houndmaster is looking a little harried, and that’s no surprise. This is, like, the tenth or eleventh attack I’ve had to deal with. Not counting whatever my guard personnel have stopped.

“Paladin, you need to tell us where you’re going beforehand!” Braxton complains. “At the least we can alert local constablury.”

“And let my enemies know what I plan to do?” I shake my head. “No thanks.”

“Do you think what you’re doing is working?” Braxton gestures around. “You’re only heading off the least prepared. A good Path Analysis later, they know where you’re going.”

“So why aren’t you doing that?” I say, cocking an eyebrow at Braxton.

“We are!” Braxton snaps. “But we’re on your side. There’s no reason for us to be wasting Credits and time, guessing at what you’re going to do.”

I pause, considering if I should point out that this is more an Empire problem than mine. “Oh come on, this is at least giving the new staff a good workout, right?”

I nod toward the group of Administrators, Public Interfaces, and Investigators who are talking to the local police force. There’s even a growing argument between the Investigators and the force on the disposition of the prisoners.

“Any idea who hired these guys?” I ask my now routine question.

To my surprise, Braxton has an actual answer this time. “We do. We lucked out this time. The second-last cut-out was someone already under investigation, so we had a tap on him. Your Title came up under a routine search when you called it in.” Braxton shakes his head. “We’re still refining the automatic AI searches on the data. It doesn’t help that you’ve got so many Titles.”

I snort, but can sort of understand it. When there are a million ways to describe me, setting up an automatic search on general data trawled through the million and one information sources they have must be a pain. “So?”

“So what?”

“Who is it?”

“Oh, Lord d’Frami. Minor house noble. He’s the second cousin of Lord—”

“K’was.” I sigh. “And they still think that idiot has a chance?”

“Not with you talking about it publicly,” Braxton growls.

I shrug unrepentantly. “I wouldn’t trust him to find the throne with a GPS, a seeing eye dog, a Boy Scout, Delta Force Rangers, and the System all aiding him. Never mind rule anything more complicated than a Lego playhouse.”

Braxton shakes his head. “If you’re trying to confuse me, you can stop. Your Spirit introduced me to a proper culture pack download. I now even know of M.A.S.H.”

I shoot a look over to where Ali is busy watching the growing argument between our men and the police force, a bucket of popcorn in hand. The Spirit’s sense of humor can get arcane at times. M.A.S.H. is a little before my time, but I decide not to pop Braxton’s bubble.

“So. You got a good scent for d’Frami?” I say. “Able to track him down?”

“We’ll catch him, don’t worry about that,” Braxton says, shaking his head. “I just hope you Level soon. This is getting…”

“Interesting.” I grin, waving goodbye to Braxton as I open up the Portal.

My surprise visit to the nearest healing shop, where Spuryan had fed me some more information, is scuppered. So I move on to plan I.

Or is it J?

***

The gas giant beneath me reminds me of Jupiter, both in coloration and size. Giant, swirling brown clouds pass beneath my feet as the ship continues its routine patrol. I’m crouched next to the nervous recruit, hooked onto the open strut and feeling the barest tug of increasing velocity as the ship continues to gain thrust.

“So this is routine maintenance?” I say.

“Yes, Paladin,” the recruit says, nervousness evident in every word. He’s got a welding torch in one hand, a fistful of crafted metal-horn hybrid wire in the other. I see the overlaid glyphs his helmet is displaying on the strut, where he’s carefully attaching the wire in exacting detail. “We have to replace the glyphs every month. But with the size of the K’trum, Paladin, it’s—”

“I get it. Neverending work. And not enough of you guys, right? There’s always more than enough people with guns, but people with actual skills…”

The private looks up and shyly offers me a nod. It’s a shared smile, as if I get it. And I do, in a sense.

Random Recruit Whose Name You’ve Already Forgotten (Erethran Space Cadet Level 17) (B)

HP: 130/130

MP: 210/210

Conditions: Mana Sense

“Seriously, Ali?”

“You’re telling me you remembered it?”

“That’s not the point!”

“So they put you through special training for this, right?” I say, gesturing below.

“Yes, Paladin.” The recruit offers me a proud smile. “We get trained in the basics now, if we have the aptitude. Start specializing with some of our Skill choices. Then as an Advanced Class, we can further specialize. I’m going for Erethran Spatial MagiMechanic.”

I nod. “And until then, you grind this? Get experience for it?”

“Yes, sir. Cadets get experience for following orders and combat, Paladin.”

“Very good. Well, I won’t bother you. I’m sure your Sargent will be on you if you don’t get this done.” I grin and wave goodbye to the kid before opening a Portal to send me back into the hull itself.

There are a few others I want to chat with, to get a feel of their navy. Overall, in contrast to the weirdness of the Generals, the navy is almost entirely of one mind and loyalty. I guess it helps that the navy and their ships get paid for by the Queen. Add in a constant rotation of membership, and while there’s intense loyalty to their immediate Captains, there’s less of the insubordination I noted with the Generals.

As I snap shut the Portal behind me, I muse about their social structure. About the challenges Brerdain and Julierudi face in keeping their people contained, in gaining loyalty otherwise. And, worse, of the deeper corrupt currents at play. Too many damn people have their fingers in too many pies, all of them refusing to extract them.

And somehow, they think a few Paladins can fix it.

I’m not sure whether to be flattered or appalled. But I make sure to compose another cautionary note for my friends on Earth to watch out for my initiates.

***

A few days later, Harry is finally back. I’m still mostly running around by myself, my friends busy with their own activities. Mikito occasionally swings by. More often than not, an attack materializes soon after. It’s an uncanny ability, one that she’s loath to explain beyond saying that it’s just a feeling she gets.

I get a feeling too, that it’s both her Skill and Harry’s quiet influence. Surprisingly, Bolo rarely shows up, busy with his own activities. I’m almost annoyed by his abandonment. But the vast majority of the attacks are less than effective. The only few times it matters, he makes an appearance.

It’s hard for assassins to surprise someone when said person spent his formative years in an apocalypse, and then most recently spent the same amount of time doing the same job as the attackers.

It also helps that the majority of the true threats—teams of Master Classers, Heroic level bounty hunters, and the like—are kept at bay by the presence of the Erethran military. Few bounty hunters or assassins are willing to risk angering an entire kingdom.

Finding Harry waiting for me in the dining room is a bit of a surprise. What’s not so surprising is the array of fish and chips before him. I join him, eyeing the multiple plates, each of them with a slightly different golden coloring to the batter and each “fish” piece in different sizes and shapes. Each set of chips is formatted in a different way. All of them are within easy reaching distance, except for a plate of chips that’s been shoved far away. The thinly sliced potato serving isn’t exactly what I’d call chips anyway.

“Harry, what exactly are you doing?” I say.

“New job. I’m being paid by the local culinary circle in the capital to rate their attempts at my national dish,” Harry says, the last words dripping with contempt.

I’m slightly amused a second later as the dark-skinned man spears another crispy golden fish flake and shoves it into his mouth. He chews slowly, eyes narrowing, then writes a note on the pad.

“Huh. I wonder why no one’s asked me to do that for poutine,” I say. Seems like an easy money day, and I get to try a lot of food. Then I spot certain irregularities among the dishes. What should be tender, flaky, and moist white fish flesh is, at times, different. There’s a myriad of colors, a variety of unusual shapes and consistencies hidden beneath the batter. In fact, one of those… “Is that Krishna meat?”

“Yes,” Harry says, sounding annoyed. “It’s not enough that they try to recreate the dish. No, they’ve decided to add a Galactic twist to it.”

I can’t help but chuckle a little at the disgust in Harry’s tone. I take a seat beside him and conjure a set of dining utensils. After all, I can’t let him suffer by himself.

“I do blame you for this, John.” At my raised eyebrow, he points with his fork. “You’ve been dining out, with your lady friend, so much that you started a trend. Of making the human Paladin satisfied.”

A little thoughtful hmmm at his words while I pin down a chip and raise it to my lips. Spicy. Why would you make chips spicy? “Anything else I should know?”

“Assassinations, minor border skirmishes, random poisonings. Any of that sparking any brain cells?” Harry says.

“Yes. I do get the reports from the guards and my security detail. And, of course, from the nobles with Brerdain and Julierudi when they’re trying to get their digs in at one another. But I get the feeling you’ve seen something?”

Henry snorts and flicks his fork at me. Luckily, there’s no food on it, which means all I have to worry about is the flood of notifications he sends. News articles, his analysis, additional details that don’t make it to the reports. I get to reading while we gorge on the dishes. He occasionally interrupts me, asking for my feedback.

We pass plates back and forth, along with silent notes on the events. And there are lot of notes. Fish and chips should not be made with vegetables. Firstly, System vegetables are mutated and have a tendency to poison or otherwise drug eaters. Secondly, incidents like the accidental delivery of a container of Master Class monster parts are sparking up border skirmishes between nobles and other smaller planets. Thirdly, fish. It’s in the name.

When we’re done, I can’t help but sigh. “Any luck on finding my attackers?”

“Nothing. And I don’t think we will. Even if there are more attacks, they know what they’re doing,” Harry says. We’re obviously talking of the major players, the ones who have placed, and keep increasing, the price on my head. “These other incidents, they might offer more information, if you’re willing to look into them.”

I shake my head. Even if I could step in and investigate the other assassinations, put a stop to some of these trade—and shooting—wars, it’d only slow down the incidents. It wouldn’t solve the underlying problem. Worst, there’s a danger of overreach, of overplaying my hand. My job isn’t just saving the empire from itself; it’s choosing an Empress Apparent who can fix the increasingly volatile cracks.

Stopping the attacks, stopping the individual players from going too far might be the worst choice I could make. Knowing where each person—Brerdain, Julierudi, Spuryan, or one of the other half dozen contenders—will draw their line in their quest for power is important. Necessary information.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m just naïve, thinking there should be limits. Maybe I’m too human, too basic. After all, I’m just an ex-programmer.

“Keep tracking. Let me know what you find. On all our candidates,” I say to Harry.

“For how long?” Harry asks, fixing my gaze with his own.

I know what he’s asking. The longer we delay, the longer we take, the more deaths there will be. But I don’t dare be wrong either.

“Until I’m sure.”

***

Ayuri finds me in the middle of a dungeon. We’re on a different planet, one I can’t even remember the name of. I’ve spent weeks bouncing around, clearing dungeons, monster swarms, and threats. All in the race to increase my Levels. It’s only the Champion, who can cover the cost and the jumps, who can find me out here. Well, her and a few of the more insane assassins.

We fight together, in silence, for a time. You’d think it’d be a disaster. After all, two Master classes, neither of which have really fought together much, unleashing Skills that tear apart the tiny swarm creatures and dark shadow monsters that prey upon us. It should have been a disaster, by any rational viewpoint. Except both of us are trained combatants, used to fighting with others. And even if I’m not a real Erethran Paladin, many of my tactics, my skills came about from watching and learning from them. So we fit together easier than I would have expected.