Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

“Which is why the Traditionalists will oppose you. As would the Fist, since they wouldn’t want their members being stymied,” Harry says. “In fact, they were one of the major sources of oppositions the last time, no?”

“Well, when they failed to get Earth for themselves. But if we could get one or two of those four—”

A snort rises from Bolo when I say that. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. If you showed up, you’d just be escalating matters.” I frown, and Bolo continues. “You don’t know? Most Heroic Classes aren’t allowed onto Dungeon Worlds without prior negotiation. Not that they care to turn up.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Heroics are the atom bombs of the galaxy,” Mikito says. “You can drop them on your own planets without an issue, but the moment you do it on another power’s, you escalate matters.”

“And Dungeon Worlds are contested zones,” Ali says. “You can’t have Heroics going in and tipping things one way or the other. Or else more Heroics turn up. And then a bunch of promising Advanced and Master Classes die as collateral damage from their fights, and the Dungeon World’s infrastructure gets wrecked and costs every side billions of Credits in lost infrastructure, materials, and investment in their Advanced and Master Classers. Worst, no one wins anyway.”

“For that matter, it’s why Legendarys don’t get involved unless it’s to destroy a planet or two,” Bolo says. “Tradition keeps the System running. It might not be perfect, it might have significant inequalities, but it has grown out from times when no such customs were around and planets were destroyed on the regular. And during those times, the Forbidden Zone grew unrestricted.”

“The Beginning. The Time of Chaos. The First Insurrection. The Flight of Dragons. The Fae Revolution,” Ali intones.

I hold up a hand as the library tugs at each name. “Enough.”

“Library got your tongue?” Ali smirks.

But he does stop, while some pieces of information get downloaded. It’s scattershot, since much of the information is just in reference to the events themselves and is in the earliest portion of the libraries where studies had just begun on the System. More observational than experimental.

“Just… no.” I push aside the buzzing in my mind, finding it easier than ever now. A side benefit of my Class? Or maybe an improvement in my Intelligence? “Anyway, we just need to block the vote on the Dungeon Worlds, not pass a resolution. That’s a lot easier, since the Mana requirement to enact such a change is pretty damn high.”

There are a few nods, since we’ve all downloaded an information pack on how voting works. It’s all done by Mana, with each planet having a set “amount” of Mana that they contribute to the running of the Galactic Council. More established planets, those closer to Forbidden Zones, often have more free processed Mana, so their votes are worth more. New planets have less. A Dungeon World has a ton, but it’s a question of them reaching a threshold amount rather than a specific percentage or number.

“So the Fist will try to get on board, maybe by bribing them with exclusive access to some dungeons on Earth. Somehow. The Traditionalists might not like abstaining from the vote as a whole, but the Movana who do have two Dungeon Worlds will push for us. Katherine had some success aligning with the Edge by giving them access to Earth, and if we can somehow coordinate them, a single Dungeon World they can access would help.” Another snort rises from Bolo as I blow past the ideas of how we’re getting that done, but I keep pressing on. “That leaves the Technocrats, who don’t give a damn really, and the Artisans as blocks.”

“The Artisans will be opposed to it. Less competition on the Dungeon Worlds will see higher prices,” Harry says. “And so will the Edge, no matter what you say. They were willing to go with Earth when it seemed everyone wasn’t willing to push matters. But now that the Inner Council has acted…”

I slam my fist down, anger flaring. Harry flinches and I feel a flash of guilt, but I’m still too upset to stop. “I know, damn it. But what else do you expect us to do? We need to get allies on our side, and this is the best option I can think of. If you’ve got a better idea…”

“I’m no politician. But have you spoken to Rob?” Harry says, leaning forward. “Or Lana? Roxley? Even Katherine? Anyone?”

My silence is reply enough.

“Exactly,” Harry says. “You’re doing it again. Making plans without asking the rest of us. You aren’t the only one who gives a damn about Earth! And this time, it’s not just your head on the block.” He stands, shaking his head. “Maybe working with the Erethrans makes sense. It probably won’t hurt. But if you want to help Earth, you’re really going to have to talk to them.”

I watch him stalk out, the British gentleman tugging on his jacket as he leaves. I open my mouth then shut it like the doors leading out of the room as he exits. Bolo snorts again.

I round on the Dragon Lord. “You have something to say?”

“Nothing at all, Grand Paladin,” Bolo says, drawling as he says my Class. “I’m just here for the experience.”

I grunt. “Yeah, I thought so.”

I stand, suddenly out of appetite and desire for company. By the time I hit the door, I realize no one has followed me. My lips curl up in disgust, but I say nothing, searching for one of the ship’s training rooms.

I feel the need to destroy something.

***

The smoking ruins of the training room’s short-circuited hard light projectors lie all around me, acrid and toxic smoke wafting from the remnants of the drones I’ve defeated. Some of the drones are nearly twenty feet tall, others no larger than the size of my hand. But they’re all wrecked.

At six foot two and muscular for a human, those twenty-foot-tall, couple-of-ton drones should have been a problem when we clashed sword to pincer. But the System messes with physics and lets you mess with it too, which is why I can just as easily toss one of them one-handed as cut through them with my sword.

I look around, listening to the cackle of flames and the hiss and pop of broken drones attempting to rise, and I grimace. An insistent warning flashes in the corner of my eyes, a warning coming over the functioning speakers as they detail the loss of functionality in the training room.

Sadly, even on a capital ship, they just aren’t set up to handle Heroic Class levels of destruction. Not for hours on end.

The door hisses open behind me, making me turn. In comes Mikito, who eyes the destruction before she tramps in the rest of the way. As she reaches me, a flicker of light by my side warns me of Ali’s presence.

“Tantrum over?” Mikito says.

“Really? You think that’s going to calm me down?” I say. But there’s no heat in it, not anymore.

“I’ve given up trying to calm you down when you’re angry,” Mikito says. In direct contradiction though, she holds up a familiar triangular chocolate bar, one the size of my fist in cross-section.

I snort, but take the peace offering. I strip the cardboard and foil while answering her first question. “Calmer.”

“Good. Then you’re going to tell me why you aren’t contacting the others?” Mikito says.

“You don’t think I’m willing to do everything myself?” I say, lips twisting in sardonic humor.

“For all your overblown sense of responsibility, you’ve never been that egotistical. Not when you helped Lana set up that investment company. Or when you took others out training,” Mikito says, voice dropping. “But you’re trying to do this all yourself. You won’t even speak to us about it. So there’s a reason.”

I grunt. I could contact Earth. But how do you explain, how do you say that the reason everything is broken is because of you? That you’ve let them down, that you brought the entire Galactic Council onto Earth?

Guilt. That’s the reason why I’ve avoided contacting Earth. Guilt, and the hope that they have a solution. Because I can’t find one, not really. Even if I turn up, if I let the Council have me, it won’t stop the ball they’ve started rolling. It won’t unring the bell.

“This is my fault,” I finally say, closing my eyes as I feel the chocolate melt in my mouth. Not wanting to see her face.

“Because you’re a Heroic now?” Mikito says. “You know, it was going to happen at some point. Maybe not this soon for some of the other Champions, but they’re closing in on it. Another few years—”

“No. Not that.” I shake my head and open my eyes, whispering, “Or not really.”

“Baka. Stop speaking in riddles.” Mikito’s nose wrinkles, tiny creases appearing on the petite ridge and I wonder if the toxic smells are getting to her. It’s not that bad, only a couple of health points a second.

I open my mouth then shut it. My head turns, looking around the broken training room, considering. The fleet, by virtue of the various navy and army intelligence personnel, is cloaked from most forms of espionage. Then again, considering who we’re going against, I doubt it’s sufficient.

“You can’t speak of it, can you?” Mikito’s legs part as she balances her weight evenly without thought. Readying herself. “What did you do?”

“I…”

“Boy-o really can’t say.” Ali floats down to her eye level, hands splayed. “This isn’t the time. Or place.”

“There will be one, yes?” I hesitate, and Mikito pokes me. “Yes?”

“Yes,” I finally grate out. “But if you learn this—”

Mikito holds a hand up to stop me. “Blah blah, death, destruction, being hunted, more death. About right?”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Death is not to be feared by a samurai. It will come for all of us, and as such, is no more important than tea.” She looks at the triangle of chocolate in my hand. “Or chocolate.”

“Death, tea, and chocolates. All of equal importance.” I can’t help but laugh a little before breaking off a piece to offer to the Samurai.

“I know you’ll do your best for Earth.” Mikito takes it and stares at me for a second then adds, softly, “But you need to call them. Coordinate.”

I grunt. She’s right. Even if, I fear, whatever we do is ultimately futile, we have to try. Even if I believe that the trying is the trap, that the Council expects me to jump to their rescue. That moving to Irvina is what they want. It’s why I’ve held off, at least for now.

I watch her walk away as I contemplate our situation. She leaves me in the shattered training room, listening to the crackle and pop of malfunctioning machinery. Smaller maintenance drones sneak out of the walls and begin cleanup, now that they consider the training session over.

I sigh, turning to the Spirit who gives me a short but firm nod.

“Contact Earth, will you?” I say.

***

I speak with Rob first, the conversation being held in one of the ship’s many meeting rooms. This one’s reserved for the brass, but considering my titular rank within the armed forces, I have no issue accessing it. Among other things, there’s an additional barrier against snooping. I expect it’s not much better than a soggy sheet of A4 protecting my privacy from the Lady of Shadows, but if it’ll cost them a little more, I’m all for it.

When Rob flickers into being, connected via the System bending the concept of quantum physics as I understand it, he appears in a hard-light projection of himself.

World President Rob Markey is in his late-thirties, if you pay attention to physical looks. But I know he’s older, much, much older. If not for the genetic rejuvenation offered by the System and a bunch of points into Constitution, he’d be old and frail. Once ex-Secretary of Agriculture, then the only surviving member of the US Presidential Staff and now, President of Earth.

RobMarkey, 1st World Ruler of a Dungeon World, World President of Earth, Beloved, Loyalty Born of Blood, Sacrificed Existence, Efficient Manager, … (more) (Planetary Leader Level 21) (M)

HP: 840/840

MP: 2430/2430

Conditions: Linked Health, Shielded, Location Sense (Earth), Freedom of Movement (Earth), Aura of Sovereignty, Mana Fount, Artisans Gift, Capitalist Dream, more…

“Rob,” I greet the older man, gaze sweeping past his simple grey suit and the splash of color in his bright yellow tie.

“Mr. Lee,” Rob says, hands crossed behind him. “You’ve gained a new tier. The first human to do so, it seems.”

“I guess so.”

“Katherine has briefed me on her troubles. And our losses, as well as the expected action taken against Earth.” Rob’s lips thin. “I expected to speak with you sooner.”

I shrugged. “Things have been busy.”

“Really?”

I explain what I set up, what we’ve done, and the agreement I’ve made with the Empire.

He doesn’t comment until I’m done. “A fair start, but not what I’d hoped to speak with you about.” When I don’t fill the incriminating silence he leaves, he continues. “Why is it that Katherine says they want you in Irvina?”

“My good looks?”

“You’re joking?” Rob’s cold demeanor breaks in a flash of anger.

My shrug actually calms him, surprisingly.

“People are dying, if you did not know, Mr. Lee. Not just the diplomatic corp on Irvina, but people on Earth. They’ve redoubled their attacks. Many of our agents off world were attacked too. Merchant contracts have been broken. Guilds are pulling out of cities they are contracted to protect. Even mercenary companies are canceling their Contracts and giving up on their obligations. And you joke.”

I offer him a weak smile, trying not to let him know how much his accusation hurts. “If I said I wasn’t certain…”

“I’d ask for your best guess.”

“And if I said I couldn’t tell you?”

Rob’s lips thin further. “This is not a joke, Mr. Lee.”

“I know.” I absently note the lack of Titles. A power play, to make it clear I’m still below him as a human? I’d say he isn’t used to employing System Titles, but as a professional politician who has been doing it for nearly a decade, I doubt it’s taken him that long to get used to the new reality. So, power play it is. “But some things, you’re better off not knowing.”

His eyes narrow before he gestures around him. I assume he means to showcase the world he sees around him, though it translates badly since he’s gesturing at an empty board room here. “You put the whole planet in danger because of something you did, didn’t you?”

“In a way.”

“Again.”

“Hey, boy-o’s addition of the Galactic Citizens from the lower Combat Classers have helped you guys stay ahead of the increasing Mana saturation and dungeon formations. Hell, you’ve even begun to get Master Classers coming to offer service because John started the entire program,” Ali says.

“The Master Class immigration program has nothing to do with Mr. Lee.”

“Goblin shit. You only have applicants because boy-o made enough of a stink that the others are willing to give you a chance. He let Earth prove they aren’t like the other governments. At least, not as bad and more desperate.” Ali sniffs. “Though the way you’re acting, I might be changing my mind on that.”

“Mr. Lee has done us some good, but he also set the entire Galactic Council against us. Our inclusion in the Council as a Dungeon World was already precarious as it stood,” Rob says. “Now, he has pushed even our allies to abandon us.”

“Talking of allies, do we have any left?” I say.

Rob pauses for a long time, staring at me. Then, to my surprise, he shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“What?”

“I do not believe we will be telling you who we have allied.”

I freeze for a second, then smile. “Oh. Security concerns, eh?”

“That, and your actions are less than optimal. I see no reason to subject ourselves to your actions again.”

The smile grows strained. “I was trying to help.”

“Yes, and your generosity is noted. But you do not always look out for what is best for Earth,” Rob says flatly. “And that is what we need.”

I clench my jaw, fighting the anger and the hurt. I force out a breath slowly before I raise my hand, ready to kill the hologram.

Rob’s next words stop me. “There are things you can do though. If you are willing.”

“Like?”

“Boy-o, you’re not going to just take that, are you?” Ali says.

“He’s not wrong. I did bring the Council down on them because of my new Class. And I’m refusing to explain.”

“For their own good. And their seat was always precarious.”

“Speak with the Duchess. She already has much to lose. A small push and we should be able to rely on her as a dependable ally through all this.”

“Fine.”

“One thing. You are not an official member of the Earth Planetary Government. Nor should you make any promises as such.”

“Pooskeen twice born and regurgitated children. You want him to negotiate without any backing, putting himself on the line after that garbage?” Ali bristles. “No way in hell—”

“Anything else?” I say, cutting off Ali. I don’t explicitly agree to the task, but I’m choosing not to disagree.

“Resolve whatever your issue is with the Council. Or we’ll disown any connection with you,” Rob says. “We can deal with the current problems. We have to. But this is their opening salvo. We will not be caught up in a third altercation.”

“You ungrateful little golem waste, after all that John’s done!”

“This isn’t personal, Spirit. It is just necessary. Mr. Lee understands, doesn’t he?” Rob fixes me with those pale blue eyes, meeting my own brown ones.

I let the silence draw out, weighing him, his resolve, and the situation. Finally, I answer. “I’ll talk to the Duchess for you. And I’ll deal with the Council. Because you’re right, they are my problem. And Earth shouldn’t be dragged into it.”

Rob smiles, a flash of satisfaction crossing his face. He kills the feed a second later, leaving me standing alone in the room feeling a little abandoned and more than a little betrayed.

Then I shake my head and dismiss it. Whatever my feelings, the work ahead is still the same. Save the planet, figure out how to deal with the Council. And for that second part, I’m going to need help.

“Ready for the next call?” Ali says. “Or do you need to wipe your nose?”

“What?”

“To get rid of all that brown, after sticking your face so far up his ass.”

“Enough, Ali. Just connect the calls.”

“Yes, master!” Ali chirps.

***

“Redeemer,” the voice comes softly, a chocolate and caramel caress on the ears. It sends shivers down my spine and brings a smile to my lips even when I don’t want it to. And the speaker, the speaker’s gorgeous. Unlike my own Charisma increases, his has made him handsome. Beautiful. Stylish.

Not hard and intimidating, not a force of nature or a broken, ragged edge of humanity. A weapon given flesh and form.

“Roxley,” I say, bowing a little. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“So formal.” Roxley shakes his head. “When was the last time we met when it wasn’t?”

I shrug, gesturing at him. At his new Status, his new Titles. “We’re not who we were. Not able to do what we want, can we? Not without consequences.”

Lord Graxin Roxley, Count of the White Pass, Hunter of Drakyl, Master of the Sword and the Black Flame, Corinthian of the Second Order and acclaimed Dancing Master of the 196th Ball, Slayer of Goblins, Movana,… (more) (Level 35 Truinnar Lord) (M)

Health: 3430/3430

MP: 2450/ 2450

Conditions: Pheremone Dispersal, Aura of Civility, the Grace of the Dance, Mana Channel, Right of the Lord, Liege’s Favorite

“And consequences are what we are here to discuss, is it not?” Roxley says.

He wants to touch me, I can tell. But here, in this room, it would not be the same. The holographic projection we’re using might give him a hard-light form, might display him in its entirety, but it won’t convey touch or feel.

“Yes. I need to speak with the Duchess,” I say.

“You know what that’ll mean.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t protect you,” he says.

“I know. But if you can protect Earth now…”

“It’s out of my hands. This, these are Levels I cannot climb.”

“Cannot?” I offer him a half-smile. “Or will not?”

“Cannot. For now. My Levels have stagnated, compared to you.” Roxley shakes his head, making his long hair—pale blue, almost white—flow behind him. “Some of us have responsibilities.”

“Can you put me in touch with her?”

“I can. But John–”

“I know.” I cut him off. “Thank you. For everything. You didn’t have to help us, back then.”

“This sounds very much like goodbye.” The dark elf leans forward, locking my gaze with his. “I dislike goodbyes.”

“And I, early mornings. And the apocalypse. But we don’t get everything we want.”

“Redeemer—”

“You know how to contact me. And thank you. Again.”

I turn my hand to the side, killing the hologram. Roxley disappears in the blink of an eye and I find myself standing in silence once more.

Alone. Again.

***

Contemplation is broken by a shrill ring like an old rotary phone. I blink, surprise registering on my face, and spot Ali smirking. The Spirit does find ways to entertain himself. Idly, I accept the incoming projection, surprised that Roxley managed to work this fast.

“John.” The voice is familiar, as is the buxom redhead before me. She looks older, more mature. Small bags under her jade eyes, from which she peers at me. “I just heard.”

“About the attacks?” I say, surprised it took her so long. Surprised she wasn’t targeted.

“No. About what Rob said to you.” Lana’s lips purse in disapproval. “He doesn’t speak for all of us. You know that, right?”

“Sure.”

“You don’t sound very convinced.” Lana’s eyes narrow as she studies my face. Her voice drops, getting gentler. “You have friends here, you know.”

“Hey, toots. What’s it with Goblin-shit anyway?” Ali interjects, floating over to get her attention.

She smiles as she spots him, not taking offense at his words.

“Seemed a little more pointed than normal, the way he was talking to boy-o.”

“Politics.” Lana makes a face. “When you sold off your shares, to some people it signaled that you were done with Earth. On top of that, Rob’s never been your biggest fan.”

I frown, not recalling that. Not that I had a lot of interaction with the man. Sure, I put him on the seat, but he was kind of the last man standing.

“You didn’t free him. Or really, be part of the reclamation of the USA. As much as we managed before we had to stop. And a number of his aides never got over the fact that they had to be rescued by Canadians,” Lana says, eyes crinkling a little in humor. “Not that there’s much of a Canada now, but—”

“But old ideologies die hard.”

“Just about.” Lana sighs. “On top of that, a lot of time has passed since you’ve left Earth. The fact that you didn’t stick around afterward and then started sending people back, and well, a lot of people figure you’re a bit of a loose cannon. And one that’s just using Earth.”

“Using how?” Ali throws up his hands. “If anything, you guys have been riding on our reputation.”

“And Mikito’s,” she says. “She’s got quite a few fans here due to her arena battles.”

I grunt, recalling how even on Earth they’ve started in on that. Blood sports, a galactic pastime.

“That’s part of the issue too. That you aren’t really on Earth or tied to us in any real manner. Some people don’t like the fact that their people aren’t as well known as you. It makes them angry that they’ve wasted a ton of Credits and done, at best, half as well as you and Mikito,” Lana says. “I mean, some of the Champions have done well, but as they’re mostly on Earth, their Galactic reputation doesn’t really increase. The few who have left…”

“Cause less trouble?” I say.

“Mostly.” Lana’s eyes twinkle. “But trouble adds to your fame. And so—”

“So I get blamed for being a troublemaker, making Earth look like one?” I snort. “And Rob doesn’t like it. Though I’d have thought he’d buy into it, that entire scrappy underdog mythos and all…”

“Well, the populous does. But it’s rather different when you have to run the planet.”

I shake my head. “Fine. He doesn’t like me and wants to hang me out to dry.” I wave, dismissing the topic. “Whatever. I can deal with it. I do have to fix this.”

“Yes, you do. I know you can’t explain yourself. But was it worth it?”

The penetrating gaze she fixes on me makes me hesitate, forces me to consider my answer. Finally, I nod. She breaks into a smile that lights up the room and gets my heart beating a little faster. I tell that traitorous organ to calm down, and as usual, it ignores me.

“Let me know if you need anything,” she says. “But I’ve got to go. Tell Mikito to call me when she can.”

I nod, and Lana waves goodbye as she fades out. I stare at the spot, remembering times past. Remembering a head pillowed on my chest, lying down together in the middle of abandoned skyscrapers, staring at familiar stars. Of kisses and shared laughter, of comfort and peace.

There’s no pain anymore, not from the memories at least.

But maybe a little regret. Of what could have been. Should have been perhaps, if I was someone else. Someone less broken. Someone less driven.

“That was nice of her.”

“She was always nice,” Ali says.

“Yeah…” I sigh. “Make sure we’re patched in to Earth’s news feed. But if we’re going to fix this, we need to get a looking.”

“For?”

“The asshole who started this.”

***

It’s a day of past flings, for while we work, we receive one last call. This one from a young lady who has every right to access the encrypted network. The one she speaks to me on is even more safeguarded, mostly because of who, what she is.

“M’ady Heir Apparent,” I greet the visage of beauty that appears before me. I idly note the curves of her arms, the muscle in her chest and legs. She’s put on some muscle mass, given a shapelier but more militaristic look to her body.

“Grand Paladin Lee,” Catrin Dufoff, Empress Apparent of the Erethran Empire and ex-Companion, replies, her voice filled with amusement as she echoes my formality. “You are looking well. How goes the expedition?”

“Well. We’ve cleared one planet and are on track to finish the others,” I say. “Your men are doing well too.”

“I would hope so. There are quite a few resources expended on this endeavor,” Catrin says. “Though I’m already seeing the results.”

I nod, eyeing her new pair of Levels. As sponsor for this expedition, she’s getting a small amount of experience from the kills and even more for the acquisition of the planet itself. Though I’d have to dig to check if it’s because it’s new territory or because it’s the return of old territory. Or just the boost in reputation. Ruling Classes are weird in their experience gain methods.

“Thank you for arranging this. Again. And interceding with the Empress on my behalf,” I say.

She waves it off, leaning forward in the purple and gold flowing robes she wears. I can’t help but notice that they show a lot more skin than the Empress’s, while at the same time being just as practical if she needs to get into combat. Since this is a hard-light hologram, there’s no way to tell if the robes are enchanted from the Mana flows around the clothing, but I’d bet my sword on it.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m looking into it but—”

I shake my head, cutting her off. As much as I want more help, I can understand their position. Even refusing to vote to kick Earth out of the Galactic Council is a big position to take. “I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Catrin glances to the side, off-camera, and sighs. “And I can’t explain it. But suffice it to say, I’ll do what I can. But this is going to be up to you. Mostly.”

“I know.”

She offers me another smile before gesturing to the side. A second later, the hologram blinks out, leaving me standing alone with my research. I exhale harshly, pushing aside my rioting emotions, and get back to work.

Chapter 4

A month and a half. That’s how long it took to clear out the other four planets. That included a bunch of time traversing the void, and a short period of actually destroying the monsters on the planets. I no longer hold back for testing, instead laying into the creatures and dungeons with abandon.

As we hit the planets, the speed with which we finish them off increases. Levels go up, the routine gets embedded in us, and the army and I learn how to grow ever more efficient. I don’t wait around to make sure the kill and Skills are done, instead moving from zone to zone the moment my Skill activates.

In many cases, we do just enough damage to allow the Empire to move in and settle their people. To begin the process of reclamation against the monster hordes, letting the army and the hired mercenaries we leave behind to mop up.

Bolo and Mikito work together, blending their abilities to destroy lairs and dungeons at the Master Class Level. They have backup in a squad of Erethran Rangers at all times, though seeing me at work has lit a fire beneath them both. The Ranger squad changes out every dungeon, but Bolo and Mikito don’t.

As for me, I rain down hellfire from above. Experience piles up as I kill and kill again, wielding my Skills with abandon. Mostly, Judgment of All gets the workout, though Grand Cross gets pulled into play when the world bosses arrive.

By the time I’m done, I’m up to Level 11 in my Grand Paladin Class and still at Level 1 for my Junior Administrator Class. I feel experience piling up there, experience from my use of the System Edit Skill itself, though not from kills. Whatever the threshold there is to the next Level, it’s not easy to spot.

We bathe in blood and guts, in experience notifications, and at the end, we’re done. The last location—a world that flies dangerously close to its sun, heated to the boiling point and cracked to showcase the lava within—is a hellhole of lava monsters, fire lizards, and flame elementals. It takes us over a week to kill them all, because they keep rising from the depths. Thankfully, we only need to secure a couple of mining centers rather than the entire planet. Even then, it’s a pain in the ass.

When it’s over, I find myself standing with my friends on a platform in space, staring at the glowing ball of fire. A shielding spell keeps air within the platform, lets us breathe and move. Bolo is beside me, and I can’t help but look at the massive Dragon Lord. We both know what’s coming now that the expedition is over.

“Coming?” I ask.

The Dragon Lord sobers, regarding me with a conflicted visage for a long second. I know what his answer is. Any reasonable person would turn me down considering who, what, I intend to face. But I still ask because I could use the help.

“I’m sorry. Twitting the Empire, cleansing these planets, it was all fun. Dangerous, near suicidal, but fun.” Bolo looks away, making his hammer disappear as he shuffles awkwardly. “But I’ve realized I really don’t have a death wish. And returning to Irvina to face the Council…”

“Is a bit much for you,” I tease the man. When Bolo switches from embarrassed to angry, I smile and clap him on the shoulder. “It’s fine. I understand. You’ve done, chosen to do, more than I could ask for. This isn’t your fight.”

“It isn’t,” Bolo agrees.

“So what are you going to do? I’m sure we could get them to open a Portal for you somewhere reasonably close to your destination.”

“There is no need. I spoke with Dornalor before we started all this, and he’s agreed to take me home. He should be arriving soon.”

“Home?” I repeat dumbly. I still don’t know what drove him away, why Bolo is considered persona non grata on his own planet. But it seems whatever else has happened, he’s decided to face the matter directly at long last. I can’t help but think that’s a good thing. “Good luck then. If I can do anything…”

“My portion of all this will be more than sufficient,” Bolo says.

I nod. Wiping the planets of high-Level monsters boosted his Levels significantly. More importantly, even a small portion of the loot has made him—us—quite rich. At least until he decides to buy another Skill.

“Then, best of luck.” I offer Bolo my hand, which he takes and shakes by the forearm.

I smile at the seven-foot-tall Dragon Lord, memories flashing over the past year or so that we’ve known one another. I kind of lost track of time, what with multiple calendars running around in my head. That, and it’s been quite a year. From obstacle to ally to friend, Bolo’s shown me a path I could have taken. And sometimes, late at night, I wonder about it.

“And you, Grand Paladin. Safeguard your honor, protect your people, and remember…” Bolo pauses dramatically, before he lowers his voice, “When all else fail, burn it all down when you leave.”

I snort, while the Dragon Lord leaves with a chuckle after bidding farewell to Mikito and Harry. I ponder his last words. For all the amusement in his voice, I remember the glint in his eyes, that hint of darkness that drove the Dragon Lord to hang out in a pirate station for years on end. There is a darkness in his past, one that even time with us has not driven away.

In the end, as the door closes and our Honor Guard escort arrives, we find ourselves alone with Ali alongside us. Knowing that what comes next will be a human affair once more. No one else would be dumb enough to choose to stand with us.

***

There are multiple types of Portal evolutions, ranging from the simple extension in range, to the ability to punch through teleport locks, to the more esoteric, like the ability to divert other people’s teleportations. The simple kinds are the most common and are in plentiful supply among the Erethran Army. It’s a popular specialization to take, since there’s always work for teleporters, whether in the military or in the civilian world. In this case, the Erethran Honor Guard tasked with getting us where we need to go also has the requisite locations.

It still takes time though, as we jump across light years onto space stations, mining barges, military bases, and on one memorable occasion, the empty void itself. Each time, we wait in silence while the guard sits in meditation, waiting for his Mana to return before we take the next jump.

Getting back to Irvina where Katherine is under siege is a difficult process. The planet is deep in the Restricted Zone, ringed by solar systems that are close to being—and in a few cases already are—fully enveloped by Mana, becoming nothing more than Forbidden Zone candidates. If not for the significant number of resources thrown into the capital to keep it functioning, it would have gone under a long time ago.

Even then, every year there’s a big discussion of moving the capital to a new planet. Or just moving the planet. Sadly, there’s an inertia to Galactic politics that keeps major policy changes like this from becoming anything more than discussion.

On top of the distance from the Erethran Empire and the need to punch through the Mana static in a Restricted Zone is the solar system wide teleportation lock. There are carved out exceptions—like Portaling into the Erethran embassy by known and registered Erethran candidates—but my position with them is public knowledge. The Council and other interested parties aren’t even trying to hide the watchers they have around the embassy, so any attempt of sneaking in that way is a guaranteed failure.

And while I could lean on my position a little, the amount of help the Empress is willing to offer is minimal. Part of the reason we helped out on the planets was because she wasn’t willing to even stay neutral without both myself and the Empress Apparent leaning on her.

For that matter, things were a little touch-and-go in the first few days after we received Katherine’s message, as the Empress received quite a few “suggestions” that I be handed over.

Of course, the fact the Empress didn’t bend to the Council has as much to do with safeguarding the honor and prestige of the Empire as any liking for me. As a seated member of the inner council, the Erethran Empire has some pull. But it’s a faded level of influence, with their lack of Paladins—until recently—and more of a matter of size and momentum than anything else.

Even so, they have some pull, which is why I’ve also not been abducted directly from Erethran space. Never mind the fact that the entire cover story is that Earth has gotten a little too big for its britches, with its Dungeon World status and their blockage of multiple parties trying to enter the planet to exploit its citizens. The greater concern is that even more Dungeon Worlds will do the same, essentially depriving entire groups from access to Leveling opportunities. It’s that fear that is being exploited to harm Earth and draw me back.

“I get all that,” Harry says after I finish explaining in party chat. “We can’t go to Irvina directly because they’d know the moment we arrive. I can even see the need to deal with the highest-Level human threat.”

I can’t help but smile a little at that. Being a Heroic-level threat is no small deterrent for certain parties.

“But why exactly are we here?” Harry waves, encompassing the underwater city we’ve Portaled into.

Anlacwo is a water planet, where landmasses are few and far between and multi-kilometer-tall wave fronts swamp even the tallest peaks. Rather than deal with that, cities are built underwater, where the influence of tides high above are significantly decreased and layered bubbles of force shields and permeable crystal keep the air within.

The moment we arrived, the Erethran Honor Guard chose to part from us, leaving us to walk out of the hidden side alley he’d deposited us into. It says something about the city—and planet—that there are no safeguards against people randomly entering it like we did.

As Harry, Mikito, and I head down the street, a wide variety of Galactic humanoids mix and mingle, arguing over roadside foodstalls, merchant inventory screens, and men of the night. The smells are an assault to the senses, a mixture of musky fur, thrilling pheromones, and charred meat; all leaving a furry taste on one’s tongue and a slight itch on the skin.

Those who move around are mostly dressed in Adventurer chic—armored jumpsuits with a variety of patches, straps, and pouches for weapons and other useful utility items. Enchanted items can be spotted strapped to arms, around necks or ears or tails, while high-tech communicators and low-tech melee weapons mix with gay abandon. It’s a riot of colors—in some cases literally, as a furred, cat-hyena hybrid creature’s nanowoven hair flashes through all the colors of the rainbow.

The buildings too showcase the wide variety of alien sensibilities and architecture, some bulging tens of stories high while others are living plants, hollowed out to teleport those entering to another location. The only thing they all have in common is the ability to widen their doorways to accommodate the sizes and shapes of the aliens tromping, gliding, and wiggling their way inward.

“There’s someone we need to speak to before we try to enter Irvina,” I say, answering Harry’s question.

“Someone?” Harry says.

Mikito is idly eying the people around, head turning as she scans for trouble. Hitoshi is held in easy readiness over her shoulder as she surveys the crowd, seeking trouble. Her watchfulness is enough to put off the pickpockets and thieves that work through the crowds, using their Skills to dip into Inventory Spaces.

“Why don’t you put your Skills to use?” I’m not just being an asshole. The reason why we’re here originates from the library in my head. If Harry can figure it out though, so can our enemies.

Harry hisses in exasperation at me, but when I look around us, he falls silent. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep putting off telling them my secrets, but this is certainly not the place.

Focused for the moment, Harry’s eyes flick from side to side, semi-autonomous flying camera drones recording the alien streets while he works. Idly, I wonder how much he’s managing to record, since nearly everyone here has privacy screens running, blocking out simple recording of their features. Depending on the level of sophistication in their tech or Skills, some or all the information his drones might record will be false.

Even as Harry works his contacts, trying to ascertain what’s special about this city, this planet, we keep walking. I follow the bouncing ball in my minimap, guiding the team through winding streets and across moving walkways. Mikito stays silent, only disappearing once to purchase some walking street food for us all. Trusting in me.

The moment our feet cross the threshold into the Barrens, the flood of Mana hits us hard. It’s like stepping through an invisible bubble, and on the other side is pressure and pain as Mana floods into our bodies and crowds the System’s connection to us. The two types of Mana—unmarked, raw Mana and System Mana—battle for control within our bodies, and the System itself flickers and distorts before the connection stabilizes.

Of course, that’s when they hit us.

***

The Skill lock slams down first, blocking access to my Skills. Fractions of a second later, the attacks arrive. Fast-moving arrows, enhanced lasers expelled from mounted weaponry, a Psychic assault. They target me directly, with only a few attacks striking Mikito and Harry.

I survive the initial onslaught for a few reasons. Firstly, the same barrier that we passed through and messed with our System connections also degrades their attacks. The Mana differential on both sides means that the attacks that originate from the lower Mana side skew off slightly, are blunted or slowed down.

Secondly is the simple fact that I’ve been waiting for an attack. The enhanced Soul Shield I’ve been walking around with takes the attack before it pops, blocking about a fifth of the initial volley. The fractions of a second it gives me let me shift my body to ablate some of the attacks, let them skip off while I continue the dodge. At the same time, my secondary emergency shielding ring flicks on, blocking another fifth of the damage. Armored jumpsuit and my Class damage resistances help soak up some of the rest.

I’m still turned into a tumbling ball of fire and pain as the attacks keep slamming into me. Invisible chains explode from the ground, attaching to my body even as an additional dimensional lock blocks my Blink Step.

Rather than force my way through the block, I drop a pair of automated shield barriers around me. They pop into existence, giving me long seconds of protection. I push for Soul Shield, attempting to trigger the Skill and failing. Since I’m pinned, I borrow Ali’s eyes, even as the Spirit slaps additional defenses in place, using my own Skill to pull forth earth from the ground to keep me alive.

I hold off on Sanctum for now, since triggering it would take me completely out of the fight. And, frankly, our ambushers are probably sticking around. It’s not as if I have friends who can rush in to help.

Using Ali’s eyes, I take in the surroundings. There are four attackers. A cyborg-like slug creature, the one who blasted me with the beam weaponry. A floating swarm of yellow-and-black-striped bee insects, whose buzz and drone conjure the spells that assail us. A purple-and-pink-furred Jarrack is the psychic, bands of metal rising into a crown of sparkling electricity that boosts its psychic attacks. Lastly, the trainer Ranger of indeterminate race in his gimp suit, who’s drawing and firing his arrows at such a rate he might as well have an automatic in his hands. Each of those arrows are enchanted, displaying a wide variety of attack types. Some arrows hum with teeth-aching sonic attacks, others are wreathed in fire, ice, lightning, and other, more esoteric energies.

Luckily for me, the Ranger’s focused on Mikito, giving me time to deal with the blood gushing from my nose, ears, and eyes as the Psychic smashes into my mind. Pain, confusion, a pickax to my mind. I breathe, trying to focus as I strain against the Skill block holding me down amd trying to trigger Skill after Skill.

Skill block Skills are rare, and there are a variety of ways to beat them. But the easiest method is to just spend Mana until such time as the Skill block shatters. They are all generally Mana based, requiring the blocked individual to expend more Mana than the attacker. And unlike most Skills, Skill blocks all have a cooldown. Often, quite a significant one.

So I smash Skill after Skill into the block, burning away his Mana and the block, desperately trying to free myself.

In the meantime, Ali’s split himself. One of his bodies starts with keeping me alive. He’s not blocked, so he’s casting Soul Shield with abandon—just in time to block the next series of attacks. Next up, he layers healing spells on me, propping up my plummeting health.

As for his other bodies, they take the fight to the group of attackers. Of course, he’s not as strong as they are, even when he’s lashing out with his Elemental Affinity. But he does have access to my Skills, which lets him throw attacks around wily nily, making him a great distraction.

Under assault, with the initial surprise ablated and stymied, the Master Class attackers attempt to pull back. Whether to retreat entirely or give themselves space, it’s uncertain. Because that’s when the next surprise happens.

A trio of attackers explode from the shadows and jump the Psychic, each of them wielding melee weapons. The first holds a familiar naginata, the other two katanas. They’re all dressed in lamellar armor, painted red and black, with the overly large, distinctive helmets of Japanese samurai. The fight occurs at speed, initiated with a Charge skill by each of them, before they spin around in synchronicity and lay into their opponent.

The Psychic’s mental assault on me stops as blood flies and his arm is nearly chopped off. Blood—yellow blood—splatters on the ground as the trio of attackers lay into him.

I breathe deeply, eyes wide as I check my own information. Fractions of my normal health level are left, but with a snap, I feel the Skill lock shatter as my passive Skills force themselves through. It’s a mental plug giving way, and the Mana I’ve been pouring at my defense kicks in. It fills the space where my Skill should be and I get to work.

A Blade Strike from the weapon in my hand, combined with Peasant’s Fury and Cleave, cuts through the air. A crescent of energy tinted with blue from Mana Imbue and crimson with Peasant’s Fury cuts across space. It bisects the slug’s body. The slug slides apart, blood gushing from the two halves as it dies. Its body twitches, but I feel a number of other debuffs disappear as it dies.

The moment the Skill lock shatters, the bee-attacker and archer run for it. The bees disperse, exploding into a fast-expanding globe of tiny insects while other portions of their body teleport away. The bodies dart into the ground, into the sky, and away in multiple directions, leaving the area in seconds.

At the same time, the Ranger fades out as he dodges Mikito’s swing, blood flinging into the air and turning into phantom light as her cut passes through his faded body.

A flare of power, and the Psychic takes control of the trio’s bodies briefly, making his attackers throw themselves out of the way. They tumble through the air, and the Psychic flickers. For a moment, I almost believe I see multiple copies of the Psychic dash off before he resolves properly into a single figure, blasting straight up toward the edge of the bubble dome. A mental notification tells me he’s trying to hide his presence by overlaying mental projections, but it bounces right off me.

I clench my fist, pouring Mana into Grand Cross, and end him instead. The Skill activates, compressed into a small space, crushing him and forming a deep impression in the ground. As an afterthought, I throw up a Cleanse to clear out the numerous streaks of blood on my face and my body.

Mikito twists, glaring in the direction the archer was last at. She’s on the balls of her feet. I can tell she wants to go after our attackers, but she stays, scanning for trouble instead. Playing bodyguard rather than attack dog.

“Let them go,” I say. “We should keep moving.”

“How did they know where we were?” Harry says, his normally dark skin the closest to pale he can be. He might be used to violence, but we have a history about being attacked randomly, the pair of us.

I’m not surprised I only notice him now, what with his Just a Bystander ability. It makes sure he’s not directly targeted in battles, marking him a noncombatant in most cases. So long as he stays a noncombatant. And that includes things like throwing up buffs.

“Probably set up a tracker on the System for us,” I say.

I drink more of my potions and renew my Soul Shield, making a face as I pull out the Hod. I step into the armor, watching it form around me and offer another layer of protection. I really should have been wearing it, as the ache of a burnt and blasted body tells me. If not for the System-created blocks in my mind for pain, I’d probably still be on the ground, crying.

“I’m surprised they tried and failed to kill you,” Mikito says, frowning. “I would have thought they’d have run the numbers already.”

“Probably didn’t have the latest Skill information.” The upgrade to my Soul Shield was done using the last of the discretionary budget I had access to. Now, I’m cut off from the Erethran budget entirely.

What I don’t say is that the Psychic attack was blunted a lot more than it should have been thanks to my Administrator Class. It’s not something a Grand Paladin would have, but that’s probably what they were estimating on. Add the additional damage reduction from my hidden Class—again, not part of the Grand Paladin Class—and they probably were just using wrong assumptions.

The next attack won’t though, since most of the damage data will likely be public. My next attackers are likely to assume I have some hidden Titles or Skills and pile on even more damage.

“Agreed, let’s move,” Ali says, floating alongside me. His other bodies are leading the way, moving along each side of the street that has since cleared out. Galactics are good at that—the first hint of a battle, they scramble.

“And us, honored one?” one of the Samurai trio asks. They’re all on their feet, standing together with weapons out.

“You can come,” I say. Anyone who risks their lives—especially at their low Levels—is not a real threat but an ally.

There’s silence behind me and I risk a glance back, seeing that the three are not staring at me but Mikito. The Samurai makes a face as she repeats my words. They bow to her and fall into formation at the back of the group, keeping watch as we hurry away from the fight. None of us want to be around when the police arrive. I’m not inclined to bribe my way out of trouble with my precious Credits.

We keep walking, the main street we’re on splitting again and again, becoming narrower with each split. I lead the wary group deeper into this portion of the city, the Mana growing denser each second. Soon enough, System notifications fritz out, the Mana density reaching that critical point.

I find a small park-cum-training ground and flare my Aura just long enough to get the few civilians to leave. A quick dispersal of formation flags and payment to the field sets up a privacy screen. Then, I turn and regard the three Samurai, all of whom stand at attention.

Ruvuds Tadauji, Way Down It Shines, From the Slums, Devoted Fan (Mikito Sato), Slayers of Goblins (Level 42 Samurai) (B)

HP: 1420/1420

MP: 630/630

Conditions: Mana Drip, Health over Honor

Vrasceids Tadauji, Thrice Blessed, Devoted Fan (Mikito Sato), Slayer of Goblins and Thrashers,… (Level 6 Middle Samurai) (A)

HP: 1970/1970

MP: 1220/1220

Conditions: Mana Drip, Health over Honor, Isoide

Agr’us Tadauji, Parent’s Blessing, Devoted Fan (Mikito Sato), Slayers of Niktiku, Imma, Imps, Lis… (Level 47 Samurai) (B)

HP: 1870/1870

MP: 430/430

Conditions: Mana Drip

“Who the hell are you?” I say, holding the sword I materialize in my hand pointed at the ground.

If my anger and the pulse of my Aura bothers them, it doesn’t show.

“We are Mikito-sama’s clan, shogun,” Vrasceids says, bowing to me.

Now that we’re safe, they’ve all dismissed their helmets, which lets me stare at the gilled, green-scaled humanoid with his too-big eyes. I wouldn’t call him ugly, just… alien. Years in the Galaxy have certainly altered my views on what ugly really is. What lies beneath a fair figure can be so much worse than the most open of sores and puss-ridden visages.

“He’s not our shogun, he’s our daimyo,” Agr’us snarls. She’s the shortest of them, a Grimsar katana-wielding fighter, broad like most dwarves but lacking the beard. Otherwise, I really wouldn’t be able to tell if she was female at all.

“No, he’s neither. Lord Sato is our lord,” Ruvuds insists. Surprisingly, he’s the closest to human, easily mistakable as one of us if not for the aqua blue skin and the cat-eyes. “He is her daimyo, but she is ours.”

“Impossible. Samurai cannot be lords of other samurai!” Vrasceids says. “We are but her subordinates. He is our final lord.”

“What?” I say, realizing they’re bickering right in front of us. I turn to stare at Mikito, who is trying her best to act as if none of this is her business. Ali, on the other hand, having collapsed back into himself, has conjured a box of popcorn. “Care to explain?”

“They’re my fan club.”

“I think I missed that.” I didn’t. “Say again?”

“They’re part of my fan club,” Mikito says.

“Right. Fan club. Sure.” I look at Harry, who seems perfectly unperturbed by all this. “Did you know about her fan club?”

“Of course. I did an entire segment on it,” Harry says. “Nice to know all my hard work is being ignored.”

“It wasn’t… I… yeah. Sorry.” I shrug. “You’re right. I have been ignoring your broadcasts. But, fan club?”

“From my arena battles,” Mikito says. “Some people have chosen to…”

“Follow in the way of the sword. For it is more than a simple weapon; it is an answer to life’s very questions,” Ruvuds said.

Mikito visibly twitches, then she draws a deep breath, calming herself. I watch as a mask drops over her face, as she stills her mind and emotions. The three are bickering again about quotes from some Five Ring book. I’m pretty sure they have it wrong, there being only One Ring.

Still, I get enough of the context. “Seriously, you made alien weebs?”

“I can kill you, you know,” Mikito says.

I grin, but then drop the humor as I face the trio. “Hey!” Once that gets their attention, I continue. “How did you know how to find us?”

“The clan was alerted about the actions taken against Earth. Many are on their way to Earth already, but others have been on watch for Lord Sato. We keep track of her movements and we were luckily in the vicinity,” Vrasceids says.

“I told you, that’s not the right form of address. It is Sato-san!” Agr’us says.

I roll my eyes as they devolve into another argument and turn to Mikito. “Do you know anything about this?”

She shakes her head. I sigh, eyeing the trio. Finding out what they know is going to be painful.

***

Eventually, we get enough details to pacify my paranoia. Unlike myself, Mikito’s never really had to divert a large amount of her Credits or Skills into hiding where she is or where she will be. Not to say she doesn’t have any Skill blockers, but in this case, it just wasn’t enough. It helped that the fan base actually are registered as true allies for her, using some esoteric system that allows them to track her at a much reduced rate. It wouldn’t be possible, at least at the rate that they were provided, for others to track Mikito and thus myself.

In either case, we pinned the idea that Mikito would require additional Skills for hiding for later. We still have an objective to complete and it’s quite clear that now that we’re out of the Erethran Empire, our enemies are taking action.

I am reassured that at the very least, Mikito’s fan club members aren’t a threat to us. Not in a direct manner. Since that’s the case, and since they refuse to leave, I take them with us as we head for our destination. They follow along like three well-armed, lethal ducklings waddling after their even more deadly mother duck.

As we walk through the twisting turns of the city, they keep watch. We ascend a skyscraper, traipse through a winding skybridge, drop multiple stories to the ground to reach an otherwise inaccessible pathway, walk through shadowed alleyways, and duck through half-lit, barely open retail shops. More than once, we drop small surprises behind—some to hide our path, others to just cause havoc. Nothing lethal, but enough to disrupt pursuers if there are any. Always set to turn off after a certain period, knowing that we aren’t the only individuals in town.

Not that the influx of Mana into this location wouldn’t mess with people anyway.

“What is this place?” Harry asks as we walk through another worn-down corridor lit by luminescent moss. The War Reporter has his hand splayed out before him, recording everything with his Skill while walking. His little camera drones have broken down, unable to handle the Mana saturation levels, forcing him to rely on his innate Skills.

“It’s an artificial Forbidden Zone. The easiest way to deal with System spying, outside of Skills, is to create a Forbidden Zone around yourself. The overabundance of raw Mana means that the System is unable to function properly. Anything that happens in here is pretty close to not having happened at all, as far as the System is concerned,” I explain to Harry.

“Pretty close?”

“Always exceptions. Special Skills, a lot of Credits, special individuals,” Ali says, staring at me as he floats alongside.

I can only shrug, knowing what he’s alluding to. I feel it too, the way my presence almost firms up the System around me. I wonder how far this effect stretches, how much variation it brings to the breakdown of the System’s processes. But I’m also pretty sure that trying to track me this way would require significant resources, maybe even the kind that a Senior Administrator would have to bring to bear.

And no, I’m not entirely sure why I’m so certain of this. Some things, some knowledge pieces, seem to have been inserted into my memories as part of my Class.

“Are we using this place to throw a false trail?” Harry says. “Or a place to work out a way to enter Irvina better?”

“A little bit of both.” I stop before a nondescript door, nothing marking it beyond the address stenciled across its face. I stare at it, then turn to the others and give them a half-shrug. “I’m going to have to do this myself.”

Mikito stirs, looking a little upset.

I shake my head. “Trust me.”

When I’m sure there are no more objections, I rap on the door, hoping that the one within will speak with me.

If not, we’re really screwed.

Chapter 5

I walk into the room with a confident smile, one that belies the deep anxiety lodged in my gut. Behind me, I watch through Ali’s eyes as my companions get bounced off the ward as they try to follow me in.

Told them so.

Briefly, I look over the new notification details even as my System Edit Skill provides further details on how the Skill keeping this place secret works on my friends’ minds. It’s not exactly mind control, just a nudge to make them forget what they read.

You have entered a Questor Library 174.6 (Corrupted)

You have met the minimum requirements to make use of this library (System Quest completion rate >80% or Corrupt Questor Title).

You have full access to the library resources

You may speak with the Librarian

You receive a +10% bonus to learning speed

The library itself is spartan, a series of small plinths spread across the empty room. There are no Questors within, though I know from experience, one need only place their hand on a plinth to gain access to the Questor’s library. The room itself is shaded in a light green color, ambient lighting a soft, gentle, and disturbing color to my senses.

Of it all, it is my Mana Sense that is struggling. Between the greater-than-normal Mana levels and the adjusted Mana flows within, I feel as though a heavy fog cloaks that sense, making everything seem faint and muffled.

The dullness in my Mana Sense, the way even my System Edit is askew is why I don’t sense the Librarian’s presence until he is before me, just off-center from my line of sight. Long fingers clasped before a charcoal-grey-suited body, covering a white shirt and a thin black tie, whilst an overly large head, whose grey skin is pulled tight, stares at me. Large black eyes without an iris regard me, too-sharp teeth pulled into a permanent grin as the head cocks to the side.

“You haven’t changed your taste at all,” I say.

“Questor Lee. A surprise,” Feh’ral says.

I stare at the man-thing head-on, shivering as I regard the Head Librarian. The sapient creature that stuck the library in my head, who is the cause of all my trouble. Staring at him, I drag his Status to the fore. I feel his Skill fight it, fight Ali and me. I see the Mana the System pours into the Skill, aiding him. Using him as a channel in this place, just as it uses my own presence. But the System is thin here, fritzy.

And I am an Administrator. I shove aside the System, find the Skill, and slip in a few words with the System Edit Skill. I alter the code that exists within the Mana itself that makes up the System and his Status blooms.

Librarian Feh’ral Vaqwe, Corrupt Questor, Librarians of Note v.18421, Deep Sense, Mana Pier, Slayer of Goblins, Leviathans, Gorgons, Hugag, Gumberoo, Adled, Nucklavee, … (Librarian of the Ten Thousand Paths Level 14) (L)

HP: 2380/2380

MP: 10168/10230

Conditions: Mana Pier, Domain of Words, Knowledge Fount, Skilled Personage, Aura of the Ten Thousand Paths, In the Deepest Abyss

“Very nice, boy-o.”

“Thanks.” I read his information quickly. Most of it isn’t that surprising, especially the last Condition. It’s a very powerful Skill that keeps him hidden, as much as his presence in this artificial Forbidden Zone.

“What did you?” Feh’ral says, sounding shocked. “Wait, this Skill…” His eyes go blank, lips moving as he processes the treasure trove of information at his—literal—fingertips. “Not that. Or that. Maybe but no…”

“Don’t bother. It’s not in the library,” I say. “I should know. I’ve digested the majority of the information.”

“Impossible. It has been months only,” Feh’ral says dismissively.

“Yeah, well, let’s just say my new Class gives me a bit of a boost to that.”

That gets his attention. He peers at me, using his own Skill to read my Status information. I tell Ali to let him read it, curious to see what Feh’ral can pick up. I’m not sure he has a Legendary level Analysis Skill, but it’d be up there.

“A Grand Paladin? A prestige Class, but nothing special.”

“Not that one.”

Again, Feh’ral’s eyes narrow. He floats closer to me, his feet never moving. Those dark eyes glitter with interest as long fingers move, the only movement in his own body. #creepasslibrarian.

“I see no other Class. But you are not lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Fascinating. And your System Quest Completion Rate… amazing.” Feh’ral leans in, his face millimeters from mine. When he speaks, his breath brings with it the smell of cotton candy and caramel popcorn—a not unpleasant but disturbing smell. Especially when I involuntarily take a deeper whiff. “What is it that you have done?”

“A lot. A lot that we need speak about. But we’re going to have to trade.”

“Trade?”

“Information. And aid.”

Feh’ral freezes, then his Aura crashes down on me. I might not be a Grand Paladin in truth, but the resistances of a Junior Administrator are even better in many ways. I stay standing on my feet even as the Aura of a Legendary Classed monster pushes against me. We stand, deadlocked, millimeters from one another, struggling in silence.

Eventually, the Aura fades. “Fascinating. Come. Let us speak.” Feh’ral never shifts his gaze from me as he floats backward, away from the entrance to a hidden doorway that slides open at the back of the room. He never even looks away, knowing I will come.

And I do.

Because he’s the devil I have to use against the Council. The man I’ve been searching for, all this time.

***

We take a seat across from one another at a simple table. It’s wood of a form, green rather than brown, looking similar to jade but feeling warmer, more organic, like wood itself. I know it’s a crafting material from one of the many living forests out there, popular with the rich due to its scarcity. It even has some moderate preservation qualities, emitting a field to help safeguard against damage.

We take seats on force chairs that form for us to rest against. It’s the strangest thing, watching Feh’ral bend as if he’s hinging at his hips to sit before his knees collapse and he is seated before me, still regarding me with those iris-less eyes.

“You desire a trade, answers for answers. Why should I not rip your memories apart instead?” Feh’ral says.

“Because you want the System Quest completed, and I think you know how to do it. But I also have a piece too, I believe.”

“I have a theory. The theory seems to have received some approval from the System,” he acknowledges. “But many have claimed what you have. Why is your claim different?”

I grin. My helmet from the Hod is down, so he can easily read my face, but I’m still resting in the comfortable embrace of powered armor.

“Confident. Answer for answer then. For I am intrigued.”

“Good. But I’d rather have a different trade. My knowledge, the Skill, my Class, and that information.” I raise a finger. “For answers to what the Council really wants you for. And help.”

“Help?”

“With them.”

Silence extends between us, and the atmosphere grows chilly. Only the rasp of my breathing, the gentle expansion of cloth and metal as I breathe breaks the pindrop silence.

“A small matter, to take on the Council.” Feh’ral titters, voice high and squeaky. It’s kind of disturbing, his laughter. “Did you think I would say that?”

“No. But I’m guessing if you want to finish the Quest, you’ll need to do it anyway. And if I survive, what I learn might further aid you.”

“High regards.”

“You’ll understand why, if you agree,” I say.

“A blind request. Very well, I’ll aid you as much as your information is worth.”

“I’ll hold you to it then.”

It’s not the straight-out agreement I wanted, but it’s better than I had hoped for. Rather than delay further, I lean forward and talk. About what happened with the library in my mind, and furthermore, what happened in the throne room. The feeling I got when the Master Quest formed, and my desire to change it. Eventually, to how I changed it, borrowing from my Mana Sense, from the library’s information and sheer will. The change in the Quest and the resulting Class alteration on my side, the enforced Heroic Class.

I talk for what seems hours, as Feh’ral probes my words and story, searching for gaps in my tale, searching for knowledge. He manipulates the Skill and Class information I display to him, even as I ignore the numerous warnings that appear when I show it to him. I’m a little concerned by the warnings, but I assume he’s got a way of fixing the information flow back to the System. Or he’s just intent on leaving later.

At some point, drinks appear, glasses formed from the table itself and refilled from inventory. The drink is some weird alien beverage, effervescent with carbonated bubbles but warm and soothing, a hint of a complex sugar like honey combined with a floral taste. I provide the cookies and chocolate.

He’s dipping a chocolate chip cookie in his drink when I’m done, long fingers delicately holding the glass aloft as he regards me. I let the silence linger, chewing on my snack while he thinks.

“An Administrator Class. A hidden Class. The only truly hidden Class,” Feh’ral says finally, leaning forward. “Fascinating. I would say impossible, but evidence proves contrary. Utterly fascinating.” He leans back, his eyes going blank. I watch the drop of liquid gather on his cookie, raised halfway between cup and body, forgotten as he accesses data banks. “I wonder if Librarian Oaret was hinting… and K’sa of the Nine Gorges. He had just gained his…

“The library of Mus…

“… and the galaxy of Rexsa was destroyed…

“The Mana repercussions…

“Missing Mana flow, at the triumvirate experiment…”

He mutters and whispers to himself and I’m content to wait and listen, each overheard word bringing with it, its own wave of information from the library. I wait and sip on my drink.

After I finish my drink, I cough. When that fails to get his attention, I rap the table with my knuckles. That still doesn’t get his attention. My next action is simple—I flare my Mana, churning it as if I’m starting a spell. That drags the Librarian’s attention back to me. It’s like a light switch flips on as his eyes lock onto me.

“Ah… my apologies. I was cross-referencing some previous work. This might explain a number of significant discrepancies in the records. Why, just the information about a true Hidden Class would explain the statistical anomaly detected at—”

“Your System Quest,” I cut in, not willing to wait anymore.

“What?”

“What is it now?”

System Quest Completion Rate: 91.1%

“Fascinating! An increase. Finally.” The Librarian leans forward. “It would seem that my hypothesis is correct.”

“Hypothesis?”

“That to complete the Quest, further knowledge is unimportant. The final quest completion rate must be sought by action itself,” he says.

“What kind of action?”

“You know as well as I do.”

We sit in silence at that pronouncement before I bestir myself. As much as I’d like to pursue this conversation, to wonder why he is higher than me, why he’s so far ahead… why I haven’t gone up… there are lives on the line.

“Is what I have provided sufficient?”

“Sufficient.” Feh’ral falls silent, lips pursing in thought. “Maybe. The Questors must test this. We must see if we can replicate this Class. Ascertain the information with replication… I wonder what the final proximate cause of your change would be? The library? The Levels? Willpower? The timing gap between choice and action? All of it? None?”

Feh’ral mutters to himself, eyes going blank. I slap my hand flat on the table, the loud thump making glasses jump. In the small, private room, the noise echoes.

“Later. We have a Council to handle.”

“I will not—cannot—fight them,” he says. “I am a non-Combat Classer. And the Council, many of them—”

“Are. I know. But you must have some idea of how to handle them. And we need the pressure on Earth to be lifted.”

“Mmm… that I can help with. There are true Questors on the Council still. What you have provided… the actions… maybe if we…” Feh’ral’s voice grows faint again, but this time, I let him fade out as he thinks.

“Am I like this?” I send to Ali. If so, this is incredibly frustrating.

“Sort of. You’re more focused when you need to be. But the library seems to muck with everyone who is connected to it,” Ali replies.

I grunt and pull more chocolates from my storage space. Feh’ral’s hands occasionally move. A portion of me, the part that allows me to Edit things, can feel him at work. I can’t read what he sends, can’t hear what he says, but I can tell he’s accessing not just the library but a communication platform, one that puts him in touch with others.

Fascinating. Perhaps with a little push, I could even access the information he’s reading, but I get the feeling that that isn’t the point of my Skill. I’m not meant to use my Class for eavesdropping.

When he comes back to me, his voice is detached again. “I have informed others. Requested their help. Questors who are partial to our cause will lend aid. I have also called a meeting, a Great Gathering and Sharing. It is within my right, as a Head Librarian.”

I blink.

“This will happen in three months. If the information gathered is sufficient…”

“Well?” I ask.

“Then it is likely another purge will begin.”

I open my mouth to ask what he means, but the library beats me to it. Information floods into me, bringing tears to my eyes and rupturing blood vessels. Another section, another compartment I had not realized was hidden within my mind, within my portion of the System, breaks open. Information about the purge appears, and I break.

A galaxy, Rexsa, burns. Planets are torn asunder, moons cracked and pulverized. New asteroid fields are created, so dense with rocks and corpses that one could almost walk across the space.

Ships, so many ships that I cannot see the end of them, are marshalled, firing upon planets, solar systems. Hidden figures in shadows and bright, bold Champions march down streets, tearing Questors from their hiding spots. Challenging those who stand and fight, offering no mercy.

A child screams as its mother is killed before him with a single punch. The Heroic Class Gravitic Warrior pauses, then a voice squawks in his ears. It turns multi-faceted eyes onto the child and his fist blurs again. The scream cuts off.

Space ports spin, burning. Another implodes as gravity focuses deep within, and metal and mortal are crushed. A figure flies out, metal pulled from the wreckage reforming into machines that turn and blast at the Gravitic Imploder. He dies, but another takes his place.

Another galaxy, another solar system, another planet.

More death.

More destruction.

More endings met.

The purge plays out not in days or months or decades. It takes over a century, as Questors and those who support them are found and ended. As anyone who backed the current leadership, who might have learned something is killed.

The purge is declared necessary due to the Questors’ actions. Their experiments, the sapients torn from home, sent out of the System, forced to lose Classes, to use Skills on a never-ending stage. Flames of prejudice are fanned, for the Questors do not hoard their information, the results of their tests. They steal Class information from groups that desire to keep it secret, they release Skill information for fractions of Credits, even cheaper than the System.

And the Galactic Council turns on them, burning them to the ground. Officially, a new Questor organization is formed, their quest, their search placed under the strict oversight of the Council itself. Those who escape the purges become the start of the Corrupt Questors.

In time, the oversight relaxes. Questors get on with their lives. They join together again as the desire for knowledge overrides politics.

Then the purges begin again. When the Questors go too far. More death, more destruction, more oversight. The same dance, played over and over again. Millennia apart, information about prior purges removed from the records.

Forgotten by all but the Questors themselves.

“Thousand hells,” I say. My mind throbs even as System healing puts me back together.

Feh’ral flicks his fingers and the blood on the table disappears in wisps of smoke. “The purge?”

“Yeah. Why would you put that in there?” I say. There’s no System information in it, just a long line of atrocities committed by the Council in its quest to destroy the Questors and any who might be considered their allies.

“To remember, to ensure others prepare.”

“And you think the Council will enact another?” I whisper. A feeling of dread creeps up me. There weren’t hundreds of lives lost or thousands. Entire planets were destroyed, an entire galaxy shattered. Billions would fall if another purge occurs.

“Yes. I am almost certain that part of the reason for the last was because of this information,” Feh’ral says.

“But… why? I mean, sure, it’s important, but isn’t all information for sale?”

“Not if the Council makes the cost high enough to be infinite. And with the Lady of Shadows in play…”

I shudder, recalling that name. A Legendary whose ability revolves around secrets and hiding them. Yeah, I can see how a secret could be hidden, if such a person wanted it to be hidden.

But she’s not that old. I know that for certain. She’s a young Legendary—as these things go. Just a few centuries old. Nothing compared to the millennia of history the Galactic Council has. So perhaps the purge was the best they could do before.

Yet for all my dread, all my fear, I do not ask him to stop or to recall the information he sent to the Corrupt Questors. Not just because I think it’ll help us, help reduce the pressure on Earth. But because I understand him, understand the “true” Questors. Those driven, like me, to find an answer. There is nothing we will not sacrifice for the answer.

Not ourselves.

Not others.

Nothing.

***

Hours later, I walk out.

We talked. We strategized. I was given a book. We came up with new plans and destroyed them with logic and creativity. He contacted other Questors, arranged for information to be purchased, support to be sent. I was provided even more data.

Outside, the group is still waiting. Harry’s seated with his back to the wall, working on his show. Or gathering information. Never can tell with that one. Mikito, on the other hand, is meditating silently while her three fan club members are standing beside her in horse stance, sweating bullets.

I snort at the sight but choose to stay silent. Ali doesn’t, flying over and already ribbing the trio.

“About time,” Harry says. “Was he-who-shall-not-be-named in there?”

I look around rather pointedly. Harry sniffs, muttering something about paranoia. It’s not, not when they really are intending to end you.

“Now what?” Mikito asks.

Her fan club get out of horse stance, moving to flank her. She rolls her eyes a little but says nothing.

“Now, we visit someone else.” I take off, following the minimap marker that Feh’ral provided.

“Who?” Harry says.

“The person responsible for our current environment.”

There are more than a few gasps, but I ignore all other questions as we keep walking. We’ve wasted enough time. And there’s a lot more we need to get done.

Chapter 6

Stepping through the unremarkable doorway, I peer around the low-light interior. It’s mostly colored in a light spectrum that’s outside of the normal human range, making everything look pale blue and violet. Luckily, my power armor can deal with that, recoloring everything so that I can see without issue.

The first thing that meets me is a bare entrance hallway, one that stretches into the horizon. Following me, a step behind, are my friends. Or they should be. But two steps in, I turn around and see a closed door and no party members. In my party interface, they’re still there with full health. Their Mana level drops as buffs appear under their sheets. I can’t help but agree with the sentiment, throwing on a few myself.

A quick check shows that we aren’t in comm range or even party chat. We’ve been separated as easily as a carnivore from vegetables.

“What’s going on?” I say softly, listening to the echoes of my words bouncing down the hall.

“Games,” Ali replies. He’s the only one here with me, our link superseding whatever tricks were played.

I debate what to do, testing the extent of the trap. A punch to the wall has it crumple, but not give way. I should be able to cut my way through with my sword. It slides into the wall easily enough, but there doesn’t seem to be an end to the wall itself. Might be a few feet thick, might be miles. There’s also a rather obvious corridor.

Shrugging, I walk. I’m here to ask a favor, not destroy their home. I start walking and keep walking. Twenty minutes later, I’m still moving forward, my brows drawn together as Ali floats alongside me. From the map of the surroundings before we entered the room, the building itself should have been traversed within ten minutes, easily.

“This normal?”

“Spatial manipulation? For this guy?” Ali shrugs.

The entire location is locked down, so jumping forward isn’t possible, even if the very same space is twisted by the Skill. All I can do is walk and hope there’s an ending in sight.

I’m not certain how long I walk. The featureless light grey corridor, the low-light illumination, and the soft thud of my feet blending together. My feet don’t ache, but the pressure of my feet, the shift in my weight never changes. Even the smell of the corridor—when I finally decide to put away the Hod—is the same as the scentless filtered air of before. Time blends together, and even the System clock in the corner of my vision offers no help, flicking between seconds back and forth.

When the ending arrives, it does so abruptly. One step I’m in the corridor, the next I’m in the midst of a towering amphitheatre that’s open to the sky, a single table and a pair of lounging chairs in the center. Pink and yellow sand stain the ground below, reminiscent of alien beaches but without the mojitos. In one of the chairs is a figure in a white three-piece suit and a fedora.

The seated figure is humanish. Spray-bottle-tanned, unwrinkled in that over-application of Botox fashion you see in some celebrities, hair bleached unnaturally white. The eyes are the most disturbing—startingly green like a glacial lake but blank of emotions. Empty.

A push of will gets me nothing as I attempt to call information of his Status to being. I know Ali fails too.

No surprise.

I could push it, drag it forth as I did with the Librarian. But where I dared to do so with Feh’ral, I dare not with this man. For in this place, the one before me controls all.

“Honored—”

“No names. No Titles. Nothing like that. Now, how do you know of me?” the speaker says, his eyes fixed on my figure. There’s no threat in the voice. It’s perfectly calm and even a little bored. He doesn’t need to threaten, for he holds all the cards here.

The more I stare at him, the more I realize that whatever he is, he’s not really human. It’s a form he drew from the ether, the Mana—a manipulation of my expectations, probably just how Ali popped up looking like he is.

Which is, in a way, a hint of what this man is. Who he is.

But I’m careful not to think that too loudly either. “I spoke with a man… alien… who is a part of a group that searches for answers. About a question…”

“Of course you are.” There’s a fatalistic tone to his voice. “You couldn’t be a religious fanatic searching for another convert. Or a portal-to-portal salesman. No, you’d have to be one of them.”

“Yeah. Sorry… I had your location from, well…” I struggle to figure out what to say, how to say it, without using Feh’ral’s name or the information on the library or anything else.

“I don’t care. You people always find me, no matter how many times I shift things. I gave up a thousand years ago. Or was it ten?” The man’s eyes go blank as he considers the question. “A hundred? No, it couldn’t be a hundred. Maybe fifty… no. It was only recent, so it must have been six.”

He prattles for a while on meaningless matters while I keep hold of my temper. There’s no point trying to rush him, though there’s a little bit of fear that I might have been here for… well… years now.

“Well then, tell me. What’s your unique research project?” he finally says, focusing on me.

“Research project?”

“Study. Hypothesis that you want to prove. I’ll warn you, if it’s not unique, I’ll be very upset at being disturbed.”

I frown. “Really? Because it’s not unique enough?”

“Well, of course. So what is it? Another theory on space and time and the System Shops? Or is it a Mana-focused project? Because I’ve got running all the ones dealing with Mana densities that you people can think of.”

A hand waves, encompassing the surroundings. As if reacting to his movements, I feel Mana surge and twist, gaps opening in the ground and across the sky such that I might sense what was previously shrouded.

Locations where Mana is filled with System-marked Mana, held in stasis or moving in circles or hexagons or loops and swirls. Raw, untapped Mana at different levels, combining or interacting with System Mana. Spell forms, Skills, locked in place by enchantments. Hundreds and thousands of tests, all sealed off from one another.

The audience stands around us aren’t just for show. They mark different studies, different tests. Each location in the arena we are within, each zone of the stands indicates a different type of study, a different experiment.

As I stare at it all, the library tugs at my attention, downloading information on each study as I stare at it. More than that, I feel myself reaching out, tapping into the information displayed by each study, filling in data points for the library as I gauge and take readings from the Mana sensors and elemental runes. Another portion of my mind spins, comparing the new data to previously held information.

Information updated only a bare two years ago.

“Interesting…” The word breaks me from my reverie, and I find the speaker staring at me, tapping a lip in thought. “You’re not normal, are you?”

I grunt.

“Show me your System Quest.”

“I…”

A raised eyebrow and I capitulate. I’ve not felt this powerless since I stared at a dragon sleeping. Even standing before Feh’ral or the Empress, I was never more aware of how outclassed I am.

System Quest Completion Rate: 89%

“Fascinating. How long?”

“Weeks now.”

He nods. Then, without asking, he shows me his own.

System Quest Completion Rate: 89%

“What…?” I fall silent, because for the first time in weeks, something changes for me.

System Quest: +0.1%

“Something happened.” His voice grows heated, his whole body leaning forward on his chair at an angle that isn’t human. He’s like a pointer dog having caught a scent, and unbeknownst to him, his inhumanity shows through in his eyes as they glow. “What is it?”

I wordlessly show him the update. And he laughs. Laughs and laughs, an insane edge to the cackling that makes my eyes widen and my palm itch for the comfort of my sword hilt. He laughs while I share a glance with Ali.

“Are you sure this is our only option?” I ask my friend.

“You’re the one with the plan.”

“Yeah, because we need help against the Legendarys. But he doesn’t seem very…”

“Stable?Sane? Human?” Ali shrugs. “He’s not. To any of those. But what’s—”

“Sanity?” the suited man says, abruptly stopping his laughter. “Just another way of saying what others consider right and proper. You aren’t even a century old, you earth-eating, plant-snacking child. Speak to me again when you’re a few millennia old about the value of sanity.”

“I’d say sure, but I doubt I’ll last that long.”

“No, not with your completion rate,” he says, leaning forward. “I have sat here, running your Questors’ tasks, for millennia. Doing what they asked, testing because…”

“Because?”

“Because I’m bored. And my number has risen because all you people can talk about is your Quest. And yet, for centuries now, it has not risen. And then you arrive…” I gulp, sensing the ire he radiates. Then, as suddenly, it’s gone. “So tell me. What research project will you have me do?”

“None.”

“I can… what?”

“None. I didn’t come here for the Quest,” I say.

When he frowns, I start speaking fast. Trying to explain about the situation on Earth. About Dungeon Worlds and Galactic Council ire, all before he decides he’s done and ends me. I stumble a couple of times, trying not to use titles or specific terms, but it gets smoother, easier to do as I continue to talk.

When I’m done, there’s a profound silence, a silence that pervades the amphitheatre. No wind, no chirp of birds or the hum of insects. It’s unnaturally quiet, and I swear I can almost hear a heartbeat. Mine. Because neither of the other two are truly human. Or alive.

“Fascinating. I’ve gone from lab technician to errand boy.”

A hand flicks and I fly backward, the force of the casual movement smashing me into walls. I shatter the stone slabs, imprinting my body upon the barricade and sliding down as dust and stone rain around me. I stagger to my feet, head ringing, blood dripping from a cut on my head, breathing hitched as I deal with bruised ribs. None of my defensive Skills are still active. In fact, they haven’t been active for a very long time.

“What…”

“Lord of Space and Time, remember?”

“I told you not to use Titles, Spirit.” He doesn’t even move as Ali twists, scrunches down, and becomes a ball of compressed light. Then he’s gone, destroyed. The only thing left is the mental scream Ali leaves behind.

“You bastard…” I snarl.

I cut upward, projecting a Blade Strike without thought. It’s all instinct, thousands of hours in combat acting out. The attack never reaches him. Instead, I’m thrown forward, smashing into the ground as I feel my own back get torn apart as my attack reappears behind me.

“Foolish. But someone willing to defy the Council would have to be.”

I snarl, pushing myself to my feet. Rage threatens to overtake good sense—again—but I pull it back. Force myself to breathe and focus. I can’t beat him. I never could. I’m but a momentary distraction, a nuisance. And yet, for all his anger and irritation, I’m still alive. Which means…

“Fine.” I dismiss my sword and hobble over, putting it back in whatever place it goes. Somewhere in my soul, within that portion of the System that is me. “You’ve let me live, which means you’re interested. Maybe even willing to help. What do I need to do?”

The Lord smiles at me, lips widening and widening to an unnatural level. Then the grin disappears like a flame snuffed out by an errant breath. “Tell me the truth then.”

“What truth?”

Another blow, coming from above. Unseen force squashing me into the ground. This time, it takes me a few minutes to clamber to my feet because the concussion he gives me makes me throw up the first time I try to stand.

“Fine. But this might be the end of you too,” I say.

When his eyes narrow, I shrug. And tell him the rest. About why they chose to go after Earth now. About my true Class. And when he disbelieves me, I show him my Status, just as I did with Feh’ral.

He stares at it for a long time, and I let the silence linger while my body heals. Cracked bones reform, twisted spine straightens, and torn muscles reknit. I’m fully healed and even considering calling forth Ali when he speaks.

“A Class that should not be. A position that was rumored, but never confirmed.” The Lord stares at me and shakes his head. “And you think this is the reason for all this?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think they wish not to recruit you?”

“Because if they wanted to be friendly about it, they’d have sent an invitation. Not threatened my planet,” I say. “Not killed those I cared for.”

He laughs then, shaking his head. “What makes you think this might not be a modest invitation?”

“I did talk about the death of my allies, no?”

“Yes. But these are individuals, groups, with powers greater than you can imagine. Many have lived for millennia, like me. To gain our final Class, to become what we are. Do you know what it requires normally?”

“A lot of XP.”

“You murdered an entire planet and barely rose in Levels,” the Lord says, his voice dropping. “A lot of experience, you say.”

He laughs, and something changes. I turn my head from side to side as scenes of devastation, of death appear. None of the cities, none of the planets are familiar. None repeat. But they are all the same in intent and form.

A hand plunging into a chest, piercing the heart within. I can see it, feel the flesh, the bones, the beating organ around my too-big hand.

Screams as explosions roar and winds rise. Warmth on my face as the blood of a friend, an ally, splashes on me. Death rains down from above, and I find myself clutching at the incoming death, twisting space to send it back at our attackers.

A meteorite flying through space, and on it, I fight for my life against bipedal, armored, shell creatures that rise from its hollow center. A space dungeon let loose to fly through the cosmos, raining Level 200+ monsters on unsuspecting planets. I fly through space, sending shards of twisted space to crack the meteorite, speeding up my attacks and slowing attackers as they near. Fighting on as acidic blood splashes me, as it freezes and cracks and falls away. I beat upon the dungeon until the queen arises.

A planet, cupped in the palm of my metaphorical hands. I bring my hands together, and the planet buckles. Continents shatter, oceans churn, and a molten core is revealed. I keep closing my hands as I compress the planet, twisting space. When I’m done, I pocket the planet and dismiss the notification of experience gain.

Individual battles, wars waged, dungeons cleared. The battles are unending, all the space in the ampitheatre, on the ground, under it, and in the sky are filled with images, experiences. And as though it cannot be contained, the shattered mirrors of the past bleed.

Blood drips, and the amphitheatre fills. So much blood that it covers my feet, my knees, my head in bare seconds. I try to swim, paddle, but there’s no surface. No place to go as it sucks me down, as the top rises to fill the entire location.

I struggle, twisting and bucking, lungs aching. My System doesn’t work, my inventory doesn’t open to provide me oxygen masks. Class Skills fire and are absorbed by the flood of sticky liquid. Even my reinforced Constitution is not enough in seconds, as time twists and buckles, when seconds become hours.

My mouth opens in a breathless scream and the blood floods in, filling my lungs, drowning me. All I can see is red. All I feel is the clammy wetness, the stickiness of the blood.

And I drown. Dying by inches. In all the blood he shed to reach the very apex of the System.

***

I come to on dry ground. I thrash to my feet, surprised to find myself alive. My mind is already blanking out the experience, the images, trying to save me from the screaming terror, my reborn phobia. My hands shake, my eyes are wide, and my breathing too fast. I struggle upright, my clothing clean, my lungs clear, my mind twisted.

“You melodramatic bastard…” I cough. “You could have just used your words.”

“But would you have listened as well?”

I snort and shake my head, trying to clear it. Of the images, of all the sensations, of what I saw and felt. Because among it all, I also sensed what drove him. What made him, him. His own quest, as insane as mine—or perhaps even more so.

“So you think all this was just an invitation? Their way of saying ‘come over for tea, we should have a chat’?”

He shrugs. “We do not interact, by choice. But there is little to be gained by setting oneself against the other.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take it under advisement. But I have a feeling it’s more of a question of them not liking their secret being revealed.”

“Also a possibility. A secret that has lasted millennia is one kept in blood itself. Your keeper of knowledge believes that for sure,” the Lord says, his voice lowering. “That meddlesome fool. He was always such a problem…”

Again, I see glimpses. Of his interactions with Feh’ral, of long conversations and even fights. And in the corner of my mind, I note the tests that are Feh’rals, that are run for his sake.

“A dangerous secret, perhaps. And you gave it to me. Tell me, did you think to bring me to your side? What is that quaint human saying? The enemy of my enemy?”

“I warned you,” I say in my defense.

“Knowing I would not be denied. Even intrigued.” I shrug, and he laughs. “You overestimate how much I care.”

There’s truth in his words. I know it. I know his obsession and all that he has given up, all that he has sacrificed to reach as far as he has. And still, he has failed to truly master time. To step back into the past itself. And correct… something. What he intended, what drives him was missing. Unimparted by the Skill he used.

“A man must try, no?”

A chilly silence greets my words and I sigh. For all that he’s playing unfriendly, the fact that he hasn’t killed me yet—if barely—means I’m keeping him entertained. Which is good. Because the next step is the important one.

“Yeah, fine. So here’s what I was really hoping from you…”

***

“Kuso!” Mikito swears as I appear right beside her. She doesn’t even manage to stop her reflexive attack and buries her naginata halfway through my blocking arm.

“Thousand hells!” I swear as she yanks it out. I clutch my arm tightly, ignoring the way Hitoshi drinks up my blood, how tendrils of blood flow from my hand to the blade before the connection is broken. My eyes widen. I sense a new strength in the weapon, a little disturbed by its new abilities.

They widen even further when I realize that Mikito looks aged. More than that, her Levels…

Mikito Sato, Spear of Humanity, Blood Warden, Junior Arena Champion of Irvina, Arena Champion—Orion IV, Xumis,…; Time Slipped, True Bound Honor (Upper Samurai Level 40) (M)

HP: 4721/4721*

MP: 3567/3567*

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

Galactic Reputation: 47

Galactic Fame: 47,864

“What the hell happened to you?” I say.

“Time.” Mikito looks aside for a second, but there’s a set to her stance, to her body that asks me to not ask further.

“A very short conversation. Then I was back here,” Harry pipes up from where he’s seated. “Mikito appeared a few minutes ago.”

In the distance, the three fan club members are running through forms, never having been invited through the door with us.

“Where’s Ali?” Mikito asks, changing the subject rather deliberately.

“Banished,” I say. “But we should get going. There’s a Shop orb a short distance away. We should make the visit. Might not get another chance.”

“And then?” Harry asks from where he’s seated.

“Then we make our way to Irvina.”

“How?”

“I’ve made arrangements.”

“Him?” Mikito says. “Did you make a deal, you baka?”

“I did. Had to,” I say. “We need him. And what he can offer.”

“At what price?” I shrug, and her lips purse. “We have yokai like that in our tales. Deals with them never turn out well.”

“No.” I fix her with a flat gaze. “But you made one too, no?”

Mikito shakes her head. “No. I didn’t. It’s why…” She trails off, shaking her head. “No promises were made. Just punishments doled out.” I bristle and she shakes her head. “Forget it, John. It was expected.”

I lean forward, looming over her only for her to glare at me, reminding me to keep my anger to myself. I’m not going to get an answer.

“Fine. Whatever.” I tramp away, even as I poke at the link that connects me to Ali. Something pushes back and I realize that for whatever reason, he’s not coming back just yet.

Well, maybe a little peace and quiet is good. For him and me. Because very soon, there won’t be a lot of either.

My motley crew trail behind, and I hope that what I learned and what I have planned is enough. But before that, there’s a secret or two that needs to be revealed.

***

It’s a simple room, one that I access with the touch of my hand, a push of my will and a request sent. It’s a place that cannot be found by the System—because of unregulated Mana, because of Skills, because he wills it—and because of that, it’s perfect for what we need.

Once more, the main team enters. Once more, the trio of fan club members are left behind. They’re not happy, but I don’t give a damn.

“Where are we?” Mikito asks, staring around the blank white plane we stand upon. The horizon is empty too, a slightly different white that offsets the unnatural paleness we stand upon.

“Nowhere.” I turn to the pair and hesitate.

“Why did you bring us here?” Harry asks.

“That…” I shake my head. “You need to make a decision. A choice. How much you want to know. About the System. About… the Council. And why they started all this.”

Harry frowns, eyes narrowing. “And there’s a price?”

“A consequence.”

“Which is?”

“Your death.”

“What?” Harry says, eyes widening.

“They’ll kill you for knowing what I’ll tell you.” My lips thin as I gesture around. “All this, it started because I learned something I wasn’t supposed to. And it’s a secret they’ve killed before to protect.”

“How do you know this?” Harry pauses, then shakes his head. “The library. It finally unraveled fully, didn’t it?”

“Not exactly,” I say. “But the library did play its part.”

“And you know they’ve killed before,” Harry states flatly.

“It’s a secret tens of thousands of years in the keeping. You don’t keep a secret like this without taking drastic measures,” I say.

Harry slowly nods and falls silent. In turn, I look at Mikito. My most trusted companion.

“Do you need me to say it?” Mikito says.

I open my mouth to reply, then realize it’s probably not necessary. She’s reaffirmed her commitment in words and action again and again. Asking her again could be considered… well, an insult.

“Fine. Then we’re just waiting—”

“For me?” Harry says, shaking his head. “No need. Tell me.”

I say his name softly, wanting to dissuade him. Wanting to get him to choose otherwise.

“I understand. But I’m a reporter. Learning secrets at the risk of my life, that’s what I do,” Harry says with a tight grin. “And this sounds like a secret that I’m truly looking forward to hearing.”

I draw a deep breath, calming myself. Forcing myself to accept that they’ve made their decision. Once I’ve gotten close to that acceptance, I tell them. It’s a familiar refrain by now, even the show and tell. This time around, I feel the System shift, the Mana flare and twist as I push my true Status at my friends. As if it’s watching,

When I’m done, the pair stare at me, before Harry snorts. “That’s it?”

My jaw drops. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

“It’s a System. A program. That’s literally what it’s called. If there’s a system, there’s an administrator.” Harry shakes his head. “It doesn’t seem like much of a stretch to realize that.”

Mikito nods.

“Hell, you were a programmer,” Harry adds. “Seems like you’d have figured that out.”

“But it’s the System.” I wave my hand around, trying to explain. “It’s not an OS that you just boot in. It’s… well…”

“It’s what controls everything, yes. But I think, if anything, it’s not so much the secret of your Class as wanting control of it—and its users—that caused this problem,” Harry says.

I work my jaw as he speaks, as he explains the truth of my secret. But in the end, I have to wonder if he’s right. Maybe it isn’t the fact that I came upon the Class, but that I have it.

Not that it matters. Not really. Which I point out.

“Maybe it does,” Mikito says, opening her hand. “If they just want to control you, then this might not be as bad.”

I find myself nodding. “Maybe.”

I recall what the Lord said, that maybe they just want to speak with me. And I wonder if the Lord and Harry are right. If so, what does that mean for my plans and Earth?

The silence continues for a few long breaths before Mikito breaks it. “That’s it?”

“It?”

“Yeah, it. No other deep secrets we need to know while we attempt to save our friends and our home planet?” she prods.

I grunt. “No. That’s it.” I huff. “That’s all there is.”

My big reveal, and these two treat it as if it’s just another damn secret, not a System-destroying revelation. I’m annoyed, petulant, but I shove it aside. We have more things to deal with than my hurt ego.

“What next?” Harry says, though I realize he seems to be deep in thought as he speaks.

“Now we really do go shopping. Then, finally, Irvina.”

Chapter 7

Accessing Irvina always came with two major problems. First is entering the actual solar system itself. Being located in a Restricted Zone with the start of the Forbidden Zone within a few light years, most normal teleportation methods to Irvina are extremely expensive. The System has to expend a significant amount of Mana to teleport you, so it requires a significant Credit or Mana outlay.

It’s why our first trip in, we did it via mundane technological means. Most ships can traverse the distance without issue, and even in the deepest areas of the Forbidden Zone, a properly shielded vehicle will run. Issues of Mana flooding can be handled with the right technology and channels.

Unfortunately, ease of access runs into the second major issue of entry into Irvina—the security concerns. Entering the solar system is regulated, with a variety of solar-system-wide dimensional locks and spatial sensors alerting them of incoming ships. For obvious reasons, security is a major concern.

The entire planet is under an extremely complex and robust dimensional lock, preventing direct access to the planet itself. Only a few exceptions are carved into the system, and all those involve the embassies themselves. In all other cases, you need to stop at one of the many space stations that orbit the planet as entry funnels and defensive grids.

All that said, and with the Council keeping an eye out for me, we need to sneak in. There are two ways to do that, of course: smugglers or a hidden teleportation. Smugglers into Irvina are either extremely high tiered—and thus extremely expensive and wary of the kind of cargo they grab—or are on a wink-and-nudge relationship with the bureaucracy. Unfortunately, without a ton of research, it’s impossible to know which is which. Dornalor’s contacts would normally be useful for this, but considering our position, I’m less than enthused about those options—especially since most of his suggestions are friends-of-friends-of-friends.

Even Harry can’t help, coming up short as his contacts ran and hid at the thought of going against the Council. Harry holds a strange place in our group. He’s a noncombatant and even has a series of Skills to keep him safe and ignored during a battle. Along with his membership with the Galactic Alliance of Reporters, he has a level of protection Mikito and I don’t when things get hot—so long as he doesn’t take part in the fight itself.

On the other hand, when we’re out of combat, Harry is invaluable. He has connections, a wide base of knowledge, and often can learn of information that isn’t public. The sheer volume of secrets the GAR are privy to is staggering, and many of those secrets are still kept for one reason or another. When it comes to arriving at a new location, there’s no one better to have on our side.

For all those reasons and more, Harry is frowning when we enter the secluded, private travel room. The security check to get in was discreet but extensive, with everything from our DNA to our auras verified before we even made it down the white-walled corridor.

The room itself is reminiscent of a magic-ritual room combined with a steampunk mechanic’s nightmare. Ritual circles on the floor in a configurable gear pattern allow fine-tuning of the ritual. Steam engines with exposed pipes chug away at the corner, supplying liquid Mana to the entire contraption, and wiring and exposed cables run toward a stone altar.

In the corner, the Gremlin who runs the entire damn thing is adjusting a variety of sockets with a wrench, Mana warping around him as he tugs on the stubborn machine via his Skills.

“You do know that they’ve got a Tier I, Heroic Class teleport blocker, right?” Harry says after eyeballing the location for a bit.

“No matter.” The voice that speaks rises from our feet, making Harry jump in surprise. Out from the floor, a gooish substance rises until a trembling slime-like man stands, wisps of rainbow color floating within to form fragments of memory that replay on his skin. “You are not teleporting but traveling.”

“What?” Harry exclaims, then draws a deep breath. “We’re traveling?”

“Yes, this is a matter-energy discombulator,” the slime says. “We’ll transport you through space to your location.”

“Discombulator?” the lead member of Mikito’s fan club says. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Not at all! We have a 98.4567% success rate at reforming our test subjects.” The gremlin turns around, sliding his wrench into his tool belt as he walks over, offering a wide grin. “Call me Rachet Cord.”

The slime makes a weird bubble popping sound. It then corrects the gremlin. “Customers.”

“Right, right, customers!” Rachet says, almost bouncing. “So, who’s first?”

“John…” Mikito speaks up, cutting off everyone else. I turn to see the Samurai wave me closer. “How safe is this? Really? And will it work? If it’s the speed of light—”

“We have Class Skills speeding up the transportation of your bodies,” Rachet says. “Myself and Burble.”

“Burble?” Mikito says. “That’s not—”

“My name. Yes. But Rachet cannot say my name.”

“Why not?” Vrasceids frowns. The green-gilled Samurai turns to look at Rachet. “It’s just—” he emits a shrill series of squeaks and bubbles, his gills fluttering as he makes the noise.

I ignore the group, speaking with Mikito and Harry, who has made his way over. “Estimated time for us to arrive should be around forty-three Galactic standard years.” The looks of consternation on their faces make me smile slightly, but I decide not to push it further. “Don’t worry. I have it handled. Through you know who.”

Mikito sighs. “Baka. Fine.” Without a further word, she walks over to the center of the ritual circle. “Shall we do this?”

“Really? That’s it!?!” Harry shouts.

Mikito shrugs. “John’s a bakayaro, but I trust him.”

She stares as the gremlin runs around, twisting dials and adjusting steam levels while the slime taps at bubbling glass measuring devices and twirls dials on the stone altar. Under Mikito’s feet, the gears spin and lock into place, settings adjusting. All through the movement, she keeps her balance with ease.

“This…” Harry purses his lips.

“You don’t have to come this way. You’re not wanted by the law,” I say softly to the reporter. “If you port in normally, you should be fine.”

“Har! With what funds?” Harry makes a face. “Did you see the prices?”

“I did.” I’d poked at the Shop and winced, since the cost was in the tens of millions of Credits. A normal hyperspace flight was cheaper, significantly, but it’d take months for Harry to arrive. He’d have to swing out wide to avoid the Forbidden Zone since most ships don’t want to deal with the creatures that exist within.

As if my question reminded Harry of something, he adds softly, “Hey, how are we paying for this?”

“All right, here we go! Engaging in three,” Rachet says. “Oh right, this might pinch a little.”

“We’re not,” I mutter to Harry. “We’re voluntary test subjects.”

Mikito glares at the gremlin as he provides the warning a little too late. The gremlin ignores her as he shouts the count for his fellow scientist. In unison, Burble and Rachet cry out the final number and a green tendril stabs down on a big yellow button.

Mikito’s eyes widen as her body warps and twists, the edges of her body compressing. The entire process is over in a fraction of a second, the woman becoming no more than a single point of light that grows smaller and smaller, grows brighter in intensity. And then, the beam of light shoots upward through the ceiling through an aperture hole so small I missed it until now.

“How’d it do?” Rachet says.

“Full integrity. No issues,” Burble says. “Told you we just needed to adjust the matter-kilo varix ratio by 0.14.”

Harry’s eyes widen further. “Where did you find these guys?”

“You don’t want to know.” Truth be told, I’ve never met them before. The Lord made the suggestion, and I’m just trusting that this will work.

“Next!” Rachet cries.

Ruvuds walks straight over to the platform. It grins and twists, adjusting as necessary while Harry stares at me, lips pursed.

“Time to choose, Harry. I could use you, but what’s going on…” I shake my head. “I can’t guarantee anything.”

“Bloody hell,” Harry says. “Blood, bloody hell.” He watches as the gremlin and slime—the Galactic Tinkerers—get to adjusting and shudders. Eventually, when they’re nearly done, he speaks. “If I get shot into a star, I’m going to come back and haunt you.”

“Fair.” My lips twist up. “But I’m pretty sure—”

“Three!”

“Whoa! Don’t forget to adjust for his Levels next time!” Burble shouts out.

“—if things go bad, we’ll all be haunting one another.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but sensing a story, he walks over and questions the pair as the machine recharges.

***

The process of matter-energy transmutation isn’t exactly painless, but it’s not exactly painful. It happens in a flash from the inside, as nerves are twisted and torn before they are transformed. My body is compressed then thrown to the ceiling, exploding out of the planet, the solar system, then the galaxy.

The entire journey out of the solar system takes only minutes, as Class Skills warp the speed that the packets of light that are us are traveling at. We move faster than light, at least in relation to the rest of the universe. We go faster and faster, but it’s still not fast enough. The galaxy is a large place after all.

I’m not exactly conscious, but I’m not exactly unaware of what is happening. A portion of me—that same portion that has been enhanced, upgraded, and supported by the System—is awake and paying attention. And it notes when the shift happens.

The reason, the only reason, this particular mode of transportation is viable is because of who we have in our corner. The Lord of Space and Time touches us, his Legendary Skill interacting with the world itself. And space folds, even as time itself slows down.

Twenty, fifty, a hundred thousand times as fast as the speed of light. We shift across time and space, and I catch brief glimpses of the world we cross. A rotund living ship whose hyperspace organ breathes the solar winds while forming a bubble of hyperspace is gently nudged aside as we pass it. The ship cries a greeting, a bleated note that wraps us around as we fly.

We slip by a planet, cutting so close to the edge of its atmosphere we’re flashes of light, so bright that it lights the atmosphere on fire. Below us, monsters scream and cry, our passing lights making the sky burn briefly, saving a few Adventurers in mid-fight by forcing a distraction. Others, caught and distracted, are sent spiraling to their deaths.

A sun collapsed upon itself and, incredibly dense, tears apart the fabric of the planets caught in its orbit. It pulls gas and dust to itself, and we blur through its very heart, a cluster of fast-moving light dots. The Lord’s Skill protects us, as we enter the sun and exit in a blink.

And most of all, most of all, there is the void. That deep darkness, that empty stretch of reality that is the gap between stars. We traverse it as moving dots of light, and in the infinite stretch of space, there is nothing for long hours, no souls, no matter, nothing.

Nothing but Mana.

And the System.

There’s a truth in there, a fabric of reality. We spin through the void as semi-sapient dots and enter Irvina without issue. Nothing bothers us, nothing can bother us, not as we are.

We enter Irvina’s solar system and slow down, slow again as we pass through one threshold after another. Slow and dim, becoming no more than ghosts, just another stream of light that hits the atmosphere and shifts direction, arcing to strike the bare earth.

Dots of concentrated light that plant themselves on solid earth, hovering above the ground like scattered solar seeds. We stop for a brief moment.

And blossom.

***

When the screams end, my friends are less than happy with me. It takes the trio of Samurai, with their Basic levels of pain resistance and experience, the longest to recover. But even for me, with the shielding and experience I’ve gained as a Heroic, the pain of dissolution and reconstitution which only happens as we reform is like being dipped in a sun, inside out. It took me long minutes to regain my senses, to recover.

It takes the others far longer.

“Yeesh. It’s just a matter-shift,” Ali says, shaking his head. “There’s no reason to be so dramatic.”

I resummoned the Spirit while I was waiting for the trio to recover. Mikito, rather than talk to me, had stalked off into the woods we’d been deposited within, searching for something to kill. Or a place to cry in private. Not sure which—nor am I intending to find out.

Irvina’s a mostly developed planet, the galactic equivalent of Great Britain. A place once filled with wildlife and untamed forests turned into idyllic pastures and sprawling, dense cities. Except, of course, we’re in the System, so dungeons dot the surroundings with distressing regularity.

You have entered the Opcet Forest Reserve (Level 75+ Zone)

This is a curated outdoor spawning area.

Access restricted

Spawning levels increase by 125%

Experience gains increase by 25%

Loot drops decreased by 50%

On top of your regular dungeons, there are also various options that allow one to manage Mana flow. Designated parks and reserves help focus Mana production, and because this is the System, parks are more violent and murderhobo-like.

No surprise then that when Mikito wanders back in from the purple and neon forest, her ghost armor is speckled with blood and guts. She releases the Skill a moment later, the semi-translucent armor disappearing from her form and allowing the gunk to fall aside before she reforms the armor around her.

I’ve got my own Soul Shield up, and Harry’s over in his corner, nursing a headache and delving into the neural net that surrounds the planet. He’s pulling information and getting the lay of the land for us, whilst using his Skill to avoid being targeted.

I glance at the three Samurai, still surprised they’re here. But it’s clear that however they feel about me, I’m secondary to their entire objective of getting closer to Mikito. Or worshipping her. In any case, their presence should hopefully be a boon. As it is, those three are finally standing and stretching, still looking a little green—or very green, in Vrasceid’s case—but functional.

“We ready?” I say.

“We are, but…” Harry frowns. “I thought the trip would take weeks. Or months. How are we here already? It’s not even a full day.”

I grin at Harry while the man puts things together. It’s not too hard, since he has all the pieces, but he’s still a little shocked. When he mouths the word Legendary, I nod.

“All right, so we’re here. And if I’m correct, no one knows we’re here.” I point at the three. “You all will split off. Mikito will give you further marching orders, but we need you to speak with other members of Mikito’s fan club—”

“Clan, Lord,” Ruvuds corrects.

“—and have them ready to help us. Any additional help you can find would be useful. Mercenaries are probably our best bet here, at least those we can count on.”

“Do you expect violence, Daimyo Lee?” Agr’us says, the tiny Grimsar grinning a little as she caresses the hilt of her katana.

“Expect?” I pause, considering. “Yes. But I’d like to avoid it.”

“What kind of mercenaries do you require, Shogun?” Vrasceids says.

“What do you mean, kind?” I frown.

“Protection? Dungeon-delving teams? Occupation forces? Burn and churn?” Vrasceids says. “There are multiple kinds of mercenaries, Shogun. We mean no offense, by correcting you.”

I blink and look at Mikito.

Luckily, she cuts in with ease. “Any kind that you can hire. We’ll be fighting—if we fight—in Irvina. So whoever you hire has to be willing to do that. Or at least take the penalties in their rating and return our deposit.”

“Deposit and standby fees, with last-minute activation terms,” Vrasceids confirms. “May I suggest double penalties, on-site residence, one-month term, autorenewal? If that pleases you, Lord Sato.”

“One month sounds about right.” If anything, everything will end faster than that, so I confirm the timing with ease. “Can you hire without—”

“Letting them know the final objectives?” Vrasceids nods. “Of course, Shogun.”

Agr’us’s face scrunches up as Vrasceids continue to call me Shogun, though she doesn’t object.

“Many units—especially those we’ll be targeting—are used to unrevealed objectives and obscured targets.” I frown, and Vrasceids grins. “They aren’t the nicest groups, but they understand the risks.”

“Fine, fine.” I wave it away. I’m not going to worry about the potential issues right now, though I’m hoping that whatever we do end up using them for—and I’m imagining some violent strikes and rescue operations—they’ll manage to keep civilian casualties down. But if we’re fighting in the middle of the city, there’s no guarantee for that. “Best get going. The longer we’re together, the more exposed you guys are.”

Once Mikito confirms my orders, the trio bows and heads off at a trot. She’ll stay in contact with them, the entire “clan” having a secure communication to the Samurai, it seems. One that she has never told me about. I wonder if it’s because she never knew or was trying her best to forget. I know I’d be embarrassed to have a fan club.

I wait for a few minutes, ensuring they’re well and truly gone before I turn to my friends.

Harry beats me to the question before I can speak. “What’s your plan for us? Are we contacting Katherine?”

“I want to, but initially, I figure we’ll make our way to the outer edges of the capital. If we can lie low there, we’ll see if it’s possible to speak with her.” My lips press together slightly before I continue. “However, contacting her will be tricky.”

“She has Skills to block tracking. As do I,” Harry says.

“Yeah, but…” I open my hand. “I have a feeling the Lady of Shadows and whoever else is tracking her anyway.”

“Then…?”

I shrug, unsure. What the hell can I do?

“One thing at a time,” Mikito says. “We need to enter the capital first.”

“Fair.” I cock my head.

Ali points, offering us the direction we need to walk. There’s no other way to travel since I’ve been Dimension Locked since the moment we arrived. And even if I could punch through, we’d alert the very people we’re trying to hide from.

So. Walk, or in the case of Mikito as she calls forth her horse, ride.

***

Along the way, we take precautions. Skills or enchantments are triggered, hiding our Statuses as well as what we look like, all little goodies we picked up at the Shop just before we left or from the Erethrans. Harry’s got it easiest. A few of his Skills adjust how he looks and what kind of information people can get from him. Mikito, on the other hand, has a ring that makes her look different and a Skill that adjusts her Status information, while I have the opposite.

Once the initial Skills and enchantments are in place, I take the time to play with our Status information with the System Edit Skill. I feel my way through the data, having Mikito and Ali repeatedly call forth my Status information to get a feel of what is happening. Each time, I sense the pressure as the System bucks under my control, the flow of information and Mana wanting to escape my grasp.

It’s only when I have a grasp of the flow, a twisting braid of multi-colored streams of information that are as intricate as a Gordian knot, that I dare to Edit it. It’s a little like programming but less precise, more done by feel of flowing data points than any monitor and keyboard input. The System code is—as I’d once noted—not in any known language. Worse, the same words could mean different things depending on time, context, and individual.

It’s only now, with my new Class, that I begin to understand the intricacies of the System and the reasoning behind the shifting symbolic language. The reason why some of the code, some of the commands feel so organic, why it alters consistently. And why and where such information is stable—just not in the way we’d expect.

The code, the information that those who delve into the System see, is not the true code. It’s an encrypted form of data, one whose encryption constantly shifts and changes. The code underlying the layer of encryption, the way the System is built, on the other hand, is more like an actual program—but with some organic, almost living, leeway built into it.

By drawing forth the same commands, the same information, again and again and spying on the data flow using my Class and Skill, I begin to grasp the underlying true code. In doing so, it allows me to Edit it with greater precision and finesse.

When I’m done, we no longer have our names, Classes, Titles, or anything else showing up in our Status information. The data mingles with the Skills and enchantments that it’d take another Admin to see the difference.

Hours at a jog that would be faster than an all-out sprint back on pre-System Earth takes us through rough terrain. Monsters lunge for us, trying to block our way, and die just as fast. A cat-like creature with extra limbs jumps at me and I grab it by the neck, smashing it into a living tree thing. The tree breaks, as does the cat-monster, and I drop a firestorm spell behind me, letting it consume the pair and the forest.

The cat’s a Level 70 creature, with Strengths in the hundred or so and a couple hundred in Agility. It is multiple times stronger than any normal human being. Even an Olympic weightlifter would be easily overpowered. But me? I cathandle it like, well, a housecat.

As for the forest fire, it’s of little concern. It’s too damp here, too infused with Mana to let it get out of control. The forest will damp it out most likely—either that, or make it grow even bigger and form a fire elemental in our wake. Either works, since I’d get a small experience payment from the fire elemental if it did form.

We run, Mikito swinging her naginata in quick figure eights that catch leaping monsters and tear apart limbs as she leads the charge. Occasionally, she leans forward and takes a monster in the chest with the improvised lance, the extreme sharpness of the curved blade of her polearm and her use of Skills more than making up for its non-optimal form for lancing.

And Harry? Harry glides along on modified hoverboots, in the middle and completely ignored. Because that’s his Skill, at least while he narrates a short documentary of the wildlife. His Class is weird.

In just under an hour, we make our way to the city of Siyoan, the closest hub city. From there, getting to the capital of Irvina will be simpler and mundane. Or as mundane as you can get when we’re discussing scifi-fantasy travel.

There are a wide variety of options for travel, from the blimp with starship thrusters to hypertube capsules that are fired through the air like artillery shells and short-range teleportation portals. There are even a few biological travel methods like oliphants and trans-dimensional shades. The sheer variety is enough to make one’s head explode if you think about it.

Head-explodingly variable being a good way of describing cities on the planet itself. Siyoan’s a riot of architecture, drawn from every fevered dream of fantasy and science fiction writers and crumpled together. Crystal buildings stand beside towering trees which entwine with the silver-steel metal of living nano buildings and System-generated ultra-burnished architecture. Walkways of glass, adamantium, and wood sway between buildings while Mana lights flood the shadowed ground.

And the people. The sapient—and some sentient—members of the population are just as varied. Not only do you have the normal array of weird-ass fantasy individuals—elves, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, orcs, rock elementals, beastkin in all shapes and types—but you’ve also got their companions. This far out of the capital, there seems to be a larger variety of companion Classes, with the System-enabled residents riding, walking, flying, loping, and in a few cases burrowing through the city.

We’re also just seeing the oxygen-focused side of the city. The non-oxygen (or carbon dioxide) side, domed and protected, is even wilder. We just don’t deal with them as much, and their inherent lack of representation on the Council keeps them diminished in the System.

It’s just another way the entire thing is unbalanced, how power accrues at the top and almost constrains it there. Much of it is because of the Galactic Council themselves, who have taken pains to keep such strength to themselves, to lengthen their lives and to concentrate experience, Credits, and Mana to those above.

Even if, at times, the System fights them. But it’s not a hard push. The System is more concerned about overall effects, and for all that we’re an important linchpin to the churn of Mana, to keeping System-Mana running, we’re dwarfed by the monsters and vegetation the System creates. If not for our need to continually expand, to seed planets and form space stations in the void, we might not even be anything more than a footnote in the System’s calculations.

Or at least, that’s the feeling I get sometimes when I look at the System. Certainly, that pessimistic viewpoint is one of the leading theorems about sapient-System interactions. Others are less cynical, more optimistic. Pointing out that if we were that inconsequential, the Council would never be able to change the System at all.

We enter the city on foot, slipping among the throng without a problem. We get a few glances, but Harry’s Skill—Nothing to See Here—keeps us from attracting too much attention. We’ve got enchantments altering our species too, so we don’t look like three humans wandering around.

I guide the team with false confidence, Ali feeding me directions while we stroll. More than once, we move aside as adventuring teams return from the forest, bringing with them moving pallets piled high with corpses and other loot.

We’re nearly at our destination when trouble comes a-calling in the shape of a three-foot, flapping, bulbous-nose creature and his partner, a conch shell crustacean with a head that pokes out and peers at us while slimy tentacles erupt from the end of its shell. They buzz down in front of us, and when I sidestep, they move to block our way.

“Halt, adventurer. Please display your pass,” bulb nose says.

I look up, scanning his Status.

Jusbid Orea (Level 14 -Bureau of Land Management Enforcr-) (A)

HP: 1430/1430

MP: 1172/1570

Conditions: Land Sense, Networked Connection

A flicker later, his Status changes.

Jusbid Orea (Level 14 Irvina Ranger) (A)

HP: 1430/1430

MP: 1172/1570

Conditions: Land Sense, Networked Connection

“What the hell, Ali?” I send to the Spirit over our connection.

“Figured this is a little more self-explanatory.”

“Library, remember. I actually know what he is.”

Having the entire damn library shoved in my head means I’ve got a much better idea about Classes and Skills than ever before. And, amusingly enough, the BLM official is an actual Class—one formed after centuries of bureaucratic service had solidified the hiring requirements. Now, the position itself is a Class.

There are entire studies based off which Classes have formed in Irvina due to the ossification of its bureaucracy. Furthermore, there are even notes of the Questors going out of their way to create niche jobs within the bureaucracy just to test how the System creates Classes.

Which is why there’s a Class called Galactic Stimulant, Sedative, and Psychotic Tester and Supplier with attendant Skills and progressions. Their sole job, for centuries, was the dispensation of the Galactic equivalent of coffee. On a department level.

“Pass!” clicks the other creature.

I look at its name and its Class—similar to our friend—and decide to just call it Shelly. There’s no way I’m trying to pronounce the click-hiss-burble mess that is its name.

“Careful! We can’t get another bad evaluation,” Jusbid buzzes to his partner.

“Pass!”

I’d laugh, but I’m not even sure what they mean. Luckily, Harry slides forward into the gap my silence creates.

“I’m sorry, we don’t understand. What pass?” Harry says.

“Forest Reserve pass!”

“Ah…” Harry scratches his head, dialing up the charm all the way. He pushes out his official press pass. I didn’t even need to adjust it, since the press pass automatically shifts to keep track of Harry’s current name and face. Says something about the Galactic Press that it’s coded to do that. “I’m sorry, it seems we did not acquire one. We were just filming a small documentary—”

“Then you need a media pass and an adventuring pass,” Jusbid says. He floats over to Harry, eyeing him. “How did you make it past the forest wardens?”

“Uhh… we didn’t see any?” I say.

“None? Impossible!” Shelly clicks, tentacles waving furiously.

“Not at all, since my friend speaks the truth,” Harry says.

They’ve got Skills running, making sure they can tell if we’re telling the truth. Or close enough, I’m sure.

“Impossible!” Shelly trembles, its whole conch shivering. “Invalid entrance! Slacking duty! Destruction of COLONY!”

“Easy there, partner, easy!” Jusbid floats down to Shelly, patting his hand on the shell. “Remember what Therapist Dofse said. Focus on yourself and the now.”

We trade glances between one another as Shelly slowly stops trembling. When Jusbid turns to us, I raise an inquiring eyebrow, hoping it translates.

“Don’t mind my partner, he’s just getting over a small incident last month.” Jusbid opens his hands and legs wide, displaying parts I didn’t need to see. Not that it’s arousing or anything, just… weird. The lack of pants is just wrong, but different species, different needs. “I hope it didn’t inconvenience you too much.”

“Not at all,” Harry says smoothly. “But we really didn’t know better. And we only taped a little before we came back.”

“Well, that’s not good. Illegal entry into the Forest Reserve is a crime,” Jusbid says.

I find myself tensing mentally, wondering if we’re going to have to kill them. Unfortunately, there’s such a wide array of surveillance devices around us and people, many of whom are flowing around the small diversion we’ve created, that any combat will attract attention. I bite my tongue, wondering if all we’ve done is going to end because of a stupid pass…

“Well, I’m sure it’s a problem. But is there something we can do…?” Harry says, his voice growing wheedling.

“Bribe! Wrong! Corruption!” Shelly twitches again.

Jusbid’s eyes narrow too.

Ali floats over, waving his upper limbs. Even the Spirit has changed how he looks, going for a cubic representation of himself, with four limbs but no real face. “No, no, no. No bribe. None of us would dare bribe a Bureau of Land Management official.” Ali shoots Harry a glare while he continues. “But isn’t this just a fine? Or something lesser we can plead to?”

“Fine! Imprisonment! CLEANSING!”

Surprisingly, Ali’s eyes lock onto Shelly. “Cleansing?”

“Community work,” Jusbid says. “In this case, there’s a parasitic mold that has invaded the lower sewer system that needs to be cleansed.”

“CLEANSED!”

“I assume it’s affecting your friend?” I nod to Shelly, whose back to trembling.

“It’s… well, a delicate matter. But if you are willing to…” Jusbid eyes our Levels—mine and Mikito’s in particular. I swapped out our Classes for Advanced ones, leaving us high leveled but not startling. “We could make use of you. It’s a burgeoning lair, and we’ll eventually get it sorted. But if we can save the department some money in hiring Adventurers…”

“This parasite, it’s new? Unique?” Harry says, rubbing his chin. When he gets a nod from Jusbid, Harry grins. “Then we’ll do it. Fine us, then assign us to this. So long as I get broadcast rights.”

Jusbid hesitates, but at the clicks and chirps Shelly makes, he relents. A moment later, we’ve got a new map waypoint and a hundred thousand Credit fine each that we can work off.

Only when they’ve left us, heading for another group of scofflaws—aided by Class Skills and the omnipresent surveillance system of the city—do we dare to chat. In party chat, that is.

“That was nerve-racking. But why’d you agree to the Cleansing and not just pay the fine?” I send.

“Selling the story,” Harry says. “Better to let them think I’m a press-hungry reporter with a couple of hires than… well…”

“Yeah. Better than that.”

Still, I can’t help but look back at the hidden forms of the enforcers and hope. Because if our cover is already blown, things are going to get a lot worse.

Chapter 8

“Get it off me!” Harry howls, twisting and scratching.

The living-mold thing crawls over Harry, its pink, furred, and mossy body shifting higher and higher toward his face, even as it grows from the ambient Mana in the sewer system.

“Oh, relax. We got this.” I chant another spell, sending lightning—unenhanced but guided with my Elemental Affinity—roaring through the air, jumping to strike Harry and the moss before moving onward.

The pink “flesh” crisps, the moss burning away before it flops to the ground, shocked. Flame washes over it as Mikito, wielding a flamethrower backpack that we picked up just for this, finishes off the monster.

We’ve been down here for four hours, working deeper and deeper into the sewer system. The sewer system that also doubles as a creche for Shelly’s race—and a few others. It seems the slime has taken over a few spots, destroying thousands of children.

It’s kind of fascinating, the way the city has managed to use their sewer system to create a biodiverse environment for some species as well as a highly regulated and ideal environment for spawning. Well, regulated until things go wrong, as Mana is wont to make happen.

Harry’s having the time of his life, narrating his research, giving me a glimpse of alien life that I have no desire to learn about. I might be more open-minded if the place didn’t stink to high heaven and its environment wasn’t caustic to our very existence. If not for System-aided regeneration, we’d be piles of bones right now. Unfortunately, I only realized after we were in that I couldn’t take out my Hod like I would normally without giving the game away.

“Damn it, that’s my fourth suit!” Harry says as he clambers to his feet, his outfit burnt through, exposing his skin to the flesh-eating atmosphere.

“Eh, told you to stop changing,” I say.

“Not all of us bought enchanted underwear. Or are exhibitionists,” Mikito says as she walks up to me, playing the flamethrower across the walls.

She’s on her second suit, being one to buy better quality than Harry. There are gaps in her clothing though, which might be interesting if I’d ever thought of Mikito that way. But really, it’d be like thinking of your sister in a sexual manner—weird and wrong.

Of course, to keep our cover, we’re also keeping our better pieces of equipment hidden. Along with the majority of our distinctive Skills. Otherwise, we’d be done already.

Really, playing as an Advanced Class is annoying.

“Hey, it was on offer! I’m surprised they had this set up, but I really can’t complain.” I grin and pull up the information about my clothing, even as slime drips and burns into my skin and the flesh underneath before it heals. It would be painful, if not for the significant amount of pain resistance my Class offers—well, that, and my resistance to acid damage.

Bainoff Enchanted Shocksilk Intimates (Tier I)

“Bainoff’s so good, we’re banned in 2,385 Countries!”

Chosen the world over by socialites and Adventurers, Bainoff’s Enchanted Shocksilk Intimates guarantee both the most comfortable, self-repairing, and cleansed undergarments and come with lifetime access and connection to our fashion database.

Effects: +42 Defense, +240% Resistance to physical, acid, fire, and energy damage. Self-Cleanse, Self-Mend, Self-Tailor, Autofit Enchantments.

Attribute Bonus: +213 Charisma (when seen), Status Effect: Swagger and Well-Endowed

Amusingly, among the many benefits of having entire departments devoted to handling the Paladins was a sponsorship center that had managed to get Bainoff to provide all the Paladins with underclothes free-of-charge. And I’ll admit, as I strut forward, there’s something to be said about how comfortable it is. Almost makes one forget they’re half-naked in a pile of goo. Of course, after all my attribute increases and the genetic wash, I’ve been known to take a few moments to admire myself in the mirror.

“Exhibitionist,” Ali sniffs. “But don’t worry, I got all this recorded, Mikito. For the future.”

“Can’t blackmail the shameless,” I pipe up.

“Har! We’ll see.”

Mikito looks between Ali and me, then at Harry, who is struggling to get dressed, his open, burning wounds healing over, and shakes her head.

“Bakayaro.” When that’s not enough to relieve her feelings, she adds, “Men!”

***

Hours later, we’re done. The last little bit, we’d had to pull out some bigger guns—literally—when we made it to the pulsing heart of the mutated moss lair. It burned and chokeed us, and even visibly mutated as we assaulted it, the mother moss attempting to shed its vulnerability to fire, then acid, then lightning. But it was outmatched and, in the end, succumbed to a gravitic mine.

There’s almost no useful loot. Even the mutated mother spore drops nothing more interesting than some Credits—surprisingly—and a container of body parts that Ali tells me we can sell for a few thousand Credits as research material.

“No wonder no one was doing this,” I grumble as we wait for the elevator doors to open. Thankfully, cleansing ourselves of the remainder of the spores was a simple matter of spells.

“Typical of living fungi. They’re either gold mines of usable resources or a complete waste of time,” Ali says.

“Cheap labor,” Mikito grumbles. “And lousy experience too.”

I nod. “I think we spent more on the actual gear than we earned.”

“Well, if you hadn’t thrown the gravitic mine at the end, we might have been up,” Mikito points out as she walks into the elevator.

I chuckle, joining her. “Too true, M.”

I laugh as she makes a face. Rather than go with remembering everyone’s new made-up name, I’ve taken to using their initials, which I didn’t change. Perfectly understandable, on all sides.

“At least you’re dressed now.”

“Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.” I say, taking a bodybuilding pose and flexing.

Harry and Mikito goggle at me, and I admit, I can’t help but play the fool a little more while we walk out of the elevators. We keep joking while we make our way to the nearest network connection to fill out our report and buy our berths to Irvina.

Travel to Irvina is cheap(ish). We take a mid-grade option, one that lets us get to the city fast—a matter of hours instead of days, considering the size of the planet—but not startlingly so. Again, perfectly in tune with the kind of Advanced Classers we’re trying to impersonate.

The blimp we board is grey-and-white for its body, with a dark green highlight along the metal struts that hold the airbags together. The struts and lighting strips run along the inflated body to the starship engines, where Mechanics and Airship Crew work on the craft.

We follow the System-map to our private cabin. After disabling the couple of listening devices in the cabin, as well as paying for additional privacy restrictions, we relax.

Not that anything we do could truly be hidden if anyone is looking at us specifically, but it’s like finding information on the internet in the old ages. If you knew the website you were looking for, had its IP address or domain name, you could find it. But what if it was never linked? Never indexed? Then finding it requires you to know exactly the kind of questions to ask.

And we’re just floating pages, one of trillions of individuals. Even if they knew to look for us initially, our journey through the artificial Forbidden Zone and our secret entrance makes us the equivalent of a website that changed its domain name and swapped out IP addresses without leaving an auto-forward.

Can we be found? Maybe. It’d take a lot of effort, but eventually, if they swept everything, they’d find us. For now though, so long as we don’t pop up on any major security alerts, we should be invisible.

And that anonymity will be our weapon.

“Thousand hells, that was tiring,” I say, flopping down on a nearby couch. It conforms to me, leaving me staring at my friends as they make their own ways to their seats.

“Acting like a fool?” Ali asks.

“Funny.”

Mikito smiles slightly, before she grows serious, Hitoshi appearing in her hands. She strokes the shaft of her weapon. It’s an unconscious motion, a comforting one for her. “What do we do now?”

“We get to Irvina. We find a place to rest. Then, carefully, we look for a way to contact Katherine,” I say.

“How?” Mikito says.

I turn to look at Harry, curious if he has any suggestions. The Brit snorts when he spots me looking at him but then falls silent as he contemplates my question.

“Exactly,” Mikito says, her voice growing heavy. “I’m not sure what we’re doing, John. Or what even we can do. This isn’t a bunch of hopped up corporations or an Empire. This is the Galactic Council…”

“Scared?” I say, a little surprised.

“Not for us.” She waves between her and me.

“Hey!” Ali says, realizing he’s not being included.

“But they’re targeting Earth too. They’re trying to take away its seat. They’re attacking our friends. And we’ve got a plan you say, but it’s not enough. Because it only solves the short-term problem. And it doesn’t deal with…” Mikito waves at me, over my head.

I’m surprised to see Mikito say this out loud. She’s often silent about her doubts, and it’s rare to see her vulnerable. Then again, it’s one thing to risk your life. It takes a different kind of courage—or a painful lack of empathy—to risk the lives of others.

“Truthfully, I’m not sure.” I frown, leaning back. “Not in the long term. Not yet.” I exhale, harshly, forcing myself to breathe. To circulate oxygen that I don’t need because I have to. “Maybe I do need to talk to the Administrators. But if so, it’s obvious the discussion has to be somewhere…” I trail off, unsure of what to say. Somewhere secure probably. That they control. Or I do. Problem is, they could have just contacted me if they wanted to talk.

Unless there’s a reason they didn’t. And if so, I don’t know what it is. No matter what I do, no matter how much I test the Skill, the Class, or push at the library, there’s nothing.

“But we need to sort this issue about Earth’s seat first. After that…” I sigh. “After that, we’ll have to get them to focus on us.”

I pause.

“Me.”

The pair nod. Knowing my secret, they realize what I’m trying to imply. That I’ll have to chat with the Council eventually, somehow. Figure out a way to have a discussion without being caught or locked down. If it is a discussion they want, which I doubt. Their actions are impetuous, weird. If they just wanted to speak, a simple message would have sufficed. If they wanted me dead, they could have acted immediately and ended me. Used assassins.

This… this makes no sense.

Unless they’re conflicted about their response. Or have other restraints I don’t know of. Or maybe they’re just trying to deal with more than one issue at a time. And this gives them a convenient excuse to finish off Earth.

Harry nods. “So firstly, contact Katherine silently. Work out who she needs. Then try to convince them to help. Or dissuade our detractors.”

I pull out a piece of chocolate, this one gold-foil-wrapped, and chew. I dismiss the minor mental buff it gives, instead enjoying the warm gooeyness and the thickness as it lies on my tongue. When I clear my throat, the pair stare at me.

“I think we might want to look at it the other way. Instead of bribing or cajoling people, we play the other side of the coin. We try to dissuade those who are going after Earth from voting. Maybe have them abstain…” There are a few raised eyebrows, but I hold up my hand. “Listen. We got the Erethrans. And I’ll speak with Duchess. But otherwise, what do we have?”

“Have?” Mikito says.

“Boy-o means leverage, right?” At my nod, Ali continues. “Political, social, economic leverage. Not Earth, just us.”

Silence is all that greets his words. For all that we might be high-Leveled or dangerous on an individual basis, we’re also, in many ways, unremarkable. Like most Adventurers, we pour most of our Credits into building ourselves up rather than building an economic engine.

We have little true political power. Sure, I helped the Erethrans and there’s some leverage there, but it’s leverage I’ve already tapped. Pushing further is probably a bad idea. The current Empress is less predisposed to like me than the Empress Apparent.

Socially, we have some strength individually. Harry has his fans and subscribers, his sources and contacts. Mikito has her fan club. But compared to the social strength of a single planet? Laughable.

“We have you.” Mikito says, her eyes floating above my head. To where my Heroic status sits.

No Title, no accomplishment from the System for it, but a Heroic Class, even one that’s broken like me, is still a power.

“Yeah… exactly.”

A threat. Using me as a rogue element, just as we did before. Someone who can go out of his way to find, hunt, and kill those who would act against us. But if we can do that, so can our enemies. And taking that step might be one too far.

With that dour thought, we fall silent.

***

Of course, we don’t sit there in silence, mulling over our lack of options. Harry does as he promised and researches Earth’s opponents, working with Ali to get a detailed analysis of the problem. Ali’s also—carefully—accessing information about Earth and Katherine’s status, looking for public data about her. We know where she and the surviving embassy personnel are living but figuring out a way to contact her is the tricky part. Thankfully, details about her aren’t particularly hard to find.

“You sure this is accurate?” I raise an eyebrow, staring at the garish newspaper that fills my vision. It’s displayed via my Neural Link, and one of a dozen different tabloids that Ali made me download. The one I’m regarding has a photo of Katherine on the arm of a rather robust gentleman who looks like a cross between a warthog and an anime character. In the Galactic equivalent of a suit, which involves lots of flowing tails and a hovering set of cloth-like wings.

“One hundred percent. Ms. Ward and the Grazish Heir are an item,” Ali confirms.

“And they’re going out.”

“Yup.”

“In public,” I verify.

“And canoodling.”

“Canoodling?”

“PDA. Getting handsy. Making the little spirit pay respects to the mother spirit.”

“That…” I shake my head, refusing to be distracted. “Is it safe?”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Ali retorts.

“Because they killed Phil.”

“He’s not her,” Ali says. “Officially killing the actual delegate is a major no-no. Unofficially, they might go after her, but you heard what Bolo said about anarchy. It might also stop you, boy-o, from coming to Irvina. Anyway, no one’s taking potshots and potentially hitting the Grazish Heir.”

“And why’s that?” I say, only to catch Mikito muttering baka in my direction before returning to her research.

I glance over, but she’s focused on her own notification, so I leave her be. She’s got the job of working out potential vulnerabilities between our enemies—specifically, looking at those who voted against us before. If she can find a few we can convince to not vote against us, even if it means being neutral, that’s as good as a vote for us. After all, while I might think of it as a specific vote, it’s more a dedication of resources. So they’re all already inclined to not paying the System Mana to make any particular vote workable since they’d then be less able to influence the next vote.

In fact, a few planets have been known to not vote at all, abstaining but holding the possibility of using their entire accumulated System-voting Mana at one time as a way to get what they want. Of course, it’s a dangerous game to play since once it’s all used up, their bullet is wasted. And there’s always the danger of conquest… but some still dare.

“Because he’s the Heir,” Ali says slowly and clearly.

“You keep saying that…”

Ali throws up his hand. “Listen to me carefully. Grazish. Heir.”

I open my mouth to scold Ali, but that’s when the damn library in my head kicks off. I don’t fade out, I don’t lose sense of my surroundings. But I still get the download.

Heirs. A special Class within the System. Not always guaranteed to be given, not always available. And it is, in many cases, a crappy Class. It doesn’t give you Skills for combat or even Artisan-type Skills. It is, however, extremely useful for survivability. The three pillars of the Heir Class revolve around survival Skills: increases in attributes, increases in resistances and immunities to poison and the like; networking Skills including Aura Skill’s and Reputation bonus upgrades; and retribution Skills.

Like the penultimate Skill of the Basic Class under the retribution side for the Grazish Heir.

No Insult Unpaid (Level 1)

A Grazish does not condone insults. He does not allow those who have stained his honor or offered harm to him or his personnel to escape without retribution. Only proper recompense will see the ending of the feud with the Grazish. Mana Regeneration decreased by 5 permanently.

Effect: An Insult Marker is applied to each individual who insults or otherwise provokes the Grazish Heir. Each Insult Marker decreases cost of tracking spells, information purchases, and retributive Skills by 20%. Mark may only be dismissed by the Heir or those of higher Status than the Grazish Heir.

“And the Grazish are…?”

“Old money, as you humans might say,” Ali says. “Powerful private corporation with its own Guild, security force, and Leveling teams. They keep things in-house for the most part, leveling the heirs—capital H or not—in safety, then they switch over Classes when they’ve hit the required Level.” Ali shrugs. “At least, some of them. Some take a more active part in their own Leveling.”

I see the threat this can create. Getting rid of a Marker like this must be difficult, and if they’re old enough money, they’re just as likely to kill those who insult them as listen to excuses. Scorched earth tactics are a favorite of the old families, especially against contractors. It helps keep things civilized.

I frown. “Why is she dating him?”

“Nice thighs?” Ali offers.

“Butt,” Mikito corrects. Then tilts her head as she considers the picture. “Thighs are pretty good too.”

“Seriously.”

Ali drops the humor, flicking his fingers. A picture of Earth shows up, then it shifts. Small flags appear all across the globe as he continues. “Those cities have all special sponsored links from the Grazish corporation to the default Shop. As well as sponsored ads and sales prices for direct System-bought items.”

“They can lower the cost via sponsorship?” I say, surprised.

Another flicker of Ali’s fingers, and this time, small containers appear across the globe. Not as many by far, but some are in the middle of the ocean, surprisingly enough.

“Teleport and storage locations. If you get them close enough and provide the right kind of tech, you can lower teleport cost from the System.”

“Smart,” I praise.

Ali nods. “The Grazish corporation was the one that came up with the idea and exploited it, building out their teleport platforms near the start of the System. Since then, they’ve kept their first mover advantage.”

“So you think he’s helping her? Letting her meet who she needs in public while ostensibly ‘dating’ her?”

Ali nods.

I consider the possibilities. If they’re in public, there’ll be more eyes on them. At the same time, the Heir is rich enough that their social schedule will likely be extra secure. That’s the thing about the capital—everyone’s so used to clandestine meetings, most upscale locations have their own safe rooms. Never mind the more downscale ones I’ve used before.

And it might be safer to meet them in public than try to do so at their residence. That’s definitely going to be watched.

“Find out their social schedule. We’ll try to do a meetup that way,” I say.

In the meantime, while the others work on the problem for Earth, I focus my attention on the Council. The inner Council of the Galactic Council, the nine (or so) permanent seats that make up the ruling council. They run everything on a day-to-day basis and they’re the ones most likely to view me as a problem.

Nine individuals. Of the major political factions in the System, only the Galactic Edge and Artisans have seats as a faction. The Truinnar sit for the Galactic Edge—the expansionist group—while an old Nang Mai sits for the Artisans. The tree-like humanoid creature is one of the longest-serving members of the Council, and probably could hold his position by sheer virtue of strength and reputation alone if he sought it.

Neither the Traditionalists nor the Fist hold position on the council as a faction. You could say it’s a weakness of their own philosophies. Or just an argument about how long they’ve been around as factions, requiring them not to have a grouped “bloc” to give them strength.

On top of that, we’ve got the Erethran and Movana representatives who are just that—representatives.

Of the remaining five, they sit on the council as independents, powers in themselves or for the planets they rule.

The Weaver is one. His body is bloated in the picture I’ve got, but his eyes—seven eyes on his face, another two that rise on tentacles from his forehead—draw attention. Fingers, long and nimble, twist and twitch, spasm in never-ending movement. Rumors are that he weaves fates in his fingers constantly, altering destines of peasants and Legendarys with as much disregard.

The Lady of Shadows, she who few dare name, is another. Their intelligence asset, their Legendary spymaster. There are too many stories about her, many conflicting. Even her gender is in dispute, for information on one whose entire Class is focused upon cloaking and information dispersal cannot be trusted. Not even in the smallest detail.

The Dragon. Oldest of its kind, supposedly. It rarely shows up at meetings, rarely chooses to involve itself. It flies between stars, deep within the Forbidden Zone. As large as Jupiter itself, a monstrous creature whose Level is known to have breached at least five hundred. Maybe more.

Ares. Yes, that Ares—the one who runs the largest arms manufacturing company in the Galaxy, ruler of multiple manufacturing planets, the merchant of death. He’s just as bad as the Dragon, always in the Forbidden Zone. Though he turns up for meetings more often. When he’s not around, his daughter Nanaya sits in his place. Like him, she’s a Legendary, though she’s less direct warfare, a creature of deadly beauty and duels.

And finally, there’s the Emperor. If you’re unkind and feeling particularly secure, the Emperor of Nothing or Emperor of Ruins. For his empire is gone, his people scattered. He rules over nothing and no one, for the System has taken it all from him. And yet, he still lives. Wizened, ancient, he looks like an angel if your vision of an angel includes four wings, a pair of eyes on the end of his hands, and a blank, featureless face.

Nine individuals. Sometimes there are more, sometimes less. You get your seat by strength of arms, by influence, by acknowledgement. Any who desire a seat on the inner Council may do so. And if they chose wrongly, they die. Some last a few years, others a few centuries.

These are the people who would have started the problems with Earth. Except, something tells me it’s not all of them. The secret of my Class, of being an Administrator, isn’t something so easily bandied about. There have been hints, both in passing and in the library, that there is another circle, another group that rules. Made up of Legendarys and, I must assume, Administrators. I need to figure out those names, but since I have only the main Council to go from, I start there.

I kick off the Erethran and Movana representatives from consideration. They don’t matter. The Nang Mai might know about us Administrators, but he’s well-known to not dabble too greatly in politics. A neutral party looking out for Artisans. Maybe an ally in that sense, but probably not.

That leaves pretty much the named individuals. The Lady of Shadows and Lies is the obvious first choice. Hiding a secret means she’s part of it. The others are harder to tell. I’d guess Ares is out. He’s a known meathead and this seems above his paygrade. On the other hand, he’s a Legendary. It’s hard to get that far by being a complete idiot. And he has a daughter who is smarter than he is.

The Dragon might be part of whatever inner circle there is that knows the secret. And the Emperor. Both are old enough that if they were searching for secrets—or through blind luck—they might have stumbled onto this knowledge.

The rest though… the Weaver is a Questor. Or at least, partial to us. Or was. Or maybe just out for the highest bidder. I don’t know, it’s hard to say with his history. He is what I would consider a moderate ally on the Council, if I have one. I doubt he’s in the inner-inner circle though, or he wouldn’t be a Questor anymore.

Then again, like my Society’s Web Skill, his own Skills and Class might give him a head start on such secrets. When you’re looking at the threads of society or fate, some secrets reveal themselves to you inadvertently.

But those are all guesses. The problem with a secret organization is that it’s secret. And guessing might be a problem if I try to contact the wrong person.

As I dig into stories about each council member, trying to find a clue, a detail that might interact with what I know, what the library might contain, a loud beep startles us all. Hours have passed without us realizing it.

And we’re finally here. In Irvina once again.

We stand and walk toward the exit, ready to enter our enemies’ lair. And if we’re flies heading in to see the spider, I just hope we’re mutated flies. Or else this will end badly.

Chapter 9

Finding a place to lay low is easy enough. Hundreds of residences have been set up to handle the floating population of Adventurers, businessmen, and Artisans. So many Adventurers only come to Irvina for a short while to run a few specific dungeons before moving on.

Irvina itself has not changed much, being made of multiple ring districts. The first ring is where the Galactic Council holds its meetings, and the core of the city is within. Each ring from there grows in size and decreases in security.

This time around, we end up in the sixth ring. Far enough away that we’re out of sight, and a little on the lower end for Advanced Adventurers but not uncommon. It’s also only a short flight into the second or third ring if we want to meet with Katherine and the socialites.

Travel through the towering skyscrapers and myriad building designs of the city is as eclectic as the System. Some people fly on their own power. Others take the flying vehicles or creatures that ply the air, while transit options in terms of vacuum-filled bullet trains take the masses. For the most part, the plan is to take automated vehicles since Harry and I have had bad experiences with mass transportation.

The residence we rent is the Galactic equivalent of a four-bedroom condominium, the last bedroom adjusted to be a sparring ring. We pay a slight premium for such a residence, but again, nothing too surprising. Once we’re in, we sweep the place for bugs, plant our own, and boost the security of the residence with a variety of pre-purchased items. Everything from talismans on walls to increase their durability and shielding spells to prevent spying as well as a few discreet nano-formed energy turrets.

Once we’re settled, Harry makes his way out to meet with some of his contacts. For the reporter, many of his sources will only speak with him in person.

Which leaves Mikito and myself to get in contact with Katherine. And thankfully, Ali’s found a decent option tonight. Even if it’s not what I’d expect.

“A gallery opening?” I mutter, staring at the brochure and pair of tickets the Spirit has managed to score for us.

“Not just any gallery opening. It’s Moyo Jin’s gallery opening!” Ali snaps. When I shrug, he rolls his eyes. “Philistine. Moyo Jin hasn’t had a showing in three decades.”

I shrug again.

“There was an old work of his in my latest arena title defense. Meditating before it for a half hour gave me a bonus to my attributes and an additional passive defense Skill,” Mikito says. “One with Air.”

One with Air (Level 1) (B)

Legend has it that the first wind sylphs taught Evasoo, the martial warrior of air and void, this Skill directly before the advent of the System. When his planet was integrated, Evasoo gained his unique Class and this Skill, allowing him to float between the attacks of the monsters that dared to populate his planet. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5 permanently.

Effect: Increases dodge skill by 20, increases environmental perception by 50, and allows one use of Peerless Dodge every ten minutes.

Peerless Dodge Effect: Increases dodge ability by 200 for one attack

I note the lack of a capital S on the skills, meaning that the increases are all effectively making someone better at dodging and perceiving the world rather than actively manipulating reality. It’s a fine distinction, and there’s an argument for Skills that affect skills. After all, for someone like Mikito, who relies on mundane skill to cross the threshold of raw power, the boost could make a big difference. Then again, raw power has a quality of its own.

A face-smashing quality.

“Do you lose Mana regeneration because of the bestowed Skill?” I ask. It’s the first I’ve heard of an artifact from an Artisan providing not just regeneration or attribute buffs but a passive Skill buff.

“No,” Mikito says. “But the buff is often short term. In this case, only twenty minutes.”

More than long enough for an arena battle. Not so much if you were crafting. Though I guess if you were crafting, you might be able to put his artwork in front of you and get the boost anyway.

Huh.

“What level of work was it?” I ask.

“Heroic.”

“Of course it is.” I rub my chin, considering. I mean, I do have an Altered Storage space. If I could slip one of the works into it and stare at it before a fight, an extra Skill would be nice. Even if it is a Basic Skill. “All right, so we do the gallery opening. We find a place to talk to Katherine in the gallery and hopefully, find out who we can target. Sounds simple enough.”

“You had to say that, didn’t you?” Ali says, and I wince.

Oops.

***

Getting into the third ring requires a little work on my side, an adjustment on the pass restrictions that we received upon arriving in Irvina. The ones we originally received allow us to the fourth ring at most, and that with an additional payment. A minor push with the System Edit Skill changes them so that we can enter the third ring without issue and the second with a permit request.

The actual editing of our passes takes a bit. Partly because whoever designed the System for verification is paranoid. There are multiple safeguards in place, including a check against a central database, none of which I’d have known except for the fact that we had our previous permits. Using that as the basis for our amended permits, I was able to do the System-equivalent of hack the various databases.

Wielding the System Edit Skill is painful, as it floods my body with System Mana. Each time I try to read anything, try to Edit anything, I need to call that particular piece of code into my very body before I can begin the process.

It’s painful and drains me of Mana at an astounding rate, but I get the job done. Once I’m finished, I verify that I’m not being logged before I move on. Thankfully, whoever decided to create Admin positions as Classes didn’t also include a logging function. At least, not for our actual use of Skills.

It’s an interesting factor, meaning that once you change something, unless you keep track of the changes yourself, it’s never possible to go backward. Of course, I’ve got so many restrictions on what I can see or edit that this might only be for non-essential areas.

As I continue to play with my Skill, I learn the extent of my influence, and unsurprisingly, it’s nowhere as large or wide as I’d like. I do wonder how much of that is because I’m a Junior Administrator and how much is because I’ve only got access to a single Skill thus far.

Questions, questions, questions.

“Wake up, boy-o,” Ali sends.

I look up in time for the private bubble car to slide to a halt beside the building. I resolutely don’t look down since the floor is transparent and there are thousands of meters beneath my feet. The gallery we’re visiting is expensive, which means it’s located high up in Galactic society parlance.

In short order, we step out and join the small line of visitors. Wind catches and tugs at our clothing, threatening to blow us off the long balcony leading to the entrance proper with each gust. The constant hum and hiss of arriving flying cars floats down from the roof, where the rich and powerful arrive, and mixes with the whirr of constant video recordings. Muffled words, shouts, arrive in broken sentences, before another twist of the wind carries the words away.

Along with the noise and the cold of the altitude, there’s the smell. It’s floral with a hint of salt and thyme, piped into the open-air bay we stand in, along with a touch of heat to keep the place from being completely inhospitable.

Most of those who stand here don’t seem bothered. I let my gaze flick across the numerous well-dressed individuals—and let me tell you, what is considered well-dressed in Galactic society is jaw-droppingly varied due to the mixture of cultures—and pick out the varied methods used to deal with the cold and winds.

Enchantments, glowing to provide strength and warmth. Deceptively light cloth or fur, taken from creatures in cold dungeons, that negate thermal penalties. Spells wrapped around auras. And in a very few cases, like the pair of us, just incredibly high Constitutions.

In fact, lack of clothing and protection seems to be as much a statement as the expensive materials some people wear. And while most of the clothing is civilian in form, in function, it could easily work as combat ware. Bonuses to Constitution, Strength, Agility are all in play, as well as the softer attributes. The most expensive pieces of equipment even boost Aura skills.

“Does no one understand subltety?” Mikito mutters.

Standing in line, we’re buffeted by multiple Auras, pheromone- and scent-based attacks, and Charisma-based enchantments.

I grunt in reply, handing our pair of tickets to the crocodile-like humanoid attendant. Ali, even when pressed, refused to admit how he got those tickets on such short notice. I am somewhat concerned, but considering we’ve been here before, I take it on good faith they didn’t come with too many strings attached.

“Flaunting your power is important,” Ali says in a not-so-quiet whisper. “Especially since you can’t do it inside.”

“Why not?” I say, surprised as I take the tickets back. I step forward, only to halt as the crocodile speaks.

His voice grates and hisses, but it’s also surprisingly well-enunciated. “Aura Skills would affect the artwork. Especially in large numbers.”

“Ah!” I nod. “Thank you.” And then, on a whim, I offer him a hand and send over a Credit tip when he takes it.

The crocodile-man grins and leans down, whispering, “If you speak to Trez on the third landing, let him know Idz says you’re good people and to let you in.”

I blink, but nod in thanks before moving away from the crocodile. Staying too long would make too big a scene. As it is, our clothing is close enough to being high quality, but I have a feeling close isn’t exactly sufficient.

As we head in, I can’t help but ask Ali for clarification.

“Private viewing. There’s the kind of place you get in if you’re invited. They’ll have the better pieces in there. Or the stuff that has been pre-sold but the buyers still want to show off,” Ali says.

I crane my neck upward as we wander into the gallery proper. The entire thing takes up three stories, with a central open-air area and wide winding ramps that snake around the periphery. Along the walls and sometimes smack dab in the middle of the ramps themselves are the art pieces.

“Now what?” Mikito says as we stare at the central piece, joining the audience.

The central piece reminds me of modern art, if modern art was sculpted in light and sound, in taste and Mana. It’s impossible to see it fully without Mana sense, and even then, the more you stare, the more is revealed as the sculpture shifts and changes. Eventually though, there’s a pattern to the movement. A story perhaps, or just guided fluctuations in Mana.

“We look around. And maybe buy something,” I say to Mikito as we continue to stare at the artwork.

More than a few sapients stop and regard the work. Some take to the sky, floating above us. After a few minutes of regard, I get the buff that increases my Perception by tens of points and even gives me a passive Skill effect for the next hour that extends my physical senses and my concentration levels. Nothing more than a Basic Skill, but I could see a corporation purchasing something like this and leaving it in their lobby to give their employees a boost.

Idly, I look at the price of the piece and choke.

“You could buy a damn warship with that!” I splutter.

My outraged utterance gets more than a few disdainful looks and one fart noise from a ball-like creature. Mikito rolls her eyes while Ali is clutching his sides, rolling around in the air as I finally realize how expensive this work really is.

“You knew,” I state flatly to Ali, dropping my voice as we head away.

“Oh yeah, boy-o.” Ali sniffs. “This is artwork made by a Heroic Class artist! Of course it’s expensive.”

I can’t help but shake my head as we make our way up one of the ramps. My minor outburst is thankfully soon forgotten. As we regard more of the pieces, I realize they’re not all that expensive. Still stupidly so—the cheapest and smallest piece is still in the tens of millions of Credits—but not warship-level expensive.

Still out of my price range anyway.

As we walk along, Mikito and I do our best to blend in. Unsurprisingly, Mikito does better than I do. She’s a little more socially savvy than me. She knows how to blend in, become part of the crowd.

I’ve rarely had the chance to do so. Not in these kinds of circles at least. It’s a novel sensation, being relatively unknown. I actually don’t mind it. It’s a little reminder of my forgotten humanity, of a time when I was your basic geeky programmer. Infamy was never something I cared about, except as a tool.

There’s also something weird about wandering through an art gallery when you’re public enemy number one. Knowing that if you’re caught, chances are it’s the end of it all. Thankfully, nervousness from being an outlaw and nervousness at being in a social situation is all the same.

The artwork is varied. Mostly sculptures of one form or another, but in detail, it’s different. The artist is working in multiple dimensions, not just within simple sight, but sound, smell, Mana, time, and sometimes even pure chaos.

Something made of stone twists and turns, rising up in the sky before swooping down, a never-ending spiral whose lines makes you fall with your eyes into a blank hole in its center that becomes something. An exhibit so hidden that you’re not entirely sure what it is you’re seeing. You smell it, leaning forward, then it’s gone.

Another notification, another boost.

Mikito moves differently than I do. I stop, regarding each work for a bit, watching the various visitors dart about the gallery, paying attention to the works until I get a bonus, then I move on. Mikito, on the other hand, brushes past the vast majority of the work, only pausing once in a while to fall into deep thought before a piece. She’s specific in her taste, whereas I’m dabbling.

And in the midst of all of this, attendants move with drinks, snacks, and notepads. Waiters feed us while salespeople try to talk up each particular work. After the first one I decline, they leave me alone. In fact, they hover around Mikito, almost as if they can sense that she’s more of an opportunity than myself.

I have to admit, after staring at the prices, I’ve lost any interest. Frankly speaking, I’d rather pay for premade foods from Master Classers to give me a boost than run around with artwork. Consumables are still expensive, but overall cheaper. Not that I bother too often. Alchemists can generally generate the same effects with potions at a lower cost. Though if you really want to min-max, you could consume both since they’re often separate stacking bonuses.

I know some of the more focused individuals do that, and while I’m not opposed to bonuses, the issue is cost, supply, and reliance. Grow too reliant on something that costs too much and when you don’t have it, your entire performance level drops.

It’s kind of like doping in the pre-System world. Sure, you can dope and you can do well—even better than your competitors. But what if you get caught? Or have to stop? The withdrawals and the lack of ability afterward is significant as you retrain.

In either case, we make our way up the art gallery until we arrive at the doors of the VIP section. Ali’s been paying attention to the guests, but thus far, Katherine and her date have yet to make an appearance. We’ve been delaying our movements as long as possible, hoping she’ll come out and see the rest of the exhibition. But it seems they’ve chosen to hang out with the VIPs, leaving us to wait.

It’s frustrating, but luck is with us since we have a way in. A little more Credits, a smile, and a good word gets us in where we weren’t meant to be. Though I assume, to some extent, there are exceptions already built in socially for cases like this. I can’t help but wonder how much of our entrance is because of Luck or Charisma, how the System gently nudges things when it needs.

“Oh, this is much more like it!” Ali crows and darts over to the VIP buffet table.

I look it over and wince, since this is a Galactic event. The offerings are wide ranging, from meats of identifiable—read, with bodies and heads attached—and unidentifiable variety, as well as other forms of consumables. There are crystalline rods filled with raw Mana, electricity, and radioactive material. There are swirling globes of smoke that can be broken open and sniffed, and glass flutes of liquid nourishment.

While I’m pretty open about food I’m willing to eat, I do draw the line at sapient creatures. Which, in a few cases, are displayed on the buffet table. There are even a few living creatures, pain receptors neutered via Skills and technology, that are ready to be consumed.

Ali sweeps in, grabbing hold of one of the crystalline rods. He proceeds to open his mouth wide, swallowing the rod and the sparkling energy within in a sword-swallowing act that would win awards. For a moment, his tiny form shifts colors, growing more solid and opaque before he stabilizes.

“Whoa! Good stuff.”

I snort and almost miss the waiter who replaces the energy flute. There’s enough food on the hovering multi-tiered tables to feed every single visitor in the gallery three times over. But the gods forfend that it look as if they might run out.

“Gallery,” Mikito says, elbowing me in the side.

I bring my attention back to the gathering and blink when I realize more than a few eyes are fixed upon us. More than one gaze is filled with disdain, and for the bodyguards, professional suspicion.

I wave, offering them a weak grin. “Hi?”

***

Thankfully, my smile and greeting seems to diffuse the situation. Not so much because it’s what is expected but because they automatically label us as hicks and proceed to ignore us. Of course, that doesn’t let us off entirely. A quartet of uniformed security personnel sweep in, their fixed stares daring us to try to run.

“Oy! Find Katherine. Fast!” I send to Ali while sweating mental bullets.

The Spirit does a little bob and freezes in place, flicking through sensor data.

There’s no real danger in getting my ass kicked, but any altercation will lead to our identities being revealed. And that, more than anything else, is what I intend to avoid.

“Evening, gentlepeople,” I say when they close. Of course, gentlepeople isn’t the exact word I use in Galactic—the closer translation is something like “worthy and honored sapients,” but gentlepeople is much nicer.

The four that close in on us are made up of three Hakarta—two men and a woman—and a single crystalline figure. It moves with a grace that belies its appearance, more liquid rock than sharp-edged body.

It’s the living crystal that speaks. “Passes please.”

I give them a smile and extract our tickets, handing over the two slips.

Crystal takes one look at them and hands them back to me, its voice still pleasant. “These are for the general viewing floor.”

“There’s more than one kind of floor?” I give them big eyes. “I didn’t know. But the works here look so much nicer…”

“How did you acquire these tickets?” Crystal says, not at all affected by my poor attempt at charming them.

Mikito steps up next to me and places an arm around mine, almost leaning into me, and giving them a cool smile at the same time. “My husband’s Spirit took care of it. We don’t really bother with such trivial things.”

“And what do you bother with?” Crystal says, its gaze sweeping over us and our clothing. Thankfully, with so many individuals, high culture for clothing isn’t so much a specific type of style and more to do with cut and expense. Still, I’m getting the feeling that our attempt at fitting in is insufficient.

“And why would that matter?” Mikito says archly. “We’re here to view Moyo Jin’s work, not answer to impertinent questions.”

“Found her! And contacting…”

Crystal glowers at her words. “Below, it might not matter. But this portion of the event is exclusive. Reserved for those who have the right Levels. Or connections.”

I wonder then if perhaps we had been found out from the very beginning. Did I insult the man below, offer too little a bribe? Did I make a misstep then? Or was it now when Ali acted like a bore? Or myself when I said hi? Should I have just strutted in as if I owned this place?

Perhaps.

Spending years, nearly a decade, killing monsters, fighting Master Class and higher enemies has done little to aid my social acumen. I was never a socialite, but a simple programmer. And not even that successful a one. Parties like this, where I start out of my element just means I sink faster.

“Well, I’ve never been so insulted…” Mikito tilts her chin higher, staring down her nose at Crystal, who seems unperturbed by her actions.

But I also note Crystal and its people don’t seem worried either. They’re treating us like party crashers, not true threats.

“You may complain to my manager if you wish,” Crystal says as he steps forward, a glittering, clawed hand sweeping to point at the door behind us.

“Ali!”

“Katherine says go. And wait.”

When Mikito opens her mouth to protest further, I tug on her arm gently and step back. She turns and glares at me while I lower my voice. Low enough to be a whisper, even if I know anyone here would hear it if they bothered. Damn Perception increases.

“Let’s not cause a scene, dear. We couldn’t afford the pieces in here anyway,” I say.

“That’s not the point!” Mikito says.

“The point will be them tossing us out physically, if we don’t move.”

Mikito sniffs again and detaches herself from my arm. She stalks out the door, and I turn to the group, offering them an open-handed and sheepish shrug. I can’t read Crystal, but I catch a flicker of amusement among the Hakarta guards.

Outside, the pair of us move away from the doorway, down to a mostly empty landing where a twisted sculpture, when viewed, gives a bonus to Intelligence—specifically, mental arithmetic calculations. It also is made up of some annoyingly high-pitched auditory passages. It’s one of the least popular showings because of that.

“So, that went well,” I say, leaning in to speak with Mikito.

“It did not!” she replies, her voice still heated. “You always embarrass me like that.”

“Oh, I do, do I?” I say. “As if I wanted to come to these things.”

“Keep your voice down. They’re still watching us!” Mikito says.

“And why should I care?”

Mikito growls and turns away, breaking off eye contact with me and looking instead ostensibly at the big center piece. I sniff, staring at her back, and turn to view a smaller piece, watching as Ali floats down to me. He’s been ejected from the room too, though he took his time leaving.

“Nicely done. People are looking away for the most part,” Ali confirms.

“You think we’re good?”

“Mostly. Katherine’s on her way. So just play the stricken lovers for a little more.”

“We still need a place to meet, in private,” I point out.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll figure it out.”

I snort, then rub my ears. Hopefully the woman arrives soon. Because there’s only so long I want to listen to this buzzing.

Chapter 10

Rather than meet us directly, Katherine sends a waiter who directs us to the top of the gallery. We cross by the stone-faced guard of the VIP room, who refuses to look at us, and end up in a smaller room, one whose doors slide open and shut behind us, leaving behind the waiter who escorted us.

Lights flicker on, and I find myself regarding a miniature city that dominates the room. I frown, walking forward and cocking my head, struck by the incongruity of the piece.

“What the hell is this?” I mutter.

There are even tiny figures, barely half an inch tall, who I could almost swear are alive, so lifelike are their motions. If not for the lack of any differentiation in the Mana flows through them, I would never have guessed them to be tiny golems.

“The next showing,” Katherine’s voice cuts in.

I turn, spotting her emerging from another doorway, and take a moment to assess the woman. She’s looking good for her age, not seeming to have aged a day since I first met her nine years ago. Her hair might be a little paler and greyer, the eyes a little harder, but she’s still the middle-aged secretary who’d introduced herself to me when I took over Vancouver.

“A miniature city, one that depicts life as it could be, or should be. There are a few more such cities, each revolving around another race, another political system. If you watch them long enough, you can see them play out day-to-day lives, revolutions and wars and social unrest. And then peace again. Or never-ending war,” Katherine says.

“So, a real work of art, not a toy for Skills,” Mikito says, walking over to Katherine.

Mikito hesitates for a second when she gets close, but Katherine doesn’t, throwing her hands around Mikito and giving her a hug that the little Japanese woman returns.

Into her neck, Mikito mutters, “It’s good to see you.”

“And you. I’ve been watching your fights.”

“You have?”