by Rae Nantes
Vic sighed, then nodded slowly at him. "Then if the boy is innocent, then why not return him?"
John crouched forward in his seat and sat his chalice on the table. He stared into the untouched wine. "I admired the boy's spirit, and beyond that, he told me that he was the heir of a foreign throne." He sighed, almost with guilt. "By treating him as an honored guest, I hope to foster good relations with him and his nation in the future, between Christendom itself and the new world."
"The new world," Vic echoed. "The boy is not from the far east?"
"The new world," John said.
"And you have no intention of returning the boy?"
"Of course," John said. His smile was absent. "I will train him for however long he wishes, and when he feels ready, he will return to his homeland. That, I can guarantee."
Vic tapped his notebook as he stared. The Grandmaster showed no signs of wavering from his resolve, and it seemed that the boy was in no present danger. In his heart, Vic hoped that would satisfy what his handlers wanted from him.
"May I see this young man?" Vic asked.
John paused, then nodded. "Certainly."
Vic followed him through the narrow hallways of the castle, beneath the dim passing lights of torches, to the other end of the keep.
John paused at the front of a heavy iron door. It was unlocked. He creaked it open. Sunlight poured in.
It was a corner room, offering a better view of the coast and the sea and the distant Ottoman lands than what the balcony offered. Cool air raced past them and down the hall.
Two young women smiled back as if interrupted in the middle of heavy flirtation. Between them, a tan-skinned male was turned away, the upper half of his body struggling to slide into a set of armor.
Thup.
It fit, and his head poked out. He turned to Vic and John. "Hello, Grandmaster." His hair was short but stuck out in the front, his sides shaved down to fuzz. This was a haircut Vic had seen before on Player cultists, but this boy had no such aura.
"Good afternoon, Ediha," John said.
3:8
Dawn had just broken, and the sun was peering over the horizon.
Mondego yawned, tried to brush out the sleep from his hair, and gave up. He stood facing out into the ocean, the endless blue, donned his eyepatch, and basked in the warm morning sunlight.
The cultists had made camp around the temple. Some sat near their tents, enjoying conversations with one another, others prepared meals over campfires. Many were still waking up, crawling out and into the fresh air. Those who were still asleep now shook awake by the static crack of a portal ripping open.
A pile of gold bars spilled out and into the sand. A mountain of it.
A figure hopped out. Small, feisty, clad in black leathers with gold metal accents. Daggers at her waist and a gold chandelier in her hands. It was Rika, with Garrock right behind. They were laughing together.
"Ah, my friends," Mondego said, "it seems your nightly activities have been... fruitful."
Rika shot him a quick piercing glance, unnerved by the sound of his voice. "Yes."
He gave her a nod, then looked at Garrock for more answers.
"Yes, yes," Garrock said. "The fifth one today, in record time." He gave Mondego a toothy grin.
Rika was no longer listening. She had already set up a nearby cooking pot to smelt the gold in and was snapping the arms of the chandelier to make it fit.
Seeing the fruits of her labor made her miss it all. Before she had even considered the World Quest, before she had even started her own cult to accomplish it and discover the world of magic, she had spent most her time raiding other players. Not only was it by far the fastest way to gather a ton of wealth, which she desperately needed, but it was the most fun she had in ages, even with the spooky clown boi as her partner.
After they split the loot between them, she logged out to tend to her skills.
Total XP Gain: 147,927
Level Up! +22
You are now level 49.
You have 22 unused ability points.
This was the adrenaline rush she had longed for, that huge orgasm of dopamine that she hadn't felt in so long.
She felt a tad ashamed that she loved it so much, worse even when she considered how much time she had wasted chasing around a quest that might not even exist. Now she's so far off the rails that it seems like she might never get to go back to the good old days.
But what was stopping her?
All she needed to do was just not rescue Ediha and let him die at the hands of witch hunters and religious orders. Stef and Nick would be annoyed, but what could they do? It wouldn’t be hard to just give up on giving a shit about nipsies, about innocent nipsies, and return to the hack-and-slash romp through the world. She could become wealthy, powerful, feared again.
She thought of Mondego. He was always practically eye-fucking her with an alluring, sinful smile. To her shame, part of her loved it.
She shook off the thought.
Even if Ediha wasn’t as real as she wanted him to be, it would be nice to save him. It would be nice to watch him grow and become a hero and demon slayer and conqueror of Western Europe. Countless innocent people would die regardless, but maybe his quest would be more fun.
At the end of the day, she was just here to be entertained. Right?
With a deep breath, she dumped 20 points into teleportation to max it out, then spent the rest on an Ice Wall and a Lightning attack. It was hard not to spend those points on skills that she could genuinely use in combat, but Ediha was her quest now. This way, she wouldn't be handicapped and forced to rely on fanatical cults or unreliable tryhards in order to get somewhere.
Ice [0] +3
Ice Wall — 0/5 +3
Lightning [0] +1
Jolt — 0/5 +1
Utility [11] +20
Teleportation — 0/20 +20
With a heavy sigh, she confirmed the changes and logged back in.
Mondego and Garrock were waiting for her.
The cultists had already packed up the camp, and now a squad of Templar knights were guarding the area.
"Heading out again?" she asked.
"We are," Mondego said. "We've received word that the Pax Divinus is making another move."
She furrowed her brow. "To where?"
"Egypt."
"And where will you be headed?"
Mondego gave her a dark grin. "Egypt."
3:9
The world a dull blue. The skies overcast. It smelled like rain, but everything was dry. Here, it was chilly in comparison to Kongo. The sun was just beginning to peak across the horizon, and the bulk of the city was still asleep, save for a single dog whose bark echoed across the dusty streets and alleys.
The suburbs were located further up a hill, and in the distance, buildings with dome roofs and thin towers - mosques, Rika thought they were - and beyond them, the pyramids cutting through the morning mists.
"Where are the temples?" she asked.
"The big triangle things," a cultist answered. "We aren't sure which."
Mondego turned to them. "We must first speak to the sultan so that he may grace us with his approval."
Rika groaned. Her entire body screamed at her to hurry and intercept the Pax Divinus, for if they were coming to Egypt, they would certainly be somewhere near the temple. "I'm going now," she said.
"Do as you will," Mondego said. "We all know the dreamers could never be governed."
Rika narrowed her eyes at him. She didn't need permission. "When do you expect the paladins to arrive?"
He shrugged with indifference. "What does it matter? Let them deal with the Turks first, then we'll arrive once the dust is settled."
Garrock yawned. "It is time for a break, yes?"
She said nothing. She turned on her heels and walked down the street, eyes on the pyramids as they lowered beneath the wall of houses and buildings.
Her feet tapped at the dirt and crunched in the dust as she marched along. Ah
ead, a figure on horseback approached. A tan-faced man with dark stubble on his face, an iron helm, and chainmail that rattled with the beat of the hooves. He glared as he passed her.
Perhaps she was just another pale-skinned foreigner in these lands. When she gave it some thought, she had no idea if players were common in this area or not, and she really had no real insight to what this place was like during this time of history. The only hints were the green and red flags that dotted every other building.
A star and crescent.
She shrugged it off. Politics and borders were always changing before the modern times, and the entire concept of a border was entirely foreign to her since the only nation that existed anymore was her own. They were, after all, the last bastion of humanity, stranded on a red rock in space. These were all just games to them, like a faraway memory.
Or a dream.
A quarter-hour into her walk and she realized just how far - and how massive - the pyramids actually were. She checked that no one was around and spawned a portal to hop closer.
She landed in the sand, nearly sinking into the grit. A passing wind threw it in her face and in her hair and in her eyes, and she grunted as she tried to fix herself. After shaking off like a dog, she found herself humbled by this domineering monument.
The sand was hard to walk in, sinking beneath her boots with every step. Another wind yanked at her cape. A hint of gunsmoke hung in the air.
She looked far across the sands for any hint of a paladin - there was none.
She walked around, looking for the entrance. It was on the other side, an entryway borne by the same tan stone as the entire pyramid was made of. Inside, darkness.
Her footsteps echoed deep within as she tapped across the stone. It felt damp here. She idly traced her hands along the walls, feeling the bumps and ridges and shapes as she passed. After finding a discarded torch, she relit it and found a world etched in.
Hieroglyphs of some untold past, an ancient language carved in with meticulous detail, yet she didn’t know if this was the work of the developers, or if happened naturally.
Rika had only started playing this game last season, which took place about a century ago in this world, and although the presence of the players influenced global events and borders, not much had supposedly changed the course of history. Or she would suppose, the fated course of history.
Was this intelligent design from the developers, or was this the natural evolution of the world?
The wind outside echoed and hummed. She walked through the labyrinth beneath the light of her torch.
Around a corner, a faint light glowed past. She followed after to find yet another ordinary dead-end, but this one held the altar. On it, a statue of a boulder, pulsing with golden light.
This was the Earth Temple, no doubt.
Rika stepped forward, reached out to rest her hand across its face. She felt the rumble beneath her feet, rattling the pyramid and shaking pebbles and rock from the walls and ceiling. Dust poured. The world itself grumbled. It coursed through her legs like an earthquake, reaching up past her knees, her body, her arms, and into her soul.
Earth Element unlocked.
She swung open her player screen to see what skills were unlocked. Then, she froze.
A faint echo found her from the hall. It was a voice. Footsteps down the winding hallways. Louder. A conversation between an older man and a young one. Rika swiped the screen away, smothered the torch, and threw on the veil of invisibility.
She darted off to a dark corner and waited, making sure that her daggers were gripped and ready to go.
The voices grew clearer, nearer, and before she realized it, they were upon her.
"Is this it, Grandmaster?" the young man asked.
"It is," the older man answered. "These places are ancient, once-consecrated temples to those forgotten religions."
They rounded the corner, and her heart stopped.
Heavy armor glinted under torchlight and rattled with each step. Pepper grey stubble and a sportscaster's face. On his back, the massive claymore. It was John, but that wasn't what tore her heart.
It was that Ediha was with him.
His hair was cut short on the sides with the front a boyish mess. A popular fashion recently in Stella Vallis, but maybe it caught on here. Did those devils force him to cut his hair? The shame. What was worse, was that Ediha was equipped in heavy armor of his own, grey and white plates with a shield on his back. Yet he lacked the golden cross tabard, instead bearing a white flowing cape on his back.
They paused just meters away. Rika’s heart pounded out of her chest.
"This," John said, "is the source of violent power."
"Then why wield it?" Ediha asked. He spoke like he was talking to a grandfather.
"With great power," John said, "comes great responsibility."
Rika groaned to herself at how cliché John was. Everything about him made her want to vomit.
They stepped past and stood before the altar. The golden glow lit their faces, their backs were turned. Rika tensed, ready to pounce, but she knew to wait with Ediha nearby.
"I see," Ediha said. "This is what you meant."
John chuckled, deep from his gut. "Indeed, young knight. What do you think would happen if everybody wielded this power? Society as we know it would collapse, nations would tear asunder, the entire world would be plunged into chaos, and so, it must be contained. That is the duty to which we are charged."
Ediha said nothing. He only stared into the glow of the altar.
"It is a great burden," John continued, "reserved only for those with the resolve to take responsibility for the world." He brought his armored hand to pat Ediha's back. They both rattled. "Are you ready for such a thing?"
"I am," Ediha said. He reached in and absorbed the spell. The pyramid shook and vibrated, then ceased.
"Very good," John said. "Now wait for me outside while I take care of this."
Ediha lowered his head. "As you wish, Grandmaster." He spun, his cape twirled, and he marched away. In a split instance, Rika glanced into his eyes, hoping her soul could reach into his, but all she found was raw determination. He's changed.
She felt guilty, and she wasn't sure why.
His footsteps echoed down the hall, then faded. The only sound that remained was John's breath and Rika’s heart that pounded through her ears.
Ediha was probably just Stockholm-syndromed into being the guy's squire. Maybe this behavior was something borne out of duress. Maybe they were using him as a test subject for brainwashing. There was no doubt they were pushing their own twisted ideologies onto him, that young and impressionable prince, surely for their own gain.
John's back was still turned, his massive weapon still sheathed on his back. Rika gripped her daggers and stepped forward.
"A pity," he said.
Rika froze. Was he talking to himself?
His hand reached for the hilt. She braced herself for the ambush.
"...that you thought me as a fool."
John ripped his weapon out and swung around with a slash, but he was too slow. His sword slammed into an Ice Wall, shaving chunks and throwing white dust around. By the time it shattered, Rika was already down the hall, yanking him closer with a gust. The torch rolled and extinguished, bringing darkness.
He stepped forward, leaning back against the force. The wind drew into his blade, spinning wildly around its edge, and he flung it back at her. It thumped against another wall of ice.
Rika fell through a perfectly timed portal and behind him. Her dagger jammed into a slit in his greaves, and he grunted from the shock. Yet when he spun instinctively to face her, the narrow hallway blocked his counter. He was crippled in this tight environment.
Rika dove between his legs and rolled away as he struggled to find her. Then, there was lightning.
Krakow!
A violet bolt slammed against his armor and arced out all around him, enveloping him in electricity.
Yet he
stood unharmed.
He lifted his weapon high. Rika braced herself. It sapped what little light remained in the dark hall. A howling scream echoed in reverse and sent goosebumps up her arms.
He pulsed with violet, once, twice. Then, he sliced it at her. An electronic roar. A massive purple wind blade that cut through the dust, trailing arcs of electricity that drug behind like tentacles.
Three ice walls, each about a hand's width thick, ripped up from the stone floors to take the damage.
John’s spell shredded through each with a terrible squeal like twisting styrofoam and slammed against her. It ripped through her aura and her leather armor and through skin and bone. She felt her entire soul was shredded under its force.
She stood, alive, yet defeated.
Her dagger clanked against the stone floor, her arm thumping beside it. Blood splattered freely. She fell to her knees and dropped her head against the wall. It was gritty against her face.
John took a sharp, deep breath, then stepped forward, crunching over the crumbled ice walls that were already evaporating into mist. "You are far from ready," he said.
"Go fuck yourself," she uttered.
He stood above, looking down at her. With a sigh, he shook his head. "The boy will remain in our care. Do not follow us. Do not even try it. You are too weak. You are too selfish. You are too much a fool, and you would only darken his soul. I know the folly it would be to attempt to capture something like you, but I wish not to see your face again until you can at least prove your mettle."
Rika said nothing. She knew that the only reason this punk was beating her was because of his exclusive magic. Not because he was good, but because he was overpowered. Horseshit, she thought.
He stepped over her and walked away.
3:10
Rika sat at the apex of the pyramid, looking far across the city and the distant stretches of desert.
The skies had since opened up to reveal its morning blue, and the cultists had just finally arrived for their visit.
She waved her only arm at them, unsure if they could see her from so far below, but they waved back with smiles. Perhaps it was good that she was so far, seeing as she was still soaked in sweat from burning her wounds closed. It would take the rest of the day for her body to regenerate, and she was in no hurry to get into another fight. Instead, she spent the past few hours looking at her spells and worrying over things she shouldn't be worrying about.