“The most important thing that was removed was both the inner and outer walls of the city. If I had to guess they were too damaged to be replaced. The second thing is that all of the roads have disappeared and instead are packed dirt. They won’t last long against the constant passage of citizens and wagons.” She said succinctly.
Slate leaned back in his throne again, thinking carefully. “What about utilities?” he asked her. Both Shale and Lucelyania looked at him with confused expressions. Noticing the awkward glances. He continued. “You know, power, water, sewage, and trash collection?”
Lucelynia attempted to answer. “My Lord, I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about. There’s freshwater nearby, and people usually burn any refuse they’ve built up.”
Slate groaned out loud. He had forgotten all about this while in the forest. He hadn’t even needed to use many of those things himself. He had mana vision instead of electric light, drank his food instead of water, he hadn’t had to use the bathroom since he arrived in this world—his body receiving a perfectly nutritious liquid diet, and his acid had been pretty effective at removing any trash. He might not need any modern conveniences, but that was no way to run a city and hope that it would grow into the capital of a vast empire. He figured that magic would’ve solved many of these problems.
With a thought, he pulled up the system again and navigated to the city management portion. He was able to filter the list of improvements down to what he considered utilities. They had a bunch of different descriptions and effects, but after looking at all of their costs, he realized that he had forgotten something. Before he moved away from the list of choices, one stood out to him.
City Management System: This upgrade creates a personified avatar of the city to act as an assistant. As the level of the system increases, so does the complexity of the avatar. At various level thresholds new effects are added:
Level 1: Can only answer basic queries about resources, demographic information, and building statuses.
Level 10: Can answer more complicated queries, project building outcomes, and assess citizen morale.
Level 20: Creates a citizen and guest identification system and allows mass emergency communications.
Level 30: Creates an intelligence gathering system that collects verbal information.
Level 40: Creates a physical form for better communications with the city.
Level 50: Grants the avatar limited precognitive abilities to recognize impending danger to the city.
Slate had 659,001 experience and 65,900 biomass in the bank. Looking at the cost of the upgrades, each threshold required significantly more experience and biomass. He was reluctant to spend so much so quickly, but he knew having a management system would be essential. Looking through the various levels, he thought that level 40 was the best mix of price and utility. If the city had a physical avatar, he could leave the token in the vault and then the city could help out more people than just himself. With a thought, he spent 381,500 experience and 38,150 biomass on the level 40 improvement. The amount was staggering. Thankfully Lucidus had provided a bounty of experience and biomass, but as it stood, he would only be able to buy one more improvement of that size before he was broke.
In a matter of moments, a flash of light coalesced into a male elf wearing long ash-colored robes. He looked practically ancient with long ragged silver hair and a deeply wrinkled face, but he carried himself with a tall and straight back. When he appeared, Lucelynia had looked frightened, and Shale had immediately shifted into battle mode, wings spread and hissing menacingly.
“Woah, Woah!” Slate yelled, trying to calm both of them down. The two women looked at him in askance. “Bastion?” Slate asked.
The man bowed and said in a rasping voice. “Yes, my Lord.” Shale wrapped her wings around her once more and returned to her throne, throwing an irritated glance in Slate’s direction and he quickly sent a silent apology through the Scourgemind.
“Lucelynia,” he said, “This is Bastion, he’s an avatar of the city. He should be able to advise us on the best use of or resources to build up the city.” Lucelynia studied the elderly man and frowned.
“As you say, Lord Scion.” She didn’t sound totally convinced. Slate sighed. He wasn’t wowed by the system so far either. He actually kind of missed the cute voice from Lighthaven. He supposed that Bastion was a larger and more developed city and thus its avatar should reflect that. He decided to test Bastion’s effectiveness
“Bastion, I need to build a sacrificial platform to Lucidus and the city, what would you suggest?” The elderly man closed his eyes for a long moment, and Slate began to grow uncomfortable as the awkward silence grew. Both Lucelynia and Shale were looking at him as if he were an idiot for selecting this particular improvement. Just before Slate was about to address Bastion again, thereby ruining the regal and stoic image he was attempting to project, he opened his eyes.
“After running the various permutations a few thousand times, it’s my suggestion that you create a central square, ahem circle, in the city equidistant between the border of the inner city and outer city.” He said serenely.
Both of the women looked at the elderly man with suspicion. Even Slate had to admit that Bastion didn’t look impressive enough to run anything—much less a thousand permutations. He also didn’t answer Slate’s question. Slate awkwardly coughed. “So what should I select?” He asked, trying to get the man to actually answer the question. “
“Oh,” Bastion said, blinking like an owl. “That’s easy, build a level 30 square where I described and level 30 sacrificial altar. It will create a large statue of Lord Lucidus, which will help inspire the citizens in the city. Its relative distance to the rest of the city means that when sacrifices are to be made, a spectacle can be put on to increase their effectiveness. Additionally, citizens can make private offerings of food or money to earn blessings from Lucidus and enrich the city at the same time.”
The other three people in the room looked at Bastion dumbly. The avatar glanced around the room, oblivious to the environment around him. He looked back suddenly at Slate and pinned him down with his eyes. Slate involuntary drew back in his seat, confused by the unpredictable avatar. “Would you like me to do it for you, Lord?” He asked and then began to cackle maniacally to himself.
Slate could feel the women’s eyes return to him. He refused to acknowledge their looks. “Yes, Bastion see that it’s done.”
Slate rechecked the city status and noticed that he had nearly lost all of his savings. The cost of the buildings had been 241,000 experience and 24,100 biomass. He sighed. This world didn’t make it easy on him.
“Well,” he began. “I guess that’s all we can improve for now.” He glanced between Lucelyania and Bastion. “Bastion, Lucelynia is the Governor of Bastion, anything she says is the same as it would’ve come from me, and she has authority to make upgrades on my behalf. Please work closely with her so that we can develop the Scourge further.”
Lucelynia looked distinctly uncomfortable at the prospect as Bastion stared at her with icy blue eyes and gave her a madcap smile. “Uh—yes, milord.” Satisfied that one thing had been accomplished today, Slate smiled and waved a hand. “Alright, you two are dismissed. Lucelynia see that you find a room in the citadel so that you’re close at hand.” He said happily. Bastion disappeared in a flash of brilliant light, and Lucelynia studied his previous position critically before addressing Slate. “I will, milord.” She said simply.
Slate could detect the sadness in her voice. He supposed that having her move into the citadel permanently would make her come to terms with the fact that Merus wouldn’t be joining her there. It was one thing to find a makeshift bed in the corner of the city. That was temporary and felt like an aberration in time. However, picking her own permanent quarters would quickly make her realize that Merus’s loss was permanent and her life had forever changed.
∆∆∆
The day passed swiftly, and Slate took the time to wander the
city and get a feel for how the citizens felt in the wake of their new circumstances. Shale chose to remain behind and guard the clutch, still hyper-alert after the previous attack. Slate couldn’t blame her. The guardians weren’t at their peak yet, and the two Scourge leaders remained the most dangerous things in the city.
He was pleasantly surprised at how quickly the city had moved on. Merchants tried to hawk their wares, children ran amok in the streets, and women hung out their clothes to dry from clotheslines strung above marble balconies. He was greeted by nervous citizens everywhere he went, they didn’t come close enough to speak to him, but they all noticed the sunlight on his golden scales making him appear as a demi-god amongst mortals. He was terribly magnificent with the grace of a predator and the regal bearing of a king. To them, he wasn’t a comforting presence in the traditional way. He didn’t imbue them with a sense of warmth and devotion to him. No, he made them feel safe in a way they hadn’t before. He was the cleansing fire that would burn away the shadows and sickness in this world, and they could feel that implicitly in their hearts.
By nighttime, he had returned to the citadel and watched from a parapet on his new city. Torches lit the town like the light of a thousand stars, and Slate breathed in deeply from the chilly night air. Winter would come soon, he knew. If he were lucky, the snow would slow down any Vallyrian armies that may be coming this way. In just a couple days the first clutch would hatch, and he would have the beginnings of an actual army. After that, he would begin his conquest of the Vallyr, and then he would take over this world. He had no choice. It was an evolve or die kind of world, and he simply refused to die.
Epilogue: A War Foretold
Mors dal Ventrix, Patriarch of the Vallyrian Collective, was jarred from his meditations suddenly. He frowned. He had felt this sensation before. He rose from his iron throne and strode out of his throne room. The slaves on either side flinched away from his passage, fearing he would choose them for his next sacrificial victim. He sneered at their weakness and aimed a kick at a man towards the end. He felt the satisfying crunch of the elf's teeth as they shattered against his armored sabatons.
He ascended the main staircase in his castle to the topmost level. Here, the worst rituals were conceived and conducted in the permanent darkness that shrouded the castle of Soulreach. As he entered the main ritual chamber, he found his high priest on the ground praying to their deity, Nocturnus. At his violent entry, the priest stumbled to his feet. After witnessing who entered, he smiled with crooked, yellow teeth.
He had been a priest of Nocturnus longer than Mors had been alive and was one of the oldest beings in the Collective outside of Mordryn himself.
"Priest," the Patriarch spat, "summon your cabal. Mordryn has gotten himself killed, and I have dire need of his information." Mors knew that the longer Mordryn was in the Between, the worse his mental state would be when he exited. The assassin had been around for a long time, and his last stint in the place between life and afterlife had severely unhinged him. Nocturnus taught that there was a price to the power that he granted them.
The priest made a startled expression before his eyes rolled into the back in his head. A multi-toned and sibilant voice issued from his mouth just below Mors' ability to understand. After a few moments of communing with the rest of his cabal, he returned his gaze on Mors, his blood-red gaze conveying a sense of incredulity. "How did he die, Patriarch?"
Mors decided how much to tell the priest. He was the head of the Cult of the Leech and wielded considerable authority in the Collective only second to Mors himself. Being too forthcoming could lead to his downfall. However, news of this import couldn't be hidden for long. If Mors' worst fears came to pass, the rest of the Collective would soon find out that he had fallen. He was a public figure and a blade that Mors wielded to great effect against his enemies. His potential loss would be a massive blow to Mors' reputation.
"I sent him to investigate the death of the highlord in Wayward." He said softly. The priest's expression changed to one of derision before a smooth mask replaced it. "The death of the highlord of Wayward?" He repeated, curiously. "That position is often assassinated. You put people there for a good reason." He said soothingly.
Mors gave the priest a scathing look of his own. "Is that so, priest? Do you think I wouldn't be able to feel the difference in the Between? The throne imbues me with power that makes your own seem like petty parlor tricks in comparison." His voice was cold and filled with all of the malice of a striking snake. As he spoke, a violet glow lit his eyes from within.
The high priest abruptly felt the cold eyes of death, observing what would happen next. He bowed his head. He would bide his time for now. "I sincerely apologize, Patriarch. I didn't mean to imply that your powers weren't enough to distinguish between temporary and permanent death." Mors let the man grovel for a bit longer before saying, "rise, priest. Let us forget this disagreement between us."
The acceptance of his apology was just as artificial as the apology itself. They both knew it, but politics demanded that the game of influence be played. Mors had won this round, but that didn't guarantee he would win the next. When creatures messages their lifespans in centuries rather than decades, the intricacies of influence and politics could grow as complicated as the individuals that played with them.
They waited in hostile silence until the door opened and black-robed priests drug in a thrashing Saxian. The Sax were a race of bipedal mix of stone and man. They were nomadic peoples that subsisted off of mining and trading. They consumed different types of stone for sustenance, and as they ate it, their body would change to resemble the stones. They were valued as bodyguards for the rich and powerful because of their massive strength and tireless endurance. They couldn't use a single iota of magic, but that was acceptable because their flesh was almost immune to all but the most potent of magic.
The Saxian bellowed and tried to escape the priests' grasp, but Vallyrians were much stronger than their frail appearance would suggest. They drug him towards a central plinth, and the high priest took out a sacrificial dagger similar to Mors' own. Swiftly and violently, the priest plunged the knife into one of the two hearts that the Saxian possessed as the other priests held him down. The Saxian screamed as lilac-colored light emitted from the dagger.
The priests let go of their victim and took up ritualistic positions around the chamber. There were a total of nine of them, a holy number according to Nocturnus, and they began to chant simultaneously. The same inaudible words began to rise in cadence and pitch as the feverishly tried to channel the power of the Lord of Night.
As one, they opened their eyes as the spell reached its crescendo. Mere moments later, they stopped chanting as one, and they watch the Saxian in anticipation. The seconds stretched into minutes, and they began to grow nervous. This ritual had never failed them so utterly. Once the high priest was absolutely sure, there was no change to their victim, he looked up at Mors whose face had grown pale in fear.
"Patriarch, where did you send Mordryn?" He asked again. Mors didn't look up and merely stared at the Saxian for some sign that the assassin had returned. He replied to the high priest in a soft tone. "the Wyldwood."
"The Wyldwood?" The high priest thundered, not understanding. A second later, the significance of the words hit him, and his eyes widened.
Mors looked up and met the high priest's gaze. "Lucidus is back."
Adapt: The Scourge Wars Book 2
Winter has descended while Slate and Shale have become the undisputed rulers of the Scourge. The first clutch has hatched and their forces have been reivigorated for a conflict with the rest of the world. Unfortunately, their entry into the realm of Somnium hasn’t come without its costs.
Far to the east, the Lord of Light’s mortal enemy, the Vallyr, have learned of their budding settlement. In an effort to wipe them out once and for all, Mors dal Ventrix, Patriarch of the Vallyrian Collective has summoned his army and sent them west.
While the Scourge lead
ership is on the war path, things aren’t so easy in their capitol city of Bastion. A group of fundamentalist zealots make their play for power, the Cult of the Leech saboteurs plague the city, and the Scourge must struggle to recruit enough warriors to fend off the much larger Vallyrian forces. In book two of the Scourge Wars, Slate must accomplish one thing: adapt or die.
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