by Tao Wong
“Well enough. No one has died, but they’re a bit slow,” I say.
Four months in, and they’re all only two monsters in at most. There have been some close calls, especially when Magine decided to charge in and be an idiot to showcase how tough he is. On the other hand, his example drew the team even closer together as they seriously got into sharing information. The fact that he lost half of his team members in that attack just to save his ass had been sobering.
“And when do you expect that I will receive my new Paladins?”
“That, I believe, is up to them. But at this rate, probably another six months.” I meet her disapproving gaze, knowing she wanted them out faster. Especially since my life has been put in danger recently and even the initiates have had a few close calls.
The assassins going after the initiates were less worrisome, mostly because they were lower Level. Those few who did try were often in for a rude awakening as Rob’s many, many safeguards against random assassinations had been extended to the initiates. After Earth’s own experience, there’d been a significant investment—completely out of proportion to our GDP—in anti-assassin measures.
Harry and Saimon have struggled to find additional information on our attackers. Even with the System, there’s a certain level of expense required to cut through things. You can’t just ask the System “give me the attacker’s employers.” You have to know the right questions to ask, which could mean multiple questions, each costing Credits.
Worse, my Society’s Web can only connect direct relationships when I’m watching the person. When you’ve got suspects who are highly connected, just because of their roles or their places in society, finding the correct thread to pull upon is difficult. Even if we managed to capture the attackers, the threads often led to dead drops, cut-outs who had no clue why they were doing what they were doing, and other System subterfuge.
Could I find the people behind all of our attacks? Probably. Given enough time, given enough motivation, I could track each thread, each individual. Override the Credit requirements, pay it all out from our budget. Problem is, we don’t have time. And so while the investigators are hard at work, I’ve kept Leveling.
“Very well.” The Queen stares at me, then frowns. “Only a single Skill Level? Is that sufficient?”
I grimace, wondering how she knew. And what else she can see. But then, I flash her a smile. “That depends on what you think I need it for.”
“I might have given the impression of being a kind and forgiving ruler, but I would not test my patience, Paladin.” The Queen leans forward, fixing me with a glare. Portions of her aura leak out, making Harry and the reporters stagger, and even Mikito winces.
“Stop talking back at the angry woman,” Harry sends over the party chat.
I straighten a little, push against her aura, and feel it ripple backward. “It’s not enough. Not for what we need. If you want me to shackle the other competitors, I’m going to need more. I need access to the Crown’s Purse to increase this Skill. It seems my budget is still blocked.” I look to the side, fixing on Saimon, who just shrugs.
The Queen doesn’t even blink when I think the middle sentence rather than say it. Instead, she gestures, and Saimon steps forward. He focuses on me, and a second later, an access window blooms. Surprisingly, it’s a direct access to the Shop. I take a deep breath, place my hands by my sides and clench them, and purchase the Shackles of Eternity Skill twice more. That should be enough. Especially considering how much I expect the basic use will cost in terms of Mana. When I’m done, as information stops flowing into my brain, as the Skill finishes its download, a light sweat has broken out. I look at the Queen and give her a single nod.
“Then let us finish this. Bring them,” she says.
The words create a ripple through the courtiers as they stir with excitement. Gratitude that they’ve been allowed to see something so momentous. As I get ready to do what I was brought all the way here for, I can’t help but smile grimly.
Time to make a choice.
***
I’m not surprised that they managed to find Brerdain and Julierudi. They both have quite public jobs. The same can be said for the half dozen other, minor contenders who are led out. At one point or another, I’ve met with them all, spoken with them, pressed the flesh and been left with an impression. None of those impressions have been particularly vivid though. There’s a reason they’re considered minor contenders.
I’m surprised to see Spuryan here, as well as some other, less reputable individuals. Some are known for their opposition to the government or to specific policies of the government. Others are crime lords, semi-independent Guild leaders or corporate Managers, individuals who exist on the gray edges of Erethran society and law.
Guess the Queen has decided that everyone and anyone needs the Shackles. Which, come to think about it, makes sense.
“Huh. She’s got all seven of the Polygon here,” Bolo comments on the party chat.
I blink, surprised. Not about the Polygon, which is the Erethran equivalent of the most powerful crime lords, but that Bolo knows what they look like. I eye the Dragon Lord again and he flashes me a smile. His time in the kingdom has, obviously, been a little more interesting than mine. I guess, for a Dragon Lord who hung around Spaks for decades, I shouldn’t expect him to be an upstanding citizen. I do wonder what he’s been up to when he isn’t saving my ass though.
At the tail end of the group comes Ayuri and her team, backed up by another dozen or so Honor Guards. I quickly note that no other military personnel are here. At least, no army personnel, no space navy. Just Honor Guards. Those directly sworn to the Empress.
“Defcon 1, children,” I send over the party chat.
There’s no external reaction among my friends, but I know they’ve gone further on alert.
“Thank you, all of you, for coming.” The low-level murmuring by those brought in silences as the Queen’s words echo through the room. It’s like a teacher smacking a ruler on a table among a group of unruly children. “We’re here today to see an end to certain… irregularities… in activities. And to set aside, once and for all, the question of who shall rule after me.”
There are a few gasps, but mostly, the group takes her pronouncement with equanimity. Brerdain is looking confident, and there’s not a shift or twitch in his threads. If anything, the number of threads flowing to him increases, deepens in connections as loyalties shift or harden.
Julierudi sniffs, covering her face for a second, then blows her nose with a handkerchief she makes appear. She sets her hand down a moment later, but I see the change, the way some threads fray away and others deepen in color. My stomach clenches as information continues to flow.
Spuryan looks vaguely hopeful, which is a bit confusing. His threads don’t change at all. He doesn’t even seem particularly surprised. Though I’m surprised to see some of the connections he has in the room. Especially among the Polygon.
“Paladin. Are you ready to take on this task?” the Queen’s voice rings out, interrupting my musings.
I step forward and open my mouth to speak, only to find it dry. I clear my throat a little, then speak up. “Yes. I’ll make the choice of the one most suitable to rule the Empire.”
The moment I finish speaking, I receive a surprise notification.
Empire Quest: Erethran Empire (M)
Designate an individual to become the Presumptive Emperor of Erethra
Reward: +4,353,593 XP
“If they’d told me I’d get that Quest, I wouldn’t have bitched as much,” I send to Ali.
“You know, they can still hear you.”
“Oh, I know.”
The Queen waves, encompassing the throne room and all those within, the moment I take the Quest. “Very well, Paladin. I believe the field is yours.”
I turn on the balls of my feet, staring at the group, and find myself meeting the gazes of a group of apprehensive faces. A part of me hates what I’m going to do. This
Skill is wrong. Evil in a way. But I weigh my choices. Leave them to fight it out? Allow an entire Empire to fall because I’m scared to get my hands a little dirty?
Perhaps someone else might choose otherwise, someone with stronger morals. But I lived through an apocalypse. And doing what needs to be done is something I learnt a long time ago.
I grin at the group, hiding my doubts with joyful sadism and a trace of rage. “Don’t worry, boys and girls, no one has to die today.”
***
The Honor Guards help me line them up by order of status. Amusingly, this means they start out with people who have the lowest levels, but not potentially the least amount of political or financial strength. Sometimes, Levels matter. Especially when the insane little human monkey is about to test his new Skill on you.
My first victim is sweating bullets, licking his lips continuously as he’s brought to me. A quick check of his Status gives me his name.
Adirter Fullaway, Scion of the West, Profligate Creditor, Slayer of Goblins (Level 32 Industrialist Heir) (A)
HP: 470/470
MP: 1730/1730
Conditions: System Tip, Industrial Efficiency, Mana Drip
I grin and slap my hand down on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”
“Really?” There’s a flash of relief on his face, and I feel his shoulders relax.
“Definitely. It’s going to hurt a lot.”
When he’s busy trying to back off, to escape from my grip, I tighten it and trigger my Skill.
Shackles of Eternity is weird to use, mentally. First is the usual plethora of Mana formulae that form and flash away, bundles of data that the System uses in a preprogramed fashion that allow me to cast at a fraction of the time I’d need normally.
Then comes the movable parts of the Skill. I have to adjust the portions, the parts of the Shackles I lay on him. I could do this in silence, leaving the poor bastard to wonder, to figure out the Shackles himself, but that doesn’t serve our purpose today.
Also, that increases my Mana cost significantly.
“Adirter Fullaway, I, as a Paladin of Erethra, now Shackle you. From this day to eternity and a day, so long as the System holds, so long as the Mana flows. You will bear faithful allegiance, provide unconditional loyalty, and sincerely serve, in all manners and form, the Empress and the Empress Apparent of Erethra.”
A ritual circle blooms around my feet and my victim’s as I speak. Mana is drawn from the environment, converging on the circle, helping to power it. The Mana flow grows so dense within the circle that wisps of power can be seen by the unaided eye. More Mana—from the System, from my body—floods out, joining and taking hold of the ambient Mana, even as the Skill formula flows around the ritual circle. More and more glyphs of the unknowable, unspeakable System controls appear.
At first, my victim looks puzzled. There is no pain, no effect. He stops struggling, which is a mistake. Not that it’d help. A moment later, chains erupt from the circle. They pierce his body, digging into his flesh. The black chains are covered with spikes at irregular intervals, and they slide through his twitching body, tearing through flesh and muscle, wrapping around his bones. His health drops, but not by much, for these chains are more immaterial than they are physical.
No, the damage it’s doing, that will come later, if he breaks the Shackles. If he defies the warning. That’s when he’ll suffer. For now though, it’s only the pain of the attack he feels.
More and more Mana flows as I pour it in, waiting for when the System deems it sufficient. My eyes widen, realizing that I’m fast reaching the bottom of my Mana pool, and I grit my teeth. We hit the three thousand Mana region and keep climbing, no end in sight. When I finally hit four thousand spent Mana, only then does it finally peter off.
When we’re done, the ritual circle disappears and I release my grip. Adriter staggers away, his clothes bloody and torn, his flesh unmarked. His eyes are wide—he’s fearful of me—and his aides come rushing over, dragging him away before he can say or do something foolish.
I’m ignoring him as I wait for my Mana to regenerate. That took a lot more Mana than I expected. And he’s a low Advanced Level. I expect I’ll pay even more for those with higher Levels. Thankfully, due to the speed of my Mana Regeneration and how slow the actual ritual is—comparatively speaking—I can handle it for the moment. Later on… well. We’ll work it out then.
“I told you he was never a real contender,” Brerdain says to Julierudi. Almost crowing about it.
“Nor are you,” Julierudi says, tilting her head downward to meet the portly man’s eyes.
“Har. We’ll find out very soon.” He turns to me, raises an eyebrow. “Unless you want to inform us now.”
I ignore the byplay, instead conferring with the Honor Guards. A short time later, more guards appear, forming a circle around me.
“Did you not have enough guards already?” Julierudi says. “Are you that afraid of us?”
I snort. “Neither. These are channelers. They’re going to feed me Mana during the ritual. Unfortunately, I’m just not cut out for this.”
My answer settles them because they both can tell how far my Mana dropped. Seeing that requires a cheap Skill and I’m not trying to use my ring to hide the drop.
We stand in silence while my Mana recovers, the crowd slowly relaxing as time ticks on. The Queen, high above, gets back to running the Empire. Talking with her retinue. Holding vid conferences for those she needs to speak with. None of us can hear a damn thing.
Time crawls as, one by one, I drag the courtiers before me and place the Shackles on them all. Some try to leave, try to bargain their way out. They fail. No one tries to fight—not with the Champion, the Queen, and myself right here.
One after another, the Shackles are laid on all the courtiers present. Most don’t look happy about it, about the “honor” of being allowed to watch anymore. I don’t care. I keep at it. A day passes, as we take breaks for my Mana to recuperate, for the pain in my head from using the same Skill and bottoming out my Mana again and again to fade.
I push through as the courtiers slowly get on with their lives. Answering limited calls. Making others. Running their businesses, their noble houses. Their armies and fleets and cults. And news of what is happening leaks out.
In time, the reporters are allowed to broadcast, the information going wide. There are social disturbances, a few hot-headed fools deciding it’s time to raise the banner of revolution or to try to force. But for the most part, it’s pretty quiet. After all, the point of dragging everyone here was to keep it contained.
Eventually, there’s no one else. No one but Spuryan, Julierudi, and Brerdain. The top three contenders. They look at one another, weighing the options. Trying to determine who I’ll take next.
“Spuryan,” I call.
The Prophet’s eyes widen then narrow. One of the guards moves to push him forward, but he starts walking before the hand can more than twitch.
I place a hand on his shoulder, calling up the Skill. There’s no argument, no discussion. I cast the Skill, and it slams through him. Once more, the guards channel Mana into me, flooding me with Mana over and over again. It’s a sweet agony, pushing my control to the brink.
When we’re done, Spuryan staggers back to his position, looking wan, but I still sense he’s somewhat satisfied. I note how Julierudi has her fingers pressed together in a birdlike shape, while Brerdain has his arm up by his ear. Both of them are staring at me as I breathe deeply and center myself. As I slowly enter a meditative trance to discard the pain.
When my eyes open, a second ring of Honor Guards have appeared. Chanelers, all of them. I watch as the pair of final contenders look between them and me. Waiting for my pronouncement. To see who has won.
“Ayuri.” A single word, a single request.
She appears behind the pair of new guards. Before they can move, she triggers her Skill, wrapping all of us in the Sphere of Gramus. Within her Skill, blocked off from
reality, only the channelers, the contenders, Mikito, Bolo, Ayuri, and I will know what is said.
And done.
Chapter 26
When we emerge, neither of the two contenders are happy. At least Julierudi is on her feet, while Brerdain is slumped over, held up by a pair of the Honor Guards. Our reappearance raises a bit of a ruckus, as some of the smaller contenders—individuals in power who’d backed Brerdain—try to make a fuss. Some quick use of the backs of hands and the butts of rifles quiets the group down.
“He’s alive,” I tell them all. “He just had a bad reaction to the Shackles.”
I don’t think most of them believe me, but I don’t really care. Some of the other audience members are shooting Julierudi inquisitive looks, as if they think she’d warn them. But she’s not meeting anyone’s eyes, her gaze fixed on the floor.
“Dornalor, bring her in.” I send a message to the pirate captain over the party chat.
We debated for hours beforehand on whether to have the team with him or if he should go alone. In the end, I just have to rely on him, on what he can do. Well, him and some friends.
Dornalor and the initiates come marching through the doors, pushing aside the individuals ahead of them. Making sure the way is clear. In the front is Kino, followed by Freif just behind. Freif’s main gun and the numerous floating duplicates float alongside him, on full display.
That creates a reaction among the Honor Guard, even if they were warned. They grow more alert, a few filtering down to stand just underneath the throne. I feel multiple Honor Guards slap Two are One on the Empress. She only looks up briefly before she turns back to conferring with her advisors.
Behind the pair comes Dornalor, walking beside a cloaked figure. And, right behind, are Anayton and Magine, bringing up the back of the troop. The initiates are wary, entirely on guard. Their presence is a surprise to many, and even Queen Karlelo is frowning when she realizes something and looks back down.