by Tao Wong
“Okay.” I raise my hand, tapping the air.
Rodolfo shrugs and pulls another bottle from his storage before sipping on it.
A moment later, I sigh. “Damn. Portal’s not opening.”
“Can’t Portal out from here. Or in. You should know better,” Rodolfo says with a sniff. “I’d bounce you out, but I’m about to be fired and I’m not feeling particularly charitable.”
I shake my head. “I’m not firing you over saying no to me. I just wanted to make sure you were the kind of person who deserved to know that kind of information.”
“And you thought threatening was a good way of doing that?” Rodolfo snorts, a look of pity on his face as he turns on his heels and walks off.
“Hey, about the port…,” I call to the dungeon keeper.
“Walk!”
I guess I deserve that. Still, as I turn toward the exit and run, I chuckle. Looks like Lana and Katherine did a good job with Rodolfo. Even if he’s a touch obstinate.
As I run, I clear up the less important notifications I’ve received.
Congratulations! You have reached Level 16 as an Erethran Paladin
Attributes automatically allocated. You have 39 additional free attributes and 5 Class Skill points to assign.
I’m a little surprised to see how fast I Leveled. With a mental command, the experience notification messages are pulled up and I scan through them. Let’s see—a bonus for being the first to clear the Level 70 zone. Bonus experience for doing it alone. A long list of things which I’ve killed, including the zone boss. All those notifications I skip over. And of course, the bonus experience from fighting with the champions and clearing the dungeon, including the first clear bonus there. Oh, and I’ve been steadily accumulating a small amount of experience every day for actually doing my job as a settlement owner. It’s discounted since I don’t have the Classes for it, but since it’s based off total population, it’s still a significant boost.
Huh.
The experience gain from being a settlement owner is a bit of a realization. While I’m sure I used to get it, with the lower population, settlement level, and my lack of involvement, it has been seriously discounted. Still, the experience is evil. But also sensible, since otherwise royalty, which is never allowed to get too down and dirty in dungeons, would never be able to Level up.
After a brief consideration, I decide that with five free Class Skill points, I’ll be able to get a point in everything if I desire, so I dump another point into Penetration. Always good to hit a little harder.
Chapter 8
Whitehorse. Such a small city—Town now—in the middle of nowhere. Even before all this, it didn’t even have thirty thousand people in it. These days, between those we saved and the new immigrants, it’s nearly back to its former peak. Even if the vast majority aren’t humans. Truinnar in formal tunic-and-pants suits whose color reflects their dark skin, Yerrick with their horns and fur, the Kapre towering over everyone, nude but for their bark-like skin, cyborg-like creatures, and monsters straight out of fantasy books all mix on the rune-covered streets, Mana lights providing illumination on this cloud-covered night. Everyone and everything’s armed, moving in small groups as they get ready for another day of adventuring.
Walking down Main Street, I look at the towering silver building which looks so out of place among the historic, frontier town architecture of Whitehorse’s Main Street. Adventurers stream in and out of the tower, heading upstairs to the Shop, checking on newly designated Quests, and complaining to the various administrative personnel. I ignore them all, slipping past the groups to head toward the back of the building, once again noting how weirdly distorted space is here. Ceilings too high, corridors too wide, and the building somehow longer and wider than its outside appearance would indicate.
At the bank, the single elevator slides open to allow Ali and myself to step within. It moves smoothly, the acceleration barely perceptible as it takes us to my appointment. I grunt, feet tapping as I adjust the hem of my jacket.
“Chill, boy-o. It’s just a date,” Ali says with a grin.
“It’s a meeting. Not a date,” I growl softly, and the olive-skinned Spirit chuckles.
“Wasn’t talking about you. Figured I’d chat with Roxley’s AI, see if she’s up to anything…” Ali waggles his eyebrows.
“You know, I’ve always wondered. She’s an AI, you’re a Spirit. I mean, how do you guys…”
“Bang?”
“Talk.”
“With great care.”
Before I can press Ali for a real answer, the doors slide open. The room within is all too familiar, the long metallic table and pair of chairs, the plates and dishes set for the first, cold course. In the corner, Roxley’s personal chef hovers, its spherical body ready to roll—and roll out—the next course.
“Damn him,” I mutter to myself.
“For feeding you?” Roxley says in reply while walking out from his office. The dark elf smiles at me, gesturing to the table. “I recall you enjoyed dinners here before. I would be remiss if I didn’t feed a guest.”
I stare at the Truinnar, his wide shoulders and trim waist set off by the black-and-silver tunic in his house colors, the well-cut pair of pants outlining every inch of his muscular legs. The smile that is always on his lips but sometimes relaxes a little when Roxley actually finds something funny for real. The now-electric blue-hair contrasts with his white eyebrows where a piercing gaze interrogates me and my body. As I stare at the Truinnar, Ali elbows me in the side to get my attention.
Immediately after, the Spirit steps forward and bows slightly. “I shall take my leave then?”
Even as he does so, I see a new notification.
Mental Influence Resisted
Now get your act together, boy-o
“Dinner is fine. I’m sure it’s lovely as always.” I nod to Roxley’s chef, taking a seat while Roxley sits across me in his own, and I bury my irritation. I do need to eat, the food is good, and I know the man well enough to know that this is part payment for what I’ll ask of him. “But I do want to know what you so urgently needed to speak to me about.”
“Of course. But first, a toast.” Roxley raises the wine glass, a pale yellow drink with flakes of squirming dark matter within. “To your Master Class.”
“Thanks.” I sip on the drink. It’s sweet and fruity and smooth and the next thing I know, it’s gone. Too fast for me to remember to have scanned it, which is a damn shame.
“Jumma summer wine. Summers last nine years, but the only time the vegetation can fruit is within the first and last month,” Roxley says.
“Thank you,” I say. “And congratulations on your new title. Count now, is it?”
“Yes.” Roxley stares at me, presumably looking for the anger or resentment I showed so many years ago. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, more time to consider what he did. And while I still don’t agree, I no longer hold a grudge against him for his choices. Perhaps he sees that, for his lips relax, his smile growing more natural. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did—Roxley has always been more perceptive than I am. “We’ve managed to stabilize many of the dungeons around the city and the territory. Our results have made the Duchess extremely happy. Now, we should eat before the food grows too cold.”
I take Roxley’s diversion with grace, digging in. I recall that the Truinnar hate speaking about business at the dinner table. Even the little he’s done shows that Roxley’s gone native a bit, adapting to our customs slightly. Dinner, as always, is a gourmet’s wet dream. While the vast majority of food served is nothing that I recognize, years under the System has acclimatized most people to not asking where and what kind of beast their latest meal is coming from. At least, not if they don’t have an iron stomach. Armed with that knowledge, it’s a lot easier to just enjoy the wide range of tastes that dance across one’s tongue.
We avoid sensitive topics, catching up on how things have gone for many of my acquaintances, the Town as a whole, and some of my rem
aining business interests as well. Of note, the local brewing company has expanded again, taking up nearly an entire block as it attempts to meet Galactic demand. In addition, Dawson opened up a year ago, the city retaken by a trio of ambitious adventuring teams. Now, the Guild the teams are a part of have their headquarters in the newly reclaimed city and are raking in Credits as their members tackle the high-Level zones all around the newly rebuilt Town. If there’s one sour note, it’s that there’s not a single living human in that town from before. It is very much a Galactic settlement. Way I hear it, even Ingrid hasn’t visited.
Time passes swiftly and I find myself laughing and relaxing, the conversation flowing as easily as the drink. It’s only after dinner, after we’ve made our way to Roxley’s study, that the tone and air of the meeting changes. Sitting across from each other in plush chairs that conform to our bodies, we stare across the intervening space, unwilling to break the moment of camaraderie. But business must be spoken and so I push ahead.
“You wanted to speak with me.” I say.
“Yes. Your new Class complicates matters,” Roxley says as he leans back. “But you’ve never not complicated your life, have you, John?”
“Don’t know about that,” I say with a shrug. “Just did what I wanted. But why’s it a problem?”
“You understand what your Class entails? What it means for the Erethrans?” Before I can answer, he continues. “You are the only active Paladin in the entire Empire. You stand outside of all command structures, reporting only to their ruler.”
Huh. I guess he doesn’t actually know the details of my Class. I do note how Roxley says “active,” but I keep my own face smooth.
“You may, by tradition and right of arms, judge and execute any and all in their Empire with the exception of the queen. You are, furthermore, considered a representative of their beliefs and their will.”
“I know,” I say. “And…?”
“And you are human. With no political or social backing. Your authority carries only the weight of tradition behind it and what you, yourself, are able to bring to bear. You have authority but no power,” Roxley says and leans forward. “And as such, you are a pawn. One that many will eye in hope of using against the Erethrans.”
“They may try. But if this is what you wanted to speak of, you could have saved your breath. I knew what I was getting into.”
“Interesting.” Roxley leans back, steepling his fingers. He peers at me over the aqua-colored nails. “I was lead to believe you were not given much time to consider your Class Quest and its implications.”
“I wasn’t,” I say. No use hiding what is common knowledge. None of what happened to me is hard to ascertain.
“Then tell me, John, what do you intend to do?”
“The usual,” I say, smiling slightly. “Whatever needs to be done. Which, at this point, is getting Earth its Galactic seat.”
Roxley lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “Still focused on your impossible quests, are you John? And so, my invitation was accepted.”
“Yes. You understand Galactic politics better than I do, and probably have a much clearer idea of how all of it is affecting Earth. From what Kim’s analyzed, about six percent of the unclaimed City Cores will be very difficult to claim on a permanent basis in the short term. For the remainder, it will take no longer than four months for them to be claimed. If I’m not reading that wrong, we’re going to run out of areas to contest very, very soon. We either need to make enough friends, fast, or we’re going to have to start kicking ass.”
“Which would be foolish,” Roxley says sternly.
“Because we can’t win a long-term fight?” I nod. “No. We can’t. Four years ago, we might have been able to bulrush the powers out. Hit them hard enough and fast enough and take over enough City Cores that we could use the rights and planetary powers to mitigate their retaliation. Now, there are too many Master Class fighters on this world to make it viable even if we wanted to try it.
“At least not alone.”
Roxley stares at me and shakes his head. “I cannot commit my Duchess to such an action. Not without her prior approval. Not even for you.”
“But you can advise me on the political environment, can’t you?”
“I can.” Roxley waves and a screen appears, hovering between the two of us. It’s a simple pie chart next to the map of the world. I frown at the map then realize why it’s bothering me—it’s not the usual one we see but a different one that rebalances the landmasses to their actual sizes. The Peter’s map. And yeah, it’s my higher Intelligence supplying stupid facts dredged up from a West Wing episode. “This is how I would break the votes you seek up.”
41.2% Human-Controlled Settlement Votes
8.8% Galactic Edge
17.6% Irvina
8.6% The Fist
2.14% Artisans
14.7% Miscellaneous powers
6.96% Unclaimed Settlement Areas
“Huh,” I say and stare at the more detailed breakdown of the “miscellaneous powers.”
“The Galactic Council is made up of four main and two smaller factions. Now, while what I speak of is in generalities, it is wise to remember that these are generalities. Not all races and individuals will ‘fit’ within these categories. Still, it’s a useful shorthand.” When I nod, Roxley continues. “The first major faction is the Galactic Edge—a group dedicated to expansion in System-registered planets for additional resources. You’ll find many of the more recent additions to the System part of this faction, including races like mine. The Galactic Edge is the third largest faction in terms of seats on the Council.
“The Irvina—named after the main solar system and planet from which the Council operates from—is the largest faction by number of seats. They consist of a limited number of races, however, as they consist of races introduced to the System the longest. They include the Movana, a few active dragons, and your dwarves. Obviously, their close allies are all included in the displayed number.”
I frown at his words, trying to recall the image of the Galactic System. “But don’t the Truinnar have as much space as the Movana?”
“Space, yes. But like your world, we face the issue of votes on many of our planets. We either have not covered sufficient landmass, in many cases, or are forced to deal with interlopers or split votes. My people are not very altruistic, and as such, politics can be dangerous on our home planets,” Roxley says.
“Right. So geographic space and number of worlds aren’t the same as number of seats,” I say softly.
As the Movana are older, they have more seats because they’ve managed to concentrate power without giving up their settlements. It makes sense then that the older races manage to get away with it too—even if older planets become uninhabitable due to the flood of Mana, they have the existing resources to flood a new city with people and Credits and establish their dominance. And it’s not as if the all-out fights happen as much on non-Dungeon-World-designated planets.
“The third faction has a long, cumbersome name which will not translate well. Most know them as the Fist. They are made up of individuals and particularly warlike species and kingdoms, like the Hakarta and your Erethran Empire. Their goal is to push for further exploration into the Restricted Zone near the Mana Spring, designate more Dungeon Worlds, and increase support for combat Classers in general,” Roxley says.
“Were they the ones pushing for our conversion?” I ask softly, my eyes narrowing in anger.
“Yes. As were the Irvina,” Roxley says. “You must understand, each new Dungeon World relieves the level of Mana buildup in every other world, slowing down the process.”
“I know. So why don’t you just open a dozen more?” Having been stuck on a Restricted Planet for the last four years, I can understand why they’d prefer to slow down Mana buildup. Dealing with the ever-increasing monster hordes at ever-increasing Levels is an impossible task for a society. It’s one thing when your average monster is Level 20 and incre
ases to Level 30. It’s another when same increase is to 130.
“System limitations and politics,” Roxley says. “Like most things, opening a Dungeon World requires a significant amount of resources and also specific circumstances. It’s only possible to designate a Dungeon World when a planet is first introduced to the System. The world should also be pre-inhabited, preferably by a sentient species, to handle the increased Mana load which will be directed to the planet. Failed integration will result not only in the loss of the world to the System but also a loss of all the resources dedicated to its creation.
“And, of course, the entire Council must contribute to its establishment. As the greatest benefits of the Dungeon World are seen by those closest to it, it can be politically difficult to justify such an expenditure, even if it is best for all parties.”
I grunt, making a mental note. Those two factions are on my shit list.
“The last major faction is the Artisans. They’re the second largest, with numbers close to the Irvina, though their individual power is somewhat limited by their lack of Combat Class Masters and higher. The Artisans do receive significant support from various corporations, so it would be foolish to underestimate their strength,” Roxley warns me. “As for the two minor factions, the Technocrats seek to explore the limits of pre-System technology—your ‘normal’ physics and chemistry—within and outside the bounds of the System. They’re a small group but have a pair of members on the Inner Council, giving them a greater level of prestige than they would have otherwise. And lastly, the Systemers are not an official faction, but their religious belief in the System is widespread among the Galactic System.”
I nod slightly. The Technocrats are a known group for me—many of the writers I read in my continuous quest for knowledge about the System come from the group. It seems the Venn diagram of Technocrats and Questors has significant overlap. They’re also known to be one of the few groups who would voluntarily leave the radius of the System, venturing into the deep unknown to explore, learn about non-System technology from before the System took over, and test older technology. Overall, they’re considered kooks of the highest order—but dangerous and useful kooks.