by Tao Wong
Lesser Forest Demon (Level 47)
HP: 987/987
MP: 302//321
Conditions: Enthralled, Lesser Burning Aura, Flame Skin
Even as I stare at the monster, I can see out of the corner of my eye the heatwaves rolling around and attempting to burn down my Soul Shield. I ignore them, getting a quick count of the incoming demons as I move forward, charging up my spell in one free hand.
“Go die, you inconvenient monkeys.” I raise my left hand, releasing the Enhanced Lightning Strike as the first monster reaches the ten-meter range. Lightning arcs outward, jumping from Lesser Demon to Lesser Demon as I extend a portion of my concentration and affinity to super-charge the Demons and the space between. I marvel at my ability to do so even as the spell flash-fries the creatures and my Mana drops like a rock.
“Duck!” Mikito shouts.
I duck low and flicker the vision options in my helmet. Nice little option, though I normally leave it shrunk. It’s incredibly distracting in a fight. In either case, I get to see the Greater Forest Demon being shoulder-tossed by a tiny Samurai into Ali, who gets bowled over. The Spirit, unused to being fully materialized, reacts too slowly, so he gets pancaked along with the thralls he had spell-shackled.
“Tell me you got that,” I say.
“Recorded,” Harry says as he tries to hold back his laughter.
I grin, turning my attention back to the twitching monsters. I disperse the last of the Enhanced Lightning Strike, and the creatures begin to recover until I throw my next spell—Ice Storm. As I guessed, the creatures are vulnerable to the cold spell, damage piling upon their smoking bodies. The lead trio collapse under the onslaught even as I pick off the rest of the horde with Blade Strikes and the occasional spell.
All the while, I hear the crunch and snick, the meaty thud of blade meeting flesh, and the roaring, panting growls of the Greater Forest Demon behind me. I focus on finishing my side as quickly as I can, knowing that if I leave these creatures alone, they’ll regenerate before I can finish dealing with them.
Long seconds pass, each second punctuated by the battle behind me. In my antiseptic, filtered helmet, I can only rely on the noise, the vibrations of the earth, and the occasional gust of wind to inform me of what is happening. A final Blade Strike cuts apart the last monster, and I spin around to aid my friend, layering another Soul Shield on myself to deal with the flaming aura.
Mikito is doing well, engaged in exactly the kind of battle she excels in. A single humanoid opponent, bigger and stronger than her but certainly not faster. Her polearm gives her the reach to deal with the creature’s attacks, and when it closes, her knowledge of close-combat martial arts lets her deal a series of blows before she disengages again.
All across the monster’s body, red pus slowly dribbles from open wounds, the creature’s yellow blood dotting the ground along with the pus. Even its massive regeneration seems to be taking a hit as Mikito’s multiple stacks of poison take effect. Still, with nearly two-thirds of the monster’s health left, taking it down would be a grind if she were left to deal with this alone.
Since Ali’s finishing off his side of the thrall problem, I step in. Rushing forward, I dodge an outstretched leg and cut upward, scoring its buttocks and leaving a trail of ice. I skid to a stop and cut sideways again before I throw myself into a backflip to dodge a pounding arm. I stumble as the blow that was targeted at the earth forces cracks to appear in the ground—from which flames erupt. My Soul Shield fails under the sudden attack, and the heat scorches my skin.
“Goblin shit,” I swear, getting my feet back under me.
I engage my Aura and the Vanguard ability, boosting everyone’s abilities. My actions draw the monster’s focus to me, and I trigger Society’s Web for a second. Numerous threads reach out from the monster, leading to its various thralls. I watch as the threads jump and twitch as they close in on us.
“Tanking now!” I inform the group even as I rush forward to meet the monster.
This will be a grind. Its resistances and Skills force us to take this entire battle slowly, grinding it down rather than finishing it in one attack. And the longer we fight, the more Lesser Demons make their way over.
Time to pile on the damage.
Those who have never been in a duel or a fight think that they’re long, drawn-out affairs. Part of that is the way fighters talk of their fights, outlining each punch, each kick. In the heat of the battle, each fight seems to take forever. Each punch, each cut, each blow is thought over, planned, and committed to with care if you’re experienced. If you’re not, the entire thing lasts an eternity—for very different, painful reasons. Each moment in a fight seems to last longer when you’re fighting for your life. And yet when you’re out of the fight, when it’s over, that eternity could have been only a minute. Or five. Almost never more than that. Almost.
The Greater Forest Demon finally falls, Mikito’s naginata stuck in its heart and three of my blades left in its body. Over half of its body is frozen from Freezing Blade while the red pus boils out from its nostrils and ears. The Lesser Demon thralls stumble to a stop as the boss falls, long hands hanging low as they gibber and jabber at one another. I stare at the dying light in the Greater Demon’s eyes, the way its body slowly loses the green illumination that shrouded it.
The monster slowly topples overs, and the light of sentience in it flickers off like a flashlight. For a moment, a long-forgotten, long-lost emotion tugs at my heart. Pity. For the monster. Exactly where do we draw the line between needless cruelty and necessity? The Greater Forest Demon lived in this dungeon peacefully, a master of its environment. Then we invaders wandered in, killing and murdering its friends, its family, and the ecosystem until we found it. After which we froze, electrocuted, and poisoned it to death. For what?
A large chunk of experience, its loot, and its corpse? Standing over its corpse, I wonder what difference there is between me and the monsters I fought. What right did I have to think of myself better, to rage against their actions?
I loot the corpse, laying my hand on the creature’s surprisingly smooth skin. I hesitate, then I make the corpse disappear into my Altered Space with a sigh. Perhaps I am no better. Perhaps I am but another damn hypocrite.
That’s what the System makes us all. Murderers and killers, partakers of slaughter, and revelers of blood. Just another damn System-citizen. A partaker of cruelty and carnage. I draw a deep breath and stand, regret feeding my personal pit of rage.
“John?” Mikito’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I look at her, offering her a sad half-smile. “I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”
She nods and we lope off, heading in deeper. Looking for another fight. Another death. Like the hypocrites that we are. That I am.
Redeemer of the Dead indeed.
Chapter 8
“The Redeemer of the Dead. I expected you to be taller.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say, inclining my head slightly as I stand at wary rest. Wary because this appointment with the damn Representative for Duchess Kangana is not something I’m thrilled about. Even more so when it’s not Priya I’m meeting but somehow, Hondo, the Weaponmaster, is still here. Here, present, and glowering at me with undisguised fury.
“Not your fault. I’m just surprised that someone so… small… was able to send the famed Master of Blades and Guns flying.” There’s nary a twitch as the Truinnar Envoy speaks. The dark skin, pointed ears, and pale white hair give the woman a stately, elegant air. It’s a bit of a contrast to what she wears—a ball gown that’d be more appropriate in a Civil War movie with all its ruffles, hooped skirt, and corset work.
My eyes narrow, flicking to Hondo. But the Weaponmaster is too damn professional to show anything on his face. On the other hand, with my Social Web activated, it’s easy enough to see his increased anger and deepening resentment. A lot of that anger radiates toward me, the Envoy, and so many other strings. It’s kind of humbling. I often think of myself as this
ocean of rage, but next to him, I’m just a little sea.
“If you’re here to taunt the Weaponmaster, I really don’t need to be here. If you’re here to taunt me, I don’t want to be here. So state your intentions or I walk.”
“Johnathan!” Katherine says in a scandalized tone.
I shrug at the woman, unwilling to compromise.
“As blunt as your reputation,” the Envoy says.
I sigh, taking the time to review her Status while she continues to patronize me.
Viscountess Oria Weekamu, Representative of Duchess Kangana, Envoy for Duchess Kangana, The Belle of L’mu, Thrice Chosen Dancer of the Leaves, … (Level 38 ???)
HP: ??/??
MP: ??/??
Conditions: ???
Typical. I wonder if it’s a Skill or an enchanted piece.
“As for my reason to speak with you both, I wanted to verify why my cousin felt the need to invest so much of our influence and his personal attention on such a piddly little planet. Dungeon World or not, the returns on our investment of influence seem disproportionate. Still.”
“Still?” Katherine says softly.
“Still, I will make full use of you.” Oria leans forward, meeting our gazes. “There will be a need for your services. If you accept the request, you will be properly compensated. And, of course, your people will have access to the locations they have shown interest in.”
Katherine smiles at that, obviously perking up a little. Me, I’m still wary since the woman is taking so long to get to the point.
“We want you to speak with the populace of the exterior rings of Irvina. We will make arrangements for such group meetings. You will sell the development of your world, the opportunities available to those who are willing,” Oria says.
“Pardon?” I say, my jaw dropping. When she said request, my mind went to a variety of monster kill quests, maybe a collection quest, or hell, even a fight in the Arena. Public speaking was the last thing on my mind.
Oria snorts gently and waves a gloved hand, answering me with a notification screen.
Quest Offered: Increase the number of immigrants from Irvina
Visit the fifth and farther rings of Irvina. Meet with and speak to the citizens of these rings. Sell the opportunities and benefits of moving to the newly opened Dungeon World Earth.
Objective: 50,000 new immigrants above general trendline
“This is an interesting quest,” Katherine says, her eyes going over the information. “But I’m uncertain why you are offering it to us.”
“Politics.”
We stare at Oria, who meets our gazes languidly. Katherine smiles slightly, sipping on her tea casually, patient as can be. I’m less patient by nature, but I’ve learned to manage that part of me. Also, my new Skill offers a myriad of interesting threads to look at. While I’ve gotten to the point where I can take in all the threads and get a general idea with just a glance at an individual, the details still take time to process. And it’s in the details where you can see the intricacies.
The obvious big thread is between Oria and the Duchess. There’s almost fanatical loyalty, love, and trust in there. A little envy too, but it’s overshadowed by the deep, long-lying contract and obligation between the two. Obligations. My brows furrow as I stare, trying to assess the thread further. Surprisingly, unlike many employer-employee relationships, the obligations and contract seems to weigh down on both ends.
Interesting as that thread is, there are others of interest. The one between her and the Weaponmaster is laced with complex emotions. Obligations and duty, contempt and envy. It’s multi-layered, but it’s obvious Hondo is the servant in this relationship. If not for his control, he’d probably be snarling in her face.
Yet those aren’t the only answers I get. The only clues. I see lines of obligation leading to individuals, groups, and organizations I’ve never heard of. And many that I have. I assess the way they tug at Oria, pull upon her, and the obligations that tie her up.
“It is rude to view another’s secrets in that way, Redeemer,” Oria says.
“If you’re not talking, I’m going to find my own answers.”
“Answers.” Oria’s voice is flat, but Hondo perks up a little, staring straight at me. “And what kind of answers have you found?”
“Well—”
“This is to help smooth out the issues we caused with the Fist, isn’t it?” Katherine says softly, cutting in. “You’re looking to shore up the position of the Galactic Edge at the same time. Your wish to reinforce the perception that Dungeon Worlds are good, that combat and the goals of the Fist are beneficial. Both of which are positions that both the Galactic Edge and the Fist hold.”
“My, you are a smart one,” Oria says. “But such a simplistic evaluation will do you little good in the arena you are in.”
Katherine inclines her head, offering a courteous smile. “Of course. I’m still learning the details of the political situation. But if my understanding is correct, you also owe City Councilman Uss a favor. Whose main opponent’s backing for the upcoming city election comes from the disaffected in the lower rings. Though fifty thousand seems like a small drop in the bucket.”
Oria smiles at Katherine, not giving away a single hint. But with names and details provided, I can make a little more sense. I need a lot more context, but I get the feeling that Oria is playing both sides of the coin, or maybe all the sides of the hexagon. Repaying a little obligation here, getting a little favor from us there, removing some credibility from Uss’s opponent, and more.
“You got anything to add?”
“Not really. Galactic Politics are a pain. The last time I was a companion to something in the game was over four hundred years ago. And by the time it died, it wasn’t relevant anymore. Hadn’t been for the last eighty years. Alliances and friendships change every damn week. But I’d say Katherine’s only scratching the surface here.”
“Sounds like this is a deal we can take,” I say, mentally acknowledging the quest. Hell, if I don’t need to kill anyone, this is certainly doable. In fact, it’ll make a nice change.
“Good. Details will be sent to you,” Oria says, dismissing us after Katherine acknowledges her agreement too.
We back out soon after, me having never taken a seat. Even that fraction of a second difference might have meant my death, with Hondo glowering as hard as he was.
Outside, in our private bubble car, I find myself questioning Katherine.
“I don’t know, John,” Katherine says exasperatedly. “I’ve only been here for a week. Working out the intricacies of the alliances and politics in this city in that time frame is impossible. Frankly, if we can manage not to get taken for too much of a ride in the next year, we’ll all be happy.”
“A year?”
“Yes, a year,” Katherine says frostily. “What? You think getting a vote meant much? Sure, we now have control over Earth and some controls and regulations, but the politics are complex. There are thousands of seats on the Galactic Council and hundreds of votes every month. Earth has abstained from all votes thus far, but even keeping up with the reading for those is taxing my people. As for alliances and the deals they’re all making?” Katherine waves to indicate the sprawling skyscraper city with its myriad jutting spires, floating squares, and flying ships. “We’ve just got to make do as best we can.”
“Sorry.” I incline my head, leaning back. It’s not as if I didn’t know how difficult it would be. But knowing and doing were two different things. “I just hate going in dark.”
“Well, it should be mostly non-violent,” Katherine offers.
I snort, my cynical side doubting that. But really, I’m just giving a few talks. How hard could it be?
“No. Not happening,” Mikito states.
“Come on, just for a few of the first meetings?” I try to keep from sounding like I’m begging, even if I am. A bit.
“Do you expect to get into a fight?”
“I always expect to get into fights.
”
“Firstly, not true. Secondly, that’s a pathetic attempt at a lie. Thirdly, with people you can’t handle?”
I cough, looking slightly embarrassed. Fine. I’ll be speaking to a bunch of Basic Classers. Even if they all ganged up on me, I was pretty certain I could survive. “Come on. They’re asking me to talk about Earth. In public.”
“And how’s that my problem?” Mikito says.
“Because you’re my friend?”
“No,” Mikito says. “Now, if that’s it, I need to make it to the Guild before all the groups looking for others are filled. You don’t need me there. And I don’t want to be.”
“I do need you!” I protest. “For… moral support.”
Mikito doesn’t even deign to answer that, walking out of our apartment. I groan, leaning back in the chair, only to realize I’m not alone.
“How long have you been there?” I say, frowning. I’m still trying to figure out how Harry managed to get a room in the apartment, though I’m not exactly asking the question. Just idly wondering. The reporter’s kind of like a bad foot fungus. Every time you think you’ve gotten rid of it, it reappears.
“Since the start of the conversation,” Harry says. “Why did you want Mikito with you?’
“Why not?” I look over the list of speaking locations and times that prompted this conversation. Oria acted fast, sending this entire list a day after our initial meeting. The first of my scheduled appearances just happens to be later today. “If I have to suffer, it’s good to spread the pain around.”
There’s a long silence after that pronouncement before Harry smiles. “No need to try to convince me. I want to see the sixth ring anyway.”
“Okay.”
“What’s with the different welcome?” Harry says, crossing his arms.
