Winfrey

It doesn't seem to really matter how many spells Morn throws out. Due to her Class's keystone passive trait, the secondary effects of most of her spells are amplified in proc chance at the expense of direct damage. That basically means that even if she's doing a good job of knocking these assholes off their feet, it's really only a moderate nuisance that they can power through with sheer numbers and determination. I'm pretty sure I could wreck my way through any that do get close, but I can't risk her safety like that.

What is especially unfortunate is that, after spamming Spell after Spell, Morn's starting to wear herself out. Perhaps not from a purely MP standpoint, as her Class is mainly Wisdom based which gives her a lot to work with, but she's been chanting the words for each one without pause for five minutes straight, give or take, without a chance to hydrate or catch her breath. As a result, each consecutive spell has been coming out slower and slower, which means that they're getting closer and closer.

"Well well well! What do we have here, hm?" A voice that strikes me as passing familiar calls out arrogantly with mock-curiosity, audible over the fighting as I'm forced to concede more and more ground to maintain my flanks and keep Morn safe from ranged attacks.

Sparing a quick glance behind me, a cocky man shouldering a simple wooden club strolls down the road as if there isn't a pitched battle right ahead blocking his path. I don't really understand it but I feel a faint pressure from him, like I turned around to find myself staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Thankfully, it doesn't seem to be aimed at me, but the people on the other side.

It looks like the lynch mob feels it too, left unsure of how to proceed, torn between killing us and running for the hills. Of course, that only lasts until one of the more brash, thick-skinned fellows recovers, "Hey, what are you all doing?! It's just an NPC, ignore them!"

For the Fighters amongst them, a great deal of reluctance remains, as they are well aware of who this man is and the memory of his club is likely a sore spot for many. As for the man himself, he looks mildly offended at being written off.

"I don't really know what kind of insult enpeecee is supposed to be, but I can't very well ignore a small battalion tearing up the streets trying to kill a pair of innocent maidens, now can I? Especially not when one looks to be a talented student of mine," Gragg laughs darkly, "Well, since the Guard are uncharacteristically slow today, why don't I teach you brutes some manners in their place?"

"This is unusual..." Morn mutters under her breath so only I can hear her. For myself, I find myself unable to figure out if I should be annoyed that Gragg is being a patronising ass, or grateful for the assist and quickly resolve to let his condescending attitude slide if he pulls through for us.

"For now," he continues to soliloquize, ignoring the weapons being turned to him instead, feeling the threat of his approach, "I think I'll have you get down on your knees. You teiul have no business walking with upright spines. Prostrating yourselves will be a good start towards gaining forgiveness."

A few nervous arrow shots from the ranged contingent fly out and bounce harmlessly off his gaudy jacket, clattering on the floor. Gragg raises his club, unperturbed, the pressure building up. With a heavy step forward, it comes crashing down onto the ground, "<Quake Hammer>."

My vision swims for a moment, as though I were stood at the bow of a ship as we crested a large wave, but all I'm feeling is the aftershock - the full force of the Skill is directed ahead of me. Every single person, without fail, is flattened to the road, unable to get back up. Amazingly, none of them seem to have been killed if the screams, complaints and groaning are any indication. Distantly, I recall Silver mentioning that Gragg was one of the strongest NPCs by Level alone in the area, though he was vague on the exact value, only stating that with the loss of one of his arms he was unable to exert his full power. Guess he wasn't kidding, huh. Where the hell was Gragg during the Siege anyway, come to think of it?

"That's a much better look on you teiul," Gragg remarks, sounding pleased as Punch, "I expect the Guard will be arriving any minute to mete out the Empire's justice, so you all be good little shitbags and stay down. Or else I'll have to be a little less lenient with you Newborn, seeing as you are all still babes not long from the manger. Now-"

He about turns with a cheesy grin plastered across his face, "It's always a pleasure to see a student of mine flourish. I applaud your efforts up 'til now, Miss...?"

"Fields. Windy Fields," I cough, unable to stop staring at the pile of prone bodies, "Thank you for your help. I appreciate it."

"Ah, but my intervention was perhaps a little unnecessary, you feel?" Gragg leans on his club like a vaudevillian actor, "No, no. Don't deny it, I know that look. I myself felt the same way on a number of occasions. I can well appreciate the sentiment, and admittedly, you are quite correct."

Oddly insightful of him to notice. He's right, though. Even after a good five minutes, my Health hasn't gone down past 50% yet, and the assholes over there were tiring out quicker than either of us were overall. Eventually, they would definitely have killed us, all the same, but the odds of the Guard showing up to do what Gragg just did increases steadily the longer the fight went on. If it were just me on my own, odds are they could have just swarmed me under all the same, too.

"Well, don't think too much of it. I meant what I said, after all," he chuckles, "However, I don't think it's a bad thing to receive a helping hand from time to time, either. Realising and understanding your limits - that was a lesson I'm fairly certain I imparted to you, was it not?"

I grunt, "Yeah? You just said yourself I could handle it, what's your point?"

"Well, I'm just rambling really," Gragg shrugs with an infuriatingly smug aura wafting off him like he somehow knows everything, "I'll keep a watchful eye on these fine people until the Guard arrives. Feel free to go about your business."

"Thank you, sir," Morn bobs her head and strolls onward calmly, pointedly ignoring the bodies she's trampling over and taking a simple straight-line forward.

"Hah, I like that one," Gragg grins, watching her go, "Cool as an autumn spring. Go on, get going, Miss Fields, she doesn't appear to be waiting for you."

"...Thanks again," I express my gratitude once more, then follow after her, avoiding the bodies as best I can. I really hope that was not disappointment I saw flash across the face of one of these chucklefucks.

---

 

Pioneers' Alliance Meteo Branch, Truth District, Meteo Town

The journey from there to the Pioneers' Alliance is anything but leisurely, as it feels like almost every player in town is out for our heads, and those that aren't don't care enough to intervene on our behalf. Our saving grace ultimately is that we don't encounter the same density of players as the first encounter, which means it's not that difficult for us to deal with most aggressors.

Most. Turns out that Olrica's tip-off that some of the people in the area have passed their First Steps was true, and they've hidden their gains for one reason or another. Mechanically speaking, I wouldn't place them very high on the skill or difficulty curve either way, but there's a few oddballs in the bunch like the two guys in front of me.

The first has a shortsword made of plain-looking iron, along with a set of Vacantsoul equipped. A Wyvernblood Panoplast, he's a little on the short side for what I've seen of others who picked the same race, and he evidently opted for the reptilian head, complete with frills. I think that's what they're called? Eh.

The other guy is an Urso Panoplast with a large wooden staff. He's large. No two ways about it. I'm pretty tall in-game as is for a human, but this guy looks like he cranked his height slider to the max, standing nearly a foot taller than me with a mass of muscle that wouldn't look out of place on one of those burly, not-really-as-fat-as-they-look champion weightlifters. Odds are almost every point he got was shoved immediately into Strength, meaning he quite possibly matches me on that front, depending on how the Level difference and B.A.S stack up.

"See? Told you they'd come here instead of hiding in that retirement home lookin' shitheap," the big guy gloats, "You owe me $20, Clover."

"So they did. I admit I'm more annoyed that the squad we sent wasn't enough to deal with two people," lizard-wizard sighs, "I dislike having to clean up after my subordinates messes, so let's make this quick. We are altogether too public here, Jack, and I would prefer to avoid attracting the Guard's ire further. We don't have long before their colleagues notice the absence and stumble across the corpses."

"Yeah, yeah," Jack grumbles, "Don't need to tell me twice. Welp. Here g-"

I more or less get the gist of what they're about, and don't see any reason to let them finish their conversation, rushing in, shield raised and sword poised to gut the squishier looking lizardman. Naturally, beardude doesn't see fit to let me advance unaccosted, swinging his big stick out in an upward arc like he's going for a homerun. For his trouble, a hunk of ice smacks him in the face with force, staggering him backwards.

"Son of a bit-!"

Giving me a clear shot at my intended target, who sneers at me, throwing a ball of fire at my face with one hand and stabbing his sword beneath my shield when I raise it to block. My Health has recovered plenty by now thanks to some potions, so I elect to ignore it and tank through the hit.

-5

-700

For my trouble, I get blasted backwards, feeling for all the world like I just got stabbed through the gut with a whole-ass sledgehammer. The first hit, as expected, didn't do jackshit, but some weird magical force followed up along with it and chunked a hefty amount of my Health bar. I maintain footing, despite it all, to his disappointment.

"That's annoying," Clover mutters, "But I suppose a tank isn't named such for no reason."

He pursues, readying another spell while Morn locks down the big guy with crowd control spam. From the resultant exchange of blows, I get a feel for roughly how skilled this guy actually is, and I have to admit, it's a pretty even match, even if he is significantly weaker than me in pure physical oomph. In VA terms he'd be a Gold player, and his build seems to be a near-even split of Imagination and Agility. Although none of his attacks match the same level of disgusting force as the first, meaning a Skill of some kind since it wasn't even a crit, each attack that slips around my guard carries a consistent extra 200-ish magic damage, just because, I guess?

I don't believe he can keep it up forever, though. He's not casting any Spells, opting for pure melee, which gives me the idea that he's using his MP to enhance his sword strikes instead. If I had a healer with me I could maybe try outlasting him through attrition, but it's not looking likely even then. He's too slippery, for one thing, making it hard to respond to any openings since he's already covering them by the time I ready a strike of my own to capitalise. I can't stop him just leaving if he wants to, and Morn can't keep his friend busy forever. Something has to give.

"GRRRAAHHHH!" Jack roars with impotent fury, slowed to a crawl and barely able to move his body towards her, "Fuck-ing-ma...ges! Arrrrgh!"

I feel you, bro. But also, fuck you. Your friend isn't any less obnoxious for me to deal with.

Narrowing his eyes, the magic swordsman seems to get an idea, and the hackles on my back rise in response. The context makes it easy for me to understand his thoughts - Kill Morn, free his partner. To whit, he rushes me recklessly, trying to bait a swing of my sword. I don't fall for it, aware of his plan to distract me from her as he abruptly stops just beyond my reach and leaps dramatically overhead, landing and running at her without any lost momentum.

Sucker.

I don't believe he doesn't know what my abilities are since they've chosen to confront us and are of a higher calibre than the others we've encountered. Whatever the reason for his sudden lapse in memory, I'm all too happy to take advantage of his arrogance. Activating Interceptor, I move quickly to Morn's side, using the sudden velocity to ram through the lizard before he realises what's happening.

-549

"BOOYAH!" I cry victoriously, feeling a little giddy from the rush of adrenaline. He recovers well, rolling with the impact as he falls, but is fairly obviously almost dead. Disappointed myself, I want to finish the job, but a quickly chanted Minor Ignite leaves his fingers and knocks Morn off-balance, distracting me properly this time out of concern for her well-being.

This, unfortunately, interrupts her spell cast, which immediately blows up in her face, bringing her to her knees. Supposedly, there's a delicate point in the formation of a spell where a mistake will cause backlash instead of just fizzling out. Odds are he wasn't aiming for that moment, and just got lucky, but it's enough to give his partner some reprieve.

"Jackson, we're leaving!" Clover orders, staring off down the road at an approaching silhouette that resembles a Guard, "We're out of time."

Just saying that isn't really enough to make it happen, the lingering effects of multiple status ailments making a quick retreat impossible. Any pretensions of camaraderie between them have at this point disappeared, and the lizardman makes the characteristically cold-blooded decision to abandon his partner, retreating at full pelt in the opposite direction of the presumed Guard.

"F'in...asshole," Jack seethes through deeply clenched teeth. I consider moving into to try and finish him off before he escapes, but I don't have any confidence I'll be able to kill him before the Guard arrives, and seeing me standing over his body is honestly more likely to land me in a jail cell instead once they do.

"We'll be back to settle the score," he promises after a few seconds, seemingly shaking off a few debuffs, "Count on it."

"Psh, like anything would change the second time, even if you did," I scoff, laughing at his bravado, "You're the ones running away."

Hauling ass, the big guy looks rather comical as he runs away. Just as well, since the Guard, now closer, speeds up to catch him, matching his pace with a little more grace, even though it's unlikely they'll be able to make up the difference in distance between them. Putting them out of my mind, I give Morn a hand back to her feet.

"You good?"

She nods stoically, "A little worse for wear, but I'll recover in due course. On that note, I believe it best that we split up once inside. I will inform Angelus of the situation outside while you negotiate terms with the Branch Manager, ma'am, if that's alright?"

"Sounds reasonable," I agree casting a wary eye around the area, seeing only one or two NPCs minding their own business, "Stay inside if you can, reckon it'll be safer than anywhere else in the city. Town. Whatever."

---

 

Branch Manager's Office, Pioneers' Alliance, Truth District, Meteo Town

The atmosphere inside the office is just as stuffy and dusty as it was during my last visit, if not more so, as if it has had time to settle down and seep into the infrastructure. That peculiar dryness that seems to manifest in offices managed by serious elderly professionals as if by some law of nature that this is how things need to be, not unlike a headteacher's office, which is what Zomn Klaeriss reminds me of heavily. Or perhaps one of those shrew-like librarians you find fermenting in small towns amongst stacks of old books that have long-since been replaced by electronic means of reading, their contents scanned into massive online libraries.

I don't say this to insult her though. Effectively, her age and force of will have reached a sort of profound density that stretches past her body in a way that's hard to describe in simpler terms without drawing comparisons to similar, more common concepts. Whether that's a purely metaphorical thing that I'm hallucinating or just something she naturally exudes is up in the air, but from listening to Silver talk and my experiences thus far, I'd say it's more the latter.

Zomn Klaeriss is strong. Very strong. Strong enough that even I can pick up on it, and just the casual pressure she gives off rivals Gragg's showboating earlier.

"Are you going to continue staring, or are you going to offer greetings?" she asks pointedly, peering over her small spectacles.

"Sorry, just struck by-" I swallow my excuses back, she's not interested in hearing them, "No, never mind. Hello, Zomn, thanks for taking the time to see me."

"There's no need for that. In point of fact, I was planning on drafting a letter inviting your Guild for a meeting," she explains, righting her posture and meshing her fingers together on her desk, "A confluence of fate, perhaps?"

"Who can say?" I shrug, since I don't really give a flying fuck about destiny and shit. If God has a plan, it's what he wants for dinner for the week, you ask me.

"Very few have any true insight into the subject," Zomn Klaeriss admits, "But I digress. A...rather hesitant decision has been made concerning the matter of Truthseekers and your possible contribution to the loss of Meteo's City Core."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It is the opinion of my superiors and the Imperial Council that the suppression of an Archdemon is a feat to be commended rather than condemned, to a degree that they are willing to...overlook, the loss in anticipation of a worse problem down the road," she reveals, a hint of sarcasm in her inflection, "In other words, there will be neither reward nor punishment. The matter is - therefore - closed."

"I suppose I shouldn't complain," I sigh, "But I admit, that I can't help feeling snubbed in some way."

"Understandable," Zomn Klaeriss' lips pull into a pitying smile for a moment, "The good news, however, and the reason I wished to speak to you personally, is that with the matter of The Magpie Demon and the City Core settled, we are free to revisit your master's desire to partner with the Pioneers' Alliance."

Inwardly, I feel a little ticked off at hearing her call Silver my 'master' but I don't see any point in correcting her misapprehension, "Just for my own reference - since he didn't see fit to explain in any great detail, what exactly would that entail?"

"Your Guild would be able to partake of the same privileges as our own members, according to individual contributions with almost no limitations. As you can doubtless appreciate, the highest levels of authority and access are limited to our own people," she begins to explain, "This would include certain levels of access to our facilities, supply lines, contacts and so on and so forth, as well as the ability to take up job postings - with priority given, once again, to our own people. Additionally, we may offload excess cases to you or request your cooperation in more complex operations when we lack the personnel required. Any persistent dungeons you locate and register with us will, under the Pioneers Concord of 796, be placed under our management, with a split of the proceeds generated given to you as compensation weekly - typically between 10 to 20%. The exact terms can vary according to the dungeon's expected lifespan, contents and locations, however, so please bear that in mind - while the Alliance is generally of the mindset that all dungeons possess the potential to generate profits, we won't move if it's not worth our time."

Aha. I'm starting to understand why Silver wanted me to speak to her about dungeons. Especially in light of the attempted lynching perpetrated by what I assume was the remnants of DDA's core membership. To put it bluntly, if you can't be trusted to play nice, it's time to call in a responsible adult to confiscate it.

"Well, Silver has instructed me to accept any terms you see fit to set on that front, however, we have some conditions of our own and a little bit of extra info that would seem to be pertinent to reveal now," I take a deep breath to steady myself, "We need the Blueprint to a 1-Star Employment Bureau and, the components to repair a 1-Star Training Hall. In exchange, we will reveal the details of four local dungeons, the capture methods and offer the Blueprints to a 1-Star Variant Stable."

After seeing the details of the fully decrypted Stable Blueprint, Silver was...underwhelmed, to quote him. It was, as expected, basically just an ordinary kennel for Dire Wolves, and of the lowest possible quality at Copper-Tier. The only effect it had was replenishing the Health, MP and Stamina of stored Dire Wolves faster. Which, to me as a layman without future knowledge sounds like a pretty sweet deal all things considered, but apparently, it wouldn't be a smart investment in spite of the near-endless supply of potential Dire Wolf recruits in the forest. Tamer classes are expensive to raise, maintain and are, according to him, limited by their choice in companions, with Ujax's Dire Wolves scraping the bottom of the barrel even amongst other Wolf monster types.

'If it were an Element Wolf Kennel, then I'd be excited.'

Selling it, in other words, and maybe buying it back later should the need arise, better suits our present circumstances.

"Oho?" she steeples her fingers, placing two to her lips as she leans back into her chair, highly interested, "Four dungeons, you say? Now, why oh why was such important information omitted from the otherwise quite comprehensive report you submitted to me previously in exchange for my favour?"

"I can't speak for my boss's motives on that front," I raise my hands helplessly, "Nonetheless, that is the offer I've been instructed to make. Can I hear your opinion on the matter, or do you require some time to think it over?"

"First, I would like to know why you are choosing to reveal this secret now, in the name of risk management," she requests, narrowing her eyes dangerously.

"Well, besides the need for the things I mentioned just now; Before arriving here, I was accosted by people amongst the Newborn who have taken offence at our success in locating and conquering these dungeons, seeking to drive us out of town so they can feast on our leftovers uncontested," I smile sardonically, channelling the spirits of Uncle Eric and Silver in tandem, "These people, the Darkest Dreamers Alliance, have already occupied the site of one of these dungeons and are imposing a strict toll on any who make it past their roving bands of muggers. In other words, a bit of petty revenge on our part, I suppose you could call it."

"I see," she nods, "Well, it just so happens that such activities are, well, highly illegal within the Empire. Since you've brought this information to us, I suppose I can turn a blind eye to your own complicity. As for the request for the Blueprints, naturally, a standardised Employment Bureau Blueprint can be provided for sufficient recompense to a partnered Guild to better serve our shared interests, however, the matter of the Training Hall is something that will require some further negotiation, pending an inspection of the facility in question."

"So, if I'm to understand you right, you're offering the Bureau's Blueprint for the payment we're offering, but not the Training Hall?" I summarise.

"Indeed. Training Halls require some rather expensive materials to form the enchanted core which distinguishes it from a simple dirt courtyard, such as we have behind the building," Zomn Klaeriss elaborates, "Not to mention some rather skilled artisans to work on it. However, repairing one will likely be cheaper than creating it from scratch, so it may be possible to come to an agreement. However, that will have to be a discussion for another day: I will forward the request for an inspection to my colleagues and superiors so that we can make an informed decision."

"Alright," I agree, feeling a little bit of tension bleed out, "I suppose there's paperwork I need to go through?"

The branch manager smiles self-deprecatingly, "Quite a lot of it, yes. But once everything is done, I will despatch men to secure the dungeons immediately, rest assured."

---

 

Sherry

Earthly Vault, Cathedral of The Starlight Truth Faith, Meteo Town

After about ten minutes just, I dunno, hanging out, getting cold and bored, I think of a crazy idea.

No, I'm not going to try my luck and see if I'm The One. I've already lost one level as is, I don't want to risk losing another and giving the execution squad something to shoot at. One got impatient and tried shooting me already, only for it to just bounce off thin air.

Since we can't really move without being turned into a pincushion and nobody here is feeling particularly self-sacrificing, there's no way for us to fight back on our own without our gear, which we can't get to. But who said that we have to be the ones to deal with the problem? Like, I can't be the only one to question the legality of just posting up a firing squad in the respawn area from an in-universe and meta-perspective, right? Spawncamping is like, amongst the lowest of the lowest of the absolute lowest things a guy can do. Right?

So, where the fuck're the Guard?

This is their job to deal with. And if they don't know what's going on....why not get their attention somehow?

If I'm remembering right, there should be a priest NPC on guard in a small room at the top of the stairs. He basically acts all shocked that you came back from the dead in the exact same way every time to the point that multiple people going up causes him to trip over himself to start the line over again. Now, I'm not really holding out much hope, but according to Win, their AI can receive a sort of kick in the head to upgrade their intelligence when unusual circumstances crop up that their programmed routines can't deal with but need to respond to somehow.

So, what if, I try and make that happen for the old fart. Give him the gift of another handful of brain cells to rub together, maybe make a few sparks?

I spread the word around with a combination of subtle hand gestures and mouthing the words exaggeratedly. I can yell pretty loud if I need to, but it'll have way more impact if all of us call for help together. It takes some doing, and the crossbow asshole squad are definitely suspicious, but they're definitely not expecting what I came up with. They probably think we're just going to try and rush them all together.

I raise my hand, fingers extended, then curl them one by one to count us down. The cacophony that follows echoes through the vaults, and soon, even the people in the other alcoves have cottoned on and join in, adding to the noise. It's enough to wake the dead, which is both sort of the point and rather ironic under the circumstances.

"Shut up! Shut up!"

"Shut the fuck up you crazy bastards..!"

Our jailers are less than impressed, but in their attempts to overpower us in volume they're only adding fuel to the plan, ignorantly. In short order, the muted sound of footsteps can barely be heard descending the stone steps, but I doubt anyone else can hear it, since even with my racial bonus and perception as jacked as it is, even I'm struggling. After reaching an abrupt stop near the bottom, it remains still for almost a minute before hurriedly ascending again, which I take as a good sign. The crossbow assholes don't seem to notice, distracted by the commotion we're making.

Which is just as well, because I don't know about the others, but my voice is getting a little hoarse.

The next time steps can be heard, it's more than one and they're several pounds heavier. In short order, a stream of lightly armoured, faintly glowing men and women enter the catacombs, a symbol with some sort of religious significance embroidered on a strip of cloth hanging from their shoulder guard.

"HEATHENS, DROP YOUR WEAPONS!"

They elect to turn their weaponry on the NPCs instead.

"Fuck off!"

"This is player business, get the hell out!"

I can't see much of what's happening exactly, but after the initial volley it's clear that they accomplished very little, the NPCs basically steamroll through them like they're little more than grass to be mown, ignoring the crossbow bolts embedded in their shields and bodies. It's honestly pretty badass, I gotta admit.

"Don't mess with the locals," I quickly roll off this plinth thingy and get equipped while they're distracted, "Lesson learned."