Camelot, the legendary city of the [Golem Archking] Arthur. Though the city is fondly spoken of in legend as a beautiful kingdom, this is technically no longer correct. Without royalty, how could one call it a kingdom? After many generations, the city’s ruling class changed from nobility to merchants, forming what they like to call a Monetary Democracy. The rule of the rich. In that way, the leaders of the city are the various guild masters of the continent.

These powerful, rich, influential men and women now sit and wait at the council table. This room, a hall famous for an order of knights long dead, is ornately decorated except for the table they sit at. This table, constructed in an age bygone, the [King] once sat at with his most trusted friends. Stories and laughter would fill the room, merriment and comradery. Now, it houses naught but petty squabbles and the slow machine that is bureaucracy.

The councilmembers whisper among themselves, sometimes taking a moment to glare at the [Grand Archmagus Headmaster] who has been blamed for the source of these weekly annoyances for the past two years.

“He’s late… again,” grumbles Bristoff Steelarm. The dwarf crosses his muscled arms, an action which might normally have been made difficult thanks to his soot-filled tangled mess of a beard, had he not already laid it out onto the table in front of him. If others found the practice annoying, they didn’t say anything.

“What a surprise.” Vivian, the [Mercenary Guildmistress] adds. That she’s chosen to speak at all is a sign of her own annoyance.

Atolm Desai, the [Guildmaster] of the Diver Guild yawns loudly. No one pays the Sloth-kin any mind, as the old man is known for his sleepiness in the mornings.

Thallom Yesmys, the [Grand Archmagus Headmaster], quietly studies those sitting around the table, thankful that the other [Headmasters] are waiting patiently, or at the very least, doing a good job of hiding their annoyance.

Still, Thallom’s gaze constantly moves back to the usually most vocal of the [Guildmasters]. Cornelius Stallard, arguably the most wealthy of all those present, sits silently and patiently in the chair. He finds the [Grand Merchant Guildmaster]’s silence highly suspicious, a clear sign of worry.

Thallom’s worry rises as another ten minutes tick by. He’s considering sending someone to check in on him when he finally makes his entrance.

The doors burst open with a wham! as Aodean, the council’s [Prime Minister], kicks them open in a suitably dramatic fashion. He lowers legs and raises his arms, each of which hold a large mug.

“Sorry I’m late, some shitstain tried to kill me.”

Aodean strolls into the room with a cheeky smile on his face, one which grows even larger as he makes eye contact with Cornelius. “Oi, Corny! You must have paid a ton to get an [Elite Assassin] like that. Do you get a refund if they bugger it up?”

The [Prime Minister] sits down next to Thallom. He slides one of his mugs across the table to Bristoff. The Dwarf grabs the mug, his displeasure lowering as he drinks his generous gift.

“I would never resort to hiring [Assassins]. It is beneath me.” Cornelius calmly responds.

Aodean snorts while he takes a drink from his mug, the beer going down rather nicely after his breakfast in the carriage. He would have preferred to eat in the dining room, but no… Aferous was adamant he at least attempt to get to the meeting on time.

“Cornelius, if you spouted any more bullshit, I’d think you were an asshole.”

A few of the leaders present release a hushed snicker, while most others roll their eyes. So far, almost every meeting has begun with Aodean insulting/accusing the [Merchant Guildmaster]. After two years, it’s become routine.

Aodean smiles. “Alright, I’ve kept you all waiting long enough. Let’s get this started. [Summon Notes].”

Glowing papers made of light appear before all present councilmembers. They are temporary papers that will vanish after some time, but for now, they will serve for Aodean’s purposes.

“At long last, I am proud to present the improvements brought about by my policy change” he states. “Camelot’s tax revenue has increased by 53 percent since the alteration to the crafting taxation and the addition of the constant check system.”

“53 percent?” Atolm Desai lifts his lazy eyes.

“Yeah.“ Aodean answers. ”The implementation of progressive taxes on the income of divers has increased city revenue by nine percent. Eighteen months ago, we decreased the tax bracket on higher-ranked enchanted weapons and goods, while also instituting a sponsorship system. Now, we see the profits.”

“What!?” Bristoff exclaims. “That makes no sense!”

Aodean chuckles. “The old system taxed higher-ranked items absurdly more than lower rank, which, as I told you all fucking before, promotes the mass-production of lower-ranked items and stifles leveling. Now, some craftsmen are putting quality over quantity. The sponsorship program has helped with too, getting lower-leveled craftsmen the money and materials they need to become higher-leveled and making better items. This new system increases the quality of goods, helps [Smiths] and [Enchanters] level more, and makes it so higher-level divers bring in more profits when they risk their lives to get higher quality crystals.”

“Didn’t the death rate of divers also increase?” the [Headmaster] of the Warrior’s Academy asks. Aodean turns to the grizzled [Veteran Swordmaster]. He nods. “I know. However, this has also led to an increase in the average level of divers from forty-seven to sixty-three.”

The entire council quickly begins going through Aodean’s notes, finding the information detailing the level increase. So far, most dungeon cities across Orbis have average levels between twenty to forty. Some, like those near New Aesir, are nearing sixty. To surpass them in less than two years is phenomenal.

“As I’ve told you all before, the best way to improve Camelot is to promote improvement and then use that new income to promote it further. For example, the majority of those increased deaths of divers were from unhealed injuries, rather than being killed by monsters or traps. A healing or regeneration potion would have saved over seventy percent of those deaths. But, as we all know, such potions are expensive, which is why I will be putting up a vote to decrease the tax on them by…” Aodean checks the later portions of his notes, “Thirty fucking percent. Oh for, what kind of fucking idiot taxes one of the only forms of medicare?”

“Cheap healing would undermine the churches,” states Grathus, the [City Defender].

Aodean snorts. “Another thing: We’ve let the churches gain too much influence here. The [Priests] don’t answer to us, but to their gods and clergy. Even if they offer free healing to the [Guards], keeping a stock of potions on hand is more likely to save you in the field than running for a [Priest]. And Grathus…”

He gives a pointed look to the leader of the city’s [Guards]. “You serve the city. Don’t forget that.”

“Y-yes [Prime Minister].”

Aodean grunts and then checks his papers. “Now, where was I?”

“I believe next on your papers was… the constant check system.” Thallom voices helpfully.

“Ah,” Aodean smiles. “The final part of our recent profits is all thanks to the constant check system. It seems that nearly every [Trader], [Merchant], and their mother have been evading taxes one way or another. Many of these [Merchants] were paying only a third of the taxes they owed, some even less!” Aodean emphasizes this by pointing to the third paper, listing currently arrested high-level [Merchants] and the quantity that they owe.

The council looks at the numbers and the names present. It’s a long list, containing many members of the Merchant Guild and some of its partners and subsidiaries.

Cornelious noticeably does not react.

Aodean goes through his papers, stopping now at his next point.

“With the tax income increase, we will need to debate on how we will be spending the coin. But, before that, I want to bring everyone’s attention on the seventh page. It details the changes that you all refused to implement until I had my own corporation fund it.”

The [Prime Minister] sighs. “Seriously, all it took to lower petty crime by seventy percent was to help the poor.”

Aodean taps the paper. “Seven food banks. Five orphanages. Several training schools. I mean really, how is it Camelot, such a legendary city, had so little of this shit?”

Several members of the council avoid Aodeans’ gaze.

“Your programs have done nothing to stop high level [Thieves].” Cornelius rebukes.

Aodean chuckles. “That’s because it’s already their occupation. They have the class, the levels, the skills, and the experience to make it easy for them. My programs help those that would rather make an honest living instead of a risky one. With enough effort put in, the number of [Thieves] will decrease, and in several decades, high level [Thieves] will be far rarer. The only reason we even had so much crime is that people didn’t really see any other option.”

Aodean shakes his head and slouches in his seat. “You all fucking think that my crazy rise to power is all thanks to me being a [Hero], and, to an extent, that’s true. Faster leveling and having multiple classes really streamlines the process. But, that’ll only make you mediocre at best.”

Aodean leans forward and mentally opens up his status. He looks at his progress so far, and then slowly chuckles while looking at the council in its entirety.

 

“Before I came here, I dreamed of becoming a [Senator]. Well, not gaining the class, but whatever. I had it in my head that I could become the [Prime Minister] if I put in the work. To get to that point, I studied economics, politics, religion, and most importantly, history. Where I come from, my world has a long history and an easy access to it. I focused on learning what the leaders of the past did right and what they did wrong. From their successes and failures, I learned what works, and what doesn’t.”

Many of those present frown at his words. So far, the outspoken young man says what he thinks and believes, while refusing to play any political mind games with those present. Most of the council find it refreshing, especially Bristoff and Vivian.

After saying his piece, Aodean flips to another page. “As much as I would love to skip to the voting portion of the meeting, there are some important foreign affairs we need to discuss.”

“The war,” Atolm speaks, which causes the whole room to quickly quiet.

No longer smiling, Aodean nods.

“Yes, alongside some other interesting bits of information.”

He clears his throat before directing his hand towards a fellow sitting on one of the council's seats. He has been silent the entire time, but ever so vigilant.

“[Spymaster] Spehon has evaluated the information coming across the continent and has determined that it is accurate. The western kingdoms and their Aesir gods are at war with the eastern empire and the Olympian gods.”

Many of the council nod. They had heard the news from their own sources, but were not sure on the accuracy.

“But, that's not all. The Northern [Jarls], including the [Frost Jarl], have also declared war on [Emperor] Flavion.”

A few gasps are heard. Some heads look up. The event was recent, so not everyone has heard it yet.

“That can't be! Do we know the reasoning behind it? Are the [Jarls] working alongside the Aesir kingdoms?”

“Their motivations are still under investigation,” Stephon calmly states.

Several members of the council begin whispering, which quickly turns into a much louder conversation as members begin trying to talk over each other.

“Quiet!” Aodean calls out over them, but his words go unheard by the members.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he shouts, his aura exploding from his location, causing all of the conversations to end.

“Stop fucking panicking. Camelot is, and will remain neutral. We have an army of [War Golems] we can deploy, a city wide barrier to protect us, and at least seven named beings that would immediately rise to our defense. The west and east would not dare shit in our direction, not unless they could field a similar force as our own.”

Many of the lower leveled council members calm at his words, but the higher leveled know better.

Atolm yawns. “Both the east and west have... several [Heroes] at their disposal, “ he yawns again, “and if the history books are true, then that is the equivalent of several named beings.”

“Atolm is correct,” Vivian quickly intones, “They have [Heroes], each of which is probably equivalent to a named.”

“But we also have Aodean. He’s a [Hero] too,” Bristoff interrupts.

“A non-combat [Hero],” Cornelius corrects.

Aodean shakes his head. He dislikes it when the council talks about him like he isn’t there.

Before the conversations between members can truly get rowdy again, Thallon stands and raises his left hand, revealing a gauntlet that flashes with potent magic. The air seems to grow more heavy, causing the conversations to die down. They now look at the third tier elven mage.

“Before we begin squabbling once more,” Thallon lets the air return to normal. “I would like to inform you all that my class, alongside the power of this gauntlet, puts me at equal footing against someone named… and, I was informed by the Elfheim elders that the [Hero] Franky will be arriving here at Camelot to train in our city’s dungeons.”

“What?” Aodean burps as he puts his mug down. “Isn’t that the guy who was kidnapped by the elves?”

Thallon sits. “He was never kidnapped. He was saved and trained by my kind. If what the elders say is true, he would defend Camelot against any aggressor.”

Aodean nods. “Sooo, we have nine reusable nukes. Not bad, not bad at all.”

The council looks at Aodean in confusion, but the [Hero] waves them off.

“Nothing, nothing. Ignore me. We can discuss the war more thoroughly later. We still have a bit more information to get through, and then we need to start voti- Ah, fuck, before that,” Aodean looks to the [Spymaster], “Spehon, before we continue, did you have anything else to report?”

The [Spymaster] grunts. “The rumors of a rogue [Necromancer] to our west are growing. We may need to dispatch [Mercenaries] or [Divers] to check on the validity and immediate extermination of the possible threat.” Spehon leans back into his seat, “A few of my [Spy’s] have also begun hearing rumors of demons. Nothing concrete, but it does worry me.”

Spehon scratches the side of his head, a frown forming on his lips. “Lastly, there were reports of a castle-sized weaver sighting near the borders of our city during the night, but we haven’t found a trace of it.”

“Weaver? Castle-what? The fuck’s a weaver?” Aodean asks.