A sliver of the moon peeked over the circular opening above Fortram, glossing the upper ring with an ominous green glow. Randel stood on the city hall’s highest balcony, overseeing the slow change of lighting as the moon rose higher and higher. In other words, he was waiting. Again.
Funny, how these things went. Why was he waiting for the Governor’s time, when it should have been the other way around? Randel could have shown up uninvited, but in so doing he would have further antagonized those grumpy old men who called themselves ministers. Terrorizing them wasn’t always good for hastening their negotiations. Oh, well.
Truth be told, he didn’t mind it all that much. Sure, it irked him that the Governor was deliberately making him wait, but in the great scheme of things, it was nothing. A few minutes of Randel’s time barely compared to the vastness of his eternal existence. He could just as easily wait for the Governor to drop dead from old age—if only Randel wasn’t stuck in a mortal shell too! So, perhaps he did mind the waiting, at least a little bit. He didn’t want to find out what would happen if he lost this body.
His stomach growled. The soup he had eaten earlier wasn’t very filling. He should have ordered something else before the barkeep ran off. Even if he was capable of ignoring his hunger, this mortal shell needed better nutrients. Eating only a bowl of soup had been stupid. Whose idea had it been, anyway?
His head hurt. That pain was harder to ignore. It always hurt, but tonight it felt worse than usual. Had he overexerted himself while talking to the Scarlet Hand? If a simple conversation taxed him so much, how would he fare in a fight? Worrying questions. He needed to avoid thinking too much.
The moonlit city looked beautiful. Randel always liked watching the landscape from a bird’s-eye view, and though the balcony wasn’t quite so high up, what he saw of the upper ring was spectacular. This section of the city remained relatively untouched by Dungeon creations—though some wall paintings were present here as well, and luminous plants had been strategically placed to improve the lighting conditions. I especially liked the exciting shadows that the rising moon cast over the high roofs.
Not everyone was happy about the changes, though. How the city looked was one thing, but how it functioned was another. Everything was changing so fast. Too fast. Some people preferred stability over change. Some people wanted to preserve what they already had, instead of getting used to living in a completely different place.
Randel had lost the goodwill of Arikorira, the owner of the flower shop he had been frequenting. It wasn’t the most severe of his losses, but it was one of the most personal. Having a Bolob friend had its uses, after all. The rest of his losses were more subtle, much less personal. It was easy to detach himself from the woes of the common people. Erika and her employees filtered the news for him, handling all sorts of complaints so that he wasn’t overwhelmed by them. There were many lives out there that turning Fortram into a dungeon had ruined, lives that were insignificant and distant to him. So easy to ignore. He wouldn’t lose sleep over them, but that was mostly because he wasn’t sleeping very well recently anyway.
All sorts of jobs and occupations had become meaningless after Randel’s changes. Perhaps the worst off was the real estate economics, at least if you didn’t work for the Mad Painter. Nothing could compete with his companies, which were able to provide cheap housing with better conditions than anything ever before. Most of Randel’s new buildings were for rent, but he had plans for raising custom-made mansions for the wealthy to buy. And why stop there, when he had an all-powerful Dungeon Core? Selling land was a possibility too, albeit Erika would have to solve a few legal issues first. Being able to create additional living space had enormous value in itself.
The second-largest change in Fortram had happened in the infrastructure. With the introduction of portals and portal centers, people no longer had to worry about traversing from one rotating ring to another and ending up on the wrong side of the city. Imaya had constructed hundreds of portal centers with permanent connections, carefully planned to support efficient transportation. It hadn’t been enough. The most popular routes were quickly clogged up when Fortram’s citizens realized how convenient portals were. This got to a point where Randel had to assemble a specialized team for assisting Imaya with plotting out the portal network. By now it was so complex that navigating them became a science on its own. The most resourceful citizens were already making money out of it by offering their services as expert navigators.
Custom portal disks were in high demand too. Between raising stone buildings and shaping the portal network, these demands would have to wait—but in the future, custom portals could become another source of passive income. With proper management, a rental service for the portal disks could be easily set up.
Portals had their downsides too, of course. While this new way of travel helped many citizens, it also ruined the lives of others. Taxi services took the brunt of it, as well as the vendors who had made use of the traffic in areas that were no longer busy and crowded. People were opening shops around portal centers and trying to predict where the next big hub was going to be—which wasn’t easy, considering that the network was still under development. Traffic between city rings could no longer be monitored since barely anyone used the city gates anymore. The distinction between the three city rings blurred. The poverty gap had been somewhat reduced too, making the new Fortram more united than ever before. Was it a good thing? Did it matter? Something to consider.
Perhaps the Inspectors would give this unification more meaning in the future, but as it currently stood, Randel didn’t particularly care whether it happened or not. Fortram was a stepping stone for him, and nothing more. Why would he concern himself with the faceless masses that lived here, with those pitiful mortals he had never even met? He owed them nothing. Besides, he wasn’t the only pawn on the Inspectors’ gameboard. Turning Fortram into a better place could have easily been another Player’s story, while Randel’s role here was only to lay down the foundations of change.
“My apologies for making you wait, Mr. Shadeslayer.”
Reshaping Fortram was an enormous task. It required just the right conditions – and plenty of luck – to succeed. What a coincidence, that so far everything had gone so smoothly! Governor Clavius was someone’s corrupt puppet, less concerned about Fortram’s prosperity and more about losing his position of power. Had Randel chanced upon a different city, things could have turned out very differently for him. A competent governmental body should have been able to deal with a nobody like him—and yet, that wasn’t what happened. Fortram had been ripe for the taking.
“Mr. Shadeslayer?”
“Divine intervention made sure that I stand here,” Randel said. “Merit alone wouldn’t have been enough. The gods paved the road for me.”
“Ahem. Yes, of course. That’s how it usually goes for Reapers. The gods aren’t sending them for nothing.”
The newcomer hobbled to Randel’s side, leaning heavily on his cane. Gowon Stormcaller was an old man with a frail body and a sharp mind. The minister of commerce, and an opportunist. He had made it clear from the get-go that he wasn’t afraid of making deals with the Mad Painter.
“Mr. Stormcaller, good evening. I see they sent you again.”
“Eh. They didn’t. I climbed up here on my own.”
Climbed was a stretch; the old man was nowhere near out of breath. Either he was in better condition than he looked, or he had taken one of those fancy new golemancy-powered elevators to get up here. Randel decided not to argue about the fine details, though.
“What brings you here, minister?”
“Someone had to tell you the bad news,” Gowon said, “and as someone who’s the least afraid of your wrath, it might as well be me. The Governor is not going to meet you tonight.”
“No? And why is that?”
“Because he has left the city to attend the High King’s ball.”
Randel narrowed his eyes. “The High King’s ball? I haven’t been informed about it.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Gowon said with a sigh. “It’s an annual ball that lasts three days, held around a different World Seed each year. An important event, Mr. Shadeslayer. The nobles use these gatherings to whisper and scheme and shake hands with each other. Everyone who has a little bit of influence wants to be there.”
“Yet you stayed behind.”
“It’s not a long journey, but these old bones are not made for traveling anyhow. I sent one of my sons in my stead.”
“I see,” Randel said, frowning. He felt more annoyed than angry. Here he was, having just contemplated the Governor’s incompetence—and then that weasel pulls something like this. Was he going to seek help from the High King? Or was it going to be someone else, something that lets him save face?
“Where and when is this ball?” Randel asked.
“This year it’s in Skyward, starting the day after tomorrow.”
Randel froze. Skyward. Of course, it was in Skyward! A city with another shadebound Player. The High King would be there as well. Powerful Players and Scarlet Hands too, without a doubt. A confluence of the kingdom’s most influential people. Randel’s minds whirled with all sorts of ideas. It was an opportunity to spread the Mad Painter’s name and influence. An opportunity to stop his enemies. An opportunity to gain more power. He smiled.
“I take it you have an offer, Mr. Stormbringer.”
The old man was silent for a moment.
“I do. You can still make it to the ball, Mr. Shadeslayer, should you wish to attend. In such case, I might be able to acquire an invitation letter for you—in exchange for a little rearrangement in the city’s reconstruction.”
“Rearrangement?”
“I’d appreciate if you made the underground railways your topmost priority.”
“Hmm.”
Randel thought about it for a moment. Gowon’s request didn’t sound much on the surface, but it actually was a big deal. Having a single control crystal to build the Dungeon with was a serious bottleneck for the city’s expansion. With everything else that needed to be done, Gowon’s inter-city railways would have taken months to finish. There was no guarantee that months from now on the Mad Painter would have his throne still. For Gowon, it was very important to do the construction now.
“I can agree to a rearrangement,” Randel said, “but you should know that the original design won’t be possible to complete. We cannot dig tunnels all the way to other cities.”
“Is that so? I thought the Dungeon Core with the World Seed had infinite resources to build. Was I mistaken?”
“No, you’re right. The Dungeon with the World Seed has infinite mana. The thing is, the farther we build from the World Seed, the more mana we have to pay for it. After a certain threshold, the mana pool isn’t deep enough to pay the cost.”
Gowon took his time to think Randel’s words over, apparently struggling to make sense of the System’s concepts.
“I think I understand,” Gowon said. “It—well, it would have been good to know this sooner.”
“That almost sounded like an accusation.”
“Not at all, Mr. Shadeslayer,” Gowon hurried to add. “Merely, it’s just that—well, in that case, we would need to alter our plans. And while we’re doing that, I’d like to add a few changes too. Little adjustments. Things that are barely worth having records about.”
Randel gave Gowon a long look.
“You’re talking about tunnels that only a select few people know about.”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” Randel said. “I can give you such tunnels. Only you, me, and my architect will know about them.”
“It would be better if the architect didn’t—”
“Don’t push your luck, old man.”
“A-Alright. I think we have a deal then, Mr. Shadeslayer.”
“We do. But let’s discuss the—”
A slight vibration around his neck interrupted Randel. He pulled his scarf aside, and his collar projected a notification in front of him.
Pet lost: Nosy
Because of your lack of care, Nosy is no longer loyal to you.
Randel blinked in surprise. What the hell? He hadn’t been aware that such a mechanism even existed—though admittedly, he could have figured it out if he had done his research on other tamer Players. He hadn’t cared, though. He had foolishly taken the link between him and the elemental panther as granted.
“Mr. Shadeslayer?”
“Excuse me,” Randel said. “We’ll have to continue this discussion later. I’ll send my architect your way as soon as possible.”
Gowon said something in return, but Randel barely paid attention to it. The broken bond with Nosy was a huge loss. He quested around mentally, trying to sense the Mark of Replacements around him. There were barely any of them here in the upper ring, and he no longer felt the ones around Nosy. Teleporting Soul Eater to the cat didn’t work either. The broken bond had severely undercut his means of quick repositioning.
This was precisely why it happened, in my opinion. Nosy had no longer been my companion; he was just a tool for fast traveling. Why now, though? Of all times, why did the bond break at this very moment? Randel jumped onto the railing and threw himself off the balcony. He flipped over in the air, smashing into the street and phasing into the ground as his Shadeform activated. He willed his body to float through the earth until he emerged in an empty portal room.
There had to be a way to fix this. He just had to find Nosy, then feed him and pet him and whatever. He could dedicate a small portion of his time every day to spending time with him. Alright, maybe not every day—but often enough to make it count. The utility that came with the bond was too good to miss out on. It had become an integral part of Randel’s powers.
He walked to an empty portal disk, thinking about where to go first. Nosy liked to hang around Stanley, but the bard was difficult to pin down. Taverns were the likeliest places to find him around, except Nosy tended to avoid people. So, where else? Randel tried to remember the last time he had seen Nosy, but all of his minds came up short. Sometime last cycle, surely, but he hadn’t been paying much attention to that particular detail. He had a lot on his mind lately.
This was his human side’s fault. He was always so inattentive, so stuck in the clouds. The longer they resided in this body, the more alike they all became. Randel knew however that blaming himself wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He grabbed a piece of chalk and stepped to an empty portal disk, drawing the symbols for the control room with smooth and practiced motions. He would start his search there, asking Imaya to locate Nosy. He finished drawing the symbols and waited.
Nothing happened.
Randel frowned. As usual, his drawing was perfect. The portal disk seemed functional too—but just in case it wasn’t, he grabbed a different piece of chalk and drew the symbols on another disk, his heart racing. He finished drawing in record time. The portal didn’t open.
Randel growled. This wasn’t a coincidence. Someone had changed the symbols for the control room and didn’t tell him about it. He was locked out. He clenched his jaw, staring at the inactive portal for a good while. He had hoped that he would have more time. More time before his allies turned on him. What reason had he given them to inspire such distrust? He had kept himself under check the whole time, feeding Soul Eater and Soul Seeker only on those who deserved it. He had put his pride aside and compromised wherever he could. He had thought that he would get farther by being understanding, but perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps violence and fear were the way to go.
Then I pinched my nose. For several seconds, Randel stood still, eyes crossed as he watched his fingers cling to his nose. Why? He didn’t know. Yes. He was insane. The Mad Painter was an apt name, even if he hadn’t painted anything recently. Perhaps this madness had driven his allies to act against him. Nothing to be done about that. If one of his companions had behaved as he did right now, he would have done the same.
Perhaps he should have felt more alarmed by these thoughts, but he didn’t. Randel had lived many lives, and they had already taught him that madness was relative. It was a divergence from the norm. Life existed in all shapes and forms, and he hadn’t always been human. He had lived lives that most people would cringe at, yet for Randel, they had felt perfectly natural. His current form of existence was fine as it was. He was—where was he?
Randel let go of his nose. He knew where he was. He was on the path of ascendency, an arduous journey to take his disheveled life into his own hands. To stop being at anyone’s mercy. Said life was slipping from his grasp right now, but it wasn’t completely gone. He could work with what he had. First, he would find whoever was behind this little coup—and he already knew where to start. It was time to meet Fortram’s most powerful Player. The only person who could intimidate Randel. De facto ruler of the city. Leader of the Painters. Dungeon Master.
It was time to visit Devi.
