“Forgive this arrogant roach for his endless impertinency," Instructor Apari spoke with haste, not daring to lift his eyes. "He is a member of The Umuegbeeluigwe Confederation. One of your lofty standing may no longer recall, but many years ago, when his people were on the brink of destruction, Ekeukwuu, in your wondrous grace, sent your forces to aid them in uncovering the lost weaponry of their mother Amagwu, with which they were able to defend their homeland. In that righteous war, this arrogant roach fought in the 5th division of...”
The bald guy wafted on for a while.
-Caramel_Sprinkles_Sunshine: Think he’s worked out your identity, Ekeukwuu. Should I...
Henry gave her a disgusted look.
-Bob From San Francisco: He won’t blab. His faction are loyalists.
For all The Company's enemies, there were also many allies.
Most players, who hated him and his guild, compared them unfairly to a modern government. However, liberal democracy didn't work when a sizeable part of the population were immortals who got their kicks out of murder. His guild was, in fact, about as benevolent as one could get in this medieval fantasy setting. It helped that, having tasted power once, none of the core leadership were hungry for much more.
In the case of this bald guy’s confederation, Henry’d worked personally on the assignment to save them – it was how he’d learned the language of his patroness god. Also, a primary reason for picking the bald guy as a trainer had been that his people tended to be honourable, blunt, and short with their words. This guy wasn't those things; alas, only so much could be predicted about an individual from their culture.
And on the small chance the bald guy did snitch, Henry was borderline indifferent after attaining The Cap.
232 months!
“...please exercise that same generosity in his new homeland. With your all-seeing eye, you have identified the base nature of The Empire, who, for their greed, conspire the demise of his colleagues. He begs of you, for whom it would be no more than lifting a finger, to pick up the lice infesting this land and fling them into the sea!”
Quest Title: Clean up The Slums!
Description: An oppressed citizen of Suchi’s slum has begged you to free them from Ramiro’s increasingly tyrannical regime. You are compelled by heart and virtue to answer his call. Clean up The Slums!
Henry's nose wrinkled in suspicion.
-Bob From San Francisco: What with the side-quest, Hannes?
-Hannes Heikken (Helsinki, Finland): Please just fix the region...parents are sending us complaints about their kids being radicalised.
The game’s impartiality restrictions prevented the developer from fixing it himself.
Henry was certainly no fan of The Slum Empire, either. However, The Slums were not his guild’s jurisdiction, and a regime tactically assassinating a handful of its own citizens was not adequate casus belli. Also, this shithole had bigger problems.
Also, Henry'd retired - big or small, these problems weren't his anymore.
He messaged Caramel, who managed their forces in this region, asking her if the slum dudes had committed any recent offences warranting the chop.
-Caramel_Sprinkles_Sunshine: Nope. Ramiro keeps them above board.
Henry, nodding, approached the bowing trainer and raised the man to his feet. “For reasons you are neither privy to learn nor to question, the answer is no. If you want to combat them yourself, since The Empire’s power derives mostly from public support, try documenting any corruption related to this case or others, then hand that information to an impartial Offworlder news outlet. Is the Channel 5 branch here in their pocket?”
The last sentence was aimed at Caramel, who shook her head.
“Use them, then," said Henry. "Leave me out of it, obviously. And if you want to run away, the arrangements have been made. The offer for free transportation can be extended to your colleagues wishing to relocate as well. Beyond that, though, you will have to assist them yourself from the gold gifted here.”
When it came to charity, he drew a hard line at giving money to strangers. Rather than random hand-outs, he prefered to invest in large-scale, organised fixes.
As a matter of fact, the bulk of his wealth, both in-game and out, was already set aside for this purpose in the way of the Flaming Sun subsidiary guild that Alex led these days. Its main function was to promote social and economic growth in areas where markets and governments had failed - again, both in-game and out. The restaurant where he’d met Cathy and the others was one product of this, its head chef being a talent they’d found through an in-game discovery program.
Henry paused, weighing whether to say more, before condensing his thoughts into a brief word of practical advice. "I would just leave this shithole."
Instructor Apari slumped his shoulders. “As you say, Ekeukwuu.”
The trainer continued to stay in this position, not daring to raise his head until The Tyrant and The Defiant Flame had left. When his partner, recovering from the shock, asked him to explain the encounter, the instructor warned him to never speak of what he'd observed.
On the road outside, Henry re-added Caramel to the guild.
After a quick farewell, she rode off back to The Boar Fields to continue overseeing the harvesting of King Torc's corpses.
"Don't forget the pony farm!" she called out.
"Yeah, yeah."
As for Henry, a squad of hired NPC guards soon arrived to pick him up. While he would log out for lunch, they would bus his character to some private forest land. There, he would test his monster army plan while waiting for the Dread Curse holding up the Earthfriend trainers to finish being cured.
Auckland, New Zealand. The staff cafeteria of The Flaming Sun Corporation's out-of-game headquarters.
By a cardboard cut out of their guild leader and CEO, Alex Wong, holding a giant spoon and a bowl of seaweed, salary workers were queuing for their nutritional mid-day meal. Others were at a station to pick up takeaway food delivered by drones.
Many diners were chowing-down in front of a wall of TVs broadcasting the latest news from each game region. On the global channel, a segment was being played about the mysterious appearance and disappearance of a horde of Grey Wolves in the starting zones. A minute and a half later, the affair not seeming too important, the news anchors had moved on to discussing the wars in northern Heimland.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
At one table, a group of colleagues, not caring for any of that, were gossiping about office drama. Among them, an intern was twirling her newly-issued lanyard when she spotted a teenager dressed in sweatpants and grandpa loafers cutting to the front of the lunch queue.
“Hey," she said indignantly, "that kid skipped the line!”
A co-worker beside her was nibbling on a strip of dried freshwater seaweed. “That’s normal for the pros. The time-dilation amplifies delays in-game, so they need to be careful about how long they spend outside.”
“I don’t recognise him,” said the intern. “Is his avatar different?”
Why had she interviewed at The Flaming Sun Corporation? She was a die-hard fan of them and The Company! There was no pro she couldn't identify on sight.
“Oh, that kid," joined in another colleague, sipping a spoonful of San Franciscan Eelgrass Soup, “he’s not a pro. He just lives in the 7th-floor storage space and comes down to steal food sometimes.”
None of the intern’s colleagues showed any further reaction, as if this were the normal state of affairs.
“What?” she said. “How could someone live here?”
“There are many rumours: a financial genius, the son of the building owner. My favourite is that he's crusadingintheshadows himself, living here because he has to be on call at all hours."
"That's The Tyrant? What about Alex Wong?"
Everyone knew that The Tyrant was Alex Wong. The rumours had all but been confirmed by a televised interview a few days ago, when Oliver Spears, Gaming Journalist of The Year 2049, had exposed him live.
The co-worker laughed. "Of course not. Others have confirmed his userID is different. Harold Floral or something. Really, he’s a dropout cousin of the CEO who’s run away from home. Classic nepotism. He's got a joke translation job in the language department - just reads books when he does bother to log on. ”
The teen in question passed by their table, towers of food jostling on his tray. He was singing the 2038 classic from Burnt Bananas, ‘Sweet 19’, except he’d replaced the line, 'I will stay with you under the blanket for 19 days,' with, 'I will do nothing but read for 19 years.'
19 years - 232 months!
The teen, heading over to a sealed-off area reserved for the VIP employees, took a seat at an empty table, claiming the entire space for himself.
The intern, appalled by this shameless display, squeezed her fist in anger. “Shameless!”
Her indignation, however, was soon replaced with shock when a figure with puffy, dark bags under his eyes leapt into the seat beside the teen.
This was...
That is...
Before her now, in the very flesh, was a core member of The Flaming Sun 6-man arena team, Master of Cutthroats, The Insomniac, Dreamsofsleep!
More startling, this battle god started talking volubly to the teen, who, in turn, seemed to be ignoring him like an irritating blowfly.
The intern grieved. In that shameless kid's shoes, she would be using her e-assistant to record every one of Dreamofsleep's precious sentences!
If only she could eavesdrop on those no doubt priceless words.
Over at the table.
“C’mon, dude," begged the Cutthroat, "don’t be a tight-arse.”
“Go away. I’ve already given it to Caramel.”
“Worldpiercer, perhaps, but what about the other Legendaries, Supreme Cheat Magnet? Gimme, gimme.”
The watching intern’s mouth, already wide open, widened an inch further when a thin guy barged into the reserved area, slapped a tray down on the other side of the slacker teen, and used his huge hands to massage the latter's shoulders.
It was Qi Master extraordinaire, The Grappleking, Oison Longfingers!
Before the intern could finish registering this arrival, another pro turned up, a girl with greasy hair - The Plaguefiend, Susaanna!
Then another, The Walking Symphony, Limabeamlaughter!
Then Kisstopia, Consuming Under Nourished Tomatoes, CoryLambert30, Thorrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
On and on, these paragons of Saana were joining the slacker teen for lunch.
"No way," said the intern.
Maybe her colleagues were wrong. Maybe he was...
“Vultures,” Henry muttered at his friends' incessant begging.
In truth, though, he’d intentionally come down to the staff cafeteria to meet them after what'd been, from a certain perspective, a year and a half absence. That and, after exclusively eating wolf meat and tropical fruit, he longed for a proper meal.
Beside him, an Indian kid with a moustache was drumming his fingers on the tabletop with unusual alacrity. “To farm with that pace yet still not have progressed beyond Level 5. Something is missing.”
How could this kid know that his guild leader had been delayed by history’s longest tutorial?
Henry smugly stuffed two seaweed tarts in his mouth. “Why rush to beat up noobs?”
The moustached kid’s fingers sped up. “This morning, you were red-faced training in the gym. Now, you’re the picture of tranquillity. There’s no continuity.”
"Guess Alex was correct. A few hours of exercising my muscles in-game for the arena and I’m happier than a bee in spring."
"That is a lie. You are deceiving us."
At that moment, Henry spotted a gaggle of toddlers and their mothers entering the cafeteria and joining the queue. Hovering at the very back was a kid with a gelled mullet, wearing a defeated expression.
It was Alex’s spawn.
Henry, getting up, swung open the reserved area's glass door and yelled far too loud for the dining environment. "Little Liu! Get over here, you son of a thug!”
The toddler, excited at the call of his uncle, ran over as fast as his tiny, stumpy legs could carry him. Chasing behind him was his nanny and Henry’s inept assistant, Mrs Withers, who'd done nothing at all to help him this morning.
Upon reaching him, the toddler looked up silently - because he was a mute.
Henry recalled that the kids had been playing in the company’s VR gym. “So you lost pathetically.”
Little Liu nodded.
Henry, ushering the loser child back to his seat, patted his head, ruining his gelled hairdo. “There’s no need to be dejected by defeat at the beginning. Let me tell you, these uncles and aunts around you, when I first started in the game, they violently beat me over and over again, for weeks and weeks, with not a shred of concern for my suffering in their blackened hearts.”
“Dude, you wandered off immediately after the tutorial. We played together for like 4 hours.”
“Little Liu, at the time, your uncle was too weak to stop their never-ending bullying. I lacked even the strength to wipe their spit from my eyeballs. However, gaze around you now, and see that the situation has been reversed. Here they are, having crawled on their bellies to my doorstep, unwashed and riddled with parasites, a beggar’s bowl trembling in their grubby mitts, as they cry, ‘Please, sir, just one more Legendary. Please!’”
“We’re right beside you.”
“Why? Because I refused to play by the rules that they’d set out. When the odds weren’t in my favour, I had the tenacity and genius to modify them so that they were. In your case, can’t beat a kid because he’s got a longer reach? Slip a couple of spoonfuls of cough syrup in his sippy cup so he's a bit slow lifting his arms. Advantage negated.”
Mrs Withers, who'd been following after the toddler, winced. “Mr Lee, please don’t encourage the child to poison others.”
“So you can’t poison them, Little Liu?" said, Henry adjusting strategies to the limitations of infancy. "Then take a different route. Make your arms longer than his. Here’s what we’ll do: after you start puberty, uncle will supply you with the most cutting-edge designer super steroids available on the market to transform you into a chemical freak capable of beating up ten dudes with your raw muscular strength.”
“Mr Lee, you can’t buy him steroids.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs Withers,” said an inner circle member. “He’s joking to cheer Little Liu up.”
“No, he’s not, dear.”
Henry, taking a seat, lifted the kid onto his lap and redistributed his food to create a new plate. “Legal steroids, Little Liu. Ignore the haters looking down on you for using them. One day you’ll be looking down on them–literally–because the steroids will make you 7-feet tall. Check out these giants.” On his e-assistant, he pulled up a screenshot of the meatheads, who should be restarting the tutorial around now, along with everyone else whose trainer had died or fled. “You want to be like that?”
The toddler, not understanding in the slightest due to being a 2-year-old, nodded with blind enthusiasm at his uncle’s excited tone.
“Brilliant, then the first step is eating well!” Henry shoved a knife and fork into the child’s fingers. “Don’t mind uncle; he’s got these two bad boys.”
Wielding his bare hands, he began digging into his food with the barbaric table manners he’d cultivated over the months of isolation. He wolfed down seaweed cakes, seaweed doughnuts, seaspaghetti bolagnweed, seaweed pizza, sushi, seaweed salad.
The menu may have sounded monotonous to modern ears, but after seaweed had become the world’s dominant source of protein, chefs around the globe had learned to maximise the versatile qualities of this super ingredient. For a person of 2050, no taste was more comforting.
The toddler imitated his uncle's ferocious eating style.
“See," the inner circle member pointed their behaviour out to the nanny, "he’s acting silly to cheer–”
“Quicker, Little Liu! The better nourished you are, the sooner you’ll start puberty and your roid regime.”
“Never mind.”
Across the cafeteria, the intern was frowning deeply. "How can he be so close with Little Liu?"
Everyone knew Alex Wong's son.
Her colleague boredly put down a can of Jamaican Irish Moss. “Uncle and nephew. Like I said, he's the CEO’s dropout cousin. The pros are all there to suck up to him.”
The theory the intern had been considering was instantly destroyed. Now, when she studied the group in this other light, it became apparent that the gaming gods were forcing themselves to laugh at the slacker teen’s antics to keep on his good side.
She sighed at the injustice of the world.
It was the year 2050, and society had still not overcome the cancer of nepotism.
End of Volume 1 - History's Longest Tutorial.
Next up: Volume 2 - Mischievous Friends of The Earth.