“Change of plan!” Eric said with a desperate bit of levity in his voice, before giving silent commands to his revenants who were effectively an extension of himself when he willed it so.
“We’re heading over to the cover of trees over there! The massive traveler’s pine should do a good job of keeping you all under cover, and my friends will keep you safe if anyone hostile comes too close!”
“What they hell, you’re leaving us here?” Mags gazed at Eric in disbelief that had more to do with the way he had effortlessly lifted up a pair of fallen logs to assure that the entire wagon could fit under the boughs of the massive pine that truly seemed more fantastical than any evergreen that had evolved naturally in the Continental US. Though Eric quite deliberately refused to focus on it too deeply, all too aware of just how deep and dreamlike the fugue had been when he had forged the wonders of Ashland, somehow not surprised that teensy sparkles of influence and magical potential might have scattered quite a ways from the territory he had seized, transformed, and ultimately surrendered.
What mattered was that the massive conifer was exactly what he needed, precisely where he needed it to be.
Eric gave his new acquaintances whom he feared would never be comfortable enough with his presence to call him friend, a reassuring wink. “Don’t worry. My newest recruits are effectively fiftieth level and can use their gladius just as well as they can their sarissa. And I’d be extremely surprised if our enemies were keeping anything in reserve at Contender level on this, the night of their offensive. And those gnoll contenders were what… twenty fifth level max, maybe thrity at the outside? Even the goblin assassins seemed to peak at that level, at least the first wave.”
Amy cursed and shook her head. “You say that like such a feat isn’t even worth mentioning.”
Eric had the gall to wink. “I say that like someone who has the keys to awesome classes, beautiful condominiums, unlimited shopping and wealthy tier dungeons beyond your wildest dreams. Ashland. I hope you all check it out! After I take out the trash, I mean.”
“But not all of us have the luxury of classes, so what will our fates be?” sobbed the older woman who’s lined features spoke of exhaustion and despair, even as she slumped in on herself, already looking consigned to the bitterest of fates. Eric winced, sensing the shell of the confident, well-spoken woman who had once known prestige and respect under the battered and exhausted exterior before him now. He could only imagine the tribulations she had suffered to go from boardroom power suits to ragged clothes that hadn’t been hemmed or washed in weeks.
Eric dared to gently squeeze her fragile hand.
It was a testament to monstrous Finesse that he caused her no pain, and to her courage as well that she didn’t flinch. “Everyone who swears an oath to cause no harm to me or mine or betray the Sylvan Alliance is welcome to start their lives anew, and just like any soon to be booming town, we’re going to need auxiliary and logistical support, not to mention a serious influx of service workers many times greater than what the absolutely surging number of adventurers that will make Ashland their home will soon be.”
Eric dared to wink. “It’s the perfect time for a former manager or power broker to get in on the ground floor and let Blue Corp execs know just how useful you can be to getting things running from the ground up.”
The woman’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “How could you possibly—”
“Even better,” Eric cut in with a smile, “I claimed a Tier-II ascension pod. Which means that all of you just need to touch the pyramid to see all your class options manifest, well beyond the options allowed by tainted Tier-0 goblin pods, to see all the possibiliites before you!”
He turned to look at the others. “Which means that if you’re a Conscript still, you might just find yourself eligible for Advanced-tier class or even better! And for those who’ve already locked in a solid class,” he said with a nod Amy and Mags way, “You still have one final chance to evolve your class at level fifty. OR to condense your core. Which I highly recommend doing so if you can, because the most important evolution you can possibly embrace, any of you, is to pick a class you’re so attuned to that it would actually let you ascend to Level 100. The cusp of Bronze… and perhaps, for a few of you, even further.”
The former executive flashed a bitter smile. “It won’t do anything for us classless mortals, will it? Not unless we’re so desperate we’re willing to risk death… almost certain death, on a chance for something better.” She gave a helpless little laugh. “Although I don’t mind admitting that at this point… I’m almost willing to take that gamble! Especially if it means I can lock in a solid class from the start,” she said, too thin arms wrapped tightly around her shivering form. “Please tell me that at least the odds of survival are better in your pod than the goblin death-traps?”
“That’s the best part of all!” Eric assured. “Because even if you don’t have a classer’s knack, and that’s true of over 90% of the population, the Tier-2 pod will simply remain closed to you.”
The woman’s eyes lit with wonder. “But wait, Eric… You’re name is Eric, right? Do you understand what a boon that is? Instead of only the desperate risking their lives attempting the pods, a tiny fraction of us still… absolutely everyone will be able to, if, instead of a hideous death, the worst consequence of their daring is a door that won’t open.”
Eric paused for a final agonizing second, ignoring the alarms blaring in his skull as he locked gazes with all of them. “And that’s the point,” Eric said. “The boon that could literally save this world from all the factions that would see us enslaved or dead. If word of Ashland’s promise gets out, the world would be transformed.” He flashed a bitter smile. “And for some reason, nearly all of my attempts to get the word out have been stopped cold, for one reason or another. So much so that I almost think that a certain enemy Contender or puppetmaster’s been using strands of fate to shut me up. But if a handful of classless mortals, both frighteningly fragile and, I suspect, utterly immune to so many strands of magical manipulation should get the word out… well, that might help to save a lot of lives. And those brave mortals will have earned themselves a fat purse, and a place at my table.”
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The woman seemed to stand up straighter, as fires of rekindled hope, even a sense of purpose reflected from her gaze. “I will see that words gets out, young Contender. You have my oath on that.”
Far from sharing in the smirks that the Classers among them exchanged at the powerless mortal’s pointless oath, Eric solemnly bowed his head. “This one thanks you. And with that being said… I’ll come back for you all when I can.”
Wasting not another word, he made full use of his 634 Quickness and Speed Racer perks to vanish before anyone else could even blink.
Amy paled. “That boy can teleport? No way!”
“Um… I don’t think that was teleportation,” opined a quiet classer dressed in simple scraps, clearing his throat at that moment. His unexpected pronouncement earned a number of furrowed brows and frowns, half the group only now registering the young man’s presence at all. And perhaps it was no wonder. With his guiless eyes, light brown hair, innocent smile, and bland features that seemed to blend right in to the background, he hardly seemed to stand out at all.
Amy frowned. “Alright, mister quiet, how the hell did he disappear before our eyes?”
The youth sighed, rubbing his face as if trying to wake up from a long journey. “If my Interface analysis is right… that guy’s Quickness is over tenfold my own. And that could have caused serious problems. Good thing he’s already left the area,” the boy said with a wink, pointing to his nose.
This earned a smirk from Amy, ignoring her girlfriend’s frown. “Really, kid? What problems would these be? You got a scent hound node or something? And what’s your Quickness anyway?”
The skinny youth finished rubbing his face and the crowd of survivors grew deathly still under the quiet rustling of the sheltering branches all around them. All of their eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom that had stretched for almost two days already. All of them could see the youth’s yellow eyes and the fangs blossoming from his mouth.
“Fast enough to do this,” he snarled, seeming to disappear before the scrawny boy appeared right behind Mags, earning a single surprised cry before 60 Quickness prepared to make short work of what the wolf in their mist had clearly judged the greatest threat.
The pine rang with half a dozen panicked cries.
Before cutting off with a surprised snarl and yelp when the ravenous wolf glowing with arcane enhancements gnashed and tore at the shredded sleeve of the forearm suddenly jammed into his mouth.
Amy had fallen to her butt with a surprised yelp, scrabbling to her feet, eyes filled with surprised and panic as she grabbed Mags and wrapped her shuddering partner in her arms, gazing at Eric and the would-be werewolf in surprised disbelief.
Eric glared down at the snarling snapping monster, before effortlessly grabbing him by the scruff, and earning a yelp for his trouble.
Amy just stared at Eric for long moments.
“Just how the fuck…”
Eric shrugged. “I had to flush out the rat. This was as good away to do it as any.”
“How did you know?”
He chuckled. “I didn’t. I was only going to waste a minute, no longer, and this idiot was just as impatient as the ravenous hunger I smelled in the air implied.”
Amy’s glare grew accusing. “You knew.”
Eric nodded. “I suspected. But somehow I just knew that if I started summarily executing people who smell a bit funny, I’ll be getting some very hard looks from you and your girlfriend, and probably everyone else that I don’t want kissing my ass for fear’s sake alone.”
A glaring Amy opened her mouth, before lowering her gaze. “Fuck you for being right.”
He stared coldly down at the wolf still snarling and snapping in his grip. “Excuse me,” he calmly said, stepping past the shelter of the travelers pine. Amy and Mags exchanged a look, then a flinch when a sickening crack could be heard.
Then, seconds later, the air filled with syllables that had Amy and Mags both shivering, as if feeling icy cold sludge slithering up and down their spines.
“Surge Centuria! Imperator Imperat Tibi!”
Seconds later Eric returned, and a third revenant with eyes that blazed with death’s illumination saluted fist to chest, before joining his fellows.
Eric dared a madcap grin at their flummoxed features. “Well, at least now you have three fiftieth level sentinels, and now I really need to get going. Oh, and before I forget…”
He winked, turned John’s way, and whispered into his ear before disappearing as fast as he had come.
John looked flummoxed, shaking his head in open-mouthed disbelief.
“No way. No fucking way!”
“What, what the fuck did he say?” Amy hissed.
John turned her way and opened his mouth, before laughing bitterly. “You ever get the feeling that no matter how hard you train, or what level you achieve, no matter how great you feel with that first level-up, that you’re always going to be behind the eight-ball, that someone else will always be stronger than you, faster than you, more powerful than you, no matter how many ‘fortuitous encounters’ you stumble across, happy just to be alive to come home to your kid?”
Amy smirked. “All the fucking time, except for the kid part. So, what’s did that cat…”
“Six hundred and thirty four.”
The words died on Amy’s lips. “No. Fucking. Way.”
Mags looked flummoxed. “He’s already earned 634 points? How? What titles did he get? That’s nearly as much as a level 100 Advanced Classer with a Silver spoon in his mouth! And no one in Freetown save a handful of elite guild heads have even reached Level 30! So how the hell…”
John shook his head. “That’s not his characteristic total.”
Amy kissed the top of Mags’ trembling head, holding her close. “Well good. Because that was a fucking absurd—”
“That’s his Quickness.”
John smiled bitterly into the disbelieving silence. “That’s right. 634 points in a single fucking stat. My highest is 18. And I actually thought that was great! My interface even said that bordered on professional athletes, back in the day.” He sighed, fondly rubbing his sleeping daughter’s curls. “Contenders. Am I right?”