Roth found Jack and Godsfried pacing anxiously in the dimly lit center of the 82nd floor. The tension in the air was palpable, each step they took echoing off the stone walls. Roth had considered messaging them about the success of their plan, but the thrill of seeing their reactions in person was too tempting to pass up. He wanted to savor this moment.
Roth canceled [Ethereal Camouflage] with a smirk, materializing suddenly before the two dwarven players.
“AAAAAAAAH!” Jack screamed, the sound echoing through the chamber.
Godsfried also let out a startled shriek, more from the shock of Jack's outburst than Roth's sudden appearance. “Roth, you scared us half to death!” he exclaimed, clutching his chest.
Jack, recovering quickly, rushed toward Roth, practically bouncing with excitement. He grabbed onto Roth's armor, his eyes wide with anticipation. “So? Did you make it? Did you make it?”
Roth, relishing the suspense, paused dramatically. Then, unable to contain his excitement any longer, he burst out, “We did it! We now own 56 floors of Sapphira!”
For a moment, the enormity of the victory hung in the air, and then the three players erupted into joyous celebration. They grabbed each other, jumping up and down like children, their laughter echoing through the chamber. It was a hard-earned victory resulting from countless hours spent planning, crafting, and executing their strategy. They had poured billions of gold into this quest, and now, at last, they had succeeded. They owned the majority of Sapphira!
“Weren’t they suspicious when you made the offer?” Godsfried asked after the first wave of excitement had passed.
“I made sure to move quickly,” Roth replied, his heart still racing from the adrenaline of the deal. “I raced to the Busterds’ headquarters right after buying Kulvar’s estate. They had no idea I had just bought the estate from the Lindstors.”
“Just as we planned,” Jack said with a grin. “The slavers would never want to publicize that they had sold their city properties. That would be a sign of weakness.”
“That means we’ve only got one last task before the quest is complete,” Godsfried suggested, his tone taking on a more serious note.
Jack’s eyes lit up with renewed energy as he turned to find the nearest dwarves. “Gather everyone! And go get the clan lords!” he commanded.
Within minutes, a crowd of dwarves had assembled before the three players. Roth, towering above the dwarves, didn’t need a stage to be seen, but Jack and Godsfried climbed onto a crafting table to address their kin.
“Hear me, dwarves!” Jack’s voice rang out, commanding the attention of the entire assembly.
The chamber fell into a hushed silence, broken only by the heralds who repeated Jack’s words to those further away.
“You have worked tirelessly to mass-produce one of our ancestral recipes. We found buyers for these goods, and with that money, we’ve repurchased this city! Your city!”
A wave of cheers and applause surged through the crowd, the dwarves’ voices rising in unison. Roth, however, felt his heart pounding for a different reason. As the others celebrated, he tapped his foot nervously. He was currently ranked 16th, and with Ogre and Kraken agreeing to step out of the rankings for a day, he only needed to climb four more spots to finally break through. Three, if Manny managed to convince Cerberus to do the same. He was banking on the reward from this quest to push him over the edge.
“Dwarven lords, step forward,” Jack called.
Three figures stepped forward from the crowd—two men and one woman. Their hair, a mix of silver and gray, gleamed under the dim light. Unlike the other dwarves, who were clad in sturdy metal armor, these three wore robes of rich, dark cloth adorned with the subtle patterns of their clans. They were the lords of the three dwarf clans that had migrated to Sapphira, and now they stood before their people.
“Roth, please,” Jack said.
Roth opened his menu, displaying the vast list of estates he now owned. His fingers hovered over the screen as he began typing in the names of these NPCs. One by one, he selected all the floors of Sapphira he’d purchased from the slavers. His breath caught as he hesitated, the enormity of what he was about to do sinking in. He’d spent over 4 billion gold on these properties—an amount that could easily buy out an entire neighborhood in the real world, more than enough to make someone a millionaire and secure a life of luxury.
He glanced at Godsfried and Jack, who watched him with expectant smiles. Their eyes shone not with greed but with genuine expectation of what would happen once they finished this quest. These two had become more than just allies—they were friends.
Roth took a deep breath, steeling himself. Here goes nothing, he thought.
A confirmation window popped up.
Are you sure you want to transfer this property to Grimnir, Rurik, and Brunna? [Y/N]
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Roth's finger hovered over the screen for a split second longer. Then, with a determined nod, he clicked Yes.
*
Loki stepped into Kulvar Lindstor’s office after being offline for several hours. The demands of his empire outside the virtual world required constant attention, forcing him to step away from the game occasionally. Not all his business partners agreed to have meetings in AstroTerra. But now, his instincts were honed back in the game, ready to assess the situation at Lindstor’s headquarters.
As he approached Kulvar’s office, he immediately noticed the increased security presence outside the door—guards clad in dark armor, their expressions tense. Loki’s lips curled into a small smile. Good, he thought. At least Kulvar’s taking the situation seriously.
When Loki appeared, the guards snapped to attention and stepped aside. Seconds later, the taskmaster herself arrived to escort him in.
“How’s the war going?” Loki asked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.
“Not well,” she replied, lines of worry etched into her face.
Not well wasn’t an acceptable answer. He would need to hear the details directly from Kulvar. As the heavy doors creaked open, Loki’s sharp eyes took in the sight of Kulvar Lindstor—only this wasn’t the proud, self-assured man he remembered. Kulvar looked as if he had aged two decades since their last meeting. His posture was slumped, and the confident spark that once lit his eyes was dimmed, replaced by a hollow, weary stare.
“Mr. Loki, you’re finally here.”
“What happened, Mr. Kulvar?”
“We’ve been robbed,” Kulvar replied.
Loki’s eyes narrowed, a cold flicker of anger flashing through them. “What do you mean, robbed?”
“They took everything—all the gold, everything in the safe,” Kulvar explained, his voice trembling.
“What? How is that possible? Didn’t the trap work?” It felt like the ground had shifted beneath him. The only thing stopping him from physically shaking Kulvar was the lingering satisfaction of having dealt with Zin earlier. However sad Kulvar looked, it was his money that had been stolen. He had invested mountains of gold into these cursed slavers, even pouring more into securing the safe, making it as impregnable as possible—and now, it had all been taken from him? Again?
“We still don’t know how they did it,” Kulvar stammered. “The thief somehow bypassed all our defenses, emptied the coffer, and vanished without a trace. The safe was closed but empty when we arrived—just crumbs from whatever food was left there. All the documents were shredded to ribbons, and every last coin was gone.”
Loki clenched his jaw so tightly he thought his teeth might crack. How could this have happened? First, O’Shaughnessy had squandered the money he’d set aside to fund the invasion on Crownia, and now, Kulvar had let the second batch of money slip right through his fingers.
“Please, Mr. Loki, don’t worry. I plan to return every cent to you. I’ve already found a solution.”
Loki’s patience was wearing thin. “What solution?”
“I’ve received a generous offer,” Kulvar said with forced optimism. “Someone offered to buy some of our estate holdings for two billion gold. With that money, we can finish the war and seize our enemies’ properties.”
Loki’s stomach churned. Something wasn’t right. He had tried to buy property from the Lindstors before, and they had never budged. “Who? Who made this offer?”
“A stranger,” Kulvar replied, his voice faltering. “A fox-man.”
Loki froze, the color draining from his face. “A fox-man?”
His mind raced, connecting the dots. The description that Xerxes had given of the Slayer transforming into a mouse-man. The badger-like appearance of the same figure when he had brought the top guilds to their knees. No. No. No. It can’t be. No, Loki’s thoughts spiraled as dread and realization hit him like a sledgehammer. It was him. It had to be him.
A notification blinked into view, cutting through his thoughts.
[Conquering Crownia] has been canceled.
“What?!”
Loki stared at the notification, his hands trembling. All the joy he’d felt earlier from getting rid of Zin evaporated, replaced by a seething rage. For this quest to be canceled, it could only mean one thing—the Slayer’s quest had succeeded. The Slayer had dared to interfere with his plans again. But this time, Loki swore it would be the last, even if he had to set this whole city on fire.
“Yillian. Xerxes. Anak. The Slayer is in Sapphira, probably on the 82nd floor. I want you all ready with our men. This is the last time he messes with my plans.”
Loki turned his back on Kulvar Lindstor, his mind already calculating his next move.
“Mr. Loki. Where are you going?” Kulvar called after him.
Loki didn’t even glance back. “Don’t speak to me, you imbecile. I’m coming for you next. If you don’t have my money ready when I return, I’ll make sure every single one of the Lindstors burns to the ground.”
*
“Good morning, sir. How can I help you?”
Eron adjusted his glasses, the faint sheen of nervous sweat barely noticeable as he slid several envelopes across the counter to the post office worker. “Here. I want these sent with maximum urgency.”
The employee took the envelopes, her eyes briefly scanning the addresses as she flipped them over. Eron’s gaze darted over his shoulder, checking for any signs of pursuit. The small town’s post office was quiet, the kind of place where strangers stood out, but he couldn’t afford to take any chances. He had traveled ten hours to this remote location, selecting it to ensure no one could trace these letters back to him.
“All the addresses are here, and I can see you’ve already applied the stamps. That will be all, then,” the worker said, disinterested.
Eron tried to mask the tension coiling in his gut. He left the counter, his steps measured and deliberate as he exited the building and headed toward the bus station. He felt a small measure of relief as he exited the post office, but it was fleeting. The envelopes were now out of his hands, their contents on a path that could upend several lives.
He could only guess at what those envelopes contained. He hadn’t dared to open them, but he had checked the addresses: police stations, courts, and various law enforcement agencies. Based on that—and the little he knew about Zin’s murky past—he had a good idea of what they held: insurance. Documents and evidence that could destroy influential people’s careers, if not their lives. A few select individuals were about to experience their worlds turning upside down, and Eron hoped fervently that Loki would be among them.
As Eron waited for the hoverbus, his thoughts churned, turning over the implications of Zin’s disappearance. If Zin really was gone, then the responsibility of leading the Usurpers would fall to him. Should he dismantle the guild, ending the legacy of those who'd followed Zin? Or should he take the reins, honoring the man who had saved them all from Loki’s clutches?
The low hum of the approaching hoverbus broke his reverie. As the vehicle stopped in front of him, Eron came to a decision. He would continue with the guild, not just for himself, but for Zin—for the man who had defied Loki’s orders and, in doing so, had saved him and all the other Usurpers. Eron straightened his shoulders and boarded the bus. Whatever came next, he would face it head-on for Zin.