John and Mitchell stood at the Eastern Gate, awaiting the morning's arrival in the shade of the wall.
When he had first gained access to the Immigration menu, Mitchell had tried to strike a balance between skilled and settled citizens, and sheer population numbers. What he had never done before, was devote every single XP the settlement generated and put it all into a single person.
That single person strolled along the burgeoning path now, and Mitchell had to blink at the sheer garish elegance of the figure’s outfit. Pale blue and gleaming silver quartered tights sat under a fine grey tunic tied at the waist with a silver cord. A mantle of soft fur stretched across the shoulders, and a floppy blue hat sat upon the head. A rakish smile peeked out as the person - a man, it was now clear - lifted their gaze and spread their hands wide. Blonde hair and blue eyes adorned a severe, angled face that nevertheless screwed into an expression of curiosity and joy.
“Greetings from myself to Old Mill Town!” The man called out with a Mediterranean accent they couldn’t place.
“We return your greetings?” John said haltingly, and Mitchell had to fight the urge to sigh in exasperation.
“Old Mill Town welcomes you, traveller!” He called out over John’s reply as he stepped forwards, “I am sure you are weary and wish to rest, but we have yet to actually build a tavern or inn of any sort.”
“I am well aware. I would assume that you are this settlement's Creator, though please forgive the assumption if I am incorrect!” The man’s voice was enthusiastic, bordering on boisterous.
“I am.” Mitchell answered, slightly taken aback at how well-informed this man seemed to be. “My name is Mitchell Lefluer, and I am the Creator and Patriarch of this Settlement. Who might I be speaking with?” For some reason, Mitchell had a brief flashback to answering a phone call for his workplace Before, but quickly dismissed it.
“We have the mutual pleasure of being in a conversation that contains Dalton McAlroy al’Signhi DuVrais Allicent Tony Weltherford. The second, to be true, but my father has long since perished and I will bear no sons, so that really does not affect my name anymore. I believe I am correct in assuming your companion to be John Forrest, Master of Law and Order here?” The man gave a sweeping bow while he introduced himself, and Mitchell noted with surprise that the man's outfit was impeccably clean, despite walking out of a forest.
“Hail, stranger!” John called out as he walked up to join the conversation.
The man laughed. “I am no stranger! Why, I volunteered for this most fortuitous duty. I am not sure if your enlightened self was aware, Patriarch, but you have passed a threshold recently. I will not deign to tell you how to run your own settlement, but I suggest we start by turning your immigration off for a few days.”
John held a hand out in front of Mitchell, as if he were just going to pull up his screen and do what the newcomer said right there. “I apologize, Mr. Weatherford-”
“Weltherford” The man interrupted. John sucked in breath through his nose.
“Mr. Weltherford. You have our sincerest apologies for the lack of decorum, but who the fuck are you?” John finally asked.
“I told you, my name is Dalton McAlro-”
Mitchell slapped his hand against his forehead while the man rattled off his names.
“-ony Weltherford.” He paused. “The second.”
“I think what my fellow here was trying to ask,” Mitchell clarified, “is who you are to the Settlement? I placed all of the xp into one person, and it’s you. Why is it you?”
Dalton blinked. “Have you not inspected me yet?”
Mitchell frowned. “We consider that rude, here.” He lied, having let his skill fall to the back of his mind recently.
“Oh. OH! I see. Well, in the rest of the Systemized Universe, you would definitely be in your rights to protest an unwarranted scan, but the general rule is that scans need to have a purpose - doing one on someone spontaneously all but announces your intention to attack and they are now within their rights to defend themselves. Long story short, you are welcome to scan me now, and I will not consider it an assault. Go ahead and do that now.”
Mitchell shrugged and did as he asked, activating his Inuit skill, which just told him that Dalton was loyal, friendly, and- “What does obligated mean in this context?”
“Well, unlike the generated beings you’ve had showing up so far, I am an actual Systemized citizen! My father was a minor noble on a planet that has long since passed its prime, and I didn’t want to join eight brothers, three sisters, thirty-four cousins and an aunt in the contest for the throne.” Dalton explained. “As nobles, we are obligated to perform our duties in a method above reproach. Are you familiar with the Charter of Nobility? I believe your culture Before had something like it called noblesse obligate or something along those lines - you did have way too many languages on this ball of dirt, you know. To end my rambling, I am an E-Rank Advisor from the planet Tuurth, though I am willingly reducing my level to that of your town.”
“Really?” John said flatly. “Tuurth?”
Dalton nodded. “Believe it or not, every single human planet rhymes. I’ve been to Tuurth, Tearth, Perth, Yu-ur-ff, and Birth. What was your planet called? Maybe I can help you come up with a good name that isn’t taken?”
Mitchell chuckled, but only because he didn’t know what else to really do in the face of this man. “You really don’t know, then? Welcome to Earth, Sir Dalton.”
----------------------------------------
“This is… quaint.” Dalton said as he ran a finger along one of the gazebo’s railings. “You do all your meetings outside, in front of everyone? Not a poor system, though it does leave your authorities highly vulnerable to assassination.”
Mitchell shook his head. “Not typically, no. However, a fair amount of our Core group returned from a Dungeon early this morning, so we’re letting them rest in the house. Can I interest you in some breakfast while we await my Administrator? We have oats, right now, though I can see about setting you up with System Store credit down at our Market?”
Dalton smiled and revealed shining white teeth. “No need, though your generosity is surprisingly welcome and noted. No, my family is not so minor that they would allow me to leave without a small fortune. Also, we do not require an administrator, though I must confess I am unsure as to that class. And to the rest of it, to be completely honest with you. Why was your council in a dungeon? How would they even fight anything?”
Mitchell looked at him out the side of his eyes, as he watched the dock workers continue to build the small row boat in the faintly falling sprinkles of rain. “How do you mean?”
“I mean an Administrator class or a Hunter class shouldn’t have any skills for combat. Yet your Administrator and Master Hunter still went to go try a dungeon.” Dalton explained his confusion.
“I was a Warrior before I was an Administrator.” Kyla yawned out as she tucked herself under the protection of the gazebo. The air wasn’t quite cold yet, but it could definitely not be called warm. “Kyla. Admin. Who’re you?”
“I am Dalton McAlro-”
“He’s our new advisor.” Mitchell cut off the burgeoning speech. “Dalton, meet Kyla, Warrior and my Administrator.”
Dalton narrowed his eyes, before sighing. “Well, now that you’re here, we can hopefully continue. There’s a lot of work to do to get this place up to standard, and not much funding to do it with. Firstly, could you please ask your Administrator to assign me as the settlement’s Advisor?”
“Kyla? First, sorry for making you get up early. You can go back once we’re done here. Second, would you mind terribly?”
“Ahem. ‘Dalton-’ Damn, are those all middle names? Whatever. ‘Has been suggested as Advisor to the Settlement of Old Mill Town. Please respond to thi-’ I assume you want me to just click yes, then?” Kyla asked, rubbing at her eyes.
“Yea, slot him in. We did ask for him. What does being an Advisor even do?” Mitchell answered.
“Done. Levelled. I’m going back to bed. Thanks for the free stats.” Kyla answered curtly before shuffling back to the house and closing the door softly behind her.
“Firstly,” Dalton began, “Thank you for your show of trust and for giving me this opportunity. Secondly, I will need some time to familiarise myself with the current status of your Settlement, but I do what I am made to do - I advise. I have knowledge on every possible permutation of Settlement including their upgrades, and an extensive font of knowledge regarding classes, though there are a few new ones every time so I will not have complete knowledge. For instance, I can take your Page of the March class all the way to B grade, should we last that long. However, Mr. Forrest, I cannot help you with your Centurion class. It is entirely foreign to me, which must make it a new addition.”
John blinked. “Really? I got a new one? I guess Rome didn’t really exist on Tuurth or whatever.”
Dalton frowned. “No, We had no ‘Rome’, or whatever. But I also doubt you ended up with SkyShapers or Winged Knights here, so let us accept each planet is unique in its own way. I can help with the Carpenter class, though.”
John paused for a moment. “Fair. My apologies.”
Dalton brightened immediately and waved it off. “Nothing to concern yourself over! As I was saying, I will require some time to acquaint myself with your town, so if you- You made a Dictatorship.” His voice quickly went from chipper to flat.
Mitchell fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I did, though we function more as a council.”
“...alright. You got to third level quick enough to offset the immigration issue, though it will still slow your growth down. You also have- how do you have absolutely no experience for your Settlement? What, did you just start immigration on the first day?”
John and Mitchell looked at each other.
“Say no more. Homestead was a good choice for the organisation. Your values are alright, though you will miss out on a lot of Divine perks for placing Theocratic works last. Interesting that you put Economic Strength first when you haven’t any source of income. It will really start to shine as soon as you get your first Min- oh dear.”
“Oh dear?” Mitchell asked.
“You have no potential Mine locations. That could change as we expand or improve our capabilities, but right now you are missing the primary method of gaining income. How did you even make these buildin- Ah, now I see, you had a local dungeon. I’m assuming your Stone came from there, so that confirms this as being a competitive Tutorial Instance. In that instance, your goals should either be to assimilate every Tutorial participant into your settlement, or to neutralise all other Settlements in the Instance. However, our issue still lies with your lack of income.”
“So what do we do? We have an injured veteran making charcoal sketches that he sells on the store, and they’re worth way more than we think they should be, but what else can we do?” John asked.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Dalton blinked. “I apologize, this may be a cultural divide but I must ask - What is a veteran in this context? My translation tool appears to have given me a definition of ‘old man injured in battle’, and from my view of your settlement demographic, you have precisely one man beyond 50 of your Earth years, which does not quite fit. If you are truly a dual-class integration, though, this veteran should have a secondary class they can use to create income.”
“We use veteran to refer to any who have undergone military service. Also, yes, we all have two classes. He’s an Artist”
Dalton’s eyebrows furrowed, but he seemed to tuck away the class discussion for another time. “Would it not be easier to refer to those who did not? Serve in your military, that is.”
Further conversation revealed that Tuurth was a much different place than our little slice of rock in the grand reaches of space, though both Mitchell and John were treating it as more of a foreign country than anything. It hadn’t really clicked that they were definitely speaking with an alien, human though he may be. In this ‘country’ everyone was conscripted to their Nobles army from the age of 14, which was the Age of Application on Tuurth - the age when a child would first gain access to the System and would be able to begin training their stats.
Mitchell eventually had to cut the rambling man off. “Alright, so we don’t have mines. You’re telling me that the prices for our art are only so high because we’re new, so that will fall off soon too. We’ve got the dungeon-”
“Not worth it until you build the Dungeon Gate. Too risky.”
“Which does…?”
“Other than ensuring easy, unfettered access to the Dungeon? It will replace the Instance timer with an Instance count that will grow with the Settlements level. In practice, you can have as many parties Delving as you have Instance Slots. It will ensure that any earned loot is provided upon exit - you would not believe how often a Delver would walk past a Purple Spotted Violet Mushroom or the like and not realise it was the most expensive piece of loot in the dungeon. It will create temporary chests and present them to the party upon exit. A tad more on the morbid side, in the unfortunate event that someone were to… expire, within the Dungeon, it would recreate them a week later, though again that time reduces as you level up the settlement. Finally, once you have one, you can link it to other Dungeons that members of your Settlement have cleared.”
Mitchell sighed. “No way we’ll get a hundred E coins any time soon.”
Dalton blinked. “Soon? Oh noble Patriarch, if you think this tutorial will be over within the next two seasons, and all of your planets aligned in harmony, you may possibly be close to accurate. As for gaining the money, this is not impossible. A Shipwright could craft you fishing boats, which would solve your immediate food problems and generate some ongoing income. A Leatherworker could craft armour for your militia to use, as well as further income. Your art will likely lose its lustre in the next week or two, and I doubt that it will be long before the crafting Tutorials start to flood the market with their works. This is frustrating! I am unable to share my funds with you. I have a C-coin in my personal inventory right now, and I quite literally unable to withdraw it. Vexing.”
“Alright. You’re fine for breakfast. You’re fine to acclimate. I’m going to… go for a walk.”
“I’m coming with you.” John said in response.
“Wait!” Dalton cried. “You still need to place me in a caste!”
Mitchell halted. “Never call them that. Respect is granted upwards only if earned. Respect is mandatory downwards at all times. We are not separating people into different levels of worth as people, we are determining who is responsible enough to be granted the trust of the Core in fulfilling duties. I name you Outer member for now. We shall see how your contributions measure up.”
“Well if I may, why don’t you head to your…. Really? It’s free! Just put in a fence!”
Dalton talked the two into the creation of a ‘Training Pit’, which was indeed costless and an applicable structure, which even beyond the benefits of the Pit itself, provided enough settlement experience to gain us the fourth level. With immigration off, it would be roughly a month before the Settlement gained enough experience to level again, but for now, Mitchell had things to do. Namely, gaining paltry amounts of experience in the Pit.
----------------------------------------
“Sounds rough.” Miriam said as she idly played with a wand in her hands. “I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit, though.”
“It just rubbed me the wrong way, you know?” Mitchell poked his mouth above the water to say before dipping it back underneath and continuing to scrub soap through his beard. Miriam had refused to sit somewhere private and chat while he stank so bad from the Training Pit, and he agreed with her quickly. They’d gone a minute or two downriver, where the dock and the corner of the Old Mill were still visible but the sounds were faint and muted. “He walks up like he’d assumed we were going to take him for what job he wanted.”
“We did need advice. And you did say you set the Immigration to only give us one person. Not three hours after him showing up, the Settlement gets an upgrade. As far as job interviews go, he’s a shining candidate.” Miriam set the wand beside her and watched her fiancee bathe. “It’s not like he’s trying to be our top Merchant like Tommen is.”
Mitchell dunked under the water and quickly resurfaced. “Tommen’s different. He was here for the Siege. Dalton’s an outsider, and I’m fairly certain he’ll always be an outsider. He came from another planet, for Christ’s Sake!”
Miriam tilted her head and grinned. “Can’t believe I never considered it but that would be a great name for a Japanese themed bar.”
Mitchell blinked, then let out a guffaw. “I get it! As far as I’m concerned he might as well just be from another country, right?”
Miriam shrugged. “If that helps. I don’t really think it matters, though. You made sure he was culturally compatible? Skilled?”
“He said he was an E-grade advisor, but he took a penalty to come here.”
“Here, as in our little slice of purgatory? Or here, as in this planet?”
Mitchell paused thoughtfully. “Do you think he has a spaceship?”
“If he doesn’t, he’s a pretty poor alien, and therefore not much of an alien at all.”
Mitchell blinked. Then he rubbed his eyes and blinked again. “Huh. I don’t know why, but that actually helped a lot. He’s not really an alien, he’s just a dude from far away.”
“Ah, ah, my love. He’s a rich dude from far away.”
“Can’t spend it on us.”
Miriam waved her hand, as if shooing the idea away. “It would be a shame if every time he were to go buy himself a cheap, conservative meal, one of our terrible citizens just stole it right out of his hands. Why, he’d have no choice but to buy another cheap, conservative meal!”
“I… no, that actually does feel like stealing for some reason. I couldn’t ask him to do that.”
Miriam sighed. “Fine. I’ll bribe him with some magic in exchange. Then it’s a transaction, and you can sleep easy.”
Mitchell stood and gave her a big, soaking wet hug. She squealed. “If you don’t get off me right now I’m gonna dart you!”
Mitchell gave her a big grin. Her face turned serious. “Mitchell.”
He lifted her up, momentarily surprised at how effortless it was. He kept looking into her eyes, which were starting to dart around in something vaguely approaching panic. “Mitchell Lefluer if you soak these robes again- you bastard!”
He’d thrown her out into the deep water and with a laugh, paddled after her.
She came up spluttering and after regaining her bearings, hit him with her coldest glare. With her hair plastered around her face and robes soaked through, she looked miserable, though he could tell from the twitch of her lip she was trying to keep a smile down. “I’m gonna dart you.”
Mitchell laughed again and swept her up in an embrace. Their lips met, and the world faded away for the next few minutes.
----------------------------------------
“Sounds rough.” Sarah sympathised from the impromptu wooden fence that hadn’t been there when they’d gotten back in the early morning. She was still tired, but it would be easier to get their sleep back on track by pushing through it regardless.
John let out a non-commital grunt by her side. He was fashioning yet another wooden Gladius to go on the rack. Each day, she noticed him becoming more efficient with his work. Even the wood beneath her hands was sanded clean and free of splinters, despite looking like a fallen branch. She made a mental note to get him some sort of varnish when she could. She only hoped it wasn’t yet another potion ingredient.
A sprained ankle had been her last injury to heal on their trek home, and she hadn’t shared that it was also the last push of experience she needed to get her Healer class up to the next skill unlock. She hadn’t been sure what she was expecting, but having random ferns and other items - including John’s sweat - bringing themselves to the forefront of her attention was disconcerting.
She had unlocked Alchemical Mastery, and with it came some sort of sense that she could look at common objects and determine whether or not they were viable alchemical ingredients. It made no sense to her. The river? Definitely viable. A cup filled with water from the river? Unviable trash, get it away. However, when it was presented to her by someone else - she’d left it on the dock - all of a sudden it was viable again. She imagined it was more magic than science, the art of alchemy, if the bearer of an ingredient changed it to such a degree that something become viable or not.
“I meant having to deal with Mitchell the whole time alone, by the way, not the wood.”
John grunted again. “He’s not that bad.”
“He put you on house arrest.” Sarah protested.
“The advisor agreed that was the best course of action. My class does best with at least a tent’s worth of Legionnaires backing me up, or so he thought.” John explained.
“You literally just told me you have a new class that he hasn’t seen before.”
John put down the half formed sword, but kept his gaze focussed on the dirt. “What do you want me to do, Sarah? I feel like a fraying rope that keeps getting more weight piled on, but I can’t tell him I’m fraying or he’ll replace the rope. What happens if I snap? What happens if I end up with more weight than I can handle?”
Sarah’s heart ached for him. “Then we handle it together. And if that doesn’t work, we involve others. John, I don’t know why I need to tell you this when you know him better than I do, but Mitchell wouldn’t ever want you to strain yourself so hard you snap. In fact, if it was even an option, I’d make sure he sent you on a vacation.”
“You can’t. Nobody can. He’s got all the power.”
Sarah rolled her eyes at that, though she wouldn’t have if he’d actually been looking. “See, you say that, but when’s the last time he actually decreed anything? Sure, he’s setting things up now, but in a month? A year? I find more and more that I don’t mind that he’s in charge. I think he chose what he did because of the system itself, not because he wanted to do it.”
John frowned. “He used to talk about benevolent dictatorships. He used to say ‘if the world was lucky enough to have the right person, a dictatorship would work faster and more efficiently than any other method.’”
Sarah shrugged, and nudged his shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe not. But this isn’t the Earth we knew anymore, and we aren’t going to change that any time soon. But you’re the master of Law and Order. If you think there needs to be a law about usage of power, he’d listen.”
John sighed and picked up the sword again. “It’s just more that I have to do. Another weight. Another fraying strand.”
Sarah hopped the railing and grabbed herself a sword form the rack. The wood felt heavy, and it balanced oddly in her hand. She swung it around a few times, even giving a ‘Hah!’ as she attempted a thrust. “What do you think, can I join the Legion?”
John’s developing chuckles morphed quickly into muted horror and confusion. “No! What? Why?”
Sarah smiled and beckoned him towards the Pit. “Teach me how to fight. Properly. Without spells. My MP won’t last forever and maybe this way, I could have your back just as much as you’ve had mine.”
John didn’t stand. “I don’t want you in the middle of the fight. I don’t want you anywhere near the fight. I don’t think I cou-” A pressure against his chest stopped him.
Sarah came close and kneeled down before him. “I was making a point, John. We all have our places. You’re our Centurion. You lead the army. You train them. You look out for them. Don’t worry so much about the rest of us. That’s Mitchell’s job, and he volunteered for it. The only thing outside of the Legion you need to worry about is the occasional bout of carpentry, which from what I’ve seen you enjoy.” She trailed off and paused, letting him respond.
John looked up, despondent but with the faintest flicker of life in his eyes. Got him.
“I do, I really do. It’s simple. It’s quiet. And I get to create, rather than watch things be destroyed.” John said slowly, choosing his words carefully.
“Would you call that another weight?” Sarah asked curiously. “When you’re asked to do something for the Settlement?”
John thought for a minute before speaking. “No,” He answered finally, “I do it and I see how it helps us, and it doesn’t… wear on me, so much.”
Sarah placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m no therapist or life coach or anything, but I think that - to keep with the rope analogy - that’s not a burden you bear on yourself for a reason. It’s work like any other, isn’t it? Without that wall, we’d have been equally ill-prepared as if you’d never trained the Legion. What’s the difference?”
John’s head dipped low in thought. Sarah smiled.
“While you consider that, get up and teach me something. I may not be looking to join the legion, but it couldn’t hurt to know which side to stick in someone. You use the rounded end, right? To make a bigger hole?”
John stood and looked at her aghast for a moment before his frown faded into a neutral face. “You’re messing with me.”
Sarah smiled more and made a stabbing motion with the pommel of the sword. “Swish Swish Swis- oof!”
“Thank you.” John said sincerely as he held her tight for the briefest moment before stepping back and looking her up and down critically. “Well, you asked for it. Get running!”
Sarah blinked, looked down at her wooden sword, then back up at him incredulously, doing her best puppy dog eyes. “Running?”
John chuckled. John laughed. “There’s no point training with a sword while fresh, not when you’re new. So let's go get our muscles all noodley, and I’ll teach you how to not let go.”
“Noodley?” Sarah took a step back.
“Let’s go!” He reminded her, and took off at a slow jog. As she kept up, he increased the speed until he heard her huffing and puffing behind her, then slowed it back down. She couldn’t see from behind him, but John had a wide smile spreading across his face. Sure, his rope was taut, and frayed, and definitely in danger of breaking. But with each step, his mental image of that rope wound itself tighter, and tighter, until it was a single thread of shining steel.
He would not break. He would stretch, and bend, and become damaged. But he would not break.
----------------------------------------
George lounged in the branches of a tree, hiding a snicker as he once again spotted Ezekiel creeping through the brush beneath in search of something. Nimbus sat curled up on his chest, where the sun peeked through the branches, and the Ranger let out a sigh as warmth suffused his body and the steady purring of Nimbus lulled him into a sense of peace.
“Life is good.”
Nimbus meowed in agreement, and George gave a faint smile before he drifted off into his nap.