Roman stood on the balcony, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the horizon. Below him, the city of Easton spread out for more than a mile. The old wall had been dismantled, and the area surrounding his palace – the former police station – had been meticulously redesigned. The Architects, Builders, and Sculptors had only had time to implement the new plans in an area of about two square blocks, but they covered more ground by the day.

“It truly is amazing how quickly people can work with these new classes,” he remarked, careful to measure his words. With his position, he needed to maintain a certain aura of authority, and speaking like a small-town police chief was no longer appropriate. Instead, he struggled to channel a more imperious personality – even when he wasn’t in public. He turned to Fiona, the Mage who had become his closest advisor, and asked, “How long until they complete the Royal District?”

The mousey woman’s expression didn’t change as she answered, “Victor claims that it will be complete at the end of next month.”

“And the new wall?” asked Roman, squinting into the distance. The wall in question was located two miles away, but even from such a distance, it wasn’t difficult to see. Roman had approved the plans himself, but it was still hard to believe such a thing was possible. Little more than the foundations had been completed, but when the wall was finished, it would stretch almost three-hundred feet into the air and encircle the entire city. Even the outskirts.

“That will take longer,” Fiona answered. “Six months. Perhaps a year.”

“Unacceptable.”

Fiona said, “We’re pushing them, but the Arcane Researchers all agree that –”

Roman’s glare was enough to send her sputtering to make excuses, and each one angered him even more. His knuckles whitened as his fists tightened, but he refused to shout. He was better than that. He needed to be steady. Strong. Immovable. Otherwise, he couldn’t be a proper leader.

So, he listened as Fiona haltingly explained how the complexity of the wall’s intended enchantments were slowing down its construction. The true issue was that he was dependent on a bunch of Scholars. Ever since Earth had felt the touch of the World Tree, their mere existence had been a thorn in his side.

In the beginning, his annoyance with their archetype choice was born of simple practicality. When they lived in a world where every day was a struggle to survive, fighters and crafters were exponentially more useful than someone whose skills began and ended with the ability to remember things really well.

That was an intentional oversimplification, but the fact remained that Roman regarded anyone who chose the path of a Scholar as, at best, selfish. At worst, they were cowards. Most of them were idealistic idiots who refused to accept that the world had irrevocably changed and that their priorities should shift as well.

Even if it was uncomfortable.

Even if it meant they’d have to do the sorts of things they often regarded as barbaric or beneath them.

Of course, Roman was no idiot. He understood the value such people could bring to a society. However, he also knew that, when food and security were in such short supply, Scholars and Researchers were a luxury they couldn’t afford to indulge. So, he’d made a lot of difficult choices. He’d indirectly killed thousands by refusing Scholars entry into Easton. Each one of those deaths weighed heavily on his shoulders, but that was what leadership often was – choosing between a collection of terrible options.

And now, the price of those choices had come due.

It had been months since he’d rescinded the moratorium on allowing new arrivals with Scholar archetypes into the city, and though the population of dedicated academics had grown significantly, few exceptional people had emerged. Some of his advisors had pointed out that some of that was due to the city’s reputation. The world was disjointed and disconnected, but there was enough trade between Easton and a few other towns and cities that word of their discriminatory practices against Scholars had spread. Because of that, very few of those people even tried to enter the city anymore, opting for more accepting environments.

As a result, Easton’s advancement had suffered, though Roman had some ideas on how to solve that problem. He only needed a little more time before he could implement those plans. In the meantime, they were forced to work with the tools they had on hand, which meant that development on a project like the wall was slow.

Still, Roman hoped it would be worth it, especially considering the resources they’d put into it. He’d lost count of how many Ethereum they’d spent – not to mention the physical cost of all the labor that had gone into it – to get even this far. And the price would only become more exorbitant before the project was completed.

“It will be worth it, sir,” said Fiona. She was his right-hand woman, and as such, she knew him better than anyone else in Easton. Especially since Alyssa had met with her unavoidable fate. “When the wall is finished, we won’t have to worry about spontaneous Voxx manifestations anymore. Not to mention that it will keep out the monsters.”

Indeed, even though the second was the traditional purpose of a wall – especially one as formidable as what they were building –the first benefit was the most important. Every week, Roman read reports about those spontaneous manifestations. Voxxian monsters suddenly appearing in people’s homes, in businesses, and even in public squares. The city’s guardsmen dealt with them as quickly as possible, but rare was the instance where one of the Voxx was killed without taking at least a couple of citizens with it.

“I know. That’s why I greenlit the project,” he said, turning away. Then, he looked at his watch and asked, “Where is he? He should be here by now.”

“I am,” came a voice from nearby.

The moment the sound hit Roman’s ear, he had his sword out of the sheath at his waist and three temporary enhancements singing through his body as the weapon sliced through the air. With supernatural control, he halted the blade’s path as it touched Trace’s throat. The Outlaw didn’t flinch.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He knew Roman well enough to trust the Assassin’s control. Roman rewarded that trust by only nicking the man’s neck. It was a testament to Roman’s passive ability, Sharpened Blade, that even that was possible, given Trace’s level and Constitution. The man’s Outlaw class was more well-rounded than most, which meant that he could fill a wide variety of roles, though with a trend toward stealth and utility.

That meant that, even though he wasn’t overpowering, he was dangerous in almost every situation. He’d proven that on many occasions, and if Roman had his way, he’d continue to do so in service of Easton’s best interests.

“Not the welcome I expected,” the man said, an air of nonchalance lacing his voice as he pushed the blade away with one finger. He ran that same finger across the tiny cut on his neck, wiping the blood away. Notably, the nick healed only a second later – some ability at work, Roman knew – and Trace grinned as he added, “I thought we were friends.”

“I’ve told you not to sneak up on me,” Roman responded. “If you continue to flout my instructions, you might end up having an accident.”

Trace chuckled. “So you keep saying. But then, you keep coming back to me. Some people might consider our relationship a little toxic,” he said. “Far be it from me to make that kind of judgement, though.”

Roman sheathed his sword a bit more forcefully than he otherwise might have. It was a high-quality weapon – one of the best available in Easton – but it was still only Crude. None of the other weaponsmiths in the city had managed to repeat Carmen’s feat of creating a Simple-Grade item. It wasn’t for lack of trying, either. The highest-leveled of the bunch didn’t have Carmen’s knack, and the ones who had the knack had yet to attain the necessary techniques. And the couple who had both were lazy, unmotivated, or lacked follow-through.

It was a good reminder that, by definition, most people were mediocre. Even in a world full of magic and wonder, that would remain true.

That, more than anything, made him regret sending Carmen away. However, he knew that she was a ticking time bomb that, if she remained in Easton, would eventually explode. It was only a matter of time before she discovered the truth of what had happened in that tower. He’d taken steps to mitigate the chances that someone would let the cat out of the bag, but Carmen was far too intelligent to ignore the obvious explanation for how Alyssa had died. All it would take would be a stray thought before her suspicions would begin to mount. From there, she’d put it all together.

Roman was certain of it.

So, he’d pushed her away from the city in the hopes that the distraction of running the mine would keep her from figuring things out, at least until he was ready to do what was necessary to deal with her.

It would have been easier to simply kill her and everyone else who’d been there. However, he hadn’t quite reached the point where he’d resort to wanton murder to solve all his problems. Alyssa’s death had been necessary. She was too popular. People had already begun to rally behind her. And it was inevitable that, sooner rather than later, they would decide that she’d make for a better leader than Roman.

Never mind that he was the only reason Easton had survived. He’d made all the unpopular choices. He had owned the sacrifices necessary for the city to make it through the events that had killed so many others. Without him, people would have starved. Without him making the hard choices, they would have been incapable of defending themselves. They’d have been weighed down by individual freedoms and freeloaders, and they’d have met a similar fate as dozens of other prospective settlements.

By comparison, Alyssa had set herself up as the hero. The person who leaped into battle, putting her own safety at risk to ensure the survival of others. She was the knight in shining armor who never had to make any of the unpopular choices.

It would’ve been so much easier if she’d done so out of a desire to undermine him. But Roman knew that wasn’t the case. She’d simply acted according to her nature, and she’d never even realized that, whether she wanted it or not, she had set herself against him – at least in the eyes of the people.

The fact that she had often – and publicly – disagreed with him made the entire situation untenable.

But if Roman was honest with himself, he knew that at least part of his decision to remove her was based on her failure to protect Trish. Because of Alyssa, his wife was gone, and even more than a year later, he still felt the loss so keenly that, when he was alone, his grief sometimes sent him spiraling into a level of depression he couldn’t afford to let anyone else see.

Roman bore some responsibility as well. He should have insisted that Trish stay behind. Up until that point, he’d sheltered her as closely as he was able. However, she’d been adamant that she be allowed to do her part, and he had finally acquiesced to her demands. Largely, that decision was based on his trust in Alyssa. She would protect his wife. He’d been so certain of it.

And yet, Trish had died, setting Roman on a path that had ended with him ordering the death of his closest friend.

His only friend, really.

There were plenty of sycophants like Fiona, all scrambling for his approval in a selfish quest for more power and authority. He recognized them for what they were, but he also saw the benefits they could bring. So, he tolerated them. However, none could replace Alyssa, who’d always spoken her mind, even when it put her at odds with him. There was value in that, but it also set a dangerous precedent.

Opposition could not be allowed.

Not yet.

If they were divided, the city would fall. Roman knew that as surely as he’d ever known anything. Which brought him to why he’d summoned Trace to the palace. The man was uniquely qualified to do the job Roman had in mind.

“I have a proposal for you,” he said.

“No offense, chief, but I’m not looking to get married,” Trace said with the same crooked grin he almost always bore. “Nothing against you. You’re great. Very handsome. I’m just not interested in that kind of –”

“Take this seriously,” Roman interrupted.

“The world ended. Magic and monsters exist. If you’re taking this seriously, you’re doing it wrong.”

Roman’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the threat of which Trace did not miss.

He held up his hands, saying, “Fine. Putting on my serious face. What’s up? What do you have for me?”

“Like I said – a proposal. An opportunity. I want you to head up a new division of the government,” Roman said. “Your focus will be information gathering and, if necessary, quiet removal of threats to the common good.”

The decision had not been lightly made, but Roman felt confident that he’d made the right choice. Not only did Trace’s class suit the role perfectly, but he also had a certain moral flexibility that would almost assuredly prove necessary. Couple that with his connections throughout the city – the man seemed to know every low-life in Easton – and he became the clear choice.

“That sounds an awful lot like a secret police, chief,” Trace said. “Not a great track record for those, historically speaking.”

Roman didn’t dispute that. “I will give you resources,” he stated. “You will have top-tier equipment. Good people. Advancement opportunities. And, of course, you will be well-compensated.”

Trace grinned. “You had me at well-compensated.”

“That is literally the last thing he said,” Fiona pointed out, her first contribution to the conversation.

“And the only thing that mattered,” Trace pointed out. “Look – I’m a simple man. Pay me what I’m worth, and I’ll do whatever job you’ve got in mind.”

“A true mercenary,” Fiona said. “Don’t you have any civic pride? Don’t you care about the greater good.”

“If the money’s right, sure. I care about all sorts of things if you pay me enough.”

“Disgusting.”

“Practical.”

“Enough,” Roman said before the two could further their argument. Then, to Trace, he asked, “You’ll take the job?”

“I will. And I promise I’ll root out all the bad apples. Every last one,” Trace said. “Now, let’s talk more about my compensation. I assume there’s a bonus for every traitor I find…”