Casualties lay in the hundreds.
Cal saved many from certain death by sealing massive wounds and reconnecting severed arteries.
It wasn’t instant healing, however. It hadn’t erased the trauma suffered by their bodies merely pulled them away from death’s door long enough for the medics, doctors and other healers to do what they could.
The tent city had respectable facilities in the form of medical tents that many an injured from challenging Shalindren had been treated and saved over the years. Though not nearly at the scale and severity of the morning’s battle.
The injured received treatment, while those that could still wield their weapons stood guard.
The carrion littering the sands around the hive dungeon and the amount of magic that had been cast about would attract the more powerful varieties among the wandering monsters in the area.
Fortunately, the monsters still inside the hive dungeon would remain there for the time being.
New ownership of Shalindren had created a contentious discussion within one of the larger tents used by the city’s old mayor of sorts.
The man hadn’t survived the night that the Faeran had swept out of Shalindren.
Indeed, only one member of the governing council remained alive and he had fled elsewhere.
Thus, Cal found himself in charge by dint of power and willingness.
He had taken a brief moment after he had killed the queen to go over the ownership interface.
It hadn’t interested him in the slightest, so he had put a pause on everything he could.
Time bought, not halted.
The operating cost of full ownership was astronomical even for him.
The Faeran had received massive discounts on point fees and monster generation costs beyond the minimum number the spires took on. They had also been able to use their own expertise to breed their own monsters or alter local animals to serve the same purpose to mitigate said costs.
They had also earned points from the deaths of human challengers to the hive dungeon. The multiplier had been quite high from what he could glean from his brief reading. Naturally, that revenue stream was as dead as the Faeran.
Fortunately, he had some time before the first rent payment was due.
Grizzled men and women, young and old, faces tanned and weathered by the harsh environment glared at him from around the low table.
Perhaps they were bothered by the fact that he stood rather than lounged on the plush cushions.
They certainly could’ve done with a sit down after such a fierce battle.
Not a one had escaped an injury.
Bloody bandages were the accessory of the hour.
“You blinded my mages!” An angry old man built like a bull jabbed a finger in his face. “We demand recompense for their loss.”
The cry was echoed by several others.
“That can be fixed. Within weeks if they want to come with me. On my word, I’ll bring them back once their vision has been returned. If that’s what they want.”
That was the rub that the shrewder ones among the mercenary leaders would get.
What if they didn’t want to return after seeing how much better and freer their lives could be in sunny, but not scorching, Southern California?
Naturally, he’d vet them fully at a later time for suitability and only extend said offer to those that passed their standards.
“Or you can wait a few weeks or months and I’ll be back here with said healing.”
It was a tough choice.
Risk losing a valuable mage-type permanently or make do with a blind one for weeks or months.
Life in the region was difficult.
A harsh environment made for stronger monsters.
Not to mention the rampant violence among human groups.
Ironically, Shalindren had been the safest place to avoid human and human violence.
And now that the Faeran were no longer around as scary aliens keeping the humans united greedy, grasping thoughts took root.
“Your generosity is accepted by my band.” A smooth-tongued old woman gave him a viper’s smile. “We will take care of our own until you return with the promised healing. Why don’t we focus on the gravest threat?” She regarded the rest of her fellow hard killers. “Shalindren. It’s at the forefront of all our thoughts.”
“Yes. We all bled and yet you,” another lean, grizzled old man gestured at Cal, “have an overwhelming majority of the ownership stake. Why?”
“You can ask the spires, but it won’t care. It rewards impartially by the standards only it knows and occasionally shares if you’re willing to pay. Lucky for you all, I’ve done that. So, in case you didn’t know… ownership is divided by what one contributes during the transfer.”
Cold, clinical terms.
Transfer instead of kill or murder.
The spires gamified existence to desensitize people into embracing violent conflict.
“To be clear I killed the most Faeran by a large margin. I killed the Faeran Queen.”
Afterward, he had opened up the stone beneath her dead body, sinking her like a stone until she was entombed hundreds of feet down.
Queen Zhax’hess’sesha’s body exuded magic and could’ve been used in alchemy or in magus’ work to create powerful potions and items, but he couldn’t let that happen.
It was a step too far.
He certainly wouldn’t want his body parts used in that way.
“Single-handed. Now… if you disagree with the spires’ assessment then there is an easy way to dispute it.” He smiled. “Challenge me. I will accept all comers. Right now. You can even team up. Band together. All of you.”
Silence.
None had seen the massacre he had wrought beneath the ground, but they couldn’t deny what he had said. They knew how ownership worked in the post-spires world.
“Listen to me. There is a lot to do to stabilize the region. I hope you will all be a part of that, but I understand that not everyone can live in a world where people work together for the good of all. Some people just love being crabs in a bucket. Even if they end up steaming red inside some rich and powerful guy’s pot because they think they’re going to be that guy. Well, none of you are that guy or gal. I am him and you should be grateful that I am not him. You want to own Shalindren? You can have it. I will give each and every single surviving participant an equal stake. Let us all bear the costs… together, equally.”
That gave pause to the ones that knew.
Those that didn’t sensed the trap.
“Yes. I believe that is just. Together we broke it, therefore we must fix it. Shalindren contains multiple encounter challenges that the Faeran maintained. We’ll have to take over that task to ensure that they don’t turn into spawn zones. A more difficult task now that the spires pushed us out of the tutorial phase. I suspect that once the two week grace period is over we will have to clear them constantly to avoid such a nightmare scenario. It is, after all, a high-level location. You know that better than I do, since you live here. Think of what sort of monsters will push out and into the surrounding regions if not culled… but, as it is with the spires struggle is rewarded. Levels, gear and points enough to grow stronger faster than you ever have before. For those over Level 40, how much have you slowed on the road to 50?”
“Perhaps we should discuss this further after we have all taken a moment to rest and see to our women and men? The distribution of spoils can be done when we are all clear of mind,” the smooth-tongued old woman suggested.
“Do what you want.”
As far as he was concerned the ownership question had been settled.
Everyone got an equal share.
He’d ask his group whether they wanted in or not.
And if the locals didn’t want in they could simple give their stake back the pool to be divided among the rest.
Shalindren having a board of over a thousand people was going to be a mess, but it was acceptable to him.
He didn’t want to be fully responsible for such a dangerous place so far from his family.
Maybe he could rope everyone in the world into sharing the costs with the carrot of access to one of the highest leveled areas in the world. He’d give them detailed maps, information on the monsters, the traps and other challenges. The problem of transit would be solved once they got the skyships working properly.
If it could work here then it could work with all the most dangerous areas around the world.
A centralized system of managing encounter challenges so that they wouldn’t turn into spawn zones would mean that Eron wouldn’t have to constantly travel the globe putting out flare ups.
He left the tent and flew back to Shalindren.
He had kept his team inside to minimize the potential backstabbing from one of the more opportunistic and amoral among the local fighters.
Captain Walker flagged him down as soon as he entered the chamber.
The captain’s losses hadn’t been bad considering the fierce fighting against the monsters. His company had been spared fighting the Faeran.
Khamaseen’s group, on the other hand, hadn’t been spared.
Half her family lay underneath sheets near the entrance to the stone dome.
The fight up the ramp and into the entrance had been a grinder even with the aid of Gearlok’s advanced weaponry and cybernetic strength.
The dark-skinned woman’s head and face were concealed by bloody cloth.
Only her dark eyes remained visible and they stabbed at him with hatred.
He knew that no amount of words would be sufficient.
“This is the offer I gave to the rest of the leaders.”
He shared the contents of the meeting with the captain and Khamaseen.
The former shrugged.
“Seems fairest. Sounds like it’s going to be too expensive to keep all of it from going spawn zone. Most of my men aren’t staying, so don’t add them to the ownership list.”
“The spires interface will handle all the bookkeeping. As majority owner I’m just going to send out the choice to everyone that participated. They can accept or decline.”
“You feed us a poison pill, foreigner,” Khamaseen said. “You create the problem and then you leave it for us to deal with the consequences.”
He gave her his pitch about a global effort to keep Shalindren in check and his hopes that the task would cut down on the human on human conflict in the region.
“Just like the United Nations,” she scoffed.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Except more effective because individual people have the power to make it effective.”
“That’ll only work if those people aren’t shit,” Captain Walker grunted. “And I’m old and tired. I just want to go home. We kept up our end of the deal, so you better keep yours. Safe passage and healing for my guys. A couple got blinded. More lost fingers, arms or legs. Poor Farid got the trifecta and he might lose his spleen. I won’t even say shit about the gear your wild men are looting from the armories.”
“There’s plenty. Every single participant will get something.”
“I believe that we are all at your mercy, regardless and so I will expect the same. Adherence to the terms of our agreement. Fail and I will take you to task even if it’ll end with my death.”
“Listen, I didn’t come here for anything other than putting an end to a threat to all of us and the people we care about. I hope that when I prove it. You’ll be more willing to work with me. The Faeran were just one threat. There are more already here and countless others on the way. I’d like to share everything I know about such threats with you so that you can defend your people better. It’s like the stick test. I’m sure your dad probably did it when he was trying to get you and your brothers to stop fighting. One stick is easily snapped. Put three together and… tougher to break. We’re the sticks.” He pointed to each.
Captain Walker nodded. He got it. It was one of the first things he had learned decades ago in boot camp. His problem was going to be extending his sticks to include more than just American soldiers. His recruiting from the locals to fill his company seemed to indicate that he was on the way there.
It would be a harder sell with Khamaseen.
She viewed things through the lens of her family and against those that would do them harm, which was everyone else.
“My family did the most work breaking through the entrance. I would see them rewarded properly and those that fell…” She stared at the covered bodies. “They leave behind children or parents. I would see them compensated.”
Cal could’ve argued that Gearlok and the Emerald Raptor held claims that were equal to hers, but there was no need. They had already gotten their picks from the queen’s armory.
“I’ll take you guys right now.” He regarded Captain Walker. “What about you?”
The captain eyed Khamaseen.
The two had history fighting against and with each other over the years.
“Six, seven…” He counted her family. “Go ahead. I’m going to check with my guys. Get organized. We can’t all go shopping at the same time. There’s monsters still roaming around. The wounded need protection. I’ll have shifts set up when you get back.”
Cal gathered Khamaseen and her family, parting the stone beneath their feet like water to take them straight to the queen’s chamber.
There were multiple treasure rooms and armories in Shalindren. Those scattered throughout the above ground floors, which were mostly for show as both lures and rewards for the people challenging the hive dungeon, and those below ground, which were where the Faeran kept their best items and treasures.
The ones meant for the people had been properly trapped and locked behind puzzles.
The real ones weren’t for obvious reasons.
The best loot could be found in the two chambers connected to the queen’s enormous chamber by short tunnels. One armory and one treasure room.
He brought Khamaseen and her family into the queen’s chamber, allowing them to take in the carnage.
Mounds of dead Faeran had been left to leak and rot.
The stench hit them like a physical punch, yet none of them so much as twitched.
“Are you saving them for the woman that turns monsters into weapons?” Khamaseen said.
“The magus only uses monsters. The Faeran aren’t classified as such.”
Marwan, Khamaseen’s second, spat.
“They are monsters. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says. You. The spires. We could never prove it beyond a doubt, but people have gone missing all across this region since this cursed place emerged with the damned devils. Thousands of cases. The only hint of their disappearance was the loud buzzing of wings.”
Cal wasn’t going to argue the semantics.
No one liked a technically correct pedant.
Marwan continued.
“Everyone, foreigners and locals, except for us, was too greedy. The levels and the rewards of this place were too good to give up. So, they ignored us. They didn’t want to investigate anything that might ruin what they thought was an ideal farming ground. Fools.”
“Many of them have paid for it with their lives. Such a waste,” Khamaseen said.
“That’s what I’m trying to avoid in the future. If everyone works together—”
She raised her hand.
“I’m not interested in more of your plans. Not now when we have to bring our dead home and bury them. When we have to tell mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters that the ones they love will never hold them again. Give us what we agreed upon so that we may leave this cursed place.”
Cal gestured to the spiral-grooved tunnels leading to the treasure room and the armory.
“That one has what appears to be a random assortment of valuable things. Mundane gems, precious metals and works of art. It seems that before the Faeran came to our world they had taken from other worlds, judging by the sculptures and the paintings. Word of advice, if you look at something and it makes you feel weird, like, say, nausea or overwhelming existential dread, then leave it. I haven’t gone through and removed those items, if they exist. The other tunnel leads to what you probably want. Weapons, armor and other practical gear. Mundane and magical.”
They went for the gear, exchanging looks of suspicion with the two men standing guard at the tunnel entrance.
Howard and Scotty appeared to be in a stare-off.
Chance and Malachi standing at the other tunnel seemed more relaxed.
“How much longer, mate?” Scotty grunted.
“Two weeks, minimum. We have to oversee the distribution of loot, among other things.”
Only he could guarantee that everyone got a fair cut of the spoils.
That also extended to the next of kin of those that had died in the battle.
The logistics of tracking those down were going to be pain even with his powers.
“You guys got your one item?”
“Yup, boss,” Howard grunted. “What about you?”
“Yeah.”
The queen’s scepter was safely inside his bag of holding.
It wasn’t truly meant for him, but killing the queen didn’t give him a choice.
The scepter was magically powerful.
It stored a large amount of mana as a reserve for the spells its multi-faceted gem could cast. For a wielder without mana, like him, that meant a handful of shots and it was empty.
When a mage-type wielded it they could fire off five times as many shots.
It had something to do with one of the enchantments in the scepter. A mana multiplier boost that only worked when a mage attuned to it fed their mana into it.
It had another enchantment, which was the source of his problem. It could only be wielded by the one that won it in a contest versus its current owner.
The wording was fairly broad, so he was hopeful that he could pass it along to someone that could use it without a battle to the death.
“Don’t keep us in suspense, mate.” Scotty scowled.
The man looked perpetually angry.
Not even the fancy new knife sheathed at his belt had brightened his mood.
The trio had passed their first test.
They had followed their orders to the letter, mostly.
Sure, he could’ve denied them a pick from the loot, but he believed that one had to toss good carrots and not scraps to incentivize buy-in.
Scotty picked a knife that made wounds bleed freely and resisted healing.
Chance got a pair of bracelets that made his punches hit much harder.
Malachi ended up with a set of tarot-like cards that contained summons.
“I took the queen’s scepter… not by choice,” he explained the restrictions.
“Ms. Teacher’s gonna want a shot at that, I reckon.” Howard grunted.
The wild man had gone with a fist-sized scarlet gem that looked suspiciously like a heart. It exuded a healing force in pulses while draining mana from the environment. He already had a healing factor, but the item was going to kick it up about fifty rungs up the ladder.
“It has to be a legitimate challenge. I can’t sandbag it. And there are minimum requirements to use it in terms of overall power level.”
“How strong you talkin’, mate?” Scotty said.
“The Faeran Queen was Level 49.”
“What’s that in human terms with a standard class?” Howard said.
“The Quest just to kill the queen was rated at Level 70 for a twenty person group. So, I’d say that’s your answer.”
Howard gave a low whistle.
“Fook me, mate!” Scotty’s eyes widened as he took in the cavernous chamber. “You did this by yourself!”
“Fuck you is right, mate.” Howard laughed. “That’s why I told you to mind your P’s and Q’s. The boss ain’t one you want to mess with.”
“Scotty, follow orders, just like you did today and you won’t have any problems.”
The wiry haired man nodded, though the scowl on his face deepened.
Cal wasn’t too concerned about his demeanor.
All three genuinely wanted to get in good with Sacramento, which meant they were going to get in good with him, since he held the key to the door.
In fact, they were extra-pleased with the magical items they got.
They hadn’t expected anything more than scraps.
They had expected being thrown into suicidal situations rather than roles suited for their capabilities with a reasonable amount of danger.
“I’m not running some kind of suicide squad here.”
Howard chuckled, while Scotty remained angry-looking.
“You sure about leaving them in there by themselves?” Howard said.
“Khamaseen’s driven by spite and honor. She will keep them for doing anything other that sticking to the letter of our agreement. They don’t want to give us the slightest excuse to do them with good, old-fashioned imperialism.” He gave them mirthless smile. “It’s the mercs that’ll try to go for the good old five for one special. Already caught five rogues, two thieves, a treasure hunter and a plunderer trying to sneak into one of the chambers above ground level. I encouraged them to stick to the agreement, like our friends in there.” He gestured toward the armory. “Once they’re done, I’ll take them topside, then I’ll start bringing Captain Walker’s people down in, let’s say, groups of five. That’ll make it harder for them to try to sneak an extra handful. Plus it’ll leave enough people to guard our unconscious and wounded.”
“How much longer are the magus and the kids gonna be out, you think?” Howard said.
“They got a bad case of mana fatigue and mana poisoning. It’s going to be a few days before they can get up and walk around. Another month until the headaches and dizziness go away.”
“Shit, they gonna lose out on the best stuff.”
“They won’t.”
Cal wasn’t above cheating. He had already pulled aside items that he thought might be what the magus, Jennylyn, Willy and the others would want. They’d get their one pick when they woke up and the rest would get placed back into the pool for the rest of the distribution.
“Luther and Colin are already on their way. When they get here you guys can start rotating. Four on, two off. Everyone gets breaks.”
Scotty grunted.
“I can stay on. Fight wasn’t all that bad. Monsters were a walk in a park compared to the shit outside and this.” Howard pointed at one of the mounds.
“At least take a break from looking at and smelling this shit.”
“Helmet keeps my nose safe, boss.”
“How about you?”
Scotty shrugged.
“Alright, first come first serve then.”
The fighters weren’t the only ones entitled to the Faeran loot.
The unwilling incubators deserved to be set up for years, if not life, for what they had endured.
The thought of wriggling eggs in his stomach made him shiver.
Ironically, the people they had freed from the horrible fate were in much better condition than the wounded fighters. The Faeran wanted healthy hosts for their children, thus they had been kept in good condition aside from the eggs, of course. The honey they had been slathered in had magical healing properties. Gathering what remained of it was near the top of his list.
Cal went through it again, since he had nothing better to do than make idle small talk with Howard and the trio. It was easy for him to focus on doing multiple things without sacrificing efficiency and overall quality.
He kept the monsters still roaming Shalindren from crossing the paths of the mercs busy securing the routes to and from the above ground treasure rooms and armories. He had already disabled the remaining traps to move things along.
He subtly encouraged those that wanted to get a jump on the looting to drop the idea.
He monitored the surrounding area for potential wandering monster attacks.
He watched the medical tents, ready to lend an invisible hand if necessary.
He gave Howard and the trio a shortened account of his battle with the Faeran Queen.
He used his connection to Eron to check on the people they had portaled out of the hive dungeon. Many were already on their feet. Scared for themselves and their families since their last memory had been buzzing wings in the dead of night tearing them from their homes. For some, their families were okay. For others…
Three hours.
He estimated that all of them would be awake by then.
He sent a soothing thought through his brother to calm the most agitated.
Three hours to fly to the town and bring the ten thousand back to Shalindren for their share and more.
Then several more hours to fly them all back to their homes.
The important thing was that they were safe with Eron watching over them.
Cal picked up on a few slavers lurking on the edges, plotting to steal a handful, more if they could.
Eron’s reputation stayed their hands for now.
Yo, you’ve got a few slaver-types hanging around, he thought, showing his brother their faces and where they were.
I did get that feeling. I’m going to take care of them… unless you need them to lead you to the rest of their networks?
You read my mind.
Ha. Ha.
Just keep an eye on them. My team’s going to be in the area for at least two weeks. Plenty of time to pursue these fucks. I’ve got a pair of vicious weredogs that wouldn’t mind the opportunity to be their true selves.
Wasn’t that the opposite of what they wanted you to do with them?
Yeah, but in these guys’ cases they can’t turn it off. What I need to do is teach them that they must always be in control, but there are times when it’s appropriate to loosen the leash around their inner beast. Not let go completely, mind you.
I don’t know about that, but it’s your deal and you’re the one that knows how brains work.
Cal added a new task to his list.
There would always be enough time in the day to kill slavers and free enslaved.