[/Sys_error. Mortal Challenge: defeated. Reward: Unspecified. //Error.]

[//Experience gained.]

[You have earned enough experience to reach level 11! Please select a power to enhance.]

[Title gained: Error Survivor. Thank you for your patience. +2 luck]

The block of system text floated before Blake’s eyes, but he ignored it.

"Are you alright?" He went to Ilya and found her neck was already red and bruised. It seemed even with her magically enhanced strength and protection, the orc king had nearly killed her with just a moment's effort. She smiled and stood with a groan.

"We did it." Her eyes glowed with wetness, and she sagged into Blake's arms. "My family is avenged."

"Yes we did." Blake smiled, then walked to the window and looked down at Gromsh's corpse lying mangled on the stone below. A variety of orcs were down there already inspecting and looking generally panicked.

He sighed, still not sure what to do. His instincts told him to go down there and start taking charge, but he didn't quite trust himself as he once did.

Perhaps, he decided, he should take a page from the Mason book and just take Ilya and run. He could go back to Nassau and Mason and the others and keep playing the game as they'd been playing. Or…

He could go to the orc lords and explain himself as 'Thrall', continue the lie and perhaps collect some kind of reward. Or he could try and become like Gromsh. He could take the minds of the orcs he needed, use his constructs and his magic and make himself a more subtle king.

"What are you thinking?" Ilya said, watching his face. "What do we do now?"

"Exactly what I was wondering," he said, drumming his fingers on the wall.

"I figured you had a plan," she said. "You always have a plan."

He smiled and met her eyes. "Yes. Plans. I have to pick one."

She furrowed her brow in thought, then seemed to make a decision and held his arms. "Whatever it is, I'll help you. I trust you, Blake. I don't care what Gromsh said. He's the one who betrayed his people. Who cared nothing for their lives. I owe you everything."

Blake smiled, surprisingly affected by the orc girl's trust. Most people who believed in Blake believed in a facade. His parents. His friends and old schoolmates. They saw his carefully constructed persona and thought they understood who he was, and what he wanted.

Only Mason had ever known the real him—the scared little boy who'd re-built himself, like the constructs he now made.

But maybe in this strange fictional world designed by a robotic alien, he could find others he could trust. He could be honest with himself, and therefore with them.

"I don't want to go home," he said, a little surprised at his own words. "Not yet. And I don't want to lie to your people anymore."

Ilya looked at his eyes and nodded, maybe slightly happy, maybe slightly concerned. "Alright. Then we'll have to talk to the chiefs we can trust...if we can explain to them, if we can..."

"Wait."

Blake’s level had regained him some mana, and he took Ilya's hand and activated Telekinesis, floating them out through the window and down towards the body of Gromsh and the gathering crowd of orcs.

His intuition was returning in full force, his trust in himself regained the moment he'd spoken the truth. With a smile on his very human face, he floated down to gamble again.

* * *

"Blake, what are you doing? We can't just...they'll kill you."

"They might," Blake said, realizing he wasn't afraid. Mostly he was just tired of playing this game like he was supposed to. He'd been in the minds of these orcs and seen enough to know they were sentient, that they were more than whatever programming they'd been given, whatever script they'd been fed. Ilya proved that more than anything.

Maybe roboGod had conceived of every possibility. Maybe no matter what Blake did he was just making another pre-determined choice laid out like all the others.

But maybe not. Maybe it would react to him, too. And he would much rather forge his own path, keep this system at least a little on the defensive. Blake had always liked to break the rules and get away with it.

He landed softly next to Gromsh's broken corpse. Orc warriors were coming out from their tower posts with their weapons clutched and ready, but they didn't come any closer. They all stared at Blake and Ilya.

"Go on and fetch your tower lords," Blake called in his regular tone and voice. "Tell them King Gromsh is dead. Tell them his human killer would...like a word. If they aren't too busy."

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The orcs looked rather stunned. Some whispered and argued back and forth before messengers were sent scurrying into the portals. Blake created himself a chair with True Making (to an audible gasp from the orcs), then sat and meditated.

His level was extremely easy so he finished it now. True Making was obviously the only choice to enhance. It glowed slightly but gave no option, simply telling him what it did.

[True Making enhanced: all option mana costs decreased.]

He smiled, perfectly happy with the result. Then for a moment he pictured the exact image of the great orc hero he'd seen in many of the tower halls, wondering if he could clone it exactly with Adaptive Veil. But he discarded the idea.

What he’d said to Ilya was true—he didn’t want to lie, very tired of always living a deception. He let Navi float out beside him and gave the construct an affectionate pat, then looked at Ilya standing awkwardly beside him and made her a chair, too.

"Thank you," she said quietly and sat, looking not much less awkward.

Blake had a good 15% of his mana back by the time the portals had flared a few dozen times. A veritable army of orcs came through covered in iron. Behind them Blake could see a cluster of shamans, and finally several well-dressed and half-armored orcs covered in different symbols, all with wary bodyguards close at their sides.

The large group of orcs stopped maybe thirty feet from Blake, eventually opening with enough space for what he assumed were the tower lords to come forward and inspect the dead orc 'king'.

One—clearly a much younger lord—smiled. The rest looked somewhat grim.

"Who are you?" asked a large, white-haired orc with a simple staff that was likely anything but. Blake refrained from using Mental Influence to get all their names.

"My name is Blake Nimitz," he said, knowing it would have been spread by the king in his search. Some whispering passed through the orc ranks but silenced quickly.

"So you have killed your enemy," said the younger, much fiercer looking grey-skinned orc with the Blacktusk tabard. "Why would you ask for us, when you know we might do the same to you?"

Blake nodded, very pleased at how reasonable they seemed. He stood, also very pleased when practically every orc in sight startled or gripped their weapons, some sparing a glance at the very mangled and bloody corpse of Gromsh.

"Because I wanted you to know you're not my enemies. Only Gromsh was. And now he's dead. But the other humans you attacked aren’t so forgiving. And they'll come back for the rest of you."

"We'll be waiting," snarled the youngest tower lord, which seemed to garner almost an eye roll from the other lords.

"He waited, too," Blake gestured at Gromsh, then sighed. "I wanted you here to show you not only am I not your enemy, I wish to be your friend."

Even the older tower lords sneered at that. "Humans have always been our enemy. Why should we believe anything you say?"

"Because of this." Blake pulled the holy stone from his pocket, and the orcs stared with wide eyes. Blake knew he must act quickly or risk violence. "Navi," he said, "please identify Ilya, daughter of Dralok."

The little construct twirled without hesitation.

"Ilya of the Vori, Stoneblood Oracle, Tower Highborn Bloodline."

Still the orcs stared, lost in the spectacle, as Blake handed her the stone. She stared with equal amazement as he closed his hands around hers and whispered.

"Use it. It will make a new orc tower, I suspect, and you the lord. And who knows what else."

"I..." she blushed and stared, glancing quickly at the other orcs before Blake squeezed.

"Do it, Ilya. Quickly, now, before anyone gets a chance to do something foolish."

Ilya met Blake's eyes and clenched her jaw. The stone hummed with power and glowed with bright light between their fingers, and soon Blake had to look away. The earth shook, the sky darkened, and many of the orcs fell to their knees in terror.

The nearby walls expanded, pushing out like stone could move of its own accord. Some of the nearby orcs fled in panic, the walls moving closer and closer as if to crush them, until suddenly all of it stopped.

Then with another roar of natural power, a tower grew from the earth itself, huge and white as it jut higher and higher to reach the size of all the others.

When it was finished, a giant tabard fluttered from its side with the image of Ilya's family crest—an amber eye.

Blake smiled when he saw it, watching the orc's watery gaze as she clearly struggled to hold herself together.

"I told you to trust me," he whispered, and she covered her mouth with a hand to hide a shuddering sob. "No time for that," he added, glad the orcs were all still staring, gobsmacked, at the tower. "You're a tower lord. Er, lady, now. You'll need to be strong. And I don't really know what happens. Do you get warriors? Or can they just kill us anyway? Really not clear on orc politics. Should I be running?"

Then the noise ended, and the sky grew a little clearer, and the tower lords stared at Ilya and Blake with all the other orcs in obvious wonder.

"It is a miracle," whispered the older lord, a little wetness in his rheumy eyes, too. "We live in a time of myth. Of legend." With that he came forward on his staff, a slight smile on his lips as he walked to Ilya and took her hand. "Welcome, Lady of Clan…Amber Eye, Oracle of the Vori,” he smiled. “Your wisdom will be most welcome on the council."

The other lords looked equally pleased, and not backstabbingly murderous at all, which pleased Blake greatly. They came forward one by one to congratulate and welcome Ilya, all clearly amazed still as they stole glances at the tower. She accepted in silence but with considerable grace, and when it was over the orcs all turned to Blake, clearly wary.

“What do you want from us, human?” said the Blacktusk lord. “For this...incredible gift.”

Blake clucked his tongue. What did he want? He’d hardly thought it through, if he was honest. It was a strange feeling that sat in his gut like a new food. He had helped Ilya, and helped these orcs, without any thought to his own benefit.

He didn’t much like it, if he was honest. Like some exotic new dish, it was good to try now and then, he supposed, but only sparingly. He glanced at the tower.

“I've come to quite like it here,” he said. “I was thinking, if you have any extra, I wouldn't mind a room. I could use a little space, and time to study.”

The orcs looked surprised, but turned to Ilya for an answer. She smiled, and clearly wanted to throw her arms around Blake, but kept it together. Very ladylike, he decided.

"There is always room for you in my tower, Wizard."

"Well then.” Blake smiled. “I'll talk to the other humans, and we'll see about calling off the whole ‘fight to the death’ thing. If that's acceptable?"

The lords looked at each other. Most shrugged helplessly.

"Yes...Wizard Blake,” said the older lord. “If…it’s possible. We would accept peace."

"Very good.” Blake stood and let his chair crumble to dust, just to startle the orcs a little. He held out an arm for Ilya. “Should we go take a look at your new tower, my lady?"

Ilya grinned, and took his arm, and together they walked towards the new gate.

“If you don’t have a key,” Blake whispered, “I can probably animate the thing to open.”

It opened instantly as Ilya touched it, a beautiful smile spreading across her face as the double doors revealed inside. These too had the image of a huge, amber eye, staring as if watching any who entered.

Blake and Ilya walked towards it without looking back. Only after they'd touched it and vanished, re-appearing in an empty hall of stone and plush carpet, with busts of dozens of orcs lining the walls, did Ilya turn.

She threw her arms around Blake as she wept. He held her and put a hand to her hair, no reason at all to stop the smile. He supposed in that moment helping others for nothing wasn’t so terrible. Not so terrible at all.