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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Mass Producing Portals
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Night had fallen by the time Bram and the bandit siblings parted ways.
“We’ll send the first shipment of fel beasts in a week like we’d discussed,” Josslyn promised.
While Lil’ Joss chimed in with, “You had time to discuss while pillowing…must not have been that—”
His sister kicked him in his ass, causing the bear-like man to stumble forward.
“Warbringer’s balls, Lyn — you’re so bloody violent!” Lil’ Joss growled. “That kind of violence bleeds into pillowing… No wonder it wasn’t g—”
He would pay for his comment with another kick to the butt.
Bram watched their playful fighting while fondly remembering the rough lessons Josslyn had taught him earlier.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” Josslyn said once she noticed Bram’s smirk.
His grin only widened.
“Stay safe,” he said, and he wasn’t surprised to realize he meant it.
“Safe’s not something we can do,” Lil’ Joss replied, adding, “The bandit’s life’s a reckless one. Even more so with the job you’ve given us.”
He scratched the back of his head.
“Honestly, it’d be one thing to hunt them for pelts and innards, but to capture them alive,” Lil’ Joss frowned, “these bonuses better be worth it.”
“Quit your belly aching, Joss,” Josslyn chided. “Money is money — and with all the griffins he’s promised, the village won’t be starving come the winter.”
So, the Mighty Greenwood Gang’s hiding in a failing village somewhere in Central Lotharin.
Bram’s brow creased.
Josslyn’s slip of the tongue was good information, though there were far too many villages and towns in the kingdom with similar circumstances for Bram to pinpoint exactly where the bandits’ hideout could be. He didn’t ask her to elaborate though. It was better to build trust now and have them invite him there of their own accord.
Once they gave their goodbyes, Lil’ Joss and Josslyn slinked into the shadows of the trees near the harts’ pens and Bram watched them go while caressing Renfri’s neck.
“They’re better than I thought…”
He barely tracked them as they moved under the canopy of trees almost as if the shadows had come up to swallow their forms.
“That’s not the kind of mobility spell a bandit can learn…not without training somewhere else.” He mused aloud. “I should get them to show off next time. The Loom could learn an advanced job like assassin or saboteur from those two.”
“Could you trust bandits with such important information?” asked the man waiting nearby.
Bram glanced over his shoulder.
“We can take their abilities without telling them about the Loom…but I don’t know. If they stay faithful to their roles like you have, then…maybe?”
His gaze took in the appearance of the blue-haired man who walked toward him, taking note of his embroidered silk robe of varying green tones which seemed brand new compared to the impoverished one he used to wear. Soon, Bram’s gaze settled on the item in Ravi Samal’s hands. It was a red acorn about the size of a chicken’s egg.
“Did you uncover its secret…?”
Ravi shook his head.
“The nymph’s seed eludes all attempts to hatch it…”
The Stargazers’ vice master returned the nymph’s seed to the prince.
“At least for now, I can be of no help…”
“For now…”
The prince discerned the meaning of the Shamvalan’s words and couldn’t help smiling.
“I take it the Loom’s already helping you grow?”
Ravi mirrored Bram’s delight.
“The system is clever… I feel like I’ll progress in leaps and bounds much quicker than I would have through a normal study of the arcane mysteries.”
“Good.”
Bram tucked the nymph’s seed back into the satchel strapped to Renfri’s saddle.
“I’m counting on you to help me crack the seed’s mystery in the future.”
It wasn’t just for his own sake.
Though it would be cool to have a newborn nymph as a companion, Bram had made a silent promise to Loveless that her next life would be a good one. He meant to keep this promise. Whatever it took.
“I shall not fail you, Your High—”
Ravi cleared his throat.
“…Director,” he corrected.
Yes, with the ‘Feast of Travelers’ nearing, Bram was no longer just Atlan’s seventh prince nor Lotharin’s governor. He was officially the ‘Creative Director’ for the Loom of Ill Fates, which, after a long brainstorming session that required a third serving of Madam Bertha’s ‘Beef Rouladen,’ had also been chosen as the name for the game the dev team was making.
As for Ravi Samal, the Shamvalan had proven his worth to the prince in the last adventure and earned a sizeable reward for his efforts.
While Master Mina led the Coven of Stargazers in training for the summoning of otherworlders, Ravi was bestowed the role of ‘Tech Support Lead,’ officially making him a full-time member of the Loom’s dev team.
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As Bram climbed Renfri’s saddle, he asked, “How many waypoints has your team created this past fortnight?”
“Thirty-seven,” Ravi answered.
He too climbed a hart that had a saddle prepared for him.
“Thirty-seven waypoints were created across the shires of Bastille, Lorraine, Bravant, and Cambrian as well as the southern half of the Red Forest, with another fourteen to be completed before the big day, mostly for the mountain regions to our east and west,” Ravi reported.
“Thirty-seven… Not bad,” Bram nodded approvingly.
It was a quick turnaround for a task that had been given to Ravi and the seven young survivors of the Red Forest Expedition only three weeks ago.
“My disciples are motivated,” Ravi said, adding, “They want to be of service to their savior.”
“They have.” Bram began leading Renfri out of the pens. “Thanks to your team, we can control our players’ comings and goings. Keep them where we want them.”
In his mind’s eye, the prince envisioned an invisible fence of thirty-seven commonplace objects that would keep the otherworlders in Central Lotharin. For without waypoints, exploration of the Rhyneland or Lower Lothaire would prove too perilous a task for those who couldn’t save their journey’s progress. Certainly, the otherworlders could log out of the game from anywhere, but they would lose the progress they earned after their last save, including their hard-won items and experience.
Privy to the reason Bram was grinning more villainously than usual, Ravi said, “It will be a challenging endeavor for new players…more like a punishment than a game.”
“Rowan said the same thing, but I still believe an easy game is a boring one,” Bram insisted.
“I won’t argue that.”
Ravi’s face turned contemplative.
“I wouldn’t want to invite an otherworlder to my coven if they couldn’t at least survive a few trips to Aarde.”
“Exactly. We want champions. Not weaklings.”
They made their way to the center of the gardens where they found a statue of a warrior woman half-veiled by tall flower beds. She wore a familiar gambeson and sweeping dress. In one hand she held a crystal orb. In the other, she raised a flaming sword.
Seeing Rowan’s likeness caused Bram’s brow to crease.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. It’s not like they were in that sort of relationship for him to feel bad about his earlier dalliance with Josslyn, but he also couldn’t help feeling that slight pang of guilt. He just wasn’t sure why.
“So,” pushing himself to focus on anything else, Bram turned to Ravi, “what happened to commonplace objects?”
“Our lead game designer insisted on uniformity so that the players wouldn’t be confused,” Ravi explained.
“Won’t this draw too much attention?”
“My team will ensure each waypoint is veiled from those who aren’t connected to the Loom.”
“I assume we’re not just calling them waypoints or save points?”
“The otherworlders might, but we’ve dubbed her Our Lady of Victory.”
Bram scrutinized it some more.
The statue had a crown of laurels atop her head, though her face truly resembled a certain trickster’s face right down to her impish smile. Seeing it, Bram couldn’t help wondering how Rowan would react to his afternoon with Josslyn.
“It’s not like we’re together…or intimate like that,” he whispered.
“What was that?” Ravi asked.
“Nothing.”
Bram cleared his throat.
“How far will this waypoint take us?”
At his question, Ravi beamed.
“I think you’ll be quite pleased,” he asserted. “Master Mina, Lady Rowan, and I have toiled through many hours to formulate a more enhanced ‘Door of Dimensions’ spell.”
The Shamvalan explained that its range was much greater than the ones they’d used in the Red Forest, allowing for travel between waypoints of greater distance and through multiple routes so one need not follow a single path of waypoints to get from one location to the other.
“That sort of power…” One of Bram’s eyebrows hitched upward. “I assume that’s what the sorcerite is for?”
He’d already noticed the crystal orb in the statue’s hand. It glowed with the faint bluish spark of imbued magic.
“It was Lady Rowan’s—”
Again, Ravi stopped himself.
“…Our EP’s idea,” he corrected.
Bram wasn’t the only one with a new title. Rowan was now the ‘Executive Producer’ of the Loom of Ill Fates. It’s why she wasn’t with him today. Her duties kept her in Bastille assisting Hajime with tweaks for the ‘Visionary II,’ the tool the otherworlders would use to travel to Aarde.
“The sorcerite empowers the spell, making it many times more potent than its original use,” Ravi explained. “Although, with the team’s projections on its usage, we’ll need to change orbs every few months…”
“Meaning we’ll need to find an untapped sorcerite mine for ourselves if we don’t want to deplete our funds buying them from shops,” Bram said, sighing.
Compared to the sorcerite engine of an auto-wagon or the ones that powered his new skyship, the orb empowering the statue was on the small side of items made of the rare magic-imbued mineral. However, thirty-seven waypoints and counting meant a lot of replacements would be needed periodically. That meant a huge bill at Sorcerite Stones ‘R’ Us or Mercer’s Magical Emporium every few months.
“Our funds keep disappearing no matter how much we put in it,” Bram said.
“Might be time for another expedition,” Ravi suggested.
He wasn’t wrong, and there were plenty of unclaimed dungeons around Central Bastille for them to plunder.
“Yes, it might be time to risk our necks again. Fun.”
Renfri moved closer to the statue as if to sniff it.
“These new waypoints accept mounts, right?” Bram asked.
“So long as they’re registered with the player’s account. Rented mounts work too,” Ravi answered confidently.
With how quickly he’d picked up gamer-speak, it was obvious he’d been paying extra attention to Bridget’s recent lectures on ‘Game Lingo.’
“What about fel beasts?”
“No, that would be dangerous… Anything in need of transport must be done the old-fashioned way.”
Something else nagged at the back of Bram’s mind…opportunity.
“It’s too easy…using waypoints to move around…” The cogs inside his brain began to turn. “They should pay for the privilege.”
He grinned.
“We’ll offer portal services for a high price to encourage otherworlders to travel Lotharin’s roads while also earning the funds we need for sorcerite replacements.”
“That can be done…with the Loom’s help.”
“Good.”
Bram patted Renfri’s neck.
“By the way, this waypoint will take us straight to Bastille?”
Ravi shook his head.
“There are two other waypoints between Reise and Bastille, but the travel time will be cut from the usual five hours to a matter of minutes.”
“Where in Bastille…?”
He imagined it would be strange if he and Ravi appeared out of the blue in the middle of the city. The ‘Door of Dimensions’ wasn’t an uncommon spell, but it was considered quite rude to teleport within a town or city’s boundaries.
“There’s a shrine to Our Lady of Victory in the outskirts of Bastille that we’ve cloaked from watchful eyes. That’s our destination.”
“Shall we test it then?”
“Whenever you’re ready…Director.”
Bram pressed his palm to the statue’s stone surface.
Attuned to his wishes, the Loom raised two options in the air.
Would you like to save your progress? Would you like to travel to a new destination?
Bram clicked on the second option, prompting a list of possible routes he could take using this waypoint. Of the thirty-seven active waypoints, only eight were reachable.
“Impressive.”
Bastille.
Once Bram had made his choice, he, Ravi, and their two mounts were engulfed in brilliant light that dissipated like stardust in the wind, taking them along with it.
They never made it to Bastille though.
Between Bastille and Reise was Gabriel’s Farm, a once famous brewery known for its prized Blue Bochet, a burnt-honey mead that had been highly sought after by the Imperium’s nobles less than a decade ago. However, like most of Lotharin, Gabriel’s Farm had seen better days, and in its decline, the area around the farm had become dangerous for travelers who opted not to take the relatively safer Sovereign’s Road. To the farm’s immediate south was a small grove of trees. Within this grove was a newly erected shrine, and it was to this ‘Our Lady of Victory’ that Bram’s and Ravi’s journey was disrupted.
The sound of a thunderclap resounded around the shrine as the prince and vice master appeared on the site while wrapped in radiant starlight, their journey through the ‘Door of Dimensions’ disrupted by unknown means.
“Fuck,” Bram cursed.
This time, he managed not to let the nausea overwhelm him.
Fortunately, Renfri seemed made of sterner stuff than his master. The hart kept Bram steady while the prince tried to regain his senses. Renfri also helped Bram avoid the arrow that flew toward him, causing it to clip his ear instead, drawing blood.
“Phoebus’ cock…”
He couldn’t see them yet, but he was certain they were somewhere nearby, possibly hiding behind the trees.
“So much for being a safe way to travel…” Bram’s hand flew to dusk’s hilt. “We’re in the middle of a bloody ambush.”