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New Reality: 1st of May 2025, The Balkans / Pocket Universe, Brittany

Closing his white shirt to the next to last button—a thing called sprezzatura, according to one of Clement's fashion magazines—Ardent went out of their wooden cabin, heading for the new center of the village, a clearing that had seen recent zoning improvements due to Myrtle, and a gardening gazette—Clement's opus again—transforming into a small park.

Does the man popes around anymore, or writes about gossip and cooking recipes?

He started walking around the central flower bed. Salvatore was due to arrive, and he was the cause Ardent was so well dressed and closely shaved.

At nine o'clock in the evening, a light circle appeared in the alley and his former employer appeared, an inch from the flowers. Trying not to crush any plants, Salvatore hugged and kissed Ardent on the cheeks.

"Ew… is this necessary?" Ardent asked, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

"Sorry, just a reflex…" the man apologized, raising his arms. "French habit, Francis's court spreads its germs a thousand times a day. Do you have benches? Nice. Let's sit for a second, then we'll head out. You're free for the night, as I asked, true?"

"Yeah. What's going on?"

Salvatore creased his nose. He had pulled his hair into a ponytail and looked like a savvy shabby-chic savant from the future, Ardent had seen a lot of them while browsing his phone's database. "In a minute. Start by telling me what's going on here. What's your level, your new skills, stats, and so on?"

"If you insist," Ardent shrugged. "I'm level twenty-five now, thirty in Dexterity and Constitution, not much behind in the rest. I noticed leveling is slower."

"It's harder as your level rises. Fight experience will be less important, Quests and Heroics will be key. What about skills and spells?"

"I have quite a bit of those," the younger man scratched his chin.

"Good. Now, listen to me carefully," Salvatore lowered his voice, looking around. "You have to keep quiet about this. We have an infestation."

"Monsters?"

"Worse. High Elves. Our new reality has been noticed, and they sent a scouting team to explore."

"Elves like the ones helping Santa?"

"I wish. Like the Yele in your folklore or worse. Gorgeous women or men who steal your brains and make you dance until you die, or keep you for a few years as a love toy, while centuries pass outside."

"Interesting," Ardent widened his eyes, his curiosity stirred.

"No, not interesting," Salvatore hissed. "Extremely dangerous. They appeared in Brittany, which is on Francis's turf now, and sent him a message. They're asking him to surrender his country or send a champion to fight them in a duel set for today. It's May Day, that's why. They didn't have the patience to wait until midsummer. That's for the better. You don't want to face an Elf on a Midsummer day. Their stats are buffed to the roof."

Ardent frowned, staring at the other. "We'll fight? Why did you ask me to dress nicely if so?"

"You don't understand," Salvatore said. "Elves are pricks, and High Elves are the biggest pricks of all. They don't care about managing a country, they want lip service, and to be sure they can use the resources. There will be three challenges, as per their laws, with a non-lethal duel at the end.

"Depending on the results, the conditions will be smoother or harsher… I don't know why they're bothering with all of France, usually, they're interested only in the Fae zones with Celtic Heritage. But we have to deal with the hand that was dealt to us."

Ardent nodded. "So, what is to be expected?"

"If there's a drinking contest, we'll win. They don't hold their liquor. I have a fifty-fifty chance to win at riddles. Hide-and-seek is the same. Running, we lose. Target shooting… depends if they let you use the sniper rifle. Fencing—"

"I win?"

"Hahaha…. Sorry…" Salvatore sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Not at your level. But if you hold your own long enough, it'll impress them."

"You're sure there's no chance to beat them?" Ardent insisted, his ego a little hurt. "There's a saying I found on the smartphone: 'Skill beats level.'"

"Elves live longer and train for fifty years before even being considered warriors. They develop skills similar to the System's ones, but naturally; their stats, if they were to be measured in System values, would be double compared to a human. Then there is the question of who will be your opponent.

"A scouting team means six. First, there's a Main Tank and an off-tank. You'd have a fair chance there if your level would be higher. Then there are the healer and an off-healer. Not worth mentioning, a slap and they're gone. Then, a ranged DPS. If it's an archer, those revolvers of yours are a good counter. If it's a mage... They're immensely powerful but slow as fuck. I have yet to see an Elf caster taking less than ten seconds to channel something. But who among them do you suppose you'll have to fight?"

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"Err…"

"Goodness! The sixth one, the melee DPS!" Salvatore blurted. "I left them last for a reason. They're the best duelists in the galaxy. They'll pick that and you'll lose. However, if you perform well, there's a chance they ease their conditions. That's how they roll."

"I have a question," Ardent raised his hand. "If we can beat most of them easily, why don't we grab Popa and Myrtle and kick their asses?"

"Because they work as a team, and if you don't get past the Tanks in ten seconds, which is impossible, it's game over. The casters's spells hit as hard as a nuke. Literally. You've seen nukes on the smartphone, right? There's no coming back after that kind of hit, Fate Points or not."

"Sounds fun," Ardent decided, slapping his knees and rising from the bench. The truth was he was quite bored lately and was looking forward to a better challenge than the Turks.

"Very well." Getting on his feet, Salvatore gestured in the air. A circle of bright runes appeared on the ground then went up over their lower bodies, then the torsos and heads, and all of a sudden, they were in another forest and another place.

The sensation of touching a rockier ground, and feeling chilly at the feet while the head was still inhaling the pleasant warm air of the Balkans was strange. However, questioning the differences in teleporting techniques was secondary to inspecting the surroundings. The new forest was denser and darker than the ones Ardent was used to. A lot of giant oaks.

"French oak is the best to make barrels for wine and s-spirits," Salvatore said, shivering. It was frisky around, but he was afraid, Ardent didn't need a drawing for that.

"Where are we?" Ardent asked.

"I don't know. The letter they sent allowed me to attune to this place, that's all."

All of a sudden, a woman appeared in front of them, stepping out of thin air. She stared at them with bland eyes, like they were cockroaches.

Ardent felt disappointed. However hard he tried, he couldn't see something overwhelmingly seducing in her, like what Salvatore had advertised. The elf had long hair, a blonde so light it looked almost white, some shapes, tits, and hips, but… something was off. Her skin was too perfect, almost like plastic, and her lips had frozen in a half-smile that made her look more like a statue than a living thing.

"Welcome," the woman said, forwarding a hand, which Salvatore kissed, hurrying to bow.

It was the worst time for hesitation, yet Ardent didn't know what to do. Copy Salvatore? That protocol felt weird. He bit his lower lip and looked down, considering options. In his peripheral vision, the corners of the Elf's mouth sketched a simper, a hair width, if that.

"G-good e-evening," Ardent said, shifting his weight from one leg to another. If she thought he was glaring at her sexually, why not play the persona of a simpleton barbarian, smitten by an otherwordly beauty?

Keeping eye contact for a moment, the woman turned in slow motion, her hair floating in the air in an alluring taunt. She walked toward the direction she had appeared from, disappearing again. Salvatore elbowed Ardent, and they followed.

A very faint feeling, like passing through a drizzle, accompanied their steps, and they entered a new forest, alternating pines and oaks, with more light from the stars and moon above, but also deeper shadows. They started moving on a narrow path, with the woman guiding them.

[Salvatore]: We're in a pocket universe, they're masters at that. Don't lose sight of her or we'll be stuck here forever.

[Ardent]: If you say so… I see the System works, chat, and everything.

[Salvatore]: Yeah, it's a part of us now, nothing can change that.

A clearing opened in front of them, surrounded by giant oaks, with six bonfires offering more light. The air was warmer, and the scent of pines assaulted Ardent's nostrils, together with the smoke.

In the center of the meadow was a table carved from one giant piece of wood, with six tall thrones on one side, for the Elves, and two short stools on the other side, for the visitors. To humiliate them by the lower position, of course, Ardent realized. There were five male elves and only one woman, their guide.

As the Elven woman took a seat, Ardent shoved Salvatore with his shoulder, picked the closest stool, and dragged it in front of her chair, grinning. From his low position, he had a perfect view of the woman's legs, through her skirt's lateral cleavage.

That's what I call transforming a disadvantage into an advantage.

While Salvatore continued his kowtowing in front of each elf, shaking hands, Ardent ignored them all, staring at the lady's calves. She blushed.

Perfect. She thinks I'm onto her. If she's the one I'll duel, I'll pretend to stare at her boobs and headbutt her, Ardent thought, all practicality.

"Your attention," an elf snapped his fingers in front of Ardent's face. The elven woman was moving the tip of her shoe left and right, and he was following it with his eyes, continuing the act of the smitten simpleton.

"Huh? S-sorry," Ardent said.

"Savages," the elf muttered in his beard. "Our old acquaintance, Salvatore, must have told you what is this about," he told with a tense tone, looking at Ardent like at a bug. "What he doesn't know is the Central System won't meddle directly in this new reality. The unofficial message it sent to our worlds was, and I quote: 'Well, well, well, isn't that interesting. Let's see how my new iteration performs. Feel free to challenge it as hard as you want, I won't intervene,'" the man ended the quote and stared a dagger or two at Salvatore.

"It means we're free to claim this reality for our faction," the woman said.

"Or try," Salvatore suddenly found some spine. "Maybe you'd take France, but this world is too big to be conquered by a Scouting team. When I left, the bulk of your armies were busy on the border. Has the situation changed?"

"It only worsened," the woman said. "We were the only ones available for this mission. But submitting to our rule is your best chance. There's a Primal Dark Draconic on your Realm," the woman said deadpanned, despite his colleague frowning in displeasure.

Judging from Salvatore's jerk, Ardent guessed it was not good news.

"I hope you understand the depth of your troubles," the man from before continued. "The Central System abandoned you. There is no cavalry coming to the rescue. So, we decided to skip the formalities and make this negotiation a one-round trial by combat."

"The condottiere will duel my fiance," the woman interjected, insisting on the word and looking intently at Ardent. Poor moth attracted by the light of my beauty, you stand no chance, her eyes said. Yet, a hint of But if your cute ass is still in one piece after the duel, we could have some fun together was there too.

Ardent had interacted with a fair number of lewd women before. Some had left him with good memories, but here, it was not the case. He couldn't think of the woman erotically, for whatever reason. "Very well," he said deadpanned. What are the rules?"