Battleforged
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Chapter 128 - Spend It All, It's Going Down Tonight.
🕑 Added 2022-07-10 02:00:00 +0000 UTCEric barely heard Lord Grim’s parting words, merely felt the almost fatherly pat of skeletal digits upon his shoulder, the cold chill penetrating right through his soul-linked armor. “By all means, browse it to your heart’s content, lad. My man Jeeves will be here to see to your every convenience, and take you to your quarters, when sleep proves to be the balm you most desire. Should nothing prove amiss, consider the perusal a prerequisite for the offer I will make you on the morrow. Of course, should Sylvan eyes spot what blood magics and one of the few lawyers not already snatched up by our competitors have missed… then our House will owe you a grand boon indeed, Eric Silver, scion of Clan Silver.”
“Strictly free agent,” Eric mumbled automatically, not even looking up from the document. Yet far from being offended, his muttered words earned nothing more than an amused chuckle and a promise of hot chocolate and coffee to be brought up shortly.
Yet as much as a corner of his mind was screaming at him for being a fool, he found himself absolutely captivated by what he knew should have been so boringly dry that most college freshmen his age would be reduced to tears. Yet the prizes in play and the perks tingling in the back of his mind made all the difference, he thought.
The carrot being offered by the goblins was an entire library of lore related to classes, professions, and evolutions that would be available to worthy Conscripts, including tried and true techniques for obtaining the best classes possible that would allow one to excel as a White tier supplicant, which supposedly they all were, for the first hundred levels of their existence.
Extensive information would also be provided enabling those with true potential to break through the bottleneck Eric hadn’t even been aware existed until that moment that would allow a select few to ascend to Bronze tier classes. Additionally, far more than serving as an admittedly vital playbook, the library also promised to list the pros and cons of literally thousands of Class Node Perks available to the various classes, in addition to providing an in-depth study of how to cast and craft the most basic white tier magics, up to and including healing spells, which Eric had seen surprisingly little of, up to now. But what really caught his eye was it’s promised listing of all Standard Galactic Titles that everyone could unlock, opening up a plethora of otherwise hard to get Advanced classes. Titles that were common to all newly subjugated worlds, and how exactly to earn them.
In short, it would serve as an elite gamer’s manual on how to pick the best class that possesses the best combination of abilities and character points for your play style, and that would also be best aligned to your strengths and interests, so as to allow you to break through the bottleneck to Bronze.
And the cost of this absolutely priceless library of lore was exactly one ton of gold.
“Are you fucking killing me? That’s over half a billion credits!” It was a monumental sum. An absolute fortune for what amounted to a library of lore that was, Eric had to admit, absolutely priceless in a world brimming with power and potential, but deliberately kept in the dark about all the crucial elements of character progression and development. And Eric knew damn well it was to cripple the natives able to level up so much faster than invaders and punish them for their head start, before the chosen ones of the galactic elite could hit the ground running, gobble up all Earth’s potential, and treat the native denizens just as harshly as every race of conquerors had treated the subjugated since modern man had first spread all over the globe.
Rica’s own bemused observations had only heightened Eric’s cynicism, both of them having watched the same documentaries what now felt like a lifetime ago, piecing together what had happened to the near dozen species of man that had once walked beside homo sapien sapiens
They had all died out.
And Eric somehow didn’t think humanity would get to enjoy a 50,000 year slow decline before alien invaders pushed them all to the brink of oblivion.
They needed to take drastic steps to tighten the curve. Because humanity’s technological acumen meant very little with System surges knocking out most power, destroying all known formulaes of gunpowder, such that only orcish black powder was viable, and as Eric himself had found out, in order to prosper along the paths of power that were the norm among galactic powerhouses, one had to forgo indirectly killing via exothermic reactions altogether. Blade, bow, and spell were the order of the day.
Thus humanity needed to learn all it could about acquiring and leveling up powerful classes with deadly abilities they had a natural affinity for, without wasting decades stumbling along like fools before powerhouse scions wiped them all completely off the board.
In light of that, a ton of gold was a very, very small price to pay.
Which of course made Eric suspicious as hell, even without the help of his perks.
Because rule one of any Machiavellian conquest was to use rules as tools to justify robbing your opponents blind, and above all else... never, ever give them a fair shake.
With that cynical outlook firmly in mind, he read over the documents several times over. So immersed was he that he paid no mind to Morlekai’s worried scowl, reporting that they had had unexpected company, but that their master had successfully shooed them off. Even the enticing scents of a scrumptious feast of grilled meats, savory pies, bowls of chili, and pretty much every other savory delight he could envision flashing in his party interface’s mind’s eye ruthlessly ignored for the sake of the elusive prize he could almost sense.
And then he saw it, eyes focusing on words that made him want to yawn, rub his eyes for boredom, and sip some of the delightful hot cacao placed so enticingly on the tea tray beside him.
A cold shiver raced down his spine when he found himself eager to take a break and get a bit of fresh air… before forcing himself right back down on that seat, wondering why his eyes had skimmed over the passage before him so many times before.
Why was he so reluctant to read it yet again right now?
-Upon completion of payment in full, your library will be delivered, in full, within 1 season. Standard penalties will apply should supplicants fail to begin initiation of payment in full at the time this contract is signed by all involved parties.- This bothered him for some reason, the tingle in the back of his mind making it clear he had reason to be. But what was equally as troubling was a final clause, something that he sensed was far less common in domestic contracts before the catastrophe had struck.
-All Signatories of the above contract concede that all time frames, clauses, and penalties listed herein are in effect for all Goblinoid contracts signed within Subjugated World 6783Y (Earth). Supercession granted by Senior Administrator Squiglepuse III.-
By the time he got up, it was well after midnight, and Eric could only wonder how many rules of propriety he had shattered, staying there for so long, not stinting from indulging in cups of hot cacao perked up with shots of espresso that Jeeves had continuously supplied him with, sweetened with a dash of honey and salt and that delightful dollop of sweetened peppermint, just the way he liked it.
And how the hell had anyone known?
He shook his head, deciding it didn’t matter, presently caught between a sense of heady excitement, deadly caution, and a desperate need to use the bathroom.
“Eric, is that you? Jeez, man, what did you do, crash in the boss’s room?” said a yawning Drake who had, in fact, been napping on an exquisitely crafted antique davenport in the adjoining room that didn’t even creak under the man’s weight, which said volumes about its construction right there.
He flashed Eric a sleepy smile. “It’s alright, good buddy. I came to relieve Jeeves. Tough cookie and a student of the grand arts, but he’s still mortal. No worries, though. Bossman looked more amused than anything else that you stayed to the witching hour! He laughed and said its always a good idea to stay on the good side of royalty. You better believe me and Louie shared a chuckle at that. Who would have thought that Old Grim had a thing for Hollywood stars and their tabloid families?”
Eric winced, forcing a smile. “Sure, thanks for the heads up there, Drake. Say… could you point me in the direction of the restroom? And after that… assuming he’s still up and it’s no inconvenience, there’s something I want to ask Lord Grim.”
Drake snorted. “Just tell me you cleaned up in there, good buddy. Our guests for the day have already arrived!”
Eric’s eyes bulged. “What? It’s midnight? How, why...” Then he swallowed, suddenly recalling the furious glare he had received by certain members of a goblin consortium before. If his hunch was right, they actually had something of a mystic class that at least got hunches when trouble was coming… or at least, when he was coming. And he could only imagine what an incredible boon any sort of FinanSeer class might be to any race… or all the carelessness and lack of professionalism it might help compensate for. Because one thing goblins most certainly were not was cool-headed professionals who put the company’s long term well-being ahead of all else.
Eric winced, glaring back at the contract. Self-centered backstabbers only in it for themselves they might be. But the goblins were certainly clever little shits, and if their seer’s hunch had them banging on Grim’s door to force a quick sign-off on the contract… then best he trust his gut and take steps of his own, because the first shots had just been fired.
This was war.
Too bad he was cracking a yawn the size of the grand canyon despite his absurd Vitality. But before Drake could shoo him into a surprisingly spacious bathroom that included a tub the size of a sauna, he stopped cold, surprising even the adventurer with the linebacker build.
“Damn good buddy, you have been working out!” The man said with a rueful chuckle. But before he could say anything else, Eric handed him a folded note of stationary signed and sealed with a drop of his own blood and stationary that Jeeves had assured Eric was free to use as he wished.
“This needs to get to Agent Caliban of the Blue Faction as fast as you damn well can deliver it. I don’t know if he’s at the Blue Palace, but agents playing at being concierges are on staff 24-7. Tell them their golden goose needs her nest ASAP. And for fuck’s sake, make sure whoever you hands it to swears on their life that they’re Blue Faction. Preferably hand it off to Caliban himself.”
Drake’s jocular demeanor instantly faded. He gazed at Eric for long moments, slowly taking the sealed letter. “So it’s like that already, huh?”
Eric chuckled coldly. “If my hunch is right, those assholes are going to try fucking you over like you wouldn’t believe. But I’m not sure. Not entirely. What I am sure of is that whatever happens tonight… we can at least protect ourselves. If my friend can come through.”
Drake gazed at Eric for long moments. “You think we’re all in serious trouble here, don’t you.”
Eric winced, doing the best to ignore the sense of a complex weave and dance of energy states constantly flowing and shifting before they could solidify into a mass so terrible that it would crush him flat in the blink of an eye. “Let’s just say I’m taking steps, good buddy. One way or another, we’ll know how things went by dawn’s first light. Of that I have no fucking doubt.”
His friend nodded, the cool-headed professional thief and soldier, now the farthest thing from a goofball jock. “I’ll see to this, Eric. Don’t you worry. We’ll make sure this Caliban knows that Lord Grim would like a word with him ASAP, whatever else happens. You go freshen up, alright? I’ll be right back.”
Eric furrowed his brow. That hadn’t precisely been his request but… he shrugged. As long as his acquaintance and business partner that he respected even admired came through. And if that wasn’t at least a basis for friendship… he sighed, rubbing his throbbing temples as he entered the palatial sized bathroom, eyes widening at what were almost luxury versions of a Japanese bath including pre-soak showers, hot and cold tubs covered in tiles depicting soothing scenes of swans and herons fishing by the lakeside, and all of it etched with gold filigree.
Even the smiling attendant of asian descent was dressed in a bathing suit of jade and gold, bowing her head respectfully Eric’s way as she gestured to a masseuse table.
Eric winced, feeling genuinely embarrassed as he waved off the hostess’s graceful offer and made a beeline to take care of his business before a soft voice could be heard through his stall.
“Your attire is laid out for you to make use of, after your soak and shower, honored guest. Lord Grim does hope you will attend him in half an hour’s time. A friend will be waiting to take you to him just outside the bathroom. And if there is anything I can personally do for you...”
“I’m quite alright,” Eric quickly assured. “Thank you kindly for the offer, and have a pleasant night.”
“Of course,” the girl said in a voice Eric almost thought was disappointed beneath the professionalism. “I will leave you to your baths. I recommend a shower, then the hot tub smelling of jasmine and honey suckle, then a quick dip in the ice bath. You should find it almost as refreshing and invigorating as a half-hour nap.”
“Sounds good,” Eric said, and took her advice just as soon as she left, finding, much to his surprise, that he did indeed feel quite refreshed after allowing his muscles to soak in the warm embrace of deliciously hot, scented waters before dipping into an ice cold tub that jolted him completely awake.
A much more awake Eric was positively beaming when he stepped out a short time later, now wearing the perfectly fitted linen shirt, waistcoat, pantaloons, and undergarments that had been clearly left for him.
A bit retro, but it fit just fine under his armor, even the woolen socks.
Fortunately the outside of his essence-infused armor needed only the gentlest application of whetted cloth to reveal pristine scales without any odor at all, and somehow all that blood infused essence his gambeson and linen leggings had picked up soaked up odors as well as heat and impact damage. Eric took a deep whiff, truly surprised. He wasn’t just used to it, his armor truly was free of the stinks of sweat, blood, and steel that most warriors reeked of as a matter of course.
He shrugged. as long as it worked, Eric was content to just let it be, no questions asked.
He gave a satisfied smile, looking at his reflection as he put his scale helm in his tactical backpack, though otherwise he was fully kitted, including his sheathed 1821 light cavalry saber as part of his ensemble. He thought it was a fair compromise, looking professional from the neck up, but otherwise ready for whatever might come.
He was about to enter a negotiating room full of goblins, after all, and he recalled all too well what had happened last time.
Drake gave him a thumb’s up. “Looking clean and refreshed and ready to kick ass in the boardroom or battlefield. Even your cravat looks snappy. Just how high up are your Finesse and Quickness good buddy?” His friend quickly lifted his hand. “Never mind, I don’t even want to know. The letter you wanted delivered is taken care of, and we brought your sweet looking set of javelins and your… ahem… interesting looking bardiche to the quarters that will be yours, for just as long as you like! Grim’s orders. Mi casa es su casa, and all that.”
Eric nodded. “It’s his house. I’m just grateful he’s letting me chill here for a bit, and I’m not such a pig as to insist that I be allowed to carry polearms everywhere I go.”
“But the saber is totally fine!” Drake quickly assured. “Hell, it’s practically regulation! Just like with troops back in the day. I mean… back in Grim’s day. Ha ha.”
Eric smirked. “Sure, buddy. But if that isn’t a Carolingian blade and buckler at your hip...”
His friend gave a brilliant smile, happily showing his sweet looking Viking era chopping blade with its brazil-nut pommel. “Yeah, this blade is sweet, once you learn the trick of holding it right,” he said, hand gripping the pommel almost as much as the hilt itself, which, Eric noted, allowed him to comfortably hold it fully extended, similar to a pistol-grip saber hilt. “This badass babe can cleave right through a warthog, or cut off the leg of an orc, yet flows smooth as butter when your stats hit our levels, brother. Anything less meaty than this, and we’re just wasting our inhuman strength.”
He had the grace to flash an apologetic grimace at Eric’s saber. “No offense, good buddy.”
“None taken,” Eric said with a smile. “I watched enough Self-Tube videos declaring those Viking blades to be the ultimate choppers to believe you when you say it cuts like a dream. But part of mastering my technique and my blade is by seeing just how fast and smooth I can cut with Finesse and skill alone, my Strength just there if I need it.”
Drake gave Eric an oddly solemn dip of his head. “Considering that you got yourself Journeyman ranks in multiple combat skills, I recon you’re right on the money. And when it comes to training and sparring, Finesse is where it’s at. But in actual fighting-for-your life combat...”
“You break all the rules, if that’s what your gut tells you to do. You do whatever the hell let’s you see the dawn of a new day,” Eric said. “God knows I did just that almost non stop, since we went our separate ways.”
Drake nodded thoughtfully. “Is it true, the rumors going around?”
Eric winced. “I take it I missed an interesting dinner?”
His friend snorted. “I’ll say. Had a couple guild heads come over to pay their respects. All of them made it pretty clear that once we get our library in order, they’d happily pay a premium to make use of it. Anyway, rumor has it that a certain wild card attended that Blue Palace meeting.” His friend flashed a bemused smile. “Some hot-headed elf prince who fled his family, overthrew the orc holdings in Gilton, and basically declared war on all the orc clans when he ate roasted lechon right in front of their chief diplomatic representatives with the same shit-eating grin you’re flashing me right now.”
Eric snorted. “Sounds like a pretty stupid rumor to me.”
His friend raised a pointed eyebrow. “Do you really plan on waging war on all the orc tribes?”
Eric’s fierce grin seemed to be all the answer his friend needed.
“Well shit,” Drake said with a whistle. “Anyway, before you get yourself killed, Bossman was wondering if you were interested in a slice of the action.”
This made Eric stop short, feeling a certain surge of excitement that had nothing to do with slipping free of his mother’s noose, or butchering savage squealing porcine bastards he’d happily devour in an all-you-can-eat orc buffet. “You’re damn right I am. I was hoping I’d get a chance to talk to him about it. Because if we misstep with this...”
His friend gave an airy wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about that, little buddy. Oh. Before I forget...”
He handed Eric a tiny folded piece of parchment. Eric unrolled it with trembling hands, hardly knowing what to expect. Certainly not the words he read, which made him flush like a fool.
Check Your Interface – Carefully!
Blue Corporation – Caliban.
Eric winced. “Shit. Wait, we don’t actually have e-mail, do we?” He petered to a stop before closing his eyes, sensing the flood of angrily blinking messages waiting for him under multiple factions that seemed to be listed on the side of the conquest map he now realized he could zoom in or out of, a trick of perception that allowed it to all look as compact as a phone screen, or he could zoom out so it looked movie theater size. Having always preferred 40 inch PC gaming monitors over cell phone apps, the choice for him was obvious.
Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing, as now all those angrily blinking red lights looked more ominous than ever. And somehow he just knew that clicking on the messages from the Sylvan alliance would be a very, very bad idea.
Especially the messages from his mother.
The only thing blinking more ominously were the ones from some administrator named Narri.
He quickly wrenched his eyes away, lest even the blinks be some sort of coded demand.
But even that he feared wouldn’t be enough.
“Hide all messages from Sylvan Alliances and any administrators,” he muttered allowed, ignoring Drake’s snort. Because if it worked, it worked.
Warning! Standard protocols prevent the blocking or interference of Allied Messages or Terran administerial privileges!
Subjugates are not permitted to alter settings!
Contender status acknowledged.
Bonds of Master and Servant can no longer be detected.
Sylvan Alliance messages have been successfully blocked! Administerial messages have been successfully blocked! Only messages of URGENT status (with potency cost paid) will be permitted access!
Eric glared for long moments as the interface message truly sunk in.
Bonds of Master and Servant.
Was that what he was, or had been, to his mother? Or was that because of the administrator, treating all natives as his what… subjects? Slaves?
He shook his head, shivering with a growing sense of disgust, now more certain than ever that avoiding his mother and anyone having anything to do with any local administrators or corrupt as hell councils was the smartest move he could possibly make… no matter what wealth or opportunities he miss out on.
Because no matter how enticing the toys or gilding, he refused to be a toy poodle barking at his mother’s command, or anyone else’s.
Eric smiled with relief when the only blinking lights left were two under the Blue Corp heading, one under the Snicklit tribe, and one, surprisingly, belonging to the orc faction.
Eric furrowed his brow, not caring how he looked to Drake whom he could still peripherally sense hovering just a feet away. Because he sure as hell wasn’t exposing himself to the Interface equivalent of viruses and malware, and he saw no reason to open anything belonging to orc or Goblin factions. Because unlike in the modern world they had all left behind, in this magically enhanced realm, ignorance truly was bliss.
Particularly when it came to avoiding twisted legal traps of blood debts and obligation. And he somehow just knew that his mother had a dozen she’d love to spring his way. Ignorance in this meant that they were just figments of possibility, what-ifs he could effortlessly slip through like a mist that couldn’t quite latch onto him.
But the minute he read her correspondence, he just knew that those what-ifs would collapse into inviolate certainty that would instantly snap around him like a steel cage.
He winced as he forced his inner eye back on the interface map, relieved to see that his message blocks were holding just fine, as he intuitively realized had to be the case, since this was his mind, and only that which he invited was allowed to pass through. Even if certain parties were so desperate to message him that they were willing to pay a price in Potency… nothing said that he couldn’t continue to ignore what he hoped would be a much less cluttered in-box.
At that moment, parsing very carefully through his Dominion Map Interface screen, the only message he had any interest in allowing entrance into his mind was that of a Blue Corp facilitator whose fortunes were now inextricably tied with Eric’s own. Because if Eric truly had the capital to fund the possibilities a desperately signed contract made available to him… the economic potential would be absolutely mind-boggling.
Simply put, with his mother’s finger now clearly on the scales of power in Freetown, Eric trusted only Caliban not to fuck him over with trapped e-mails. Because whatever stake his mother might offer for his capture… Eric was worth far more to Blue Corp acting on his own cognizance.
Yet all his self assurances aside, he couldn’t help but feel a spike of anxiety upon opening even Caliban’s mail.
Message Received.
Taking emergency measures.
Elevated time frame will require an investment of between 200 thousand and 20 million in additional security. 20 Million will assure full Blue Corp liability. Please note: 2 million is the most we’ve ever had to invest in any significant transfer before.
No successful seizure of Blue Corp assets has taken place since Earth’s subjugation.
What is your limit?
I will be there as soon as possible.
Caliban.
Eric winced, taking several panicked moments of feeling like an idiot before his Perception helped him locate the reply button. Even though his business partner was making it clear that 2 million should be more than ample security… his ally had absolutely no idea how many golden dice were rattling inside Eric’s ES Space.
Come to think of it… neither did he.
Spend it all.
It’s going down tonight.
Eric.
