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Chapter 158: Welcome to the Kingdom: Executing
🕑 Added 2023-06-14 12:00:08 +0000 UTCAsmo sat at a desk in a damp, dark room. She sat at this desk alongside Winic, the table sprawling with magical implements and ingredients that she didn’t understand. This place was his study, where he not only created magical items himself, but also had his students work for him on things he wasn’t Classed to create on his own. Currently, they were there alone, with Asmo giving Winic instructions on what items they’d need to create for this first mission. She was planning on sending out Carison, Keiki, and Jon out to three cities, but first she’d need Winic’s expertise in making preparations.
She laid down some sheets of Message Paper—from the collection she’d gotten from the fake Koinkar. “Can you make something that works with these? Something that can read what’s written on them, and that can write things, itself.”
He gave a haughty laugh. “Can I? Of course. Simple automation Enchantment on a pen, with some sensing Enchantments to go with it. Though you’ll have to refill it manually.”
“Mm, no. No, that will not work. This device needs to be small, not as big as a pen. It should be no larger than a fingertip, ideally. And it also cannot be refilled manually. In fact, it should not need any maintenance at all, at least not at any sort of regular interval. Can you do that?”
Winic looked at Asmo thoughtfully. “That’s…a more interesting problem to solve. Fingertip-sized, eh? Perhaps I could use a rock with levitation that’s dipped in ink to draw on the paper. Or, no, maybe I don’t use ink at all. I could reconfigure the Paper into working off of illusions, then we don’t need ink. Though that’d require some new ingredients. I could send an assistant on an errand, I suppose. And as for the reading, we could use…”
He continued muttering to himself while Asmo glanced over his toolset. Within this room was probably dozens, no…hundreds of gold pieces worth of equipment. One of the kingdom’s finest researchers in Enchantment technology, at her disposal. She’d use this to its fullest.
“Will you just need three of these?” Winic asked. “For the three VIPs you’re sending. Or, perhaps four, one for me, as well?”
“Make four. But…do some experiments for me. The four you are making, when they read out what’s written on them, it shouldn’t be loud. But see how loud you can make it, and tell me. And whether or not you can get them to automatically propagate. If something is written on the father Message Paper, can you get the Message Paper it is connected to send a message to another Message Paper? And continue that chain, so whatever is written on the father is written—and announced audibly—to a dozen others. And see if you can make automated messages that are written upon certain triggers being tripped. And how complex those triggers can be. And whether there can be several triggers for a single message, but for those triggers to be delayed, or on a timer. And—”
“Er, one request at a time, please,” Winic chuckled nervously. “Just what are you planning, exactly?”
“Lots of things. For now, I just need those four original automated Message Papers.”
“Yes, yes. Just, a few more questions about them.”
“Go ahead. I have all the time you need.”
**********
Carion walked down the street of a dirty, desolate city. Carth, to be specific. What was once a booming, high-class trade hub had been reduced to this den of street rats and corpses after that initial attack. It seemed that Carth had gotten it the worst during the invasion of the kingdom, not only being one of the cities that had soldiers enter through it, but also clearly being sent the strongest forces out of all of them. At first, he’d simply thought they were unlucky. But after being debriefed, he learned that they’d been attacked hardest because they were the ones to contain the fugitive.
So, in the end, the people of Carth really were just unlucky. Everything happened for a reason—luck was just making a blind choice because you didn’t know the reason or the consequences.
But still, walking around in this area put him on-edge, no bodyguards or assistants or even basic law enforcement to keep him safe from the crime-ridden populace. However, that crime was what brought Carion to Carth. According to Asmo, she’d gotten permission from the Demons to infiltrate these crime rings throughout the impacted towns and use them to their advantage.
Of course, the Demons thought they’d use these formed connections to help stimulate the economy, recruit soldiers for the war efforts, raise funds, things like that. And while they would certainly also do so, the main purpose of these visits was something else entirely.
Carison searched the desolate streets for any sign of some way to contact a higher-up in the criminal world. The buildings were burnt and smashed down into rubble, roads completely destroyed. People who walked on dusty paths that’d formed around the rubble filling the streets, filling the air with powder with their every step, giving the horizon a brown haze.
In lieu of the actual buildings that once made people’s homes, it seemed that most slept in small camps under tarps, no real house in sight.
It was unfortunate, really. After disasters like these, the wealthy and powerful would simply leave—-why stay in a doomed town, after all—-while those without the money to move to a new city would be forced to stay behind, nobody left with the power to actually rebuild. That job was typically left up to the government, but in these circumstances, the overthrown kingdom clearly had more important worries than throwing money at a project to even relocate those impacted, much less build them new homes.
However, when a governing body fell, a new one would always rise to take its place. People hated anarchy, after all, so if they had to surrender power to some shady new organization, if it meant some semblance of calm returning to their lives, they’d do it.
And in this case, that new governing body was a crime family. Not officially, of course—-the kingdom would never formally recognize something like that—-but the people did what they said, and they protected the people from monsters. Protection money traded hands, rival gangs were kicked out, and citizens were happy.
But the thing that made the difference between a king and a crime lord was size. These people ran the streets of a single city, and Carison, with his newfound connections with Koinkar and Asmo, represented the entire land around it. So all he had to do was flex that influence just a bit, enough to get their attention, but not so much to get him killed.
Not that he was totally without protection, of course. He’d thankfully received something from Asmo to help with his being alone and vulnerable, here. As an Unclassed person, if someone decided they wanted to kill him, he’d normally just have to accept his fate. But with this new “earpiece” thing Asmo had gotten Winic to make for the four of them, suddenly everything people said to him would be automatically transcribed to her, and anything she said could be instantly heard straight from his ear. It’d been a little unsettling to use—literally inserting a small piece of Enchanted material deep into his ear with some tweezers—but clearly worth it. If Asmo ever thought he was in danger, she could either teleport him out with the single-use teleportation ring he had on his finger, or send in reinforcements.
Effectively, he had a decent bit of free reign when it came to taking risks here. So he looked around, searching for the right person. Down in the alleys, people in the streets, looking, looking…
Ah, there. There were two men speaking to each other, one of them leaning up against a half-destroyed wall, and Carison was close enough to pick up on the conversation.
“...yeah, it’s this new one, supposed to be absolutely euphoric,” the man reclining on the wall said.
“And how expensive is it?”
“Half-silver per rock.”
“Hm.” The other man scratched his arm. “Too much. Can you just give me the usual stuff? I got sixty copper, so should be enough for three leaves, right?”
The man shook his head. “Prices have changed. Sixty is enough for two, now.”
“What?” the man speaking to him leaned forward. “You told me prices weren’t going up again.”
“That's what I thought. But my boss says so. Don’t want to make him angry, huh?”
“I just…fine. Gimme the two leaves.”
They exchanged goods, and the man walked away, leaving the man on the wall to pocket the change.
Carison walked up to him, entering the shade of the two high walls that now surrounded each of them.
The man looked up. He had a face full of stubble, and a set of bags under his eyes, but seemed pretty happy for himself. If this were a normal negotiation, Carison would have noted that the man would most likely try to haggle, but could be convinced to take a lowball after some clever convincing.
He squinted at Carison. “Haven’t seen you around before. You know who I am?”
“No, I don’t,” Carison responded. “But I can assume you deal drugs?”
He laughed. “Sure. You don’t seem like the type to use, though.”
“No, no, you could say I’m interested in the business. Who’s your supplier?”
“What are you, a cop? If you are, you’re doing a pretty shit job,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. Then he looked back at Carison with an intimidating glare. “Actually, since you’re new, I guess I’ll go ahead and tell you who my supplier is. It’s Boss. The Boss. So don’t pull any shit. He’ll fuckin’ quarter you in the street.”
“So I assume this ‘Boss’ person is the one who runs this place?” Carison said, looking around.
The man frowned. “You really aren’t a cop, are you? Yeah, he owns this place. But if you’re trying to break into the business with your prim and proper act, he isn’t gonna talk to you. Only hires family. And you aren’t in the family.”
“Well, refusing to work with interested associates seems like an awfully bad business strategy to me.”
“Not about business. It’s about respect.”
‘Sure. I would still like to try, though,” Carison said, and held out a hand to shake. “My name’s Carison Aakbi. Do you mind taking me to this Boss?”
“Your name sounds familiar. Do I know you?”
Carison shrugged. “Might just be one of those names.”
“Well no, I’m not taking you to Boss. Get out of here before you scare off a customer.”
Carison shrugged. “Well, I tried. Do remember my name though, okay? In case you ever want to find me.”
“Probably won’t.”
“No, no, I think you’ll want to at some point.”
“And why would I ever care about finding you?”
Carison, with his hand into his pocket, slipped on a set of Enchanted brass knuckles. “Oh, you know. Whim.”
The familiar notification of equipping an Enchanted item entered his mind, telling him about the Stat increases it gave him and the effects it would apply to an opponent he hit with them—the main thing was that it dealt more damage the more Health they had. This was the tool he’d used for a long, long time. The odds-evener.
The man stared at him. “The fuck are you doing, man?”
Someone screamed. That was probably Carison’s cue to stop.
You have struck Level 4 Swordsman for 21 damage using Fist.
Based on the damage his tool was dealing at this point, the man was obviously low on Health anyway. He hadn’t started out with much, in the first place.
But Carison was still glad he’d used the tool to do the job. He was Unclassed, and even against a Level 4, with nothing to help him out, he’d almost certainly be killed. But with just a little something…
The man lying on the ground coughed, blood flooding his mouth. He was lying on his back, so when he coughed it up, it just went right down his throat. But Carison didn’t want him to die, just be hurt. So he used his foot to push the man over on his side. Though Carison was sure the man didn’t feel like he’d been done any favors there—certainly not like his life had just been saved. The number of cuts and bruises he’d be nursing for a while, this man would hold this grudge for a long, long time.
Someone ran up and grabbed Carison from behind, pulling him away from the bloodied, half-conscious man on the ground.
“What are you doing, man?!” the person pulling him away said.
Carison looked back. A small crowd had formed around the entrance to the alley, several people looking on in shock and horror at the gruesome sight before them. But that was good. More witnesses, more attention.
“Sorry, sorry,” Carison said. “He came at me first. Just protecting myself.”
“Like hells you were, man!” the guy pulling him away said. “He was on the ground. Leave him alone.”
“Sure. Just got carried away.” Carison turned and walked away with the rest of the people.
“Someone should go help him,” someone in the crowd said
“Hells no,” another responded. “That dealer guy’s with Boss. Don’t get involved.”
“He’s with Boss? Fuck, what’re they gonna do to that guy who attacked him?”
Carison heard a laugh from the voice in the crowd. “Hells know. But he can figure that out. It’s his death sentence.”
