Tight Schedule

January 20th, 2022

***

Julius took a walk to clear his head. He shuffled down desolate city blocks through the territories of the top three families - farther and farther, hours passing by. The moon had barely moved. Only those who had to fight were scurrying around, gathering supplies before heading to the walls. That's where Silas should be. He usually is on these darkest nights.

The high-rise metropolis gradually shifted to modest suburbs, and then to cobbled slums along the city limits. People huddled in alleys or dark corners, anywhere to reduce their presence. They shivered and quivered — yearning for a fire to warm them. Such a risk wasn't worth it during sieges. 

Houses - if you could call them that - were in states of disrepair. Bricks, tiles, sections of roofs, and plumbing were missing or damaged. There weren't enough homes to go around, not that anyone wanted to lock themselves in a family-sized coffin. Construction projects in the slums had halted indefinitely years back.

Some of the people Julius passed pleaded with a silent cry. They were on their own. Others still had a fire in their eyes; a will to grow and make it out. No matter what their desire, the answer to a better life lie beyond the walls.

The Untamed Jungle: A densely packed hellscape full of carnivorous nature and monsters who broke free from dungeons - left to grow, reproduce, and fester. A biome that makes up ninety percent of all land on the planet. 

Julius only knew so much prior to when he got involved. Carson II's story started long ago. They secured the rights to the planet, the mining operations and recruitments, swathes of profit, and networking across dimensions — all before Carson II was conscripted into the System. Their awakening and subsequent discovery of their Seer class was the spark that set fire to their peace.

Hidden affairs and plots, betrayals, lies, and other buried secrets came to light through divination. The original families back home turned Carson II into a battleground for their revenge against one another.

The early Tiers were easy because of their preexisting strength. Too easy. They blew through them in the background of the bloodshed. 

The result? Their First Calamity came too soon. Of all the foes, they got the worst match-up. The boundaries set began to shrink. Cities and towns were destroyed or left unknown as communication broke down. The path to their Ëinhãŕl became too treacherous for most. This should have brought back common sense. 

Instead, the infighting continued. It couldn't go on forever — Carson II wouldn't last. So new families emerged as people scrambled to claim anything meaningful. Three would go on to sin more than any other. They emerged as the top three: Scathher, Stadz, and Vander. Combining forces allowed them to seal the Calamity, achieving a veiled truce. 

Seeing Richter brought back all the memories that led here, and the weight of what was to come. Less than two months remained.

'Greedy, psychopathic bastards...' Julius sighed.

Those in the slums who looked to him didn't want strength or a reputation; they wanted to leave. Because the sad truth was that none of them would make it out otherwise. 

Abandoned - that's how they'd end up. These people were nobodies; no one was coming to save them with a free Teleport Scroll. Their only way off Carson II was the World Gate with the Ëinhãŕl.

The cries of the jungle brought him back to reality — the ramparts were in sight. Healers had set up tents to the side to cure or purify any toxins that potions couldn't handle. Then it was right back to fighting. Those with high Strength lined the top of the wall with bows. Guardians served as the frontline in the mosh pit thirty feet below. In the dark, just the glow of eyes could be seen. Maybe the occasional flash of mana or limb. 

Julius tuned out the carnage on his way to a massive stone tower overlooking the area. A spiral staircase connected each floor. The tower functioned as a barracks. Individuals rested on the lower levels, waiting solemnly for their shifts.

All families in the city manage a small slice of the wall. The top three were in charge of 'Hell's Gate', a nickname for their slice that stretches for three miles - one mile for each of them. It had the highest monster density and the most danger. No other families could handle it.

Julius arrived at the top floor before he knew it: an office. The familiar orange glow of LEDs lined the doorframe, and he saw smoke slipping under the gap at the bottom. Typical Silas. 

He pushed into the room. 

"You're here. That's earlier than expected. It was Uriel right?"

Silas was leaning against the window on the back wall, watching the fights with a hollow look. He held a thick book open in one hand and used a quill to write in the other. Three more names were jotted down with beautiful calligraphy.

'Garus, Cillia, Tom...' Silas frowned, talking to him on autopilot. Julius clenched his fists in frustration.

"You weren't gonna tell me? Our agreement was that you'd notify me if there were problems."

"This isn't a problem." Silas glanced at him. "So what if Richter arrived four weeks early? The plan hasn't changed."

"But why Clare? Stel was supposed to oversee him. He's better suited to it. Clare draws too much attention."

Silas pulled back the sleeve on his left hand and held up his wrist. He pointed at one of the two mana tattoos resting there. A contract.

"I have to hold up my end of the bargain, but I'll warn her to keep some distance. Maybe I'll have Stel swap out half the time."

Silas always tried to see ten steps ahead. To Julius, this was part of the problem. Maybe he'd never admit it, but Silas seemed to yearn for the Seer class. Something he could never get. It would have meshed well with his personality.

"I'm more concerned with his cover. Of all the places, why send him to the facility? It opens up a possibility that I don't want to think about."

"The facility was the best choice. I don't want Richter doing nothing for a month, but the competition takes priority. This lull gives him a chance to mess around and learn from the others. That should be enough to occupy him. Once it's over, I'll have Stel and Clare train him seriously.

Silas snuffed out his cigar and lit another. He had a drawer full of them.

"In regards to that possibility, pay it no mind. If that was to happen, then we'd have bigger issues to worry about." 

"You better be right about this. Speaking of which - what training did you assign him until then?"

Silas jotted down another name. "I left that to Clare. I haven't checked yet, but it should be simple stuff. Clare wouldn't jeopardize this by rushing."

Julius let out a deep breath. His most pressing concerns were relieved, but new ones were planted. Concerns that would likely grow over time. He turned back to the door.

"Alright, I'll let it go for now, but I'll leave you with this."

Julius placed a copy of the spar replay on his desk. "Watch this. Because if left to his own devices, Richter may develop a reputation by himself. Uriel is already asking for feedback. I haven't seen him so animated in months."

Intrigued, Silas tossed the playback into his dimensional space. "I'll take a look. If you're unsure of how to handle Uriel: be honest. Encourage him and treat it like any other feedback. The more naturally people treat Richter, the better his cover will be. Developing a reputation may boost that."

"So be it." Julius crossed the door's threshold when Silas called him back.

"Since you're here, why not jump into the mosh pit? It's been a while since you pulled your weight."

It sounded antagonistic, but there was mirth behind it. Julius snorted, "Sure thing. I'll ignore my tasks and jump in for old times' sake." 

Julius shook his head and closed the door on the way out. His role was just as important; there was too much to be done.

Meanwhile, Silas would remain at that window for the rest of the night, jotting down a name when relevant. These nights stretched on forever, all nights did on Carson II.

He rang a bell as dawn broke, summoning an attendant to his office.

"Same as usual. Track down the families of the deceased. Report back their contact information. I'll make the phone calls."

She obeyed. With business settled, he trekked back to his tower and into home sweet home. The replay was burning a hole in his mind. Silas connected it to a big screen and watched in slow motion.

Every dodge. Every parry or deflect.

'Hmm...' Silas wasn't a Swordsman, nor did he use one. But as he watched the replay time and time again, even he could see it. His gut was right.

There was something different about Richter Maier. 

***