42. Poisoned Pawn

Reina asked him to stand beside her as the first batch of sub-Factions rolled in. She said he didn't need to do anything—just stand there.

By now things were pretty much back to normal between them. Whatever feelings Reina had, she'd suppressed them. She was all business today—Reina the Faction leader. It was a relief to him. He liked Reina well enough, but a relationship was the last thing he needed right now.

Reina pursed her lips, considering him. "Try to look... actually, this is good. Just look like yourself."

"Like what?"

"You know, big... strong. They'll feel safe just looking at you."

She flushed a little and looked away. He shrugged, pretending not to notice. "...Sure."

After a while standing there side by side, he felt he had to say something. To close the book. "You're a good friend, Reina."

A silence. Then she just nodded. "I know," she said sadly.

***

The River Drifters, the band of water mages, traipsed into camp. They were a ragtag group, all dirty and haggard, dressed in torn rags and strips of muddy cloth. They were led by Cassidy Neal, the man who'd sent Zane that Beacon message yesterday.

Cassidy was a tan, sandy-haired man with a nervous but genuine smile. As Reina walked him through the terms they had for joining, he couldn't seem to focus. He kept staring at Zane. All of them did. Zane had that monkey-in-zoo feeling again.

He realized it didn't really matter what Reina was saying. It wasn't about the terms. She was right; all they wanted was to feel safe. And she was showing him off because of it.

They seemed to relax just looking at him. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.

After Reina was done talking, he gave his usual speech. If they joined, they'd have to be self-sufficient. Unless there was an existential threat, they shouldn't expect him to get involved.

"But…" he shrugged. "Right now there is an existential threat. So I'll fight for you, if you'll fight for me. Deal?"

They signed on enthusiastically.

𝔽𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: ℝ𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝔻𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕒 𝕊𝕦𝕓-𝔽𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕦𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝔽𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟. 𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕡𝕥?

He did.

More sub-Factions trickled in. A lot of them were like the River Drifters: haggard but not broken. They wanted to fight. They just needed some hope.

***

There was another kind of Faction, though, that was even worse off. The Bushwackers, for instance, had been wandering the forests for weeks. They'd lost half their members running from the Legion.

They were pretty weepy when they came. Some of them took a look at the bustling town square, with its smoking chimneys and strong walls, and fell to their knees. When Reina offered them sanctuary, they burst into tears. They thanked her, and him, profusely. Mostly him. He stood there awkwardly as they did—some took a while.

They, and a few other Factions, were clearly not ready for a fight. Reina said she'd figure out support roles for them.

***

Then there were Factions like the Neon Blade—a bunch of teenage skaters and graffiti artists who'd been up in Olympia, hanging out when the Change began. They cleared their own dungeon and were happily living there until Stroud's unit drove them out. They'd been running for weeks.

Their leader, a tomboyish girl named Kat in a ripped-up white tee, took one look at him and said, "You're the dude who beat Stroud?"

He nodded. She looked him up and down, and shrugged. "Alright, we're in. Let's give those bastards hell."

They were full-on defiant, ready to take it to the Legion. Reina had the easiest time integrating them.

***

To every sub-Faction, Zane made it clear that Reina was in charge. If they had a problem with that, they could take it up with him.

No one took it up with him.

***

He went to check up on Avery before he left for the Cavern of Insight. Cale was still in charge of most 'community management' things at home base—holding town halls, hearing out grievances, planning events, that kind of thing. It included housing assignments. When Zane asked and Cale got through his usual two or three minutes of pleasantries, he said that he had indeed given a short, messy-haired girl in a hoodie a house. She'd requested somewhere hard to find—a treehouse deep in the Emerald Forest. Zane didn't find her there when he checked.

He did find her on the way back. Leaned against a random tree trunk, just napping, not a care in the world. He should've figured. Napping was probably her favorite pastime. She said much of her Law insight came through dreaming, and he wasn't sure whether she was kidding or not. She treated her hoodie like a portable sleeping bag. She could sleep pretty much anywhere.

He didn't disturb her. He just left.

She tried to present herself as cheery as ever, but he could tell she was pissed she got caught. Her two main weaknesses were getting hit when she wasn't ready, and having no offense whatsoever. When they'd spoken at dinner last night, she'd sworn to shore herself up.

Time for him to do so too.

He'd go study those Laws of Sharpness. By what Avery told them, he had some serious ground to make up if he wanted to catch the Soldier of God in seven day's time.

***

Marcus Blackwell, The Soldier of God, World Rank #44 by Level according to his C-ranked Beacon, sat on his throne and waited, grinding his teeth.

A dungeon boss used to sit on this throne—a 10-foot-tall Nether Golem. Marcus had cut out its undead heart with his own sword. The rest of the room had been hollowed out and redecorated, but he kept the black-iron throne. It suited him well.

He had a single point of light cut out of the ceiling so that a shaft of sunlight would fall on him, and only him, at all times of the day.

Of late a great many things troubled him. One was that Savage Sage, down in southern Washington, who'd so humiliated him Marcus had beaten one of his Generals half to death in his rage.

But Zane Walker was a blip on his map in the grand scheme. No serious threat. A gnat who'd be crushed before the month was out. Their power levels could not be compared.

The man taking his time loitering outside Marcus's throne room was a serious threat.

Just when Marcus was about to march out and drag the man in himself, the doors cracked open. Elias Ventor, World Rank #24, strolled smoothly in, humming, smiling a slimy smile. As though he hadn't just made the most powerful man in the Pacific Northwest wait fifteen minutes at his pleasure.

Everything about him rubbed Marcus wrong. He was slim, short, sharp-featured, dressed in sleek silk robes. He wore clear glasses with no lenses. His hair was smooth with far too much product, but his eyes were what stood out about him. When you looked in them you got the sense there was no one there. Not even when he smiled.

𝔼𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕤 𝕍𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕣 (ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖)

𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖 𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕝𝕖: 𝕍𝕠𝕚𝕕 𝕊𝕖𝕖𝕣

𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝: 𝟠𝟜

𝔽𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝕊𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕔𝕠𝕟 ℂ𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕟

ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤: 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜

"Why hello, Marcus! So sorry I'm late. How are you?"

Elias was utterly relaxed as he strolled in. He had the audacity to hum a tune.

Instantly Marcus despised him.

"I'm well. Thank you," said Marcus. He smiled broadly. "Elias Ventor... I've heard of you. Since before the Change, as a matter of fact."

"You have? Why," said Elias brightly. "You'll make me blush!"

"You founded that hedge fund. Ventor Nieman."

"Well, venture capital firm," Elias corrected. "But do go on."

"Tell me. Is it true that you scammed your startups out of hundreds of millions of dollars? That you stole the bulk of their profits with your predatory contracts?" said Marcus. He looked the man dead in the eyes, still smiling.

Elias didn't seem caught off-guard in the slightest. He didn't even look embarrassed. If anything he looked smug. "Those were baseless claims made by jealous business partners, I'm afraid. All those contracts were consensual. Perhaps they should've read the fine print."

Marcus was not convinced. "Now you head the San Francisco Faction. And you're Level 84. It seems the cat always lands on his feet."

Elias shrugged. "What can I say? I can tell where the wind's about to blow, so to speak. It's what's made me a good investor, you see."

His eyes glinted. "It's what makes me want to invest in you, Marcus. Of everyone in this region, you have the most potential by far. Your Skills are the most advanced. Your Laws far outstrip the competition! You're quite the remarkable man. I have a feeling we'd make great partners."

Marcus snorted. "I see. So you'd invest in me, just as you 'invested' in your startups. Do I seem a fool to you, Seer?"

"Please. You make it sound as though I lied to them! Everything was in the contract. If they didn't like the terms, perhaps they should've been more careful. But something tells me you're a careful man."

He smiled an oily little smile. "Will you hear me out, at least?"

Marcus stared him down. Elias seemed to take that as agreement.

The man whipped a Bag of Holding out of nowhere, as though by sleight of hand, and out came two gurgling golden vials. He waggled them about.

"C-grade Essence Vials," said Elias. "Extracted from a C-ranked Dungeon. Worth five Levels where you are, I imagine. Here—take them! A gift from me to you."

"A gift, is it? No strings attached?" Marcus could've laughed. What a little clown of a man.

"You wound me! No strings at all, truly," Elias set them down on the floor. "Do with them as you like. I come in good faith."

Marcus didn't believe that for a second.

Elias spread his hands. He paused. "Though… there is more where that came from. If you'd like to pursue… a closer relationship…"

He pulled another Bag of Holding out of thin air and dumped out its contents.

A gorgeous set of polished ruby armor clattered out. Helm, breastplate, greaves—the whole set head-to-toe, intricately carved. It was rare to find just one armor plate in a dungeon, much less a set.

Then he inspected him, and his eyes widened.

"Yes," said Elias, smirking. "C-grade. The Dragonscale Set, the rarest drop of a C-ranked dungeon chest! Its price… you could buy half the state with it, I imagine. With this equipped you'll be untouchable on the West Coast! Forget the Pacific Northwest. All of Canada is yours for the taking!"

He paused. "And all I ask is a very small share in your future. I'll have no control over you, to be sure. You'll do as you please. I merely want a one-percent stake in your future essence earnings. That's all. Quite a generous deal, if I may say so."

He snapped his fingers, and a black quill dropped in his fingers. "So! What do you say, Soldier of God?"

Marcus stared at him.

Then he barked a laugh and stood. Stood and walked over and towered over this little Warlock, and smiled. He leaned down so they came face-to-face.

"What makes you think," he breathed. "I need your help?"

Marcus did not respect this Elias Ventor. Not in the slightest. He chafed at the man's condescension--like he was some great patron offering to help poor needy Marcus. This was no real man. This was a little man, a man who traded off wealth and words, a slippery rat of a man. Marcus was tempted to grab him by the throat and strangle him then and there. We'll see if your tricks protect you then!

He restrained himself. Barely.

Elias sighed. "Ah, yes. I figured that'd be your answer. Well! In case you ever change your mind… and something tells me in the coming weeks, you very well might…"

He snapped his fingers, and a calling card fell in his open palm. He winked as he pressed it to Marcus's chest. "Do let me know."