Survivor: Definitely Not Minecraft

Gastard dressed without speaking, and then accepted his father’s sword.

“Thank you.” He did not seem overjoyed at being returned to life. The knowledge that he had fallen in battle with a random Bedlam boss, leaving me alone with Kevin, weighed heavily on him. Though it was in no way his burden or his mistake, it was easy to guess his feelings on the subject.

The sword belt cinched firmly around his waist. I’d crafted him a new set of diamond full plate, but there was no battle to prepare for, at least not yet. He looked me up and down, then sighed.

“Something happened. I should have returned before you.”

“A lot happened. Do you want to hear about it first, or see the others? Leto’s waiting in the sitting room.”

He frowned, considering. “I’ll see him. I’m sure whatever you have to say is going to put me in a foul mood. We can address it after.”

That was the truth.

Esmelda and Leto were both relieved to see Gastard back. They’d believed me, of course, but this was the first time one of us had respawned other than me, and there was always room for doubt, especially given the complications in this case. Gastard regaled them with the tale of the Hollow King, including his own end, and I quickly finished the story, leaving out any mention of Kevin. We’d kept Leto away from the former dark lord, and he didn’t have any questions for us about him, which was for the best.

Over the last month, the lillits who had decided to leave Nargul had been busily establishing a more organic community in Mount Doom than the fortress was accustomed to. They had taken over an old barracks to make a school, and Leto had been spending some of his days there. He wasn’t quick to leave us, but there were affairs of the state to take care of, and at a firm word from his mother, he went to class.

Once Gastard had been filled in on the situation, he was exactly as happy about it as I expected.

“You gave up the old bargains only to accept something far worse.” Gastard looked down at the cup in his hands. Esmelda, true to lillit tradition, had made us all hot tea. The bitterness of the beverage mingled with the bitterness that was already on my tongue.

“There wasn’t another way out.”

“You accepted a deal with the literal devil. You should have left me.”

“You wouldn’t have left me behind.” I could hear his teeth grinding at my response.

“It is my duty to protect you, as I have sworn to your service. Your duty is to the world first, not to me.”

Esmelda tapped her slipper on the plush carpet of the sitting room. “Calcion wouldn’t have let him go. And though we have no idea how powerful Prem is, we can assume he is higher ranked than we are. The mistake was going to Bedlam in the first place, everything after was the consequence of that choice.”

“We needed the atreanum,” I said, “and we have it.”

“I don’t know that we did need it,” Esmelda said, a little sharply. “We received a missive from Torgudai two weeks ago, the shamans are eager to fight. Their magic can banish the demons without the same risk that comes with killing them with a sword.”

“There are too many entities for them to handle on their own. And if we were there fighting, our taint would grow. It would be exactly what the One Who Knocks wanted.”

“And this isn’t?” Gastard met my gaze, and I almost flinched. “The issue of corruption has hardly been resolved.”

“Fair point. But I’m still me. I feel better. The eye thing—it isn’t exactly what Kevin said it was. It gives me information, it’s helping me develop my Presence. I was worried that I would get back and stop caring about our friends, the people of Plana, but I haven’t.”

Behind Gastard’s head, an overlay floated. His class and rank entity rank were nothing new. There was, however, an additional piece of information.

Evolution: 20%

I’d already looked into what it meant by evolution, and it was the Discord way of talking about Taint. Gastard’s scaly arm was hidden by a long sleeve and gloves, but the changes that had come from killing Stolas weren’t going anywhere. The eye scanned other people, but it didn’t give me data about myself. Definitely a metaphor in there somewhere. I could assume that my percentage was higher than his, likely correlated to my Tainted achievements. My System wouldn’t tell me how ranks of that achievement existed, and whether there were five levels or ten or any other number made a big difference in guessing how bad my problem was.

Did you turn into a demon at one hundred percent? It would have been nice to get one last look at Fladnag and see what the eye had to say about him.

“It isn’t ideal,” Esmelda said after a long pause. “I’m glad you seem to be safe and well, and I’m glad that your other…quirks have been put to rest. It’s only that I cannot trust this gift from the Dark One.”

“I don’t trust it either, but I can work with it.”

“How do we know you’re truly yourself?” Gastard’s gaze was hard. “You returned alone. You are changed. What if this Calcion is wearing you like a mask? What if he gave your body to Kevin? Surely, such things are not beyond his power.”

“Feel free to monitor my behavior,” I held up my hands. “If I’m secretly a bodysnatcher, there’s not much else you can do.”

“I know who you are,” Esmelda said, her hand slipping over mine. “There’s no doubt in my mind that it’s really you that has returned to us. Besides, you still have the mark the goddess gave you, and her words within it.”

“I don’t think they’re her words, exactly,” I scratched my chin. “But I get what you mean.”

“I’m not sure that’s enough for me,” Gastard shook his head, the conflict clear on his face. “You brought that demon back with you. We were supposed to be finished with them.”

“I have mixed feelings about Astaroth as well,” Esmelda tapped her cup with her fingernail, causing the tea it held to ripple. “That I can have mixed feelings about a demon at all is itself a source of more mixed feelings. He has proven himself, at least in some ways, but it is another sign that we are still following a path that was set before us by the enemy. It feels as if no matter what we do, we play into his schemes.”

“I will not be a pawn.” Gastard stood up. He was getting angry, and there was nowhere for him to direct it, so he paced behind the couch instead. “This is not acceptable to me. I have been to their realm. Seeing what I have seen, I cannot walk with a demon at my side, no matter the form that he takes.”

“Zareth,” I said, “you can come in now. “You’re a part of this conversation.” I’d sensed him enter the suite, and he was currently hesitating on the other side of the entrance to the sitting room from the antechamber. The others looked up as he cleared his throat and stepped into view.

“Forgive the interruption,” he said, “but there are matters that need your attention.”

“Please sit with us,” Esmelda said. “You mean the letters. Where shall we start? The demons or the king?”

In my absence, King Egard had replied to our overture of peace. He expressed his lack of faith in my goodwill and demanded the immediate return of Henterfell and a withdrawal of my sorcerous influence from the region before he would consider meeting with me or my representative. There were two demons to deal with there, Asmodeus and Vual. I’d never met Vual, but Zareth had him down as a lion with a wood affinity. We didn’t know how many monsters were left under their control, but it wouldn’t be anything we hadn’t slaughtered before.

The issue was that Henterfell was very much out of our way, and though Mount Doom hadn’t been attacked, the other demons hadn’t been hibernating while I was gone.

Zareth shared the letters with me. There were dozens of them, so he summarized the contents. Demons were offering to take my side against Valefor, some assuming that I was still the Dark Lord, others seeming to accept that I wasn’t interested in opening Plana for their master. Some of the missives had been written on what I dearly hoped was sheepskin.

“You aren’t truly considering them?” Gastard loomed behind the couch, placing his hands along its back.

“No. I’m not accepting any new friend requests from that side. We can always invite some here to kill them. It would save the time of having to hunt them down.”

“A cowardly ploy,” his lips turned down, “but I will not object.”

Zareth cleared his throat again. “The harpies report strange doings in Gundurgon. The storm there has strengthened, and they are working to build a monument. A great ring, like your portal. We can’t know the purpose, but whatever they are crafting is sure to make your victory more difficult.”

In the back of my mind, I felt the impulse to grab my stuff and jump on Noivern, fly off, and finish things right now. We had more than enough atreanum to kill them all, three heroes, and a backup line of mortals with templar titles.

Was that what I’d been doing this whole time?

Running off at my first impulse? Zareth’s report didn’t make me angry, or afraid, or even anxious. It was just data.

“I’ll speak with Celaeno,” I said. “We need more specific info. My thought is that they know I won’t help them, and there aren’t any more Survivors for them to lean on…they’re trying to bring something through.” My mind flashed to the leviathan. Not that bad, surely. Something like the Pebblemite? Whatever it was, I’d rather knock down their portal before anything had a chance to step in, but I had no interest in running off unprepared. There was so much about my class and my abilities that I hadn’t explored, resources I hadn’t exploited because I was always rushing off to the next challenge.

Half-prepared. Half-thinking.

“It can wait,” I said. “It’s already been a month. We’ll do more reconnaissance and build up our defenses. Under the storm, we’d be at a disadvantage. Outside of it, they will. I want them to have to come to us, even if they bring a dragon.”

“I have seen enough of dragons,” Gastard said sourly. David hadn’t been a real dragon, he was a shapeshifter, but the point remained. If we faced anything like what the immortal boy had transformed into, the likeliest outcome was a party wipe.

“Fair point,” I stood up. “I need to get some crafting done in the forge, but there’s something I’d like to test first.” Flipping through my inventory, I produced the Golden Compass.

Esmelda pulled my wrist down so she could get a better look at it. “This is lovely,” she said, “why is it pointing at Gastard?”

The compass was, of course, encased in gold, with a glass shield over a thin needle of obsidian that spun around a metal spine. It had begun to turn toward Esmelda, and when she touched me, it had spun once, then settled on Gastard.

“This is a compass that finds heroes.” I watched the needle shift as Gastard came around the couch to examine the device.

He grunted, unimpressed. “What’s the range?”

“Anywhere in the realm. So, the whole world.”

The tone of his follow-up grunt shifted up. “Then why does it point to me instead of her?” He nodded at Esmelda.

Esmelda let go of me, and the needle spun again, bouncing back and forth between her and Gastard. With a little more testing, it became clear that the compass registered us as its mutual bearer as long as we were in physical contact. When all three of us were together, it spun and spun, refusing to settle on a target, or even hint at one.

“Does this mean we’re alone?” Esmelda asked.

“Perhaps those who can hide their Presence can hide from this trinket as well,” Gastard let go of me, causing the needle to jump to him as if the compass was surprised to see him there.

“That may be true,” I said, “but I think we are alone. There are never many heroes at one time. Fladnag and Kevin were both holding out from an earlier era, now they’re gone. We can’t be sure what Mizu is doing, in Kevin’s time, there were at least ten running around. His party and a villain. Fladnag’s group was only five, and she sent me alone. The goddess isn’t putting a lot of resources into this fight anymore.”

“She would never give up on our world.” Esmelda crossed her arms over her chest, looking up as if daring me to argue.

“There could be a lot of reasons for the change in strategy. The other way wasn’t working.”

Gastard, losing interest in the compass, turned to Zareth, who had taken up an inconspicuous position on the couch.

“Will King Egard attack Henterfell?”

“Almost certainly,” my vizier looked thoughtful. “The King of Drom has harassed the border march on an annual basis since he lost the region. He may see our request for a treaty as a sign that our hold there is weakening. I expect he is already marshaling his forces as he awaits our reply.”

“I’m going to the garrison,” Gastard almost growled before stalking out of the room.

I sighed. “I don’t know what to do about that.”

“Gastard isn’t a problem to solve,” Esmelda said. “He’s frustrated, and he has every right to be.”

“I know, but I’m worried about him. Dying isn’t easy.”

Esmelda, Zareth, and I talked for a few minutes more about the state of the empire. Nargul and Mount Doom were both flourishing since the breaking of the storm. The forests of poisonous mushrooms were swiftly dying off, though they would still be a problem in secluded areas and caverns for years to come, if not forever. The wasteland was still a wasteland, natural plant growth had been stifled for centuries, but things could get better. Especially if I ever had time to do some terraforming.

The destruction of the cauldron was what had resulted in so many letters from demons. Without the storm, their power was limited, and the fiefs they controlled might resist them if it became obvious that they were no longer a part of the power structure that had governed Dargoth for so long. Gundurgon was the largest single concentration of demons, but they were scattered across the empire, and that would be a massive mess to clean up even after Valefor and his pack were taken care of.

When I brought my new sword to an anvil, I found that it had already named itself.

Smaragdine of the Bursting Sac [Viridium Sword]

Damage Rating: 10

Speed: Average

Perfection: 10%

[Looting I]

[Mending II]

[Evolution I] Smaragdine of the Bursting Sac has absorbed sufficient Thermit essence to alter the course of its Perfection. Each strike carries the chance of releasing a portion of the weapon's stored essence in a wave of pure destruction.

“Bursting Sac,” I muttered. “Why would you do this to me?”

My eye scanned equipment imbued with essence as easily as it did people, and it provided some context for the whole “Perfection” thing.

Perfection: A state achieved by entities with limited evolutionary potential. The final form. Truly perfect entities can never reach perfection. Such is the limited vocabulary of Harmony.

It would have been nice if I could ask the Discord System questions. I wasn’t even sure if that was what fed me information, or if Discord having a System even made sense conceptually, but that’s how I was thinking about the eye now. Two Systems, the one that gave me my class, which had come from Mizu, which meant it had come from Harmony. Now this other thing. They had opinions about each other.

So the sword was already ten percent of the way to reaching its final. Using it to kill thermits had influenced its growth. That was as cool as it was annoying. It would have been better if I had saved it to only kill monsters whose attributes I wanted to see included in a magic weapon. It had gotten the job done, though, and releasing a “wave of pure destruction” on hit was nothing to complain about, except that it was random. Depending on the blast radius, that could screw me.

I dug up Jason’s armor and put it on. It felt good to be in the old suit again. It was better than the set I’d made, overall, and didn’t come with all the bad guy vibes from spikes and claws.

Gastard’s Presence approached the entrance of the forge, and I went to meet him at the doors.

“Hey…” I said, then faltered. His expression was deadly serious.

He looked me up and down. “I do prefer this version of you.”

“Thanks. So—what’s up?”

He squared his shoulders. “I seek your permission to venture to Henterfell with a companion.”

“You don’t need my permission, Gastard. Of course, you can go. If you can fix things there for me, that would be a huge weight off my shoulders.”

“As I have sworn to your service, a request was necessary.” He relaxed by an inch.

“You’re worried about Johanna?” The way his face stoned up at the mention of her name made me regret bringing it up. That had to be the reason he was so concerned about Henterfell. Egard wouldn’t make a difference in the war at this point, and having the wastes between us and Drom meant he wasn’t a meaningful threat to Dargoth even if he did retake the border march on his own. Still, I wanted this dealt with.

“I admit,” he said after a lengthy pause, “Johanna has been in my thoughts.”

“We can talk strategy then. There’s a bunch of equipment I want to send with you.” The phrasing of his request finally caught up with me. “Who's the companion?”

Gastard’s mouth thinned into a smirk.

“Astaroth.”