The Last Experience Point

Chapter 104: The King's Court

Eilea needed to sit down. Her mind and heart were both still racing from the stressful, nerve-wracking, but ultimately cathartic series of events that had transpired. Today had really been a rough day as far as her sanity was concerned. Thus, making her way over dilapidated floorboards and over to the old, dusty, cobweb-ridden throne, she took a seat and smiled at Francis, who moved closer to join her.

“Thank God,” he said. “That could’ve gone a whole lot worse. You were right, Eilea. He did it.”

She nodded. But then her smile faded, and her moment of joy and relief proved to be short-lived. She was reminded that things only seemed so positive because of how dire the situation had been. As though taking note of her change in expression, Francis himself now frowned.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

She sighed. “This isn’t good, Francis. There’s even more work to be done than I realized.”

“What do you mean?”

Having long become accustomed to living in such repugnant conditions, Eilea was no longer bothered by the grimy, dusty, bug-ridden headrest of what had long-ago been a glamorous throne. She sat back in it and briefly closed her eyes, reflecting on all she had seen. Reopening them a moment later, she met Francis’s gaze.

“Ziragoth the Awoken is a T10 boss,” she said. “But a T10 boss of a T1 world. In the grand scheme of things, it is nothing. Adamus, for all his cruelty, did not design Ziragoth to pose an imminent threat to life itself. The fact that Galterrans only narrowly survived an apocalypse means they have so much ground they need to make up before the World Eater spawns.”

“I don't understand,” Franics said, becoming visibly alarmed.

“No Galterran in the entire history of the system has ever ventured to a T2 or higher planet,” she explained. “The Great Ones have created wonders and works of art that would make even the heartless weep, and not a single Galterran has ever laid eyes on any of it. Not even you, Francis.”

“Well, we tried,” Francis said, now sounding somewhat defensive. “If not for Moldark, we would have completed the quest that opens the gate to Albion-4. That aside, you made the requirements to reach a higher-tier planet too steep.”

“Me?” Eilea asked, frowning. “No, not me. Adamus did.”

“Sorry,” he whispered.

She waved her hand apologetically, realizing she’d been a bit snippy. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just anxious about the future. The World Eater spawns in five years, and the Galterrans aren’t anywhere near ready. They’re too low level, and they’ve just barely survived a near-extinction event to a bland, straight-forward boss.”

“Meaning…the dragon?”

“Yes.”

Francis tilted his head as though confused. “What do you mean by that? Are we talking about the same dragon?”

“Yes, Francis. I understand your confusion, though. You’ve never seen what’s out there, so you have no frame of reference.” Eilea drew a breath as she attempted to explain. “Even a T1 boss on a T2 planet has more tricks up its sleeve than a T10 boss on a T1 planet. Ziragoth had nothing more than raw power and its adds.”

“What else…what else is there?”

At this, Eilea chuckled. “Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes—everything. Debuffs, crowd control, poisons, environmental hazards…there are even bosses that require puzzle solving. Mechanically, Galterran bosses are tame and simple. They are uncomplicated. Beginning with Albion-4, things start to become more challenging. Some bosses require quests to be completed to take beyond a certain threshold of health. There are bosses that actually consist of thousands of smaller mobs. What you’ve seen on Galterra is just a slice of the world Adamus envisioned in his mind, and the World Eater, which we did not create, is more powerful than anything he ever dreamt up. In five years, the Galterrans are going to have to catch up to thousands of years of stalled progress.”

Francis fixed her with a hard, unblinking stare as though deeply reflecting on her words. Then, with a determined, confident nod, he said, “But you believe we can do it, don’t you?”

And now, once more, Eilea smiled. “I do. I believe it can be done.”

“What would it take?”

“A few-thousand people sufficiently leveled and geared. But for that to happen, someone is going to need to open the gate, and for that to happen, things might become ugly.”

“I’m afraid so,” Francis whispered. Now, the man looked like he himself needed to sit down. “There is no way of bringing about that level of cooperation without force. I despise violence, but…it must be done.”

Eilea yawned. “It’s early in the morning, but down here, it’s always dark. I may need to rest.”

Francis nodded. “I’ll return later, then. There’s a man I’d like to speak with, at any rate.”

As he backed away, something within Eilea spurned her on. Hastily, she jumped up to her feet and darted forward, grabbing his hand. Het let her take it. “There’s only one clean place in the entirety of this filthy tomb I’ve been buried in. Keeping it tidy is a daily effort. From the moment I was locked away here, I chose a single, humbly sized room and spent years turning it into something half decent.”

Obviously confused, Francis bowed his head. “That’s…good, I suppose. Why do you mention this?”

Eilea felt her face redden. “Would you like to see it?”

Francis looked at her, and then he grinned. “I’ll take a look.”

And with that, she led him to her bedroom.

*****

Sir Alistair Morrison lowered his finger to press the “end call” button on his phone, which was laid flat around a large marble dining table in his headquarters located in central Shadowfall Coast. With that, he turned his attention to the nine high-ranking members of the Guild of Gentlemen, four of whom sat to his left and four to his right, with one seated across. They were his men well and truly: sworn to him through an oath of blood. He trusted them in a way he could trust no other. For that reason, he could speak freely only among those in this room.

At the other end of the table and sitting directly opposite to him, wearing a white military coat adorned with various medals and a ceremonial sword at his side, was Major Kenth Baxtra, the leader of the 131st brigade responsible for defending the city’s ports from attack. He was also Alistair’s most trusted military advisor. It had been so many years since humans had last needed to form a conventional army for conventional warfare. Thankfully, Major Baxtra had learned much from the historical documents, and he was instrumental in helping prepare the city for the coming siege.

“What I am about to say cannot leave this room,” Alistair said. He was immediately given a round of affirmatives from the people around him. They understood what was at risk. He had made certain that they did.

Alistair paused a moment to choose his words carefully. Yet no matter how long he thought on them, he realized there would be no easy way to sugarcoat what had to be said. And thus, he decided to be blunt and straightforward. As it so happened, that was his preferred way of communicating as it were. It was his comfort zone.

“The nuclear warhead has now been completed,” he said. “And thanks to the extra time, our scientists have learned how to replicate it. It will take months to build a second ICBM, but rest assured, humanity will persevere.”

There were nods of approval from all nine of his men. Major Baxtra grunted. “Sir Morrison,” he said, “how long can we keep this information from getting out?”

“As long as required,” he replied.

“I trust your judgement, Sir Morrison. I always have. But the king is going to become a problem before long.”

At this, Alistair released a saddened, bitter sigh. There was simply no excuse for King Brayspark’s behavior. The men in this room had dedicated their entire lives to protecting humanity. They had sacrificed so much in the pursuit of human greatness. And now, when the Guild of Gentlemen faced its greatest crisis since its creation, their king was choosing to be soft, weak, and incapable of seeing basic logic.

“Have you tried to convince him, Sir Morrison?” one of his officers asked.

At this, Alistair gave a firm nod. “Many times. But the king has now become so stubborn he won’t even entertain the discussion. In his last transmission, he ordered me to destroy the weapon and bury it.”

This elicited groans from the officers and Major Baxtra. “Does he want us to lose?” the major asked. “Does he want us to roll over and let some fucking Gnome walk around on our streets, eat our food, and sleep in our beds?”

Though Alistair did not personally hold much disdain towards other races, it could not be denied that the vast majority of Shadowfall Coast’s citizens did. Sure, they made some exceptions, such as for Kalana Vayra, who was quite popular, but when it came to the Dwarves, Orcs, Gnomes, and the Lizardmen, in particular, there was nothing short of outright hatred. Under no circumstance would they ever allow the Royal Roses to rule the city. Thus far, the Royal Roses had allowed Orcish refugees from the recent volcanic eruption and Lizardmen tribal exiles to flood into the cities they controlled. That would not be acceptable here. They even had a Goblin and an Orc in their officer rank. And from the sound of it, now they had a Gods-cursed zombie, too.

“I’m afraid so,” he said after a brief moment. “That’s exactly what will happen.”

“This is betrayal!” the major snapped. “That weapon is all we have. How can he side with a fucking cavern demon!”

At this, even some of his officers shifted uncomfortably in their seats. The term “cavern demon” was just about the single-most racist term that could ever be used on the Gnomish people. It was a pejorative that hailed from the days when Gnomes would live in underground, cavernous kingdoms built far beneath Galterra’s surface. Of course, today, Gnomes lived in cities and towns hardly dissimilar to those dwelled in by members of humanity. The chief difference being, of course, their ceilings were lower to accommodate their smaller stature.

Although it was not common knowledge that Vim Alazar was half Gnome, a great many ordinary citizens suspected it, and in truth, it was hardly a very well-kept secret. According to privately conducted polling data from Giant’s Fall and Spider’s Eye Oasis, 89% of the citizens who lived there stated that they would not care if Vim Alazar was revealed to have Gnomish blood. Among those living in the Guild-of-Gentlemen-controlled territories Tomb of Fire and Shadowfall Coast, 92% said that they would care. For this reason, it was only natural that their two guilds had perpetually maintained such awful relations throughout the years. It wasn’t just the guilds themselves that hated each other, but the citizens hated each other too. This was unusual in guild politics and almost unheard of historically speaking.

It was not difficult to imagine a situation in which conventional warfare spiraled out of control, and millions of humans began to fight millions of other humans. This was not an escalation that could be tolerated, and it was yet another reason why the weapon was needed: to bring a quick, decisive, and permanent end to hostilities before they could be allowed to grow.

“Believe me, Major,” Alistair said. “I fully understand your frustration. That is why I have taken it upon myself to ignore those orders. For the good of humanity.”

Major Baxtra gasped. “You…you what?”

“I’ve ignored them.”

“But…but you can’t just ignore the king.”

“Why not?”

At this, Major Baxtra released a small, dark chuckle. “No reason, I guess. Good point.”

Folding his hands on the table, Sir Alistair Morrison took a moment to meet the eyes of each one of them. “If King Brayspark does not wish to protect his people, then that responsibility falls to us. So let me make a promise to each of you right here and now. If Vim Alazar pushes us too far, we will launch. This city will never be touched by Gnomish hands.”

“How can we be sure the weapon will even work?” another asked.

This was one of the easier questions to answer. “The technology was left to us by Moldark the Unbanished. That’s not a name many of you will recognize because you are not cleared to know of him. Let me just say that he was one of humanity’s greatest saviors and leave it at that. He would not have entrusted this to us if it was a dud.”

“And how powerful is it?”

“Very. From what my scientists tell me, it has the power to destroy an entire city in the blink of an eye.”

“Truly?” Major Baxtra asked, his eyed widening.

Alistair nodded. “I swear it. But most incredibly of all, we can fire it from right here in Shadowfall Coast. If the enemy seems to be gaining the upper hand, we can strike Giant’s Fall directly: likely Ogre’s Axe, the smaller of the two cities. Then we can threaten to strike the primary city if the enemy does not surrender. It is our ace in the hole.”

“Incredible,” the major whispered. “If that’s true, we should launch preemptively.”

At this, Alistair gave a shake of the head. “No. We must have the proper justification if and when we use this weapon. But mark my words: I am prepared to do this if it is what must be done to protect humanity. And I need to know all of you will stand by me in that event.”

In unison, his officers and the major voiced their enthusiastic agreement. With any luck, their defenses would hold in the event that the Royal Roses did not reconsider their plans for an invasion. But if they went through with it, and if it truly looked like the city would fall, Alistair was prepared to unleash the gates of hell on Ogre’s Axe and show the world that humanity still had teeth.

Hopefully, Peter would not become an issue.