The Last Experience Point

Chapter 106: Bitter Enemies

Night had fallen. Loud, boisterous voices filled the camp. In an act of unity that Zach never would have imagined seeing, political guild members, Elvish warriors, and adventurers were all engaging in drunken singing, dancing, and in some cases, slightly more intimate acts as an incredible sense of joy and relief came over the raid—assuming they could still be called a “raid.” Though so much suffering and hardship had been endured, what had taken place today had done more to heal the discontent between adventurers and the political guilds than pretty much anything else ever had or could. As a direct result of their joined cooperation, the adventurers now had a better understanding of the difficulties of maintaining public order, and the political guilds now truly understood the risks that adventurers regularly undertook fighting boss spawns.

There would always be disagreements, of course. Zach doubted the adventuring guilds would ever approve of the secrecy, dishonesty, and other methods used by the political guilds, and likewise, he doubted the political guilds would ever approve of the frat-like, unstructured, and admittedly undisciplined culture of the adventurers. Regardless, on this night, everyone seemed willing to let loose: well, almost everyone. Sir Peter Brayspark and Vim Alazar were approaching one another, alone and in a poorly lit section of the camp. Zach hoped they weren’t about to try to murder one another. Especially since things had become so peaceful.

With near total darkness having settled over the camp, the world was now lit by various campfires. And of course, as they had been lit, just about every adventurer in the camp—and even some of the political guilders—had teased Zach about almost burning the whole place down a few hours prior. His excuse that it was his cat’s fault didn’t seem to lessen the insults. Zach knew they were made purely in jest and not meant to be taken harshly, but it rubbed him the wrong way how everyone—especially Vim—had decided to seize on the incident.

“Zach, I think you missed a spot,” Vim had said to him about an hour ago in passing. “I saw some tents over on the north end of camp you forgot to burn down.”

He rubbed his forehead, chuckling quietly to himself. At least no one was seriously upset about it. Everyone was too happy: especially the Elvish, who were partying in a way that went even harder than the adventurers. They had good reason, though. They had been given a region that Zach recently learned many of them considered both a homeland and a former prison. Right now, there were hundreds of them here, including many young children, whose parents would be leaving soon as the night carried on. Every one of the green-cloaks had shown up from Archian Prime—which Peter begrudgingly allowed—in order to celebrate with the raid.

As for Zach, he was simply waiting around for Kalana to finish getting ready. As soon as she was done getting changed, he, Olivir, her, and Kolona were all going to head out towards Angelica’s for a festive night out. Then, tomorrow night, they’d return here for the loot before boarding a plane the following morning and going to her island. Zach was really looking forward to it, truth be told. He was also looking forward to riding his new mount, but everyone had demanded he dismiss it, fearful that it might cause another scene.

I’ll test it out when I get to Kalana’s new place, Zach thought.

“You should go adventuring while you’re on the island,” Mr. Oren said, surprising him. Zach hadn’t heard him approaching.

“How’d you know I was thinking about that?” he asked.

Mr. Oren laughed. “I know my students.”

Zach took his word for it. He was clearly smart enough to get a good read on people. Even still, one part of what he’d said confused Zach. “I thought it was bad to grind off the mobs on the island. It’s not what we do, I thought.”

“It’s fine, actually. Especially for where you’re at, currently.”

Tilting his head slightly and somewhat stunned, he asked, “How so?”

Mr. Oren gave him a pat on the shoulder. “There’s no actual rule about how an adventurer chooses to go adventuring. But it’s really looked down upon to do what the political guilds do, which is to put a pen around a lucrative spawn specifically chosen for the relative lack of danger of the mob. It probably doesn’t come as a surprise to hear this, but the locations they choose to build their estates are actually based around the spawn point. They only live where they live because of what spawns there.”

“And the Elvish are—were, I mean—different?”

Mr. Oren nodded. “The island Kalana lives on is, essentially, just a chunk of land that gives a reasonable look into what all of Galterra was like before the spawn points were destroyed. That’s why I think you should feel free to roam around it without shame. You’ve already passed the unofficial test of being an adventurer—hitting level 10 on your own. There’s nothing really wrong with you toughening up on the island. If you had landed there by ship thousands of years ago, it would be like anywhere else on Galterra. The Elvish did not pick that location because of what spawned there—Kalana has shown me indisputable proof of this. They picked it because of its beauty.”

“So it doesn’t go against the spirit of being an adventurer is what you’re saying?”

“Exactly. The political guilds struggle to keep pace with us precisely because they spend their lives farming one or two different mobs that have been curated specifically for them. As long as you don’t decide to spend the rest of your life leveling off the same few mobs on the island, never branching out, you won’t lose that spirit. I’m sure of it.”

“Does it even…” Zach lowered his voice. “Does it even matter anymore what the spirit of an adventurer is? Now that we know—”

Mr. Oren widened his eyes and held his finger up to his nose, and Zach cut himself off, giving a silent, apologetic nod, having almost said too much in a place where that “Adamus” guy could apparently pick up on it.

Meeting his eyes for a moment, Mr. Oren visibly relaxed, and then, with a friendly squeeze of the shoulder, he said, “One thing you need to never forget, Zach. The culture of adventuring was made by adventurers. People like Donovan, me, and even you. We’re the ones who made our own society and our own culture and not…”

And not the buff—that is what he would say to me next if he could, Zach thought. Not the OMP. Not Adamus.

For a time, Mr. Oren said nothing. Yet he remained where he was. It was as though he had something deeper on his mind. Then, after the lingering quiet stretched on almost to the point it became uncomfortable, he averted his eyes and lowered his voice.

“Listen, Zach. I…”

“What’s wrong?”

Mr. Oren looked troubled. It gave Zach an ominous feeling. Despite the two of them being mostly alone in this section of the camp, he darted his head around as if to ensure they were out of range of anyone who might wish to eavesdrop. “In a few days,” he said, “you might see some things about me on the news. Donovan’s going to have his heart broken. I want you to know that I’m still the person you knew.”

“Wait a minute,” Zach said. “What’re you trying to say? You’re confusing me.”

Mr. Oren wet his lips as though he was going to explain, but if so, he must have had a change of heart, because he released only a sigh. Then, after a pause, he said, “I want to make a difference in the world. I want to contribute in ways that I’m best at. And I’ve…I feel like I know the path my life needs to take. But I will make sure there’s always a way we can keep in touch.”

What the hell is he trying to tell me?

“Mr. Oren, I don’t understand.”

“You’ll understand soon. It’s something I need to discuss with Donovan before anyone else.”

Was he quitting the GSG or something to start his own guild? Or was he retiring from adventuring entirely? It sounded like maybe Mr. Oren was planning to dedicate his life to science. What else could he mean by “contribute in the way he is best at?” Whatever he had planned, Zach would try to support his decision. And though he was tempted to pry, he knew that he needed to respect Mr. Oren’s wishes and let him deal with Donovan first.

“Try to have some fun over the summer. Regardless of where my path leads, we have a much bigger responsibility to deal with. When the summer ends, I’m expecting you to work towards that goal.”

Mr. Oren didn’t need to specify what he was talking about. Zach understood perfectly. He was referring to the tremendous threat that Galterra would be facing in X years, where X was a number in years that Zach was forcibly being blocked off from remembering, and where the “threat” was a similarly obscured thing. Gods, it really annoyed him how he could remember every single other detail about their meeting in the privacy-room in Angelica’s. The only two things he could not recall were the threat itself and the time until it arrived.

“I’ve got to go talk to some people,” Mr. Oren said. “Have fun tonight.”

“You too.”

Mr. Oren smiled, his face only partially visible from a small streak of light given off by a distant campfire. The look in his eyes was bittersweet, and Zach couldn’t shake the feeling that something was way off. With that, he left Zach there to ponder things over. Or at least, that was what Zach would’ve liked to do. But the sight of Vim and Peter was making him nervous. Though it was truly none of his concern, having been through such an ordeal with them, Zach didn’t want to see either of them kill the other.

How can they even think about war after what we all just went through together? Zach wondered.

Slowly, he approached the two of them, and he could tell that they were not getting along; worse, the situation between the two of them was deteriorating rapidly. Both of them were animate. They waved their arms around as they spoke at a rising volume to one another.

“You’ve the audacity—the egregiousness—to appeal to my sense of decency?” Peter snapped, clearly already in the middle of a heated argument between the two of them.

“Yes, actually,” Vim replied. “After what we went through today, I was hoping we could be at peace.”

“As it were, you are not alone in that thinking—yet you stand in the way and impede such a peace. Had you truly wished for an end to conflict, you would spare us this invasion. What man of peace marches his people into the city of another? Tell me, Vim?”

“You know why I have to do this, Peter.”

Zach was fascinated to see that, when the two of them were alone, they did not use titles or formalities. Even still, it made them no less hostile towards one another.

“There is no reason for this. None!”

Vim swore. “That’s bullshit. There’s every reason. You know damn well there is no universe where the world lets humanity rejoin global trade while one of the most significant shipping ports in North Bastia is controlled by the Guild of Gentlemen.”

“So you would sell out a human territory at the behest of foreign interests.”

“Sell out? Really? My people would be furious with me if they knew I’d offered to give you back Dragon Squire and the Plains of Mist in exchange for it. We’d even vow to never come near Tomb of Fire. All we want is Shadowfall Coast so we can restore the economy to the way it was before.”

“And what of the people who live there?” Peter asked. “What of their lives?”

“Uh, what of them?” Vim asked, his tone becoming sharper. “Do you think we’re going to exterminate them all or something? Get real. They will be treated as any other citizen in our territories. Even you can’t actually believe we would harm them.”

“Physically? Nay, I do not. You would instead bring unspeakable harm to their dignity.”

Even in the scant light, Zach could see Vim furrowing his brows angrily. “How so?”

“You know how.”

“Say it, Peter. Don’t couch it. Say what you’re going to say.”

His teeth bared, Peter obliged. “You would allow Orcs, Gnomes, and any other manner of creature to waltz through our streets and attack our people.”

“Oh, give me a fucking break, Peter. Orcs, you’re worried about? Seriously? You’re worried about Orcs now? The people who spend all day on social media asking everyone not to use insensitive words that hurt people’s feelings? You think they’re going to, what, exactly? Shame you all to death?”

“We don’t want them!” Peter snapped, a wad of spit flying out of his lips. “We don’t want to live among other races. Why can you not respect that?”

“Because it’s not what’s best for humanity.”

“You’re not even human! Can you not imagine the offense I take at hearing you suggest such a thing?”

Vim scowled. “I’m tired of this, Peter. I’m really tired of this.” Vim pointed his finger at Peter. “I knew your father since we were both little boys. This ‘philosophy’ of his you believe in—it’s nothing more than the sickness of his mind in the last year of his life.”

“How dare you insult my father. He was a man of honor and bravery. You, your media, your people: they spread these lies about him. All my life, I’ve had to listen to this disgusting slander.”

“It’s not a fucking lie!” Vim shouted. Zach had never heard this kind of rage in his voice, either privately or in the media. This was the angriest he’d ever seen the man. “I knew him my whole Gods-damned life, Peter. I grew up with him. Do you think he didn’t know I was half-Gnome when he supported me against challengers within my own guild? You were only fifteen years old and too young to understand. I watched him decline. He was sick. Something was wrong with him. I don’t know what or why, but you’re going to make every mistake he did. He wanted us to declare war on the other races. He wanted to enslave the world.”

“Lies!”

Vim waved his hand dismissively. “Believe whatever the hell you want. I don’t care anymore. I thought maybe you could come to your senses for once. You like to act like you’re this big, chivalrous knight, but you’re going to cause so much unnecessary bloodshed. And another thing: your threats are meaningless. Trying to bluff us with some city-destroying weapon. Do you think we’re idiots?”

Peter reacted to the accusation as though he’d been struck. “I have not nor have I ever threatened such a thing. I do not know from whom you have heard such an outrageous threat, but no one in my kingdom has ever or would ever target a civilian population.”

Vim laughed, but it was not genuine. It was an angry, harsh guffaw. “That’s not what I hear. Regardless, I’m done talking about this. Either meet us in sane, time-honored open-field combat in accordance with the rules of war, or we’re going conventional and invading. That’s all there is to say.”

“Good,” Peter replied. “May you and your invading force plead your case to the Gods, as you will surely be meeting them.”

And with that, the two of them stormed away in opposite directions as Zach heard Kalana calling his name. Neither had noticed him standing there, as they’d been so absorbed in their confrontation, they didn’t even see him. Of all things, it was sadness that Zach felt as he watched them go their own ways. Was Zach in denial? He must have been. Because even after having witnessed their back-and-forth, he still did not believe there was any way Vim and Peter would really kick off a true, conventional war, something not seen in Galterra for a hundred years.

Surely, they would find some compromise. They had to.