The Last Experience Point

Chapter 108: Power

Everything was itching like crazy. From the middle of his neck down to the center of his chest, Zach’s skin was irritated by the fabric of the outfit he’d been basically forced to wear. It caused him to squirm around uncomfortably in the back of the limousine he’d found himself in, wishing he could be wearing anything other than this way-too-formal, custom-tailored, navy-blue suit; along with slacks and a matching tie, his sneakers had been replaced with a pair of tight, pitch-black dress shoes, the laces of which someone else—a staff member of the Royal Roses—had insisted she tie for him. As he glanced at the mirror in the back of the limo DEHV, he couldn’t believe the sight that greeted him. His hair had been slicked up with gel, and a touch of concealer had been applied to his neck to cover up Olivir’s bite. He’d also been spritzed with various colognes. He barely recognized himself.

“This feels all wrong,” he muttered.

Donovan grunted in agreement. “We just gotta put up with it for tonight, kiddo.”

Zach was actually surprised by how decent Donovan looked all dressed up in formalwear. He’d have thought the large man would come across like a bear in a sports jacket, but far from it, he looked more like the boss of an organized crime ring minus the malevolence. He was sitting to Zach’s right with his hands on his lap, and though he didn’t show it, Zach had the sense he felt just as awkward on the inside as Zach himself did. Mr. Oren, on the other hand, who sat to Zach’s left, looked more or less exactly as Zach had expected: like he belonged in the suit and was meant to wear it. The same could be said for Olivir, who sat in the leather-covered seat across from Zach. Though, to be fair, Olivir always seemed to dress exceptionally well.

I can’t believe how far the political guilds are taking this.

After a brief meeting in Angelica’s, in which Zach had recounted to everyone what had taken place in his mind while picnicking earlier in the day at the Bluffs of Fire, there hadn’t been much time to really discuss the specifics of it, and they’d instead decided to follow up again sometime later when Zach learned more about how to solve the impending spawn-point crisis. As it turned out, the political guilds had demanded that they show up to a “staging point” two hours ahead of schedule to “rehearse” and “go through wardrobe.” This meant they’d had even less time than Zach had originally anticipated, and thus only moments after finishing his story, all six of them had needed to get up and hurry back to Shadowfall Coast.

Due to the wide range of expressions on everyone’s faces, Zach had left things off without really knowing how anyone actually felt about what he’d told them, and since they couldn’t really talk about it outside of that one little room, he realized it might be some time before he was ultimately able to find out. If nothing else, though, he certainly wouldn’t be short of things to keep his mind occupied. The political guilds, it seemed, had planned one hell of an evening, and as a poor kid from the Whispery Woods, it was honestly unlike anything Zach could’ve ever imagined taking part in.

Working together with Mr. Oren, the political guilds had managed to get Donovan and Zephyr to agree to their plans, and if not for Mr. Oren facilitating everything, Zach doubted events would be going so smoothly. What was incredible about this whole situation was that none of it—not even a single aspect—violated anything as far as “the law of loot” was concerned. And to their credit, the political guilds had meticulously adhered to it while still managing to come up with an admittedly perfect fusion of their way combined with the adventurer way. It was like the blending of two completely different cultures but in a manner that somehow actually worked.

Tonight, there was going to be a resplendent affair: a globally broadcast “loot raffle” with celebrities in attendance, news media, cameras, a gigantic guest list, and various types of entertainment. There was also going to be a five-course, gourmet dinner, with wine-tasting, a cocktail bar, party favors, speeches, and everything else one would expect from an affair of such pomp and circumstance.

And they did it without breaking a single one of Donovan’s rules, Zach thought, astonished. I guess we owe it to them to at least play nice.

Upon returning from Angelica’s, he and Olivir had been forced to temporarily part ways with Kolona and Kalana, as the two had joined all the other female raid participants in a separate wing of a large warehouse that had been converted on the fly to attend to their “needs.” Briefly, he’d caught sight of what that entailed, at least so far as the women were concerned. Before being led away, he’d spotted Alixa, Kalana, Queen Vayra, and Kolona as they engaged in animated discussions with their personal “stylists.” One thing was for sure: the girls were into it—like really into it. They were discussing various outfits and details with the same zeal that many of them had discussed the dragon itself yesterday morning.

The guys, however, had a very different experience. Unlike the girls, they’d all been treated like a bunch of walking mannequins. With the exception of Olivir and a few others, no one seemed to argue or have any kind of back-and-forth with their personal stylists. Everyone just sort of cooperated and did what they were told, Zach included. The only time most of them had spoken to one of the staff had typically been to say that something was too tight or too loose and to request a bigger or smaller size. But outside of that, the vast majority of conversation had consisted of adventurers making the sort of crude jokes they’d never make around the women. Hell, Kalana would’ve killed Zach if she’d known he’d laughed at nearly all of them.

“…so the guy takes it out, right? And he just starts flapping it around like a lasso, and then he looks at her, and with a straight face, he says, ‘Yeah, I think I’ll take it to go.’”

A roar of laughter—including from Zach—had followed the guy’s joke, and Zach couldn’t help but look around to make sure none of the girls were around to witness him laughing at something like that.

“Stop me if you fuckers have heard this one before,” Donovan had then begun. Upon those words, he’d unleashed a vile, shocking, but hilarious joke from the depths of hell; it was one so filthy some of the guys had even blushed.

For the next hour or two, things had mostly continued like this, yet as different, unique, and unusual a situation as this was, Zach didn’t think the other adventurers minded very much. Actually, if anything, the adventurers seemed to be enjoying all the spectacle and looking forward to being part of high society for once. Up until the moment they’d split up into even smaller groups to begin filing into the waiting limousine DEHVs, everyone had been chatting excitedly with smiles and laughs to go around aplenty. During this time, Zach had made light conversation with some of the adventurers he recognized—along with a few he didn’t—but before long, they’d all been herded into one of dozens of limo DEHVs that formed a parade-like line down four separate blocks.

Now, on their way to the camp—which had apparently been declared a historical monument earlier in the day—Zach scratched at his itchy, irritated chest and frowned. “How come the girls get to choose what they wear and we don’t?”

“Because if they allowed us to wear whatever we wanted,” Mr. Oren replied, his tone serious, “you and Donovan would probably show up wearing sweatpants and tank-tops.”

Donovan barked out a laugh. “Fuck yeah we would.”

To Zach, Mr. Oren said, “Just try to endure the spectacle, my man. Believe it or not, the millions of people who’ll be watching this from home and celebrating along with us will likely be throwing their own parties with friends, family, and neighbors. I’ve been told the guilds are even going to make this an official yearly holiday as well.”

“Wait, seriously?” Zach asked. “Like, the kind that work and school close down for?”

“That’s right.”

“No way.”

Mr. Oren sighed, and his tone became contemplative. “It’s easy to forget that, even though we were the ones fighting in the raid, it doesn’t mean we were the only ones experiencing hardship. Think of how many families were cowering around their viewing screens in abject terror, not knowing if they were going to live or die based on our actions. Do you see, Zach? The people need this, and the political guilds understand that. That’s why we’re doing things this way.”

Abruptly, all the humor faded from Donovan’s voice, and a strange combination of anger and sadness came over him. “I bet you know exactly what the political guilds are thinking now, don’t you, Alex?”

Mr. Oren sighed a second time. “Boss, please don’t—”

“Don’t call me that anymore,” Donovan snapped. “Never again.”

Zach, seated in the middle between them, shifted uncomfortably. This was not the first flare-up these two had had today. Earlier, in Angelica’s, they had exchanged troubled looks with one another all throughout his story, and in way that Zach had the sense had nothing to do with what he was saying. Clearly, something serious had happened between the two of them. And while Zach wasn’t sure, he was beginning to very strongly suspect that Mr. Oren would either be leaving—or had already left—the GSG. As far as why, though, he had no idea.

I wish he’d tell me already.

Looking out of the window, it was difficult to make out anything beyond the glass other than perfect darkness. They were now well into night, and the limousine DEHV was moving along at barely thirty miles per hour as it navigated along a very recently paved trail that led to the camp.

“Zach,” Mr. Oren said, drawing his attention.

“Yeah?”

“You forgot to put your title up.”

He grumbled. “Seriously? It’s lame if everyone’s doing it.”

“Just for tonight, put it up, please.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.”

Tapping his shoulder four times, Zach brought up his stats, inventory, and gear options; then, tapping on the new option at the bottom labeled “titles,” he selected “dragon slayer” so that, now, like every other passenger in the DEHV with him, it appeared in the air above his head.

Zachys Calador the Dragon Slayer

With that, a painful silence settled over the four of them, as for almost two consecutive minutes, the only sounds to be heard were the dull blasting of the DEHV’s hover engines and Donovan muttering unintelligibly to himself. Finally, when Zach could no longer bear it, he decided to speak up—even if he knew it wasn’t his place to do so.

“Mr. Oren?” he said.

“Yes?”

Zach took a breath and held it a moment. “Can…can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Meaning?”

“Don’t play dumb, come on. You’ve been really cryptic with me lately. You told me I was going to ‘find out’ something about you on the news in a few days, but…honestly? I’d really rather hear it from you.”

Mr. Oren stirred as though himself becoming uncomfortable, and Zach could not be sure if it was due to his question, the sudden, intense glare from Donovan, or a mixture of both. When Mr. Oren did not reply, Zach decided to press him harder and more directly.

“Are you leaving the GSG?” he asked. “Because it really sounds to me like you are.”

Mr. Oren opened his mouth, yet like before, he did not reply. And as if in response to this, Donovan released a loud, angry grunt and said, “You might as well tell the kid, Alex. You kind of owe him that much at least.”

Mr. Oren, briefly, averted his gaze, but then soon after returned it. Now, as he regarded Zach, he had a peculiar look in his eyes, one that was almost a perfect, fifty-fifty split between determination and guilt. “You’re correct. I am leaving the God Slayers Guild,” he at last confirmed.

“But why?” Zach asked. Even though he’d figured that much out already, it was still a shock to hear him say it. “Did…did you and Donovan have a fight or something?”

Mr. Oren shook his head. “No, no, it isn’t anything like that at all, my man.”

“Then why? Can’t you just tell me?”

“It may be difficult for you to hear, and it will likely be even more difficult for you to understand.”

“Just tell me. Please.”

Mr. Oren nodded. “Very well, Zach. I’m leaving the GSG because I’m leaving adventuring entirely, and I’m giving up the buff in the process.”

If not for the safety harness, Zach would have jumped up out of his seat in the limo DEHV. “But why?” he shouted, taken aback. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Mr. Oren adjusted his cat-eye glasses, and then he fixed Zach with a serious look. For a moment, he stared into Zach’s eyes without blinking, and Zach could just tell that Mr. Oren was about to say something he wasn’t going to want to hear.

“The reason I’m leaving,” he began, “is because I’ve accepted a position to join the Lords of Justice as their new third-ranking member, replacing the recently deceased Lord Palnor. Along with it, I will also be accepting the role of Chief Human Ambassador in the hopes of helping reunite humanity with the rest of the world.”

Zach shook his head, slowly at first, but then even faster. It was true that he’d always felt Mr. Oren was out of place among adventurers, and he’d even thought on numerous occasions that he almost seemed better suited to one of the political guilds, but those had always just been idle, amused thoughts, and they were in no way a reflection of what he actually believed should happen.

“I can’t accept this,” he said adamantly.

“That was my reaction, too,” Donovan added with a grunt.

Pointing his finger at his former science teacher, he continued to shake his head. “You’re the one who told me that the political guilds aren’t even real guilds. You’re the one who told me how terrible they are, and how we, adventurers, are against everything they stand for.”

“I did,” Mr. Oren confirmed, once again adjusting his glasses almost as though it were a defensive reflex. “Yet at the same time, I’ve expanded the way I view the world. I've seen a lot these past few weeks, and I truly believe I can be an advocate for the common man. I believe I can work to make life better for all Galterrans. This isn’t something I’ve decided lightly.”

Zach, still shaking his head, had to resist the temptation to cover his ears so as not to hear any more of this garbage. “This is bullshit, Mr. Oren. This is total bullshit. And don’t say a Gods-damned thing about my language. This is bullshit. You’re an adventurer. We’re not like those people. We don’t belong in that world. How can you do this? Is this…” Lowering his voice and choosing his words very, very carefully, he asked, “Is this because your faith has been shaken by…by stuff?”

He knew that Mr. Oren would understand what he was referring to: that he was referring to the way Mr. Oren had been emotionally manipulated by Prila into obtaining the buff and beginning his journey into the world of adventuring, a discovery that shattered all his beliefs and had left him—at least at the time—looking hollow and empty, as though his life’s purpose had been just a joke.

“I won’t pretend that’s not a part of it, Zach,” Mr. Oren said, now speaking at barely above a whisper. “But only the smallest part, and even had that not been a factor at all, I would still be choosing this path.”

“But why? I just don’t understand why.”

“You might not ever understand. The easiest way I can explain it is to say that I feel this is how I can do the most good with my life. I’m not requiring you to agree with that, Zach, but I’d really like you to accept it.”

“And what about…what about our stuff? You know, meeting in Angelica’s and stuff.”

“Naturally, I won’t be able to join you anymore. But I believe you are fully capable of handling things on that end. And don't forget: you'll still have Donovan and your friends to support you.”

Rubbing his eyes, Zach struggled to take all of this in. “This is bullshit,” he said again. “This isn’t right. What if…what if I need you for something?”

“I’ll make sure we can still keep in contact. But given my new station, I can’t always guarantee I will be able to reply to you immediately. There might be days or weeks when I cannot reply at all, or there might be times you might have to leave a message with someone under me. This is going to be a very big change for me. I’m going to be responsible for tens of millions of lives.”

Zach opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by Donovan, who with a shaky, unsteady voice, begged, “Don’t do this, Alex. You’re one of my best. You’ve got such a great future. I’ve given you a lot of shit for your fuck-ups, but only ‘cause I always saw you taking over some day when I retire. You don’t gotta go down this path.”

“I do,” Mr. Oren insisted. “Look…here’s something neither of you know. I can’t promise that hearing this will make things any clearer, and in fact, you might not understand for a long time why I’m telling you this. Also, what I’m about to say cannot leave this limousine. It’ll all be public eventually anyway, but for now, it must stay here.”

Begrudgingly, Zach nodded, and so too did Donovan. And with that, Mr. Oren continued. “They’re starting to find bodies.”

“Bodies?” Zach asked.

“Yes. You see, during those five minutes yesterday when it looked like the raid was going to wipe, apparently a number of people—some, entire families—took their own lives. No one knows how many people committed suicide, but it’s a lot. More than fifty, at least. Every few hours, more are found. I'm told there is currently no estimate for just how many people died during what the media's now calling the 'five minutes of silence.'”

Zach gasped, and so did Donovan. “And before you blame yourselves,” Mr. Oren continued. “None of you are responsible for this, and do not ever think otherwise.”

“Are you sure about this?” Zach asked breathlessly.

“I am.”

“That’s…that’s terrible. If I hadn’t…” His heart began to pound faster in his chest. “If I hadn’t collapsed like a coward, maybe they wouldn’t—”

“You are not at fault,” Mr. Oren said, and this, he spoke with a heat and force in his words. “I did not tell you this so that you would blame yourself, Zach.”

“Then why did you tell me this? What does this even have to do with your reason for leaving? I don’t see the connection at all.”

Now, Mr. Oren fixed Zach with yet another of his unblinking stares. “When people with power take actions," he said, "it can often affect the lives of others in ways that aren’t always clear until much later. The things we do matter, Zach. The more power someone has, both in the social as well as the physical sense, the more a single word can cause a life to end or a life to be saved. We live in a world where there are so many people who are powerless to defend themselves, and a world like that cries out for order and decency.”

“I…I still don’t understand,” Zach whispered. “I don’t understand at all.”

“Someday, I hope you will. I hope you both will.”

If Mr. Oren had anything further to say, he did not have the chance to voice it, as from the sudden bright lights streaking in from both sides of the DEHV, they had arrived at the camp. Music was playing, people were dancing, and Gods, was it a fancy, high-class, and noisy affair. This was no longer a discussion it was possible to have. Olivir, who had remained silent through all of it, gave Zach a reassuring nod as if to suggest he'd like to talk with Zach about it later, though in truth, Zach wasn't sure he ever wanted to talk about it again or even think about it.

How could Mr. Oren do this?