Dwarven King Orlin Ironthews, who in that moment reminded Eric so much of a Cinematic version of Genghis Khan, held Eric’s gaze for long tense moments before turning to Luigi as the ribaldry and laughter of his champions faded to quiet murmurs and cool gazes.

  “Luigi! What news from regio?”

  Eric blinked at this, but not being an idiot, immediately fell into a deep bow perfectly mirroring Luigi’s own, never mind the clank of his armor which he was careful to shift and bend as was expected.

  After a long count of ten, Luigi rose. Only then did he speak.

  “I fear I have grave news to report, Your Majesty. The town of New York that was trapped in Enigma is now no more.”

  The king’s obvious wife and daughter flinched and paled.

  Orlin’s jaw visibly clenched, his potent killing aura flaring as hard eyes locked on to a suddenly gasping Luigi. He ignored the angry whispers from the men seated below his throne, glaring down at his shuddering merchant.

  “Explain everything that occurred since last we spoke.”

  In a hurried rush, Luigi did just that before tying it all together with Eric’s own presence before the dwarven king in his throne room.

  “Then I was stumbling through the mist, so thick that I had forgotten who I myself was, when or even how I had managed to pack my own wagon, with nothing but a desperate song on my lips to keep myself going when I was jolted out of my stupor by our young friend from the time before.”

  He waved Eric forth. “May I present to you Eric Silver of Clan Silver. The only other survivor in that town.”

  Orlin glared down at a quickly bowing Eric, tapping his fingers upon the gold-inlayed armrest of his throne.

  “Eric… yes, I remember you, boy. Aurelia’s get!” He turned, smiling at his now blushing daughter. “My daughter found your stagecraft quite entertaining. As did we all.”

  Eric’s cheeks positively blazed. “I… yes, Your Majesty. It pleases me to know that I was at least able to entertain cast and crew. Even if not quite the way mother had intended.”

  Orlin gave a fully belly laugh at that, eyes twinkling. “Oh, she threw fits like no one’s business! Beat you black and blue so often even the makeup artists despaired of hiding the bruises.”

  Eric’s smile froze into a grimace, even if the whole court was now roaring with laughter, save for Orlin’s daughter Melissa. It had been all Eric could do not to look at her too familiarly, smile too widely, lest he give away just how well he recalled the girl he had once had quite the crush on, back when she used to work for his mother part time, after school.

  A crush that, it had turned out, had been mutual.

  She alone wasn’t laughing, her gaze one of what seemed genuine pity, even as she nervously played with her right earring. A habit Eric recalled finding so fetching, once upon a time, when bright green eyes met his own… only silver loops had been replaced by exquisite diamond jewelry, and a once tight tank top and blouse ensemble with blue jeans hugging exquisite curves had been replaced by a sleek silk dress studded with jewels and truly worthy of a princess.

  As much as he wished to protest Orlin’s ribaldry… the king was gazing at him with far too knowing a look.

  He bowed his head. “Indeed, my poor makeup artist di all she could. It’s my fault for giving her so much work. This foolish student had much to learn, and my mother had much to teach.”

  This earned a bemused smirk, Orling raising a single hairy brow. “You aren’t going to cry about a rough childhood, about how everything should be roses and butterflies for fragile, precious children born of a halcyon era closer to fantasy than any sort of reality?”

  Eric flashed a smile perhaps a bit too jaded. “Considering that I never would have pushed myself if it weren’t for her… in which case I would more than likely be dead by now… I have only gratitude for the mother who did her best to help me blossom into a person strong enough to survive our world’s ascension.”

  The king snorted, steepling his fingers together as he peered at Eric with his measuring gaze. “Not a complete fool then. Good. Now tell me, Eric Silver, why did my spy see fit to drag you with him when protocol was to leave you to fend for yourself?”

  Eric blinked, only momentarily taken aback by the king’s blunt declaration.

  He took a shuddering breath, just like a youth of 20 forced to negotiate with the big boys.

  Boardroom executives.

  Or power-mad Contenders who could cut his head off in the blink of an eye.

  Wild kings used to struggling against impossible odds to grow and ascend.

  And savagely slaughter anything and anyone that dared to cross them.

  Eric could see it in Orlin’s crimson-eyed gaze.

  Exactly as the monstrously powerful dwarf wanted to.

  Before flashing an almost playful smile. “Speak your peace, boy. Or kneel before me and take a seat at my table. You’ll find I’m both a fierce foe… and a generous master.”

  Eric blinked, surprised by the offer, the sudden show of geniality… before catching the youthful snort that sent chills down his spine. Dreading what he finally registered when he took a closer look at the feasting table, served by a trio of buxom young dwarven females flashing playful smiles at the pair of young men grinning back at them… just as if they were in a storybook adventure.

  Only in that moment did Eric realize his mistake.

  There wasn’t one overbearing Deep Bronze Contender in this room.

  There were three.

  And two were youths even younger than he.

  Somehow the taller of the two sensed Eric’s gaze, eyes lighting up as he caught Eric’s stupefied gaze, wearing mithril mail so like Eric’s own, though his brown hair, quirky smile and once slender frame now sheathed in sleek muscle gave him the look of a highly skilled ranger. As did the recurved compound bow on his back, radiating Bronze-Tier death.

  The boy looked far different from the six foot two kid who used to absolutely kick his ass when they would shoot hoops together on the plush court of the high-rise both their parents made use of. Eliot’s father renting, Eric’s mom owning, and Eliot beating the crap out of him on the courts.

  Until Elonia would come up rooftop and pull them away with a teasing joke about Eric’s suckitude. In which case Eliot would happily play any pvp game on Eric’s Y-Box.

  Crushing him mercilessly.

  With such a friendly brotherly smile at the end of every game that Eric didn’t even mind when they were soon watching movies together, all three of them, Eliot cracking so many jokes that Elonia would fill the air with golden peals of laughter, before they would give each other a certain look, and Eric would go hit the training pels.

  Hard.

  And that was okay.

  They all considered themselves adults at sixteen, and Eliot never made her cry.

  Though the couple times they had actually agreed to spar…

  Yeah.

  Eliot learned real fast that there were a few sports where he wasn’t wiping the floor with Eric.

  Sports where Eric would kick his fucking ass.

  “Eric, stop! Please!”

  He froze, recalling for a heartbeat Elonia’s look of horrified dismay, Eliot on the ground before Eric, spurting blood from his nose spraying the blue floor mats a crimson hue.

  And Eliot just laughed it off. “He got me good, Elonia. Your brother’s pretty kickass for someone who says he never practiced with anything save that HEMA shit, and I’ve been kickboxing for a year!”

  “Fuck, Eric, you’re an idiot! Come with me, babe. Let me fix you up.”

  Eric winced at the memory even as a far more muscular and adult-looking Eliot gazed at Eric with that same warm twinkle in his eyes, never having blamed Eric for him going overboard. Not once.

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  Even if they hadn’t sparred quite that intensely ever again, except on the court.

  Where Eliot continued to kick his ass on the hoops with Elonia’s laughter reminding Eric that basketball really wasn’t his thing.

  “Eric? Is that you? Fucking hell! What a small world this is, isn’t it?”

  Eric’s mouth went dry, knowing that now was not the time for distractions. Now with the king’s cajoling smile about to turn icy cold.

  Because no tyrant or Contender king wanted his time wasted.

  “I cry pardon, Your Majesty. I’m afraid that I haven’t eaten in quite some time. Of course the honorable Luigi was going to take me directly to the mess hall so I could be properly fed before meeting with the most important person in this entire realm. But it soon became clear that food was in too short a supply to waste on an outsider like me.”

  Eric’s heart pounded as the king froze, glaring right at him, knowing that he was playing with fire here, if Luigi’s silent groan was anything to go by.

  He quickly bowed his head, though not such a fool as to take his eyes off the king’s center mass… not that that would do a fragile mortal of a would-be envoy the slightest lick of good.

  But it was certainly in character.

  “And that’s why I’m here, Your Majesty.”

  “To beg for food? Table’s right there, boy. Join my champions and eat your fill.”

  The king’s jest earned surprised chortles from both the king’s champions and Contenders, as he had no doubt intended.

  Eric took a steadying breath, forcing his gaze to once more meet the king’s own.

  He knew what Luigi would recommend, had all but demanded. Yet such put him in a position that was almost servile before a king that would eagerly crush all weakness, husband all sheep into his fold. And of course Luigi would counsel that which would ultimately serve his king.

  Luigi was Orlin’s subject, after all.

  With his instincts all but screaming, Negotiation made it clear that there was only one path forward with this man where he would be taken seriously.

  If someone radiating 20+ stats could be taken seriously at all.

  And that was to be bold as fuck, but offer a sweet deal that was the farthest thing from an insult. Far different from negotiating with Western Businessmen where you offered far less or demanded far more than you were willing to accept. Foolish, when one dealt with powerful individuals who had been forged in the killing fields of war and LIKED it. REVELED in it, and did not fear it like an elderly statesman might.

  No. Far better to concede more than necessary with flattery and praise… than to make an unecessary enemy. Even if one ended up giving up more still. So long as one still came out better off than before.

  So long as one was prepared for the consequence of utterly failed negotiations.

  War.

  So, far better to sweeten the pot with a deal that genuinely benefited everyone, without being such a weak-willed coward that you were too frightened to state what was plain as the growling bellies of everyone outside the throne room.

  Still… best to set the stage, lest Eric have overthought things and be at risk of playing the complete fool.

  Again.

  “Permission to speak freely, Your Grace.”

  The jovial good humor of the court faded to tense silence as Orlin glared into Eric’s unflinching eyes.

  Before he flashed the tiniest smile of approval.

  “Bold as hell for a mortal who’s now fragile as glass…” He gave a considering nod as Eric deliberately flinched. “Sure, boy. Speak your peace. And don’t worry.” He flashed a smile that was all molars. “I’ll let you know, if you go too far.”

  Eric could see Melissa’s worried look from the royal dais where she sat beside her solemn-faced mother, near the spitting image of her daughter, save for a pair of tiny laugh-lines.

  Eric respectfully dipped his head before clearing his throat as if he was fighting past terror with a young man’s determination.

  “We all know that Terra’s obsession with fantasy and faerie tale wasn’t just hedonistic distraction. It was a growing comprehension, and sense, of the secrets that reality itself, or perhaps the System, wished to share with us all. And in every story I ever read in what was my favorite genre was that, without fail, when it came to smithing, stonemasonry, and masterwork craftsmanship, no matter the tech level or era, dwarves were at the top of the heap. The absolute best. Hands down.”

  Eric paused for just a heartbeat, measuring his audience.

  Nothing but cool stillness and a growing tension that he absolutely hated.

  But at least the king hadn’t tried to swipe Eric’s head off with what might be a dozen times Olympian-tier Quickness. Something a mortal wouldn’t even see coming.

  And that was a very good thing, if Eric was to have a chance in hell of pulling off a diplomatic win.

  “But I’ve noticed as well, in those very same fantasies, that what often constrains dwarves, perhaps the only thing that keeps them from waxing with absolute dominance, is an isolated location and limited access to food to grow what’s almost always a small population. At least at the start. And if there’s any truth to those fables—if they do, in fact, mirror reality, especially on newly ascending worlds—then perhaps it makes sense why Song is clamping down so fucking hard on you right now.”

  He paused as eyebrows widened in surprise and dismay, Eric revealing a single card, and no more.

  “Half your surfacers were purged in a single strike from our shared enemy. One who now refuses to trade food with you at all.”

  “Impossible, he can’t know that! He’s mortal. He can’t understand hyperspeak!” Hissed an absolutely incensed Marlin behind him. Yet the king said nothing, merely glaring coldly on.

  Eric flashed a bitter smile. “Just because my physical stats crashed down to mortal levels when I collapsed, mortally wounded in Enigma… do you really think that holds to Scholarship as well, honored Sentinel Marlin? You don’t think I can at least keep up with the Hyperspeak of slow guards who only spoke half a dozen times faster than Terran norms... even if you could slice me a dozen ways to dinner before I can blink, when I’m at my weakest?”

  He cleared his throat. “My point simply being that Song, a Silver-tier outsider, knows the truth of things far better than clueless humans who still believe the storybook version of so many things. And we can only hope that version is close enough to the true way of things to see us through. But what matters, here and now, for us, my hopefully soon-to-be closest friends and allies… is that it IS enough to see us through!”

  He stood up, tall and proud, though dipping his head once more before the stone-faced king.

  “Song’s an asshole and is strangling you in eager hopes of a quick submission before the fight’s even truly begun! He’s keeping you from filling your bellies and he’s preventing you from making an absolute fucking fortune selling gear so elite that you got steam-punk automatons and mecha that work even on the surface, if what I’ve overheard is accurate!”

  He quickly dove on, even as the discontented mutters grew in pitch and volume.

  “What I can offer you, Your Grace, is a way forward that doesn’t impugn your status or honor. A path forward that will absolutely assure both the autonomy of your people, and your unquestioned rulership within this realm.” He locked gazes with the fiery-eyed king. “You’ve no doubt heard rumors that Terra’s populations are borderline starving. That it’s only a matter of time before millions finally collapse, leaving only broken shells of cities and towns full of desperate classers and weakened mortals desperately fighting a losing battle against the monster surge that we all know will come in less than a decade.”

  He flashed a bleak smile at flinching faces, though the Orlin kept his own carefully schooled.

  “I’m here to tell you that those rumors are false! I’m here to tell you that a territory comprised of over ten thousand square miles of pristine farmland so rich with nature’s wonder and bounty that it’s practically a faerie tale kingdom right out of the storybooks is ready to serve as the bread basket of the entire western hemisphere! I’m here to tell you that New Arcadia as well as Binghamton, both now territories of the Sylvan Alliance, will be more than willing to provide all the wheat, barly, hops, sun-ripened fruit, fresh vegetables and fattened livestock you could want!”

  His smile grew when scowls and glares turned to looks of surprise and hope, that grew to fervent hungry whispers as he spoke on.

  “I’m here to tell you that Harriman Territory, just to your north, might no longer be the home of easy level ups via placid dinosaurs, but is now destined to become the mining and mineral capital of all of Terra!”

  Orlin’s nostrils flared at the last, eyes glittering with a hunger and ferocity that Eric wasn’t expecting.

  It was all he could do not to lurch a step back.

  So he did.

  For how could any mortal not be terrified by the ferocity in the dwarven king’s gaze?

  But all he said was. “That’s a mighty claim there, boy!”

  Eric flashed a fierce smile. “Dozens upon dozens of self-regenerating delves that are effectively mines filled with veins of ore unlike anything you’ve ever worked with before.”

  The dwarf’s eyebrow raised in bemusement, so Eric spoke on. Voice as coaxing and enticing as he could make it.

  “Glowing veins of Ferrous manatite and aluminite. Copper and chromium, even tungsten, bonded to the very essence of magic, such that it’s as malleable as clay, that you can shape into bars for transport or into whatever shape you like, whereupon it will turn to pristine quality metal with all the properties you would expect from perfectly forged and tempered alloys, within a day of it being carted free of the region, allowing the magic buffering the metals to naturally dissipate.” He flashed a knowing smile. “And I’m sure masterwork smiths of your caliber know what that really means.”

  “Your Grace! We could make tungsten steel alloys we could shape into the mightiest automatons allowing for steam-works the match of that bastard Song’s mecha! Our spike guns would fire bolts with 24 pounder force! And if we could forge an entire steam-mech frame right on sight? Our production time would increase ten-fold. Twenty-fold! We’d be unstoppable!”

  The squeaky voice of an excited engineer that couldn’t resist brought a smile to Eric’s lips, even if the bonk and yelp made it clear that someone didn’t want him botching the negotiation.

  But all King Orlin said was: “Quite the offer you dare to make, my fragile mortal friend. As if anyone truly had access to such resources. And even if you did… what could you possibly expect in turn?”

  Eric held the king’s gaze for long seconds… heart pounding. Knowing that it all came down to this moment.

  That if he had misjudged the warrior king before him, the dwarf would make it damn clear what any mortal could expect who would dare to negotiate for his greatest prize.

  And Eric’s failed Diplomatic conquest would obviously become the least of his problems.

  Eric’s heart pounded as he uttered the words he could never take back.

  “The key that I know you hold.”

  The entire court went breathless, gazing at Eric with looks of disbelief.

  King Orlin froze in outrage. Fists clenched, eyes fiery pools of fury.

  “That you would dare!”