“My goal is not to rule,” Eric calmly said, keeping his voice carefully modulated, no matter the awful spike of tension he could all but taste in the air. “That is not my path. It never has been. I rule nothing!”

  He met the king’s killing gaze and did not flinch.

  “I rule nothing, Your Grace. I seek only to conquer… and then release. What was once Binghamton Territory is now home to twenty million Winterblossom elves. I’m not sure if they’ve achieved parity with their environment yet, even with their giant hydroponic trees, but I know for a fact that they can and will give enough produce to feed several hundred of their neighbors and hopeful friends.”

  He ignored the whispers of surprised disbelief his declaration earned.

  “Twenty million elves? Impossible! Only a few thousand of Aurelia’s clan was even permitted to join in the ascension.”

  “Madness! The Winterblossom people were lost to treachery and calamity over a century ago!”

  Eric spoke on, undeterred. “And New Arcadia, so rich in magic and wonder that it’s practically… no, it is a living fairytale where you genuinely matter to the local fates that shape that gentle realm, and a fruitful and bountiful life can be savored by anyone and everyone wishing to make New Arcadia their new home. And one thing my sister’s people do have in abundance in that region is food. Food enough to easily feed seven million citizens. Food that we hope will be enough to feed an entire nation.”

  King Orlin rubbed his glossy beard. “Your Sister’s people, you said.”

  Eric dipped his head. “I am a prince by blood alone. Not by rulership. I rule no one.” He flashed a bleak smile. “Strictly free agent.”

  This earned a curious look from the king. Eric could sense the man’s thoughts racing, but all he said was, “Why?”

  Eric’s heart pounded, now knowing he was risking the reveal of at least a few of his own secrets. But for prizes this high… the possibility of a kingdom, however small, full of master crafters aiding his sister’s growing empire… so be it.

  “I’m a Contender who walks a path of Conquest, not Rulership. In other words… I’m all about catch and release.”

  Orlin blinked, looking genuinely surprised. “Catch and release? Truly?” The man roared with laughter. “How absurd!”

  Eric shrugged. “A bonus of five Strength and Vitality per territory claimed and released isn’t such a bad deal, I don’t think. And I absolutely hate paperwork. So I let Elonia take what she likes… or I let Blue Corp take over and slide me a sweet, sweet 20% cut of all the action. And they can invest all the capital they like into making it a truly profitable enterprise and I enjoy zero headaches, administrative hassles, or any strain on my catch-and-release style of Conquest.”

  Eric could sense Eliot’s eyes widen with surprise. “Shit, five points in two stats per territory claimed and released? How do I sign up?”

  Eric quickly spoke on, sensing something shift in the dwarven king’s gaze, good-natured humor replaced by something feral and cold as his nostrils flared.

  “And I have no plans at all to toss this territory to my sister or Blue or anyone else! Once I leave, so will my mark. You’ll be able to claim it as your own once more. Even better, you’ll be able to claim an enhanced version of this sub realm, one blessed with a bounty that it’s within my power to give.”

  The king stiffened, eyes widening with genuine surprise and interest as the champions and court spoke in excited, animated whispers. “Truly, Eric, son of Aurelia? You’re that strong a Contender? You can actually give a territory more than a wisp of a blessing?”

  Eric flashed a shit-eating grin. “Care for a blessing of prosperity? Fecundity? A hidden mushroom grove filled with the choicest delectables you could hope for that would leave your precious kingdom utterly self-sufficient, should that be your heart’s desire? OR perhaps a blessing of ingenuity? Your Engineer’s psyches blazing with insights that will allow them a constant stream of ideas for a constant stream of steam-mecha iterations until they’re truly devastating works of art!” He shrugged. “Or a blessing of discretion. Of hidden ways, such that no one who isn’t a powerful Silver, stronger even than Mord, will ever be able to find their way into your lands without your consent.”

  The final words came out in a rush. Eric, despite his determination to do all he could to win the man over diplomatically, couldn’t help but be a bit unnerved by the feral hunger now radiating from the wild-eyed king.

  Before he roared in sudden laughter, gentle eyes dancing with bemused approval. “Truly, Aurelia forged herself a prize indeed, this time around. A Contender actually able to feast upon his claims… before trading them away, stronger than they had been even before his touch! Such power as that, no wonder no one’s killed you yet. You’re even more useful alive than you are as an utterly drained husk!”

  Eric’s stomach twisted with those chilling words. Yet the king made no move to decapitate Eric with a single swing of his axe. Instead, he rubbed his beard thoughtfully once more, peering at Eric through his hooded gaze.

  “You have access to Blue Corp markets, yes?”

  Eric flashed a brilliant smile. “Agent Caliban is a close associate of mine. Dare I say it, a friend. So yes, I do.”

  “You will secure us the rights to sell our steam golems and whatever other technomancy we manufacture to the entire world… for a twenty percent transaction fee. Their standard cut, yes?”

  Eric positively beamed. “I can do you one even better, Your Grace. We both know that local markets saturate pretty damned quickly. Especially in recovering worlds. How’d you like to tap into the entire galactic market?”

  Orlin’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “Don’t tell me you actually have a Charter allowing such?”

  Eric grinned. “What can I say? It’s been an exciting year.” He quickly raised his hand. “Now, to be fair, my understanding is that any profits on galactic sales are split evenly between Blue Corp and interested parties. But this will effectively give you access to the entire sector, thousands of worlds hungry for your products that will pay a hell of a lot more than whatever resources low tech recovering survivors who haven’t established any significant infrastructure or manufacturing base can afford to part with.”

  The king just stared. “You have access to the galactic market. You’ve been granted a full charter!”

  Eric positively beamed. “The Terran Chapter of the Blue Corp bank is here for all your financing, underwriting, and real estate needs! Need a loan to set up that factory? Or is there a certain magical sword you have your eye on that you’d love to buy with a super low interest loan? Blue Corp has your back! Interested in renting a choice property in a high end shopping district within walking distance of what will soon be one of the twelve adventuring meccas of the entire world? Or would you like to make use of a galactic-wide institution where you can actually save all your hard earned credits, safely and securely, after making a fortune raiding those Wealthy-tier Ashland delves or selling your carefully crafted goods to those delvers? Then Blue Corp Bank is here for you!”

  Eliot blinked at this, chuckling softly. “Shit, Eric, you’re speaking like a sales rep getting a piece of the action.”

  “Technically, I am.”

  “No shit.”

  Eric winked. “None whatsoever.”

  The king rubbed his beard thoughtfully, gazing at Eric with those too hungry eyes for long moments.

  Before his features abruptly broke in a toothy grin. “I like it!” He laughed, racing across the room so fast that it caught half the guard by surprise, clapping Eric’s should.

  Eric fell to the ground with a wince.

  The king gave him a look. “You’re far too fragile for the game you’re playing… but damn if you haven’t caught my interest something fierce!”

  Eric winced, chuckling ruefully as he got back to his feet, though his smile quickly vanished at the cold hard look in the king’s eyes.

  “I want you’re oath, boy, that should you actually manage to convince me to surrender the key… you’ll use your wondrous knack to cloak the pathways leading to our home. For this is our sanctuary. And one that I’d protect from our enemies, no matter how fierce or numerous they become.”

  Eric solemnly bowed his head. “I will use my talents to make sure this realm is safe from all outsiders. A feat which I believe will ward away anyone with less potency than a Rank 17 Silver. And perhaps, if New York turns out to be the prize that I think it will, the ways will be far stronger still.”

  Surprisingly, it was that final pronouncement that earned him the most looks of awed disbelief.

  “Truly, you can bless a territory to be stronger than all the half-step Silver bastards that slipped through the barriers between worlds?”

  Eric grinned. “I can certainly try.”

  The king held his gaze for long moments. “You’ve already claimed at least one other key. Haven’t you, Contender.”

  Eric’s stomach knotted before the intensity of the dwarf’s gaze, but he dipped his head, regardless. “That is correct, Your Majesty.”

  “Then I have a quest for you. Complete it, and I swear I’ll do all I can to unite our keys.”

  Eric gazed at the king for a long, tense moment. “And what quest would that be, Your Majesty?”

  “Help me Kill Lord Song.”

  Eric gazed at King Orlin for long seconds before dipping his head with a hungry grin. “You’re damn right I will, Your Majesty!”

  “Good. Good!” He gave an approving nod. “Then let’s get cracking and put that bastard Song in his place. And I hereby give you permission to call me Orlin. Sure as hell, you calling me ‘Your Majesty’ will get fucking cumbersome in the heat of combat!”

  Eric chuckled, he couldn’t help it, feeling a bit charmed by the charismatic dwarf before him, no matter how savage Eric sensed he truly was.

  “It will be a pleasure… Orlin. So, what’s the plan?”

  Orlin turned to gaze intently at his table filled with feasting heroes. “Eliot. Zachary. You boys ready?”

  Elonia’s ex and the slender youth before him both snapped at attention. “Yes, Sir!”

  Eric frowned at the youth known as Zachary, surprised to find that, in addition to an unusually slender build for a Contender, he was still burdened by acne scars and glasses, even if he radiated the strength of an actual Bronze core. Which made absolutely no sense at all, unless…

  Zachary nervously shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Permission to prepare, My Liege?”

  Orlin dipped his bearded head. “Granted. You kit up too, Eliot. And as for you lot…” He glared at his dwarven men. “All my champions and steam mecha pilots are to be battle ready at all times! If Song and his cronies think they can counter-strike, well, we’ll let them choke on steam for just long enough to weaken them before putting all those fuckers in their place. We clear?”

  The largest of the dwarven champions banged axe against shield. “Crystal clear, Sir!”

  “Good. We’re heading out.”

  “Father!”

  Eric’s eyes locked on Melissa, hands clenched at her sides, powerful frame doing nothing to detract from the vulnerability in those beautiful grey eyes he recalled so well. “I’m coming with you.”

  Her mother’s eyes widened. “You will do no such thing, Melissa!”

  “Like hell you are, child!” Orlin snapped. “I don’t care how good a pilot you think you are. Song’s out for blood, and I’m not going to lose my heir to something as stupid as pride!”

  “Yet you’ll risk you’re own life, Father?”

  “Of course I will! I’m Deep Bronze and a Contender besides. I’ve been putting my life on the line centuries before you ever popped out of your mom’s womb. Same hospital as your former boyfriend! Ha!”

  Melissa flushed, stealing a quick glance Eric’s way. “We were just friends. And that was a long time ago.”

  Eric carefully schooled his features as her father snorted.

  “It was less than three years ago, and I’m not an idiot, child. You’re no different than your sisters, born a century apart.” He chuckled coldly, and Eric pretended he didn’t sense the wards subtly springing up around them, or recognize masterwork arcanistry when so many tales painted dwarves as lacking any spell-casting affinity whatsoever. Which made absolutely no sense, when they were supposedly electromana tech geniuses as well… but clearly some stories had gotten it wrong.

  Or they had been deliberately falsified.

  And none of that mattered at that moment, a wincing Eric thought as the king pinned he and Melissa both with his too sharp glare. “Boy’s lucky you two were ‘power-lifting’ back when things were tame. Otherwise, I would have shown him what happens to boys who think they can steal a king’s choice blossoms.”

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  Eric swallowed, Melissa’s mother was now glaring daggers at him, his ex’s cheeks giving far too much away.

  And she had told the honest truth. Eric had enjoyed teasing banter with her, back when she had been his mom’s assistant. And it had been no more than that.

  It was only when he expressed genuine admiration for her grip, and her physique, and his own desire to get stronger that she had started hitting the gym with him.

  And other things as well.

  Then someone felt guilty because he was a bit younger than her and then it was mostly just power-lifting. Unless they were doing shots afterwards, which was stupid, so they made up for it by eating juicy steaks, laughing about stupid shit, and somehow ending up working out together pretty damn intimately anyway. Then there was nothing at all when she went to college and hooked up with a rising MMA star, like the past between them had never happened.

  And Eric hadn’t let himself be hurt, knowing he should have made his feelings far clearer before she headed off. So instead he immersed himself in a movie he both loved and hated, and maybe he should have resisted his mother’s insistence that he ‘let go and find himself’ a bit more strenuously. Knowing the tabloid exposure was to help his sister through her own awkward phase. And he hadn’t thought about Melissa at all for almost two years, until those soft grey eyes were locked with his own, pleading with him once more.

  To her credit, she didn’t let her father’s attempt to throw her off balance deter her, focusing on what mattered. The mission at hand.

  “I can do this, Father. I’m not useless. I can pilot almost as well as Zachary. Give me a chance to prove myself!”

  Zachary flinched, gazing back at Melissa with a look of disbelief as the king snorted.

  “Now that’s just a bald-faced lie, darling. No one can pilot as well as Zachary. He’s a Contender who made a Bargain with fate itself! Does he look like a sleek, perfectly fit powerful champion to you?”

  The king winked at his crimson-faced pilot. “Hell, no! His physique will forever be that of a pimply-faced boy, or a mortal in his prime, even if his baseline stats are all above a hundred, thank Romul’s beard, and his Finesse and Quickness inside his Steam Mecha is fucking unparalleled! He’s a specialized pilot who’s broken through to Bronze in record time. And you, my darling daughter, are far too precious for me to risk in savage Contender’s games.”

  “I’m not actually that bad looking… am I?” Zack murmured under his breath, earning a gentle shoulder pat from Eliot.

  “Don’t sweat it. You look great, buddy. Like a varsity wrestler. Trust me. Our old coach would be proud. Now come on, let’s get you kitted up in the sweetest battle mech we got!” He then turned to Eric. “Eric, my man! Good to see you. How’s Elonia? Come on, let me show you where we kit up. Best gear in the entire sanctuary. Assuming you can carry it out while your stats are still mortal!”

  A bemused Eric nodded, still a bit surprised to find not one but two old acquaintances here in the throne room of a dwarven king who might or might not be coming for his head before the sun finally set.

  But perhaps he shouldn’t be. Because now there were at least four Contenders in that single chamber, and his jaded eyes saw the spark of potential in Melissa as well. With so many shapers of fate in close proximity… of course their stories would get entangled.

  One could argue it was destiny.

  Even if the look that both boys were now giving him was awkward as hell.

  “Names Zachary, but call me Zack!” The kid who really did look sixteen at best gave Eric an oddly nervous shake of his hand.

  Eric smiled. “Name’s Eric.”

  Eliot chuckled, clapping Eric’s back. “My man, Eric. You’re the last fucking person I expected to see. So, how the hell’s it going? Small world, isn’t it?” He gave Eric and admiring look. “And a Contender as well. Let me guess, you’re one of the damned few who hit Bronze like we did? Because your eyes are those of someone who’s seen some seriousshit. And your physique? Man! I can tell you pushed your mortal frame to the limit before System potency took over and hyper-saturated you. Unlike our buddy Zack, here.”

  Zack flushed. “I’m specialized! And my muscles are strong as steel.. for their size. At least they are the moment I hop into my steam mech!”

  Eliot nodded. “Oh, I know, buddy. So, lets get you suited up in your souped up mecha!”

  Zack flashed an excited smile, turning to Eric. “You’ve seen the dwarves steam-mechs, right?”

  Eric nodded, pointing to a couple stomping colossus of bronze alloyed steel. “Yup! Pretty damned impressed. They look just like the Centurions in—”

  “Don’t say it!” Zack hissed with a glare.

  “Um… sure. Anyway, they look pretty badass.”

  Zack’s scowl immediately turned to a beaming smile. “I know, they are. And you know the cannons that orc’s fire?”

  Eric dipped his head as they hurried down a winding series of grand corridors at a fast clip, the handful of dwarves they encountered giving them respectful nods and quickly stepping out of their way.

  “I know them pretty damn well, actually.”

  Zack grinned. “Well our steam-mechs fire what look like giant metal spikes from steam powered hand cannons that fire with just as much power as their 24-pounders. Only our spikes are armor-piercing! In fact, they look an awful lot like, well…”

  Eliot winked. “Rail-line guns in the best post-apocalyptic game of all time?”

  Eric snorted. “You mean the one with zombies and mutants, as opposed to magically enhanced beasties and Contenders, like us.”

  Zack nodded, eyes bright with wonder. “And when they discharge, it makes the exact same clanging sound! The exact same.”

  Eliot positively beamed as they made their way inside a massive arched doorway into a grand hanger filled with giant golems of bronze and steel, complete with gushers of steam spraying out of a dozen strategically placed brass vents. “And that’s not the best part. Tell him what you did with your perks, Zack!”

  But Zack was paying him no mind, merely racing up to the pair of harried-looking dwarves wearing mechanic’s uniforms with dozens of exotic looking tools dangling from various straps, Eric thinking he recognized a Philips screwdriver and a socket wrench, and that was about it.

  “Strip, boy, and put on your uniform! There’s not time to waste. Absolutely no time!”

  Zack flashed Eric an awkward glance as Eric smirked and looked away, feeling no need to embarrass the boy as his old acquaintance beamed.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What exactly are his perks?”

  Eliot winked, shaking his head. “Nope. Not going to spoil it. But you’re going to love seeing how well they all synergize firsthand.”

  Eric blinked at this. “Okay… sure. So, what exactly is the plan?”

  “Plan is we all meet up at the Northwest escape vent. If there’s one spot Song’s probably not watching, it’s that. Now, come on. Let’s get you properly kitted as well.” He tilted his head. “So, did you really come here from Enigma?”

  “I did. And the whole place…” Eric sighed, shaking his head. “It’s now a ghost town. Nothing but ancient abandoned buildings and dense white fog.”

  Eliot whistled. “Damn. That’s messed up. Did you get any quest to prevent it? No shame if you did and couldn’t complete it. Sometimes the Sytem gives us impossible quests. Orlin was teaching us about it, just the other day. No shame in refusing them if we don’t want to be one of those Contenders with very short lifespans.”

  Eric shrugged. “Let’s just say I succeeded in completing one goal I had there, and failed pretty miserably with some others.”

  Eliot nodded, clapping Eric’s shoulder. “Happens to the best of us. So, how are you, buddy? I haven’t seen you or Elonia in ages!”

  Eric’s smile grew strained. “I’m good, Eliot. Besides being parched as fuck right now, and really in need of some Sylvan mead… I have no reason to complain.”

  Eliot gave him a look. “Dude, if you’re thirsty, just say so!”

  Eric blinked in surprise when Eliot pulled out a couple cans of Fizz from what was clearly a storage device, passing one to Eric, clinking his can with a bemused Eric own, popping the top and drinking down.

  “That hits the fucking spot!”

  Eric didn’t hesitate to chug down his favorite soda, enjoying the carbonation tingling his nose. He grinned in approval. “Thanks, Eliot. You’re right. That really does hit the spot. And you have a storage device that actually works in the Steam? Impressive.”

  Eliot nodded. “Yup. Because of course it’s dwarven-made. If you work with us long enough… who knows? I wouldn’t be surprised if all sorts of cool items and opportunities also came your way. But sadly I have no Sylvan meed. I got plenty of dwarven ale, though!”

  Eric laughed, a part of him wondering just how out of line he was to sprinkle a bit of enticement to draw possible prey in. “No worries. I just need it for the boost, you know?”

  Eliot frowned. “Boost? You have a drink that gives you a boost?”

  Eric nodded. “It’s all about the class enhancements. Who cares if you take a flaw if it nets you a sweet, sweet boon, and you get to decide the time and place of any engagement? Asymmetric battle at it’s best, am I right?”

  “Sure,” Eliot allowed. “Since we’re allied to Orlin, Zach’s crazy investment of multiple perks and an entire class in a dwarven rift’s specialized mecha makes sense. That’s why we have such a strong relationship with the king! Zack’s class works best with the dwarf faction in ascendancy, so Zack has every reason to fight for him, and Orlin has every reason to help him blossom and shine!”

  Eliot’s joyful expression turned solemn. “I’ll be honest, Eric. When New York first went crazy… things were looking ugly. The rat rifts were absolute shit, the goblin rift was downright lethal, and Zack and I knew we were pretty much fucked.”

  Eric blinked at this, happily accepting the dwarven mead Eliot handed him.

  “No shit.”

  “None whatsoever. But we’re not stupid. We avoided the debt traps that fucked over so many idiots who actually thought better gear at inflated prices would save them. We did our research, and knew that Steel Griffins were the way to go. Only problem is, they wouldn’t take us.”

  Eric winced. “Ouch.”

  “Yup! Our builds weren’t a good fit. Not that we even had a build as single digit classers, but… yeah. It was looking rough for a bit. I had just started messing with the bow, hoping I could unlock a class at level ten when Zack said he felt an odd pull.” Eliot flashed an odd smile, and Eric suspected that the pair had had a far rougher time of it than Eliot was letting on.

  “Anyway, with absolutely nothing to lose but our fucked up lives, we both decided to dare a rift that neither of us had ever seen or heard of before in a corner of town where no map marked off any public dungeon… or private looting node that elites would gut you for even looking at.”

  Eric winced. “Sorry things were so fucked up.”

  Eliot shook his head. “Oh no, that’s where you’re wrong. I mean, sure, it was rough at the start, but once the dwarves found us and basically took pity on us… our entire lives turned around!”

  Eliot’s eyes lit with gratitude.

  “Orlin basically built us up from shaking kids who knew nothing to badass warriors who have always got his back.” He patted the reinforced compound bow radiating such delicious potency to Eric’s eyes with an awkward smile. “Even if I did let him down a little bit, not taking a specialized Steam Pilot class like Zachary, I think I’ve managed to pull my weight just fine with this sweet artifact that somehow fell into my lap.”

  Eric nodded. “And I can tell you and Zack are actually Bronze ascenders. And I know for a fact that the average adventurer is maybe level fifteen here in New York and sweats and bleeds for every level, unless you’re part of Silver Griffin and then you’re maybe level 30 or 40 because you are, or were… smart and independent enough to go after the stegosauruses and such.”

  Eliot nodded. “You got it. And the thing Song didn’t know until late in the game was how easy it is to slip free of the dwarven pocket realm and go hunting. But not just for dinosaurs.”

  Eric blinked, before his eyes widened, an awed smile curving his lips. “Fuck. You don’t just mean playing it safe and sniping low hanging passive fruit in the neighboring Orange. You mean you and Zack were hunting in a Red zone!”

  Eliot practically beamed. “You got it! Me and Zachary, King Orlin, and his entire elite Steam Mech squad. Hunting some pretty badass prey in the Red Zone at the far southeastern tip of Harriman Territory.”

  Eric whistled. “Then you’ve clearly earned your levels, because taking on those shits without seriously sweet stats and gear is asking for serious trouble.”

  This earned a rueful chuckle. “Hell, yeah. Some of those things are infused with actual essence! Essences which Orlin says it’s hard as hell for any classer to claim, even Contenders! And there was that one time one of those flying pterodactyl things with a fucking vorpal beak actually pushed past the boundary between orange and red and…” He paled, shaking his head. “Let’s not talk about that.”

  Eric gave a sympathetic nod. “Sure, no problem.”

  “Anyway, point is, me and Zachary shot up in levels and, even better, had access to Adept Dwarven classes, so there was no need for any tainted pods!”

  Eric’s eyes widened. “No shit! Questing for the dwarves allowed you to escape the goblin’s fucked up pod trap? That’s priceless.”

  “Oh, it is,” Eliot agreed as they entered what appeared to be the armory, Eric now taking note of the panicked urgency of multiple dwarven sentinels, all kitting themselves up in what looked like thick steel alloy armor with plenty of double shot crossbows being handed out by a harried-looking quartermaster.

  “Come on, my locker’s this way.”

  Bemused, Eric followed his former neighbor to what really did look like a school or gym locker room. And and the earthy stench of a dozen stressed-looking hairy men covered in dirt and sweat and anxiety kitting into padded armor and steel cuirasses and helms was a reak that was all too reminiscent of his old school gym with the added tang of iron. Point of fact, it smelled a lot like the locker rooms at a HEMA meet.

  “Alright, I’m ready to go,” Eliot said minutes later, kitted out in a flexible combination of scale armor with an open-faced helm and breastplate of a highly reflective alloy.

  He flashed a wry smile. “This shit is great for deflecting plasma fire… from the weaker T-1 blaster rifles, anyway. Tier-2? A bit less effective, but beats the fuck out of nothing.”

  “Agreed.”

  Elliot grinned. “Pretty fucking heavy though, since my strength is only 25 right now.”

  Eric blinked at this. “Twenty-five?”

  Elliot chuckled. “I know, right? It’s too high for a mortal, and pretty damned low for a Contender, but that’s because of the steams effect. I’m slowly getting a tiny bit of resistance to it, because I’m tight with the king. My actual Strength is more like 200, believe it or not.”

  Eric whistled. “Damn, that’s sweet! I made a good friend among the Silver Griffins, and she was feeling pretty awesome with just 50 and had earned it the hard way!”

  Elliot nodded. “I believe it. Which is why I’m so damned grateful to Orlin for investing in me and Zachary the way he did. Without him, I probably wouldn’t even be alive, let alone ascended to an honored dwarf Sniper class with a Bronze Core I forged with the help of their master weaponsmith!”

  He laughed at the odd look this earned. “Wait… you ascended to Bronze in part because you had an artificial core implanted in you by some elite weaponsmith?” Eric couldn’t help but laugh aloud. “That’s definitely some twisted Contender shit, right there. No way in hell any normal classer can do it that way!”

  Eliot winked. “You got that right. Sensei Stone is actually an ancient dwarven spirit that only me, Zack, and Orlin can commune with. Oh, there was also a whole convoluted quest-line me and Zack had to complete first. Nearly killed us, too. I definitely had to earn the right to Ascend to Bronze in a dwarven commune… but fuck if it didn’t work. And best of all, The core I helped forge is now linked to my soul. Right where my Lower Dantian would be, if I was doing that cultivation crap. Best of all, it’s not a weak bullshit crutch, either. I think I can push this class all the way to Silver! I mean… right up to the cliff, you know?”

  Eric whistled. “Sweet! But wait, a Sniper class means you’re not just limited to the bow, right?”

  “Exactly! It’s far more flexible. I can use it for crossbows, or blaster cannons, or even the rail line guns that the engineers love dabbling on, with mecha or in my own two hands. Fucking awesome! Even if I did use two of my nodes for very bow-focused perks, my other perks can be used with any ranged weapon, and I left 2 nodes free, just in case wildly awesome stuff comes up in the future because I really want to be open to whatever comes my way and never regret the path I took, years down the line when we have all the level-up and class guides all written. Know what I mean?”

  Eric grinned and nodded, surprised by how much they seemed to now have in common, never having felt such a spark of kinship with his former neighbor than he did at that moment.

  “I know exactly what you mean, Eliot. We’re in the same boat. Push our classes to the utmost, invest in perks that will be useful today and a century from now, no matter how our classes evolve, and live a life we’ll never have cause to regret.”

  Eliot chuckled. “My man!” He high-fived a beaming Eric. “So, Eric, buddy… how’s Elonia?”

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