“So, the Zhōngguó want to weasel out of the agreement,” the God-King said.

“She has many excuses. Phesheya, Cashile, Nkosinhle are all searching for the rest, or confirmation of their fates, with what little cooperation they get. But the one she managed to capture, she keeps around, waiting for something else,” Thembinkosi replied.

“I tried my best to warn her. But only one choice does not lead to the same regrettable end,” Mhambi Meshindi finally said.

He stood up, reaching close to the decorations hanging from the rooms of the French Palace.

“Come all. This alliance was an opportunity, but opportunity is fleeting.”

He turned toward Zenzele.

“You are in charge here. Keep a minimal force, while I am away to rectify this. The rest, you will bear witness of what will be expected of you when your day comes to establish prominence on this world.”

Zenzele bowed, respectfully. That part was regrettable but predictable. And the True Chosen Ones were truly buggered by this one, as the locals would say.

Zenzele Cothosa drifted idly in the carefully manicured gardens in front of the Chateau de Versailles, as it was called. At some point, it didn’t matter. The dreams of removing Mhambi Meshindi’s hold on the Zulu were all but ashes.

The French were locked behind the Gate, and He would deal with them piecemeal anyway. Kwazele’s hurried rush across the Labyrinth once they’d realized the Gate was locked and the source of the closure would be for nothing.

The British might have not been too savaged, but they’d never been high level enough compared to the rest, hampered by their initial pursuit of profits at all cost. At some point, 100 levels missing did make a difference, after all.

The Chinese were going to incur the wrath of Meshindi, and while most would live, they’d be set back. Their Empire might be angered, but Meshindi might spare their Greatest Hero, allowing the Emperor to “keep face”, as they were fond to say.

It left the Americans unblooded. They were tentatively interested, but even if they fell in line…

The math didn’t work out. Too few high tiers, too little damage output. His brother, Dingane, had shown him the numbers, and Kwazele agreed. Even in a perfect ambush, Mhambi Meshindi would not fall before he killed the rest of the raid unless they had most of three other nations’ top people.

The overthrowing of Mhambi Meshindi was a good dream. But he is too powerful, and by the time we might cast him down on our own, all of the Zulus will be in his image. And stand against us.

Besides, it was not that hard to live as a Chosen One under the God-King’s shadow. Privileges from the advanced tiers, the status of being Chosen by him… it took true faith that the way he traced was wrong to refute the God of the Labyrinth, the master of the Zulus, the Ruler of the People. To deny the way he wanted to make them great.

He was watching distractedly the Great Gilded Gate when something he never expected happened.

Transit: Earth 113 – Argenmart

Integrity: 100%

Connecting, please wait

Stability: 100%

He blinked in surprise at the state of the Gate’s descriptor. Then the central label briefly flickered, unreadable, and the entire descriptor vanished as if it never had existed.

The disappearance immediately alerted him. For some reason, the Gate was now… back to normal. But what he had not expected was the figure coming out.

“Brother,” Kwazele said, smiling widely, arms spread in his full spellcasting regalia.

Zenzele was briefly speechless. But a few seconds later, others came out. First and foremost, a man whose skull was missing, head cut in half just under where his eyes would be, gathered in studded leather lined with coal fire glow-lines, his hands on a pair of strapped pattern-inscribed swords. At his left and right sides were a pair of tall Professionals, a man in plate armour, a floating rotating circlet of metal above his dark hair and a foot-large sword of lacquered darkness in hand, a woman in striking matched yellow leathers with a huge staff adorned with five stacked animal heads carved in the wood.

“What’s the situation?” Kwazele asked, just as another set of Professionals stepped out behind the vanguard.

“Everything’s falling apart. Meshindi is moving against the Chinese, who are keeping at least one of the British blessed… wait, is that how the Gate opened? He was sure it would stay closed for a few months more. Did you link up with the British?”

“No. I’ll explain later. So, he’s not in position?”

“They departed yesterday for England. But if the Gate has reopened…”

“Told you waiting for the perfect moment is how you lose. When you are pressed, you roll the dice,” the half-skull man said as he joined them.

“Masterful Watchman, this is my brother, Zenzele,” Kwazele introduced him.

“So, your God-King has departed?”

“Yes. But once he learns the Gate has opened, and early…”

“Then it behoves to us to make sure no one tells him? How many of the ones left are loyal to him?”

“A dozen stayed. Almost all are loyalists, except for Slindile…”

The Watchman turned and gave the order to the Professionals still massing behind him, “Get all of them, and quick. Let none escape.”

“I’ll find Slindile!” Kwazele shouted, and rushed toward the Chateau, dozens of French Professionals on his heels.

“You are Bonaparte,” Zenzele said.

“Indeed I am. And beside me are the two Lords of France,” he replied.

“What?”

“The ones who know all about your master. And who will make your strategy much more efficient. It’s an interesting one… a uniquely… Labyrinth one. But better tiers means better margins.”

The three Zulus watched as all the French Professionals gathered around their First Consul.

“Théo, check the cavalry barracks. Unless I’m mistaken, there should be enough horses for us. Carriages are nice, but mounts and remounts are faster. If we want to get ahead of him, we must reach the Calais straits before he gets to the port. Agility builds can run and scout ahead unless you think you can’t follow.”

“We still don’t have enough of the devices,” Zenzele said.

“But now… the Great Gate is open, brother. The homeland is but a step away, and there is a Recall stone emplaced just behind for the return.”

“Be quick. I want us all moving as fast as possible,” Bonaparte ordered.

The three True Chosen bobbed their heads in acknowledgement and plunged into the Gate. As he crossed, Zenzele wondered very briefly how the Frenchman had seemingly ended up in charge of their plan. Even with the tier-nine monsters at his side…

“You were a sight for sore eyes. I don’t know what we’d have done without you,” Commander Crawford Burke said to the man beside him.

“My hopes are that you’d been able to hold on, but that might be a tight spot,” the American replied.

“Still managed to use that,” the other man said, raising his left arm high.

“You know, Lucius, you can always take a build that includes an Aether/Offence Milestone?” Coordinated Pathmaker John Henry Blackeye noted.

The man in question raised his eyebrows. Martin ‘Lucius’ Lewis was a pure melee build, a Competing Crusher in grey leathers that contrasted with a slightly dark skin showing his origins as a mulatto quadroon. But the raised arm was strapped with a large metal enclosure with rotating discs and barrels, while the other arm grasped a too-big hammer.

Someone enterprising had re-engineered arms from Guard Unit armours, complete with rotating gun barrels, the ammunition stores, small powered crystals. A crate of 5 of the contraptions was the ‘gifts’ he’d been bringing, making Blackeye sigh in exasperation when he’d seen that.

For anyone but a Professional, that was a waste, and for a Professional with enough Strength to wield it…

“This gives me plenty of range.”

“And little damage,” Blackeye pointed out.

“Damage is when I’m at close quarters. Besides, those tier-ones and twos couldn’t close range fast enough.”

“And then you ran dry after the sixth.”

“So what? I’m learning.”

The battlefield in front of them showed the aftermath of war. A three-hundred-plus force of Chinese elite troops had been attacking the naval shipyards of Portsmouth. Despite the garrison falling back to defend the port properly, the low-tier force was on verge of overwhelming the defences when HMS Northwind had sailed into port… Northwind and the forty tier-five-plus Professionals on board.

The 300 low-tier Professionals might have been a strong enough force against several thousand mundane soldiers in defensive positions, but the high-tier Americans had poured out of the ship and turned the battle extremely quickly. A few of the lower levels had been incapacitated in the fight, and one tier-six had needed resurrection as well after facing the two higher-tier officer teams of the Chinese, but the outcome had been all but assured. Sacrifices had been kept concentrated as much as possible to lower tiers of the American force.

In exchange, the Chinese had half of their base invading force, according to reports. Replacing it would take a massive effort, sifting through the population to find qualified Professionals, and getting them levels. That was the pendant of the “Chinese Strategy”. It worked only if you kept winning.

“Now, all we need is your help retaking London,” Odhran O’Hogan said.

The Pathmaker turned toward the local low-level Professional messenger.

“That’s what we’re here to do, assuming nobody countermands your royal Princess.”

“Queen.”

“What?”

“George III was found dead in Saint James in the aftermath of the attack. The Chinese are even pretty miffed there was no one to formally surrender. I mean, she lacks the crowning ceremony, but she’s the new monarch,” the Irish Professional explained.

Princess Charlotte of Wales contemplated the man in front of her, feeling conflicted. While she had not entirely expected the Frenchman to come back, here he was. Admittedly, he’d told her so. If he just wanted to be gone, he could. But he was back from the French zones, and with even stranger news…

The door of the City Hall opened, and three figures were admitted. They looked at the office, before doing a double-take when realizing who was there.

“YOU?” the defender blurted, reaching for the rune-inscribed sword strapped at his side.

“Calm down, Sir Ira. This… rogue, Deschanel, is present here as an emissary, and not to cause trouble.”

She gestured at the chairs, before ordering, “Sit down, will you? He has things he wanted to discuss, but apparently, you are needed.”

“Ze thing you want to know iz that things are going to heat up soon. Trouble iz coming for the Chinese.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Ira replied.

“Not when ze trouble iz black, taller zan any man, and wiz 48 Adjustment Milestones, no.”

The three members of the Adapted Team stared at the Frenchman.

“You are talking about the Zulu God-King, do you?” Ira finally said.

“Yes. He iz very, very real. And our own Lords sez hez genuine.”

“Your own Lords?”

“The Gides, ze two French Professionals wiz… Adjustment.”

Charlotte googled. This detail wasn’t in what Jacques Deschanel had told her so far.

“I thought you French didn’t even know about it?” she asked.

“We did not. The Gides were lost when ze Great Gate opened, and much further than your six.”

“But you found them?” she asked.

“Its more like zey found us. And zats mostly luck. But before zey found us, zey got found by other Professionals wiz Adjustment. Much older ones.”

“Older ones?”

“Its… complicated. But the end iz that Meshindi iz a real person. Its just zat he got a century and a half or more of levelling to you three.”

“So, the bit about level 8000 is real?” Ira asked before Charlotte could ask.

“Yes. But the Zulu had a plan. Az you are well aware of.”

“I got that information,” Charlotte said, slightly aggravated.

She could understand the reluctance of the War Office to share much of the weird happenings potentially involving the war, but she was the heir. One day, she’d get to be asked by a government – her government – about that kind of thing.

“And itz now important. Because the Zulu King iz ze one who invaded France, and China waz supposed to help him, notably by finding… and killing ze six ‘special’ Professionals.”

Ira reflexively looked at the 0-health status on the team descriptor.

“Jonas.”

“He iz the only one zat she managed to get, yes. Even if she did not give him True Death, as she waz supposed to do. We got that confirmation.”

“I knew that. He’s still showing on the team,” Ira said.

“But Mhambi Meshindi iz coming. To London. To rectify zat.”

Ira looked toward her Highness, but her face showed nothing about what she was thinking, and she didn’t elaborate.

“And you really want to help us save him?”

“I’d be lying if I said so. What we all want iz the Zulu usurper from ze Labyrinth gone. But nobody iz going to be doing so alone. And zat’s where you come in.”

Ira frowned, and looking around, saw that both Guss and Laura were similarly nonplussed.

“What do you think we can do at our level?”

“Well, its got all to do wiz those gifts from the Zulus,” Deschanel gestured toward two semi-large crates, stacked on each other in a corner of the office.

“You still haven’t explained what they’re about,” Charlotte said.

“Zen, lets see.”

Deschanel bent over the crate, opening it, and pulled out a silvery contraption. Ira frowned, as he realized what this looked like, except with a different clasping shape…

“Gate Closers?”

“Not exactly. Zose were derived from Aetheric Extenders, who are ze original design. Handed by Mhambi Meshindi to his artisans. But one of ze Zulus was smart and made improvements, leading to ze Gate Closers… and zis.”

“What does it do?”

“It breaks something else,” Deschanel said, thick French accent suddenly gone.

Jonas startled. He hadn’t noticed, but the team descriptor had updated, and both Jonathan and Alton were in range. And were staying in range, which, hopefully, meant some rescue mission in motion.

Hope they have a good plan for the guard. He’s tier-four I think, so neutralizing him without alerting everyone is almost impossible.

The wait lasted what felt like a long time, which was probably only ten minutes in reality. But then, the door of his confinement room creaked and then opened, and the first thing he spotted was the faces of his two friends, smiling.

Then, he spotted the familiar silhouette of his usual guard, standing to the side, looking as stoic as ever.

“Okay, now, I am confused. How did you do that?”

“It’s complicated. Things have just changed. Lord, Jonas, you look terrible.”

“45% Lingering Death will do that to you. And don’t talk about how I never get under 40%.”

He exited the room and got an even bigger surprise. The Greatest Hero of China herself – by now, he understood the Chinese didn’t even have an applicable non-male version of the concept, and her honorific wasn’t a mistranslation – was there, waiting for him. And at her side stood a figure slightly familiar.

“Cashile?”

“I am terribly sorry I couldn’t make it for our last Rendez-Vous. Your friends confirmed you went looking for me.”

“We assumed your Gates had been closed as well.”

“It was more about being at sea, headed toward here over Earth’s surface. But things are moving fast. HE is coming, to ‘teach a lesson’ to the Chinese.”

“And you still have a role to play,” Zhuangjing added.

Seeing the confusion on Jonas’s face, she explained.

“He comes to make sure you are executed, and teach us some lesson about defying his dictates. So… we need to make sure he will see you out there, as he expects.”

“Wait, am I… bait?”

The slightly pinched faces of his two friends were his answer.