Shutting his old bedroom door because he didn’t trust the monitors not to be on while attached to a computer whose power source he didn’t even pretend to understand, he undid the cordage knot securing his backpack’s prizes and pulled out, one at a time, carefully wrapped bundles of clothes.

Each bundle was absurdly heavy, and for good reason. For all that it was old clothes and not fancy department store present wrapping, the prizes within were the equal of his most glorious memories of Christmas.

It was all he could do not to laugh with heady joy at the sheer unwrapped wonder before him, soon surrounded by the glorious polished glimmer of 24 karat gold.

Eric’s heart was pounding.

Awed by the sight of eight near foot-long bars that shown with a rich golden lustre in the reflected ceiling light that shouldn’t even have power, but did. Each of them would have been worth 800,000 dollars at a closing spot price of around $2,000 per troy ounce, when the world had ended. Which mean that his 200+ pound backpack, a weight that would have been impossible even to sling on his back without wrenching his muscles not that long ago, would have been worth 6.4 million US dollars, give or take.

An absolute fortune, now just a comforting weight nestled on his back when he wrapped everything back up just as carefully as his friends had originally, which kept the weight evenly distributed and the seams from even this reinforced backpack from bursting.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he reread the note his friends had left behind.

This is your share of the take, for being the best wingman anyone could ask for.

You kept those bastards busy, and now we’re lining your pockets with gold.

Kudos to success beyond our wildest dreams.

The traps and wards at the bank were even worse than that goddamned bastard of a mayor led us to believe.

And they reset.

But damn if the keys and passwords didn’t work.

As much as he was a backstabbing prick, Stibbs had given his oath, which the bank itself was forced to acknowledge. All of us linked on a quest, our reward being all we could carry out.

This is your cut.

Play it smart, Eric. That bank nearly cost us our lives, and we’re professionals.

We all have our strengths, and we’re grateful that the past week has played so well to your own.

Let us play to ours as well.

Enjoy it, and stay safe.

P.S. Don’t let anyone try to play you for a fool, or shortchange you. Each of those bricks would have been worth 800,000 USD the day the world ended.

Now get ready for this…

Each of those bars is worth 10-fold that in System credits. At least.

You’ll have to have a heart-to-heart with a number of mages and alchemists if you want all the reasons why.

So as of this moment… you’re worth 64 million credits.

Heart racing yet?

And it pays to diversify. Bank at least half of it the minute you get to Freetown, or wherever you go. - And squirrel away at least some of it some place you KNOW is secure, in case even intergalactic banks are out to screw us, even if every legit source we could find in Freetown says the bank’s never burned a Bronze Tier asset holder, which means at least a million credits in the bank. They then wave all their fees, and don't delay withdraws. Elite customer service and all that bullshit. But who cares, right? It keeps your loot safe from all the assholes who would try to rob you with more than a banker's pen.

Just remember, no matter what twists and turns life takes, never, ever, go in the red with goblins.

Whatever path you take, even if you do end up joining the Sylvan Alliance, know that we wish you well.

We couldn’t have done it without you.

Eric sat back in his leather chair for long moments, taking thoughtful sips of ice cold cola that by rights should no longer exist, save in this tiny sanctuary containing, lights, AC, clean water, ever-refilling fridges, and computerized access right to Sylvan Central Command.

He was surprised by how much he missed his friends already, the almost painful silence when he had first stepped back inside his sanctuary making it clear that they had already left, and left for good. No trace that they had ever been here remained, save for hints of tobacco smoke, perfume, and the equipment they had left behind in a discrete, semi-organized pile, like the professionals they were, moving from one stage of their operation to the next.

He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he was just a little bit hurt that they had left without him. But considering how deeply he had diverged from serving as a useful distraction to declaring all out war on the orcs, and now doing everything he could to help the Sylvan Alliance sweep the board, never mind his own ulterior motives… he was acting far more a bloodthirsty patriot or soldier than any sort of rogue or thief.

Because for him, the bottom line was freeing this city from the yolk of orcish rule, and making sure those monstrous abominations responsible for the slaughter of untold tens of thousands were forced to pay a very, very steep price for their crimes.

And if he was the one who got to play judge, jury, and executioner? Fucking awesome, as far as he was concerned.

But he wasn’t such a bloodthirsty fanatic that he completely lost sight of the bigger picture.

Which, in this case, included doing his utmost to save a young mother’s child.

And if that meant he had to curb his blood lust and negotiate in good faith? He was willing to do that. Even if it meant curving his lips in a shit-eating grin.

Even if it meant handing over a tiny portion of his own fortune.

Because the haunted look of desperation in Rica’s gaze, somehow signifying the countless hundreds of thousands of shattered families who had known only the most horrific of ends when the world went to shit, pierced even his bitter heart.

And he could do nothing for the fallen, save avenge their deaths.

But this was one girl whose family he could save.

So he would do whatever he could to make that happen.

“And who the hell knows?” he said aloud, casually tossing a bar of gold that flashed and glimmered like a glorious sun in his hand. “I might just earn another title out of it.”

There was no guarantee, of course. But if his hunch was right… just a few more pincushioned assholes, and he'd pass the hundred mark and earn an Archery title, just like he had his Mad Bomber title. And assuming there were over a hundred orcs holed up at this fort, maybe getting them to surrender would be worth a title in its own right.

It was a nice thought, anyway.

His upbeat mood quickly soured when he realized there would be no easy way to save Rica’s daughter, and the only plan he could come up with on such short notice had definite risks.

Of course, if Eric’s cynical hunch was right, Rica and her child were as good as dead anyway, if he didn't do something and quickly. The elves would storm the city. Rica would fight for her child's sake, and she would die. At which point, Black Tooth would probably eat her baby, or throw her off the building ledge as useless chattel. Because he was a fucking orc, and Eric had already seen enough to know how that psychopath operated. So Eric would do what he could to save the family of the girl he could have so easily have fallen for in the world they had left behind.

“Am I really going to give away this much of my hard-won fortune this quickly?” He chuckled softly, gazing at the brilliant glory of the gold bar in his hand, shaking his head. “Yeah, who the hell am I fooling? Of course I am.”

He took a thoughtful sip of cola after putting away his prize, gazing with a sort of bemused admiration at his underground bunker, still unable to believe the disconnect that had allowed him and his sister to feel trapped in a post-apocalyptic nightmare for months on end, not even realizing the technological or perhaps magical wonders they still had available to them.

“Or had Elonia known?” Eric shrugged. He wouldn’t be surprised at all if she had. In some ways, except when it came to dealing with wolves in handsome men’s clothing, his sister had been far more perceptive, clued-in, and hell, all-around smarter than he had ever been. God knew she was a better actor.

Maybe this was just one more secret their mom had wanted to spare her clueless son.

Then he began to laugh so hard soda spurted out of his nostrils, not painful for more than a split second with a now outright inhuman regenerating Vitality of 26. "Of course mom was keeping it secret that Elonia truly is a fucking princess. Or at least, a contender in this brave new world, and for all I fucking know, the whole movie, hell, mother’s whole movie career, was just a tool to push Elonia into the limelight.”

He shook his head and sighed. Because even as clueless as he was, he knew that everything hadn’t always gone according to their mother’s master plan, that Elonia had responded extremely poorly to the massive pressure she had found herself under, especially a few years ago, and had nearly died of an overdose. Their mother sure as hell hadn’t been expecting that, or that it wasn’t always easy for a teenage girl to say ‘no’. To boys or parties. Especially in a place as predatory as the acting scene with their mother off on exotic sets half the time.

And leaving them with no more guidance than the words: ‘I expect you both to act like adults, not like a pair of fools,' did not instantly imbue her children with machiavellian intelligence and the ability to play off everyone around them like puppets, for all that it did indeed seem to work that way in the most convoluted of fantasy sagas.

In real life, it had been far closer to the other way around, which their mother had learned to her bitter regret, just a bit too late.

Which just goes to show that even the famous and feared Aurelia Silver could play the fool as well as anyone else.

Not as much of a fool as he and his sister had been, the day they had scavenged on the surface, infected with the mad desire to see to their reserves, fearing they'd run out of sustenance, always forgetting the refrigerator they had at their disposal, the instant they left their bunker.

Had Elonia known?

Why had she never tried to clue him in?

Or had she?

He shook his head and sighed, knowing he’d probably never know the answer to those questions.

Though he did find it amusing as hell that the System now considered him a Contender as well. Which he was happy to go along with, as that, along with his necromantic affinities, was what somehow permitted his Realm Breaker title and his Oblivion's Maw boon. An incredible perk that just might allow him to prosper, even thrive, in a world where even he could sense that every card was stacked against the natives of Earth...or Subjugated World 6783Y, as has Interface put it, even if they had supposedly been 'voluntarily integrated' with what was supposed to be a 'fair and balanced' system, where everyone got a fair shake.

And what a fucking joke that was.

He smirked at the tactical backpack now filled with 6.4 million dollars worth... no, make that 64 million credits worth of gold. "How many times did my friends flatter me with bullshit about my skillset being a bit unusual? And hey, if my ES Space really is that special… why not?"

Even as he smiled with what was admittedly a certain tingle of excitement, he still had no interest in playing the fool. He was going to be damned careful with something that could rupture a purchased storage device, because he sure as hell had no interest in rupturing, say, his brain.

So instead, he plucked out a single bar that weighed around 27.5 pounds, admiring the rich golden luster. Then took the edge of his second saber and gently peeled off the tiniest of flakes from a corner.

Smiling down at the tiny shaving of gold the equivalent of what he had seen countless ultra-expensive dessert videos use to justify absurdly priced treats, albeit this, at least, was free of any truffle oil, which he couldn’t stand, anyway.

He was more than surprised to find that even this tiny flake of gold was just as unpalatable for his ES Space to digest as he found truffle oil to be, lurching back so hard his chair tipped over, and he was wiping blood from his nose.

You are attempting to place Pure Gold within your Extradimensional Storage Space!

Conflicts detected!

You are unable to place this element within your storage space!

"No shit, conflicts detected," he muttered to himself, wiping his nose and rubbing his temples with a sudden throbbing headache he felt over every inch of his body.

Because for just a moment, it had felt like he was being crushed under every kilo of his multi-ton assortment of cannons, ammo crates, lizard carcasses, and everything else he had stored in there.

As if his soul was being crushed between a tiny sliver of gold... and countless tons of crap.

Which left him frozen on his once-more righted chair, gazing down with a look of awed disbelief at his own still shaking hands, wondering if the wild train of thought now racing off the rails of his mind was a stroke of genius… or stupidity that would cause way too many vessels in his nose...and head, to erupt in crimson retribution.

“I’m really not looking forward to this,” he said softly to himself, glaring down at his sad excuse for a spilled soda can before cracking open an ice-cold pale ale, sipping tangy foam as he carefully thought through what he now knew he was going to do, even if it knocked him out for hours that he really, really couldn’t afford.

“And I got minutes, maybe. Because it’s 3AM right now, and in a couple hours, way too much is coming to pass,” he said to himself, acutely aware that this golden opportunity for titles raining down like mana from heaven really might be as rare as the gold bar in his hand.

But if he really wanted to push everything to the limit…

He had sensed it.

Not just that the gold was absolutely rejecting his space,

but why.

Why maybe a million credit artifact would turn to ruptured cloth, maybe with explosive results, punishing any fool who had attempted what he just had without wasting an extremely precious Node, which Eric guessed was limited for all Classers, and which would otherwise host exotic class abilities, with a mundane storage space slot.

Because if there was any advantage to be had with a personal storage space by those with no better option than to take some sort of courier class in the System at large, or hapless humans who just think it's a really good perk to choose here in this world, probably with no idea that it was viewed so disparagingly by those in the know… the powers-that-be certainly weren’t telling.

And really, if you had the resources to even afford a bag of holding, why the hell would you be worrying about storing gold in a precious node slot anyway?

Which left Eric in the unique position of maybe being the only native who had tried what he just had… with just a high enough Arcane Perception, thanks to Infravision evolving to incorporate Manasight, and all of that boosted by a 36 Perception, to deduce what, exactly, had just happened.

“Because it wasn’t the Storage space!” he whispered, before swallowing his own words.

Having sudden hard suspicions about just how private his sanctuary really was.

So instead, he finished his ale, repacked his gold, secured his backpack, and went back to his bedroom just long enough to secure a few treasured prizes and smile with fond, bittersweet memories for the frustrated, somewhat desperate young man that he had been, just a few months ago. Or was it closer to a year ago? Before becoming a broken wreck, lucky just to be alive… slowly forging himself into a warrior capable of taking out hundreds of opponents when he made proper use of all his advantages under the cloak of darkness.

Doing his part to avenge all the fallen.

Praying he would be able to sleep, once he finally got someplace safe, with all the atrocities he himself had committed.

Before shaking his head in firm negation of regret.

His world had been invaded, and he would avenge his people, his tribe, his world.

He would revel in the cries of his foes, and the power they would surrender to him.

No matter how red with blood his hands became.

But first… to see if maybe there was a way for him to make a score that this world might never see the likes of again.

Fortunately, whatever charms or enchantments were keeping this sub-basement level of the palatial hotel above free of pantry-raiding orcs was still very much in effect.

Because he encountered absolutely no orc or human as he went from eerily clean, air-conditioned, and well-lit lit corridors, including passing a snack-filled fridge he dipped into liberally, before entering the more mundane corridors. All of which were still in excellent condition, even if a bit musty, and clearly had been without power for months. Eric wasted no time, quickly making his way to the old generator room and the sewer entrance just beyond.

He entered with his eyes open, senses hyper-alert, almost paranoid with the expectation of an unexpected ambush.

Only to find absolutely nothing.

Not even the chittering of exceedingly mundane rats in this part of the sewer system that couldn’t possibly be more mundane and free of any trace of magic or dimensional warping that he could sense, though it was thankfully both clean and dry.

Which was a blessing for what he was about to do… jogging just a bit a ways from the sewer entrance before finding a considerable stretch of corridor he thought was absolutely perfect for his use.

He flashed an excited grin, heart racing with excitement… or maybe it was dread? For what he was about to do.

First, he visualized in his ES Space a pair of massive plugs of lizard hide, scales, and bone fit to plug off both sections of this corridor, before popping them into existence. His furrowed brow and quick attempts to smash through it by brute force alone earned a tight, hard smile, it becoming quickly apparent that Rank 20 Flesh Sculpting did a hell of a lot more for the finished product than just allow him to visualize his unique process just a little bit more quickly. Or course, he already knew that his greater lizard beast remains had absorbed quite a bit of necromantic potency after having held on to it for so long and manipulated it in so many ways. But still… the heart scales, at least, was getting close to being as tough as steel, even without a smith’s enhancements, if the notch in his bardiche was any indication.

A notch in his soul-bound prize that he quickly repaired with a frown and a single spent experience point. Before quickly filling the entire cordoned-off section with countless tons of crossbows, weapons, blazing hot arrowheads quickly secured in the bloodstained pieces of cloth he had claimed back from countless shrapnel bombs and charges. He even lined his original 1821 saber sheath with his essence-infused blood so he could safely store the 2000 degree steel blade outside of his storage space.

When he was finally done, he couldn’t help but shake his head, more than a bit bemused by the eclectic collections of cannons, crossbows, gear, and everything else he had basically stuffed inside himself, including a whole hell of a lot of home-made explosives, as if his ESS was nearly the size of a warehouse.

“Honestly, with all that I can do with it, I would have invested one of my nodes to secure this ability, and gladly,” he whispered to himself, feeling strangely light, dizzy, and free, once the final crossbow bolt was extruded and his space was well and truly empty.

Which made the way his heart was pounding absolutely absurd, when he looked down at the backpack in his hands.

What if he was being an idiot? What if it didn’t work?

“Well then, that’s one more thing I know. One more thing I can share with my fellow survivors, so they don’t waste an elite node trying to game the System,” he whispered aloud. Of course, if it did work… if it did work, he wasn’t telling a soul.

Not if he could help it.

He swallowed thickly, ignoring the roaring in his ears as he closed his eyes, clenched the backpack in his hand, and tried to absorb it.

Only to find himself flung on his back, groaning in sudden pain as his hyper acute sense of smell was bombarded by the stench of dirt, filth, limestone, and long dried sewage.

He couldn’t help but laugh, chuckling long and loud, shaking his head almost fondly at the pain as he looked at the massive collection of shit he now had to get back inside. Knowing he was a lucky bastard, literally, who should be nothing but grateful with every prize he would reclaim. And now he had 64 million in his hands, an incredible prize that he could claim without having to endure any further insane risks at all.

It was totally his choice as to whether or not he wanted to grab one last title, or rescue one girl and her child when she so easily could have killed him, would have killed him, he was almost positive, if he didn't have some experience coaxing shy, sometimes obsessive girls out of dangerous situations, amazed to find that it had actually worked for Rica.

If it had gone down just a bit differently…

But it hadn’t

It hadn't, and now he knew exactly what was at stake for that girl, and that neither she, nor her grandmother nor daughter were likely to make it out of here alive if he pulled a runner.

Besides, he thought to himself as he gazed down at his backpack, cracking an only slightly bloody grin, he hadn’t properly tested anything. Except that he was an idiot.

Because when he took out that tiny sliver of gold… and then a few seconds later, with awed, trembling hands, slipped free a single bar of gold free of its padding… and then a second, a third, and finally all eight bars, 64 million credits worth of gold, he found that, naked and free of all padding or backpack or casing…

The massive fortune slipped into his ES Space like a dream.

And most remarkable of all, much to his awe and surprise, he didn’t feel their weight at all.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

His lips widened in a cheek-splitting grin, mind racing with the wildest of possibilities as he accessed his Interface and flipped to what he now dubbed as his Territorial Conquest page, zooming in on the part of the city with the off-the-books Federal Reserve Bank, such a contrast to the massive office buildings on either side of it, one still under construction when the world ended.

Then he thought of the massive prizes of cast iron he had claimed earlier that night, having no room to fit them in his ES space in addition to everything else he had claimed. He was close to hyperventilating as he thought through all he had to see and do, and in a very, very short period of time.

Because if the stupid crazy idea floating around in his brain was actually going to work…

“First things first,” he whispered with a shaky breath, carefully taking out what were now eight fully intact bars of gold, and carefully rewrapping each and every one in his clothing, and from there placing it back in his backpack just as his friends had originally packed it.

Only then did he bother reclaiming all of his prizes before racing back for his compound as fast as his legs would take him.

Because if his hunch was right…

The night for him had truly just begun.