Eric was taken aback when the double doors were abruptly opened by a pair of servants and he beheld a grand ballroom like affair filled with the most powerful movers and shakers in all of Freetown, more than half radiating the potency of either Advanced Classers or Standard Classers who had achieved level 30 the hard way, a hell of a lot more than the five a certain innkeeper had implied, all of them chatting and conversing before tables piled high with champagne pyramids, roast beef, braised ducks, chickens and whole lambs being grilled over a fire. And that was just a fraction of the countless varieties of dishes, of every sort imaginable, whether one craved a good stake, perfectly broiled lobster, or a freshly picked salad, that would have done any four star restaurant of the before-times proud. Eric then smiled in heartfelt appreciation at the massive buffet tables filled with cakes, cream puff pastries, and silver platters filled with hors d’oeuvres, before turning to take a closer look at everyone dressed in elegant garb that was a strange cross of black-tie and renaissance high society.

Everyone save him, more than a few curious glances sent his way, followed by bemused smirks and outright glares.

“What the hell is he doing here?” hissed none other than Lady Gray, now dressed in a sheer white silk one-piece showing off sensual curves and a sleek deadly grace as well, a 1796 cavalry saber sheathed in an elegant jewel-inlaid scabbard at her hip. Her glare, if anything, was even more pronounced than when she had been so displeased by his uncouth appearance at the ice cream parlor. Her husband, Eric noted, was not in attendance.

“He’s here because he can fight, clearly,” said a bemused looking Annie of Annie’s Mercs, who favored Eric with a considering look before dipping her head, a gesture Eric solemnly returned for the woman who had watched Rica and Ria while he took care of business.

A man Eric didn’t recognize, for all that he crackled with arcane potency, furrowed an elegant brow. Though his hair was a thick glossy black, and his face vital and full, he gave the air of a man who had been middle-age or older before he had dared the pods. “And he’s wearing a very… unique set of armor. Custom made, there can be no doubt.” The man flashed a humorless smile. “Though why he feels the need to wear such at a gathering like this… is he added security, as if we needed it?”

Annie smirked. “That boy survived an ambush and took out three assassins in about ten seconds, wearing that armor. Considering it survived rogue-class critical strikes and short range shots from orc flintlocks, I’d say it’s worth keeping close.”

Eric chuckled bitterly, meeting Annie’s gaze, the only one there he felt remotely comfortable around. “Yeah, the crossbow bolts actually found a weak link and went through. But the strikes weren’t fatal, at least.”

Because surrendering to his paranoia and spending half the previous night infusing his scales with over half his remaining level 9 potency had made it so the only vulnerable spots were his limbs, which seemed to mean that even assassin critical strikes would suffer at least some resistance. Because those crossbow bolts had only pierced a couple of inches. Nowhere near the full body-piercing shots he had inflicted to massive humanoids many times his size, just days ago.

The armor protecting his most vital organs were now infused with the essences of Blood and Dominion both.

His scales knew themselves as the scales that they were, and they’d let no outside force corrupt the immutability of their form. And it was all he could do not to laugh, knowing his anthropomorphism bordered on pure delusion. But it had made his work all the easier, so he had happily rolled with it. He had so wanted to castigate himself for a paranoid fool. But he still couldn’t sleep safe and comfortable as he wanted to in Rica’s arms until he had put in the work, just knowing that bitter destiny wouldn’t hesitate to take his brief moments of happiness away, and he had to be ready.

He had to be ready for anything. At all times.

It was only because he really had been ambushed by killers that had made his paranoia seem like genius. For all that they might have left him completely alone, had he not been a fool carrying over 40 million credits worth of gold on his person as casually a schoolboy carrying his books.

Because he didn’t know shit about classes and abilities, which made him a sitting duck even with all his power. Just as the mysterious galactic council no doubt wanted.

Eric shook away the stray thoughts, feeling acutely uncomfortable under the sudden appraising stares of over a dozen serious players in the realms of power and local politics both.

He flashed an almost apologetic smile before making a beeline for the pastries, recalling anew how much he disliked being the center of attention, despite, or perhaps because, his family had been in the lime light for most of his life.

Only now, his exquisitely precise hearing couldn’t tune out the snide comments and bemused observations, even if he tried.

“Why’s that poor fool even here? He’s a Basic. He doesn’t even have a standard class!”

“But he has some kind of potency. You can feel it.”

“Half the fools in my guild have some odd talent,” yet another voice quipped. “It keeps them alive, which is a blessing, but it certainly doesn’t make them elite.”

“How dare that fool bring tainted armor like that in here!”

“What are you talking about, Herb? It looks serviceability enough.”

“Those aren’t exotic scales, Marge. It’s a typical Greater Beast Hide. But it’s soaked in essence-infused blood! Doesn’t he know that our goblin hosts despise people who openly practice the forbidden arts?”

“Hardly forbidden, Herb,” snorted yet another voice. “You’re goblin masters just fear power. And rightly so. They are competing for our world, and have their hands on half our throats. You’d do well to remember they’re no friends of ours.”

“Shut up, Vincent!” A panicked-sounding Herb hissed, Eric catching only the tiniest glimpse of the wide-eyed rogue before focusing on the rather delicious cream puff pastries he was presently devouring. “Just because you had a profitable month doesn’t mean the rest of us were so lucky!”

“You’re the fools who allowed yourselves to get indebted to them,” said an unsympathetic Vincent, who turned out to be a dark-skinned man with silver grey eyes and a powerful warrior’s build. “And now you fear displeasing the very same little green skinned monstrosities you used to mock by my side, back when we were both Conscripts.”

“A debt free Conscript!” Herb said through tightly pressed lips. “Quit acting so superior. We just don’t want to risk another rate increase!”

Vincent shook his head sadly. “And now half the guilds are already under their thumb. Do your newest additions know that they too will be sold at the auction blocks, if your guild can’t keep afloat?”

Herb blanched, gazing at a pitying Vincent with something close to horror. “Why the hell would you say that here and now, of all places?” Horror turned to humiliated fury. “Are you looking to challenge me? Are you looking for a war? Do you think my guild so weak that you can freely challenge me for the time slots to our dungeon? Is that what this is about?”

Vincent’s hard gaze seemed to strip the now trembling rogue bare. Before he mercifully shook his head and looked away. “Why are you even here? The goblins already own you and your guild both. Unless...” Vincent turned back around, glaring at the now furtive looking rogue, flinching like the lowest of pickpockets, for all that he radiated an experienced Delver’s potency. “Unless you’re now acting as a plant, here to encourage the undecided to serve your masters.”

“So says the man who took an elven wife! You think we don’t already know you’re in Lord Drevyn’s camp? Not that it matters, because every last so-called independent clan making up the Sylvan Alliance all swear fealty to the same Winter Queen. We all know it!” The rogue snorted. “At least I’m thinking of my guild’s wellbeing, and not just the wellbeing of my cock!”

Eric froze at those words, suddenly realizing his peril. If Lord Drevyn or any other Sylvan alliance representatives were here… if they recognized him… how much trouble was he in? Would Elven bullshit oaths or some binding from a mother who was even more of a control freak than he had originally thought... and maybe not even human, force him into an arranged marriage and effectively cripple his power progression?

He winced, now ignoring the increasingly irate bickering behind him, feeling a cold chill down his spine as he swallowed suddenly tasteless pastry.

It was clear he had miscalculated. Between the risks Lady Valorn presented, the Goblins antipathy for him, and his admittedly genocidal hatred of all orcs, he really had no business being here.

With only a moment’s regret for lost opportunities, he made his decision, already feeling a sense of relief, as if he had dodged a bullet as he made a beeline for the double doors, not even caring about the snort at his back.

“Fool finally woke up to the fact that he doesn’t belong here.”

“Damn right about that,” Eric whispered softly under his breath, savvy enough not to let a moment of pique give away the incredible advantage of 51 Perception he sensed that not even the Rogue Guildhead behind him was close to achieving.

But not savvy enough to avoid visibly flinching when Infravision synergized perfectly with Magesight as half a dozen potencies were just about to open the double doors.

He quickly doubled back, giving not a fig for the mocking smiles sent his way.

Smiles that turned to frowns and surprised blinks when the door abruptly opened and a procession of representatives of the various races and factions entered in full regalia. Including military uniforms, sleek curve-hugging attire enchanted with multiple arcane sigils, and humanoids as well armored as Eric himself was.

At least Eric’s awareness had given him the moment he needed to place himself in front of the strangely empty lechon table, happy to help himself to a massive plate of spicy ribs and crackling pork skin.

And a part of him couldn’t help but flash a murderous grin.

Wondering if the pig had been a deliberate insult to the pair of massive orcs covered in gaudy chain mail dipped in gold who had entered last, now snorting with wide-eyed displeasure when they took a look at the otherwise completely abandoned lechon stand, the only one even near that table being Eric himself.

The whole room froze, the tension suddenly so thick you could cut it with a knife.

The pair of orc’s oddly friendly expressions had immediately twisted to furious snarls, eight and a half feet tall giants glaring at Eric and Eric alone.

“Heaven’s grace, what a fool. Was he told nothing?” Whispered none other than Herb so softly that Eric doubted anyone else but him had heard it.

“That you would dare!” Roared the closest orc.

Eric stared at the giant pig-faced bastard now trembling with fury, somehow not surprised to see the pair of elves that had entered first, no doubt keeping the faction’s separated, gazing at Eric with looks of awed delight. Slowly, savoring the moment, Eric took a great big crackling bite of pork skin, before flashing his foes his widest shit-eating grin.

“Damn good. You guys wants some?” He gestured magnanimously at the table. “There’s plenty for everyone.”

“Only we may eat our own! What you do mocks our people, our race! You will purge yourself of the meat now outlawed to your kind and you will beg for our forgiveness, or I swear by my tribe I’ll gut you myself!” The largest of the pair of orcs roared.

Eric gazed at the furious looking humanoid for long moments, ignoring the looks of fear, disgust, and yes, fierce pleasure he saw on the faces of more than a few of the guests present, savoring the growing tension before landing the killing blow.

“Sure,” he said with an offhanded shrug and a disarming smile, before his expression turned to something hard and cold. “The minute both of you give your word that you’ve never eaten human flesh. That you’ve never witnessed humans being thrown into the fire pits, laughing as they screamed and died.” Eric took a savage bite of his rib. “Tell me that, and I’ll happily put down these ribs, and politely listen to whatever bullshit pitch you assholes have to make.”

And Eric just stared at the pair of furious orcs covered in bristles underneath their gold plated mail that did nothing to hide the porcine reek of animal musk they exuded ad nauseum as the entire audience looked on in open-mouthed horror when Eric gave a mock shake of his head.

“But you can’t, can you? Because you did just that,” he said, his hard gaze now locking eyes with the guild leaders behind the furious orcs. And how strange it was to see people three times his level blanch and look away.

“You reveled in hunting down and butchering our families, throwing the people we loved into fire pits, laughing as the shrieked their last, covered in flames, and now you think we’ll serve you? Surrender the territory we claim to you? Are you serious?” Eric spat on the floor, shaking his head in absolute contempt. “You bloated pig-faced assholes can go fuck yourselves. Because sure as shit, we won’t let you fuck us over any more!”

Eric recalled all too well Agent Caliban’s hesitation in having Eric attend, his emphasis on Eric maintaining his control. But as the pair of pig faced bloated assholes continued to glare and curse, muttering about how much they’d enjoy devouring his entire family in an orcish dialect his interface had absolutely no problem interpreting, Eric found he didn’t care.

Didn’t care as he caught the closest orc’s gaze with his own, smiled, and showed for all the world to see titles that made the porcine pair tremble with rage.

Battlefield Champion.

Head Hunter

And most damning of all…

Orcbane

“You! You’re the one who destroyed Bloodtooth’s tribe!” said the closest orc, sticking a trembling finger in Eric’s face as he all but squealed his discontent.

“That’s right!” Eric said with another shit-eating grin. “Which begs the question, why the hell would anyone want to join up with a bunch of psychopathic losers, if a single level 9 nobody can butcher you all like the pathetic pig-faced chumps you are?”

“I challenge you!” The giant of an orc roared, trembling with the desperate need to pummel Eric right then and there, his massive fist on the hilt of his axe, wildly gyrating piggish eyes locking on Eric with an outraged fury that absolutely delighted him to see.

And how tempted he was to accept, as his heart hammered a sweet battle rhythm, and time seemed to subtly slow.

It was only the panicked look, the desperate shaking head of the only person to who cared enough to come to the aid of a complete stranger since he got to Freetown, mutual benefits aside.

Willpower check made!

How easy it would have been to surrender to sweet budding rage.

But he wasn’t a complete fool. Not quite.

For Caliban to go so far…

He swallowed back his desperate desire to wash this conference hall in the blood of his foes, contenting himself with victory of another sort to savor.

So instead, Eric took a deep crackling bike of crispy pork, and laughed in the hyperventilating orc’s face.

“We’re at a diplomatically sanctioned event, fool. Do you really think I’m stupid enough to get sanctioned for besting your pathetic ass before any of our esteemed guests can even make their case?”

The orcs looked near apoplectic with fury.

Eric ignored the wide-eyed and calculating looks being sent his way as he took another bite full of sumptuous porcine goodness, truly never having enjoyed any meal in his life more than he did the delicious lechon he was devouring at that moment.

The smaller orc snarled and spat, abruptly pulling his larger partner with him toward the stage.

“I look forward to the day I can devour you personally, human!” The giant roared, glaring as he closed one nostril and let out a massive pile of green steaming snot.

Eric didn’t loose his equanimity for a second, almost impressed at his enemy for trying to goad him into blowing a lugy right back...which Eric already knew in this context would mean ‘challenge accepted.’

“Sorry, not going to fall for that. Especially when I can enjoy this delicious pork! It tastes almost as good as the real thing.”

This time the smaller orc ground to a stop, Caliban’s relieved expression turning to a despairing wince once more.

“What did you say, human?” said the smaller one, the air suddenly thrumming with the taste of blood, magic, and death.

Eric just smiled, took another mouthful, and winked.

Locking gazes with the shaman as the creature began to whisper dark words that twisted and writhed in the air.

Eric tightly squeezed the hilt of his saber with his right hand which he had not eaten with, which assured a nice strong, grease free grip. His Arcane Perception could sense the flaws in his opponent’s quickly whispered spell, Eric’s growing smile inviting the shaman to make the first move as he shifted his stance like a tiger getting ready to spring, 2000 degree ward-piercing death just a single eyeblink from making sure it would be the monster’s last.

“He dares to cast? He’s breaking the treaty, we’re free to attack!” Hissed none other than the guildmaster Herb, glaring at the orcs with a hatred that earned him countless brownie points in Eric’s book.

Vincent, however, was clenching his former friend’s shoulder with a steel-hard grip, slowly shaking his head. “Don’t get involved, brother. My Node marks that boy as a Roundear. My wife says they’re fanatics. We have enough on our plate without getting involved in their genocidal wars.”

Eric ignored the odd look the Rogue consequently gave him, intent whispers by the local potencies he would rather not hear. Not when all his focus was on the hot-eyed orcs before him. Not when he had to judge the precisely moment an attack was launched…

And he was free to wash this chamber in his enemies’ blood.

“You will cease, now!” Roared none other than Caliban himself. “You all know the accords, asking for the right to make your case before Freetown’s contenders. I expect all diplomats to behave with decorum, and for our stupider guests to quite acting the fool!” This, of course, was said with a hot glare for Eric who sighed and finally put down his ribs. But not before licking his fingers clean with a toothsome smile for all his foes.