Eric winced at the whispers that followed the goblin’s pitch, almost as painful as the strained pause.

“Did you hear that, Vincent? No more interest payments!” Herb hissed excitedly to his former adventuring partner, earning a tired sigh from the much larger man. “And that’s on top of a 40% cut of whatever action any territory we claim brings the goblins! And if there’s anyone that can squeeze blood from a stone...”

“I know, Herb,” said Vincent with a frustrated shake of his head. “Damn it, I know.”

Herb pinned the other man with his hawklike gaze. “Don’t pretend you’re not tempted. How many of your more impulsive guildies, or those who just had a string of bad luck and close calls, aren’t working harder to pay off their late fees than they are at building up any kind of nest egg for themselves?”

The larger man scowled, lowering his gaze away from a momentarily disappointed-looking Annika, who quickly schooled her features. “Too fucking many.”

“Exactly,” Herb said with a sympathetic pat on the man’s powerfully-built shoulder. “There’s no shame, friend. Idealism is well and good. But survival… our own, our families, our guilds, has to come first. And my offer still stands. Our guilds raid together. All we have to do is agree on who we sell the prize to.”

Vincent seemed to deflate. “I know. But how the fuck do I tell Crysobella we sold out to the goblins, if we actually manage to claim a surface territory without getting ourselves all killed?”

“Easy. You tell her with the big fat secured pouch of gold you share with her every month, without having to risk your life in the deeps.”

Eric did his best to tune out the depressing conversation he had no business hearing anyway as a second strikingly beautiful elf and her partner took the stage, both of them with glossy dark hair and handsome bronze features, giving a near identical pitch to Annika’s own. Save for a bit of self-deprecating humor, and an enticement that showed they were at least somewhat aware that however noble and virtuous their cause might be, the goblins offer was hard to top.

“But honestly, my champions, whether you seek to win the heart of a bronze beauty like myself, or an ivory princess like my beloved second cousin Annika, so long as you side with our clans, you will all be part of a cherished, nurtured family,” said the girl named Svetlana, graceful features immediately hardening to a hard glare for the smirking goblins.

“Because what the former...speakers failed to mention was that the vaunted 40% is worth absolutely nothing to you, the minute a stronger force reclaims it for themselves. And one thing I can assure you all is that with multiple Elven Houses in play, Houses that have sworn never to attack one another, even to come to one another’s need when Sylvan Alliance territory is in peril of being lost, lands feted to our cause will be defended with every last fiber of our being. The wealth and glory you would accrue from your accomplishments under the banners of the Sylvan Alliance will last for generations under our loving patronage.”

She then gave a sad shake of her head, Vincent flushing and lowering his gaze when she seemed to peer right into his heart, no matter that she was halfway across the conference room. “Far longer, I reckon, than a short handful of seasons that any resource will last after a goblinoid consortium takes over, wherein all the beautiful forests and fields and farms that might last for countless generations under loving caretakers will instead be reduced to ash, slag, and bitter tears. Even your farmlands will be stripped to the bedrock, your topsoil sold off-world for a quick lump sum.”

Svetlana’s delicate lips curled into an ugly sneer for the smirking green humanoids. “In other words, if history is any judge, after a single generation, your goblinoid investments won’t mean shit.”

Eric blinked at the unexpected vernacular, before the girl flashed another brilliant grin. “Whereas as a champion of the elven Houses, both your earned rank and title, and your status as warrior nobility, will be a heritage and honor that you and your descendants will enjoy for eternity. No matter the whims of fortune and war here on Earth.”

Her strikingly handsome male partner with the lithe physique of an Olympic figure skater nodded. “And let us assure you all that in addition to free eternal upkeep of what will be your own manor and surrounding gardens, hardly a ‘hovel,’ I assure you, you will receive a permanent 10% annual tithe of all the bounty your seized territory earns… in addition to life-long servants dedicated to the care and maintenance of your home.” He then flashed a brilliant smile. “So for those who find honor, glory, stable lifetime income, and the love of strikingly beautiful men and women far more important than a single season’s profit, you will find few better paths to glory than aligning yourself with House Green of the Sylvan Alliance, or House Silver.”

And with a final bow that showed off surprisingly sensuous muscles and curves, the pair of bronze-skinned elves stepped back.

Eric heard Annie’s soft snort. “Upping the profit and showing off speakers with impressive assets. Looks like they came prepared for those goblins.”

The thin-framed adventurer standing next to the mercenary captain, radiating brilliantly to Eric’s Arcane Perception, gave a bemused snort. “Even showing off all the different flavors of elves you can ‘fall in love with.’ As if all that human adventurers think with is their clits and cocks.”

Annie flashed a bemused smile in the man’s direction. “I’d say that’s pretty accurate, wouldn’t you?”

The mage shrugged and chuckled. “Alright. Maybe it would be nice to be honored as an elven noble. And they just have to have access to texts on magic and arcane lore they could make available to their ‘champions’, whatever their origins.” The man sighed, giving a frustrated shake of his head. “There has to be some way to get past these damn ‘new world’ restrictions!”

The mercenary captain sympathetically patted the mage’s shoulder, no one else seeming to hear, or at least polite enough to pay no attention to their softly whispered words save Eric, making the most of his attributes.

Next to come up were the orcs, who almost pugnaciously faced the crowd. Eric was curious, despite himself, as to what they would say. To their twisted credit, they made no apologies nor even attempt to deny earlier implications and accusations laid at their feet by Eric.

Instead, they reveled in it.

“That’s right, humans! If you wish to revel in power and glory, to give in to your deepest, darkest desires and embrace the demons within, then join the orcs! Allow us to feast upon all the fresh prey within any territory you claim! You will gain the titles Warlord and Friend of the Orcs, and have allies just as savage as you, fellow soldiers in a quest for triumph and glory that will be oathbound never to stab you in the back! And the rogues among you know just how rare a treat it is to find fellow killers eager for the hunt, who you never need fear hunting you! And that, friends, is worth any sized pot of gold! But don’t for a minute think economic opportunities are lacking within our glorious faction. Hell no! Because both the Crimson Trader and Dark Smuggler Professions allow you to trade freely in slaves, drugs, poisons, and other contraband anywhere in the local galactic cluster, without ever having to worry about getting summarily executed! Only confiscation of your goods and a slap on your wrist by local law enforcement, even if you’re stupid enough to get caught! Things lesser racial professions are forbidden from trucking in altogether!”

The shorter orc dipped his head. “Do you want power? We can grant that as well. For the Accords forbid naught of our teaching the worthy among you shamanistic magics to ward your friends and curse your foes!” He flashed a toothy smile. “For ours is the magic of spirit and blood. Nothing to do with System Arcanistry, and thus free of all System taboos! For the worthy, they could go far under our teachings, as Shaman and Warlord both!” He gave a curt nod before banging his staff upon the ground, half the audience squinting as he was suddenly surrounded by swirling black flame… and then is was gone, replaced by a shimmering shield of force Eric knew he’d need to fire his bow with the essences of Dominion, Fire, and Wrath all in play to break through.

Then his eyes widened in sudden understanding as he peered carefully at the patterns of power. The subtle oscillations within the warding that allowed the shaman to cast such a powerful enchantment had a significant downside. It weakened significantly every five seconds, like a muscle gone limp to recharge itself between reps, before pulsing back to full.

Like the ebb and flow of life itself. And whether it was the boon granted by his status as an Orc Slayer, or his own growing affinity with Human bloodmagics… his Find Weakness and Magesight let him sense just when to strike, should he value the shaman’s head above the fortune he stood to make as a friend of the Blue.

But since he did not… he took a deep breath and said nothing as the shaman snorted with satisfaction at the sight of at least a few pairs of hungry, glittering eyes in some of the harder-looking men gazing the orcs’ way, no doubt fantasizing about reveling in blood, slaughter, and countless slaves, as if all decency could be set aside for a quick-save kill-all game.

The only problem was that there was no reset, and every innocent lost to momentary pique and darkest revels was a life forever extinguished.

Eric could only hope that the gamer in all of them held those truths close to heart. Yet he sensed at least a few intended very dark paths indeed.

And one of them was actually bold enough to speak allowed.

A hard-looking men dressed in black leathers radiating low-key protective enchantments flashed Eric a cold smile. “So, shaman, are there any other ways to earn the Dark Smuggler Profession without claiming fresh territories? Perhaps… missions of convenience?”

Agent Caliban stiffened. The goblins snickered, and the elves present glared at the men.

The man’s cold smile grew, so arrogant in his power as to boldly smirk at Eric, with a dozen guildmasters and mercenary captains watching on. “Perhaps certain insignificant classless nothings need to be… put in their place?”

Social Perception Check successful!

“What the hell is Joshua doing?” Herb hissed to his friend.

Vincent glowered and shook his head.

Eric frowned, unclenching his tightened jaw as he glared at the man.

Because one thing he did not sense from this Joshua was a hunger for coin.

His goal was something else. Eric was sure of it.

The pair of orcs glared at Eric for long moments, before chuckling coldly. “Did this little worm not attend this meeting, a man could earn a generous prize indeed, pulling this thorn from our paw.”

“But he does attend this meeting,” none other than Caliban noted. “Which means he is a Contender, and the codes are exquisitely clear on that point.”

“Neither diplomats nor champions may threaten or deliberately inflict harm, directly or indirectly, upon any Contender, or diplomat, or their family. And this includes forcing economic hardship or deliberately revealing information to said champion’s enemies. If this policy is not followed in good faith… the guilty parties will suffer stiff sanctions that will very likely cost then any chance of earning Earth’s throne,” said none other than Annika Drevyn, eyes crackling with arcane fire as she glared at the orc Shaman.

The Shaman laughed. “The fey bitch is right, human. You want to earn Warlord rank? Go take your men and clear out an elf, gnome, or human enclave or commune. Any sized territory will do, and rank, prestige, forbidden knowledge, and slaves will all be yours. But if any of you fools are stupid enough to attack one of us, you’ll be pariah. And if we’re stupid enough to do the same…”

The orc shook his head, before his maw twisted in a fanged smile, now looking right at Eric.

“You got lucky in Gilton, Roundear. I dare you to try that in any other orc territory. They’ll gladly tear you limb from limb, before sending me your head as a gift!” The monster turned his glare to everyone else. “And that’s how it should be done. Let the fool dig his own grave, then laugh in his shrieking face when he manages to fall right in!”

The pair of orcs then stomped to the back of the assembled diplomats, exquisitely careful not to even jostle the elves, despite their glares and bluster. Then it was a human and elf pair dressed in matching blue-grey uniforms presenting themselves with bows. Eric furrowed his brow, feeling a shiver as his interface both recognized the man as human… but somehow alien as well.

Oddly enough, the man actually caught Eric’s gaze and gave him the tiniest tilt of his head before turning to the woman beside him.

“Wife?”

The otaku dream of an elven girl with flawless features, platinum blond curls, and a lush sensual figure somehow both striking and classy, thanks to the cut of her Blue Corp business suit, flashed a mischievous grin to her husband, so at odds with the exquisitely bland expressions most Blue agents seemed to favor, before turning to the assembled crowd.

“Greetings, one and all. I am Merlina Brooks, wife of Johnathen Brooks, and North American representative of the Blue Faction here on Earth. We are fully incorporated, licensed, and bonded, with a multi-century track record of mutually beneficial business dealings on multiple System worlds, both here in the local cluster and hundreds more, just a single Isekai novel’s distance away!”

Eric blinked at the girl’s dimpled smile, feeling a sudden chill race down his spine.

Was she saying what he thought she was? Isekai a code for alternate mirrored worlds they were all left completely ignorant of, the truth only slipped through via the medium of cultural reference? And if the stormy look Caliban was sending her was any indication, she was treading on dangerous ground indeed.