Zhu and his subordinates spent an entire day deciding who would accompany him on his first diplomatic mission.

Sarin was an obvious choice. Although Zhu hated the idea of exposing his strong right hand to a bunch of disease-ridden fanatics, he suspected the talks were doomed without her. Tyto reluctantly agreed to attend to ensure the Worm King didn’t trick them into signing any underhanded oaths.

Zhu wanted to avoid withdrawing too many high-tier combat synths, but realized it would be foolish not to bring at least one warmonger.

Dargoth had been his first choice. In the event things went awry, Zhu wouldn't have any qualms sacrificing the irascible pseudo dragon to save Sarin or himself.

Unfortunately, Dirge—for some godforsaken reason—was determined to go. Not even Zhu could tell him 'no' when he got on his knees and begged.

“Fine! You win! Now get off the floor!" Zhu glowered at Dirge. "I planning on leaving Parabellum in your hands. Now who the hell am I going to leave in charge?"

“Brother Aldrin should receive that honor,” Dirge replied.

The transmuter shook his head. “I’m flattered, brother, but I am no wartime leader.”

“Zargon?”

“He’s too indecisive,” Sarin said.

“How about Dargoth?” Strychnine suggested. Zhu and Aldrin gawked at her.

“Have you lost your mind, cousin?” Aldrin snapped.

“No,” Strychnine pouted. “You could at least hear me out before you jumped down my throat.”

“Entrust Parabellum to that blithering idiot? I refuse to even entertain the notion!”

“Dargoth is a fierce warrior that can pull off clever maneuvers when he puts his mind to it, but he lacks charisma and is too reactive to be a truly effective leader. He is not ready for such a heavy task.”

“And he never will be!” Aldrin maintained. “Dargoth is lucky he didn’t lose his head after his recent failure!”

“Even if Dargoth hadn’t fucked up royally, I don’t think I can ever trust him. Garm despised me. Chances are Dargoth does too.”

“Garm hates you, warlord?” Dargoth asked, shocked.

“How did you not notice? That dude bitched about the Bubble Buddy sect on a weekly basis,”

“That’s exactly why we should give Dargoth a chance!” Strychnine shouted. “He must feel terrified and isolated now that Garm is gone. We should capitalize on that loneliness and bring him to our side!”

“Dargoth is many things, but he is not a fair-weather follower!” Aldrin snapped. “He would never renounce Garm for a temporary promotion!”

“I didn’t say anything about turning him against Garm,” Strychnine protested. “We just have to get him to like uncle.”

“The fact you think we can turn him so easily has me questioning your loyalty, cousin,” Aldrin hissed. “I can’t help but wonder if you're projecting your own fickleness onto him.”

“How dare you even suggest that!” Strychnine exclaimed. Dirge clasped a hand over her shoulder and glowered at Aldrin.

Zhu cuffed Aldrin over the head. “Stop being a dick. Strych, you raise an interesting point, but it sounds like a longshot. I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no.”

“What do you suppose we do then, creator?” Sarin asked. “Continue to shun him and we may push him into becoming the traitor you fear.”

“Wait, are you telling me you actually support Strych’s idea?” Zhu asked.

“I would hope so,” Strychnine muttered. “She’s the one that came up with it.” The saboteur crossed her arms when Sarin glared at her. “Don’t give me that look. Find someone else to test the waters for you.”

Aldrin laughed. “How gutless of you Sarin! How long have you been acting as her mouthpiece, cousin?”

“Just this one time,” Strychnine grumbled, still smarting from his previous accusation.

“Well, don’t let her pressure you into doing that anymore.” Zhu smirked at Sarin. “We all know you're the smartest one in the room.” Aldrin gasped dramatically, but Zhu didn’t notice. “No one is going to think any less of you for throwing out the occasional stinker.”

“There are many merits to my proposal,” Sarin said defensively. “I understand your reservations about Dargoth, but we need to address his behavior sooner rather than later.”

“All we need to do is keep close tabs on him until someone can take his place,” Aldrin argued.

“A process that could take years. It takes at least twenty tyrant stones to gestate a tier four synth,” Sarin reminded him. “We haven’t encountered a single purple blooded creature since we arrived here. Who knows how long it will take for us to procure those resources?”

“Doesn’t it take a uterine replicator up to three years to create something when it’s given the bare minimum?” Strychnine mused.

“That is the typical time frame,” Aldrin grudgingly admitted.

“The numbers speak for themselves. Creating another warmonger will be a lengthy and costly process. Even if we had the means to replace him quickly, it would be a terrible waste to do away with such a potent asset.”

“Yeah, Dargoth hasn’t done anything that warrants killing him,” Zhu told Aldrin. He turned towards Sarin. “That said, I am still not onboard with giving him the keys to the city. There has to be better way to get on his good side.”

“Dargoth has always been full of himself. At some point, he will demand an opportunity to lead. Instead of waiting for him to spring his request during a critical time, I propose we throw him a bone now.”

“This is a critical time! We’re on the brink of annihilation!”

“Stop being over dramatic, Aldrin. We may be in a precarious position, but our situation has stabilized. Even if he does aim to usurp the archduke, our absence will be too brief for him to do us any harm.”

“I suppose you have a point.” Zhu admitted. "I can't imagine the talks going on for more than a week and we would only be a day’s flight away. Makes me wonder why we’re even debating this issue. Anyone with half a brain will do.” He scratched his chin. “Then again, putting Dargoth in charge after his recent fuck up could send the wrong message. I don’t want the other synths or zealots to get the impression I reward incompetence. Not to mention the ones that are actually qualified to lead might take it personally.”

“The decision might disappoint some of them, but I doubt any of them would truly resent you for it.”

“You sure about that?” Zhu asked.

Sarin shrugged. “If I am wrong, this would be an excellent opportunity to weed out the less faithful elements of your forces. Strychnine, could you keep tabs on the other commanders while we’re gone?”

“Eh, you want me to do even more eavesdropping?”

“Do you have anything better to do?”

“That’s all I have been doing recently,” Strychnine complained. “At least the mercenaries sometimes say something interesting. Listening in on synths and zealots is mind numbing.” She sighed. “But for the greater good, I’ll grit my teeth and bear it.”

Sarin rolled her eyes. “We appreciate your sacrifice.”

“Why are you guys acting like I already authorized this?” Zhu asked.

“I was speaking hypothetically, creator. Of course, the decision is yours to make.”

Zhu glanced at Aldrin and Dirge. The former remained unconvinced, while the latter looked conflicted.

“What are your thoughts, Dirge?”

“Much of what sister Sarin says sounds sensible to me, but I am not entirely convinced leaving Dargoth is without its risks, warlord. Our scouts report the luddites are assembling again. It appears they are still determined to topple Parabellum.”

“Seriously? They're determined, I’ll give them that. How big is their posse?”

“They’ve amassed around four thousand neanderthals and five hundred elephants, warlord.”

“Hah! What do they plan on doing with those numbers? Bleed on us?” Zhu stroked his barbels when a thought occurred to them. “Maybe they plan on attacking the temple again?”

“I doubt that, warlord. They are gathering west rather than east.”

“Okay. In that case, I don’t have a clue what’s going on in their heads. It doesn’t matter. I’ve lost my patience with them. We still have time before we have to leave. Let’s go mop them up while they’re still conveniently gathered in one spot.”

“Pardon for interjecting, creator, but perhaps we should hold off on that.”

Zhu nearly ripped off his mustache. All this time Sarin had been pressuring him into killing them and now that he was finally onboard she was getting cold feet?

“Please hear me out, creator,” Sarin said before he voiced his frustrations. “It would take several rotations to reach them on foot. Why waste so much energy marching when we could just wait for them to come to us? I also suspect Dargoth would appreciate having an actual chance to exercise his authority.”

Zhu raised his hand. “Wait, a tick. Your proposition hinged on Dargoth not having any real power. I am not making him acting boss when the city is about to be besieged.”

“You said it yourself, creator. Defeating that mob will be an utterly trivial affair.”

"Dargoth's the poster boy of underestimating others. Good chance we’ll take a bunch of unnecessary casualties if we leave it up to him.”

“Even that scenario would play into our hands, creator. Should he perform below expectation, we will have the perfect justification to deny Dargoth future opportunities to command. Unpleasant as he may be, he does possess a sense of accountability. I imagine his recent shame is the only reason he hasn’t stormed over."

Zhu stroked his barbels. He still had his reservations, but he was warming up to her idea. The potential benefits were worth the mild risk. More importantly, this discussion reminded him that unlike—Dirge or Aldrin—Sarin’s devotion wasn’t necessarily unconditional.

Synths weren’t inherently loyal to their creators. Most players simply didn’t see why they wouldn’t want their creations to be unwaveringly obedient. In fact, the BLACK coalition initially enforced a strict rule against creating synths with individualistic mindsets.

A generous donation ensured that Sovereign and Sion looked the other way when Zhu decided to experiment and Sarin XIII. Her impressive performance convinced them to relax their rule. Of course, they would never tolerate a flat out rebellious synth—which is why Zhu made sure to mitigate the chance of being betrayed by programming Sarin to be unnaturally fond of him and his monstrous physique. There was absolutely no other motive behind that decision.

However, Zhu knew her affection had its limits. There was no telling what the proud and ambitious lamia thought of him now.

Given that she put up with his many eccentricities and impractical policies for so long, it was only fair that he’d have her back for once. A tiny part of him also hoped her plan would backfire. Much as he appreciated her competence, it would be reassuring to see her stumble for once.

“Fine. We’ll let Dargoth have his time in the sun. But if he screws up again, you’ll both be scooping poop for a year. Alrighty then, let’s get packing.”

*****

Zhu’s hopes for a quiet departure were instantly dashed. The hangar was so crowded he almost had to plow his way through the well-wishers. Shrike was waiting for him at the front. The zeraph quirked her brow when he handed her a utensil that was as big as a spatula.

“When I get back, you’ll have another duty,” he informed her. His eyes flicked towards Arnei, Velvet, and Natsume. “If it ever looks like I'm about to fall for their devious feminine wiles, you will jab me with this spork.”

“She’ll poke you full of holes if you go through with that! And I'll be first to fuck them!” Arnei warned.

"Jesus Christ woman, do you ever stop?"

“It’s time we set off, creator,” Sarin said. “Tyto, you’ll be flying with me. Brother Dirge, do you need help?” she asked as she watched him struggle to secure himself to the saddle.

“I would appreciate it, sister.”

The flight to the meeting point was uneventful, though Dirge would have disagreed with that sentiment. The synth clung to his wyvern for dear life and became violently ill the moment his hooves touched the ground again.

“It’s kind of crazy that this was the first time you’ve ever flown,” Zhu remarked as he watched Sarin gently rub the warmonger’s back.

Dirge’s queasiness worsened when several decaying figures and nearly fifty worm colonies emerged from a nearby cave. Zhu couldn’t tell which of the abominable priests was the Worm King. Unable to decide which was the most wretched amongst them, his eyes homed in on the token non-human. The pox-ridden creature resembled a cross between a mammal and a reptile. A pair of finger-length sabers jutted from the center of her long snout.

Gorgolisk

“Oh damn. A gorgolisk. Didn’t think I would see one of those again.”

The diseased stem mammal bared the rest of her teeth. “If your ancestors had their way, you wouldn’t have!”

Zhu held up his hands. “I got nothing against your kind. Pretty fond of you guys, actually.”

The gorgolisks were one of Conquest’s creative triumphs. Whereas most moons were populated by several intelligent species, the gorgonopsids were the only sophant creatures native to the Permian inspired moon, Cherfue. One would think that a monoethnic army would be less well rounded than one composed of multiple species, but that wasn’t the case.

The amount of physical variation the gorgolisks exhibited was staggering. According to an in-game lore book, the gorgolisks selectively bred themselves to optimize their caste-based social structure. Their marsupial-style reproductive system and ability artificial impregnate females enabled the cross-breeding of otherwise physically incompatible pairings. Some of the most extreme divergent breeds they created included the multi-ton gorgolisk maulers or the winged gargoyles that could achieve flight by inflating themselves with hydrogen. Sadly, the gorgolisks were rendered functionally extinct when the dominant clan, the Cereal Killers, chose to destroy Cherfue rather than lose it to their hated rivals, It-Burns-When-We-PVP.

Or so Zhu had thought.

Besides her illnesses, the hostile stem mammal was an archetypical short and stocky gorgolisk laborer. Her exposed belly pouch was the only reason Zhu recognized she was a female.

A harrowing cry interrupted whatever nasty retort the gorgolisk had been composing. One of her human peers fell upon his knees and raked the flesh beneath his eyes.

“What odious cruelty!” The old egg-infested wretch pointed a trembling finger at Zhu. “I have never seen such a lonely creature!” The pseudowyrm blanched when the insane man shuffled towards him. “We must remedy that at once!”

Zhu’s subordinates unsheathed their weapons in an instant.

“Stay back!” Sarin ordered; an arrow nocked to her great bow.

“I’d listen to them, Bogdan.” A pale robed man calmly walked over to the maniac and gently tugged his elbow.

“But doctor, there isn’t a trace of Raya’s light on that poor creature! I cannot in good consciousness allow him to be stuck in such a miserable state!”

“He seems content to me. You promised me you would show restraint. Clearly, I should have made you swear an oath. Rite-Of-Spring, please escort Bogdan back to his tent. He is too emotionally compromised to take part in these discussions.”

The fanatical priest hollered and yelled as four of Rite-Of-Spring’s skeletal vessels dragged him away.

The man that dismissed Bogdan dipped his head apologetically. “Please forgive my subordinate, sir. He is a passionate man and was taken aback by your unique condition.”

Zhu squinted at the so-called doctor. His title and the authority he wielded suggested he was the Worm King, but surely that wasn’t the case? He was suspiciously healthy. “Condition?”

The Worm King’s gray eyes met his. Zhu flinched when the worms dwelling within the translucent orbs wriggled.

“Your body is remarkably clean. I cannot detect any parasites on you,” The Worm King clarified.

“Hot baths are a great way of keeping fleas and other nasties away.”

The Worm King dutifully smiled. Several of his teeth were missing, but the ones that remained were pristine. “You misunderstand me. Regardless of how fastidiously hygienic one is, every creature is covered in countless tiny life forms so small that they cannot be seen through ordinary means.”

“You mean germs?”

The Worm King was delighted by his understanding. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you know of them. You venerate a god of knowledge after all. How were you able to sterilize your entire body?”

“I dunno,” Zhu answered truthfully. “Listen, you seem like a nice guy, all things considered, but can we keep the banter to a minimum? It’s pretty damn cold.”

The Worm King nodded in understanding. “Of course. Come in. Come in. Please make yourself at home in our humble abode.”

Everyone in Zhu’s group wore primitive hazmat suits, but even with this protection, none of them were keen on entering the contaminated cavern.

“We appreciate the offer, but we would prefer not to enter,” Sarin stated.

“I understand your reservations, but surely you don’t expect us to conduct our discussion out of here. We’d freeze to death.”

“Not to worry.” The Worm King and his corrupted companions looked on in awe as Sarin deposited lattice and tarpaulins upon the ground. With the help of Thordin’s transmutation abilities, Zhu’s team assembled two yurts within half an hour.

“Let’s begin,” Sarin declared when both groups filed into their respective tents.

******

Zhu let Tyto and Sarin handle the negotiations. To his relief, the discussion was straightforward. However, while the talks were easy to follow, the Worm King’s demands were difficult to swallow. Zhu nearly pulled out his gun when the man demanded five tons of silver just for passage.

“Will all due respect, Doctor Hawkwood, we could simply fly over your walls if we wanted to. We are only negotiating out of courtesy,” Sarin said.

Batora, the gorgolisk, sneered. “Don’t act as if we don’t have ways of preventing you from bypassing our barriers, or that you can fly every one of your citizens over. No doubt you seek to migrate to more habitable lands. We will not allow a single being through our gates unless our demands are met!”

“You underestimate us. We are more than capable of eking out a comfortable existence in this region,” Sarin lied. “We simply wish to weigh our options and determine whether the lands east of here are worth the effort.”

“They are! Surely your scheming god has told you as much!”

“There is no harm in confirming facts with our own eyes,” Tyto stated calmly, though Zhu imagined he was seething on the inside.

“Currently, we only wish to send out a small scouting party. We will pay a toll out of respect for your sovereignty, but we will not commit to a costly long-term deal at this time,” Sarin maintained.

“Regardless of how many beings are allowed past my walls, my current oath demands that I bar entry to any westerner,” The Worm King asserted.

“We know that the border kingdoms have not upheld their end of the deal,” Tyto stated confidently. “We would make better neighbors.” After his promotion, the exarch allegedly gained the ability to communicate with his god in a limited fashion. So far, Tyto mainly asked his god to provide them with maps or information on the eastern nations. It was an admittedly useful gift, but Zhu couldn’t help but view it as a glorified and overpriced magical search engine.

Tyto could only ask a few questions per day, and each required a hefty tribute. To complicate things further, Kanghui had an irrational preference for heart stones that came from sapient beings. By Tyto’s estimate, his god considered an average human heart stone to be more valuable than a hundred red beast stones.

The Worm King stared at Tyto, discomforting the zeraph. “Would you? The longs sought to take the entire world for themselves and slaughtered many in pursuit of that ambition.” The Rayan exarch then transferred his diseased eyes to Zhu, making him uncomfortable. “Do you intend to follow in their footsteps?”

“Honestly, I already got my hands full trying to run a single city. World domination sounds like it’d be a pain in the ass,” Zhu answered.

The Worm King refused to accept Zhu’s word until he made a myriad of oaths to Kanghui. To Zhu’s annoyance, the slippery plague priest remained unreceptive to their initial proposal until Sarin suggested they form a non-aggression pact.

Hours passed. Afraid that he would fall asleep in the middle of the proceedings, Zhu excused himself and went to keep the wyverns company. His grin turned crooked when Pathogen hissed at something behind him.

“It seems your pets don’t like me. A shame. They are majestic beasts.” When Zhu didn’t respond to the Worm King’s comment, he said, “Since neither of us has the patience for stuffy diplomacy, what say you and I have a chat while our subordinates handle the politics?”

Zhu grinned at the thought of an ancient malevolent lich being as lazy as he was. He still wasn’t particularly keen on speaking with the afflicted man, but figured he was obligated to at least try to ply the priest for information.

“You must wonder why a doctor would serve the goddess of infections.”

“Yeah. I am actually.”

“In truth, all doctors are. They just don’t realize it. We may concoct medicines or dabble with herbs, but a doctor’s true mission is to stave off death,” he glanced up at Zhu. “Why should that not include ourselves? When death loomed over me on my sixtieth birthday, was I supposed to just let it take me? By accepting Raya’s aid, I was given the chance to save more lives.”

Zhu scratched his head. He was not familiar enough with this world’s cosmology to debate the nature of its gods, but the duality of the Raya was clear even to him. None of the zeraphs disputed she was the god of light and life, but they also regarded her as a necessary evil. Zhu didn’t blame them.

“I won’t lecture somebody for trying to prolong their life, but I have a feeling that you didn’t extend yours just by putting a worm into each of your eyes.”

“No, I didn’t. When I first committed myself to Raya I immediately regretted it. The pain, the itching, the smell—it was utterly maddening. But I persevered and eased my suffering by transferring my least tolerable maladies onto murderers, rapists, slavers, and other scum. Even at my most miserable, I was very selective. Only the irredeemable suffered at my hands. Yet, despite my restraint, despite all the good I accomplished and the lives that I had saved, none of that mattered to the masses. When they looked into my eyes, they forgot all my past deeds and only saw a monster.” The Worm King took his first breath in a long a while. Zhu guessed that the doctor had kept this rant bottled up for many years.

“I would have spent the rest of my life alone or in the company of insane radicals if your ancestors hadn’t invaded Vaaloca. It was only when entire countries smelt of fire and brimstone that I found some slivers of begrudging tolerance.” The Worm King stared up at the sky. “I think that is the only genuine regret I still carry. That I directly benefited from the death and suffering of countless men, women, and children. Though I suppose that is a silly mindset to have, really.” He smiled thinly. “After all, a doctor can only profit if someone else is in pain. What helped ease my guilt was the knowledge that the uninfected plotted to have me burnt at the stake the moment the invasion was over. But by then, I had amassed a following of my own. So instead, they demanded I keep a vigil over these lands. Every year, the tithes they promised me grow slimmer and slimmer. I’ve even heard rumors they plan to starve us out.”

Zhu scratched his jaw, surprised that he had gotten so much information with so little probing. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Hawkwood shrugged. “I suppose I feel some kinship with you. The way you invoke your god’s name without reverence or enthusiasm, your lack of interest in political discourse, the hatred you are bound to be greeted with if you make your way east; your circumstances seem to mirror my own.” Hawkwood turned away before Zhu could respond. “Come, I am sure that the others miss our presence.”

******

Pacifists lamented the steep cost of war, but peace wasn't cheap either.

After days of negotiating, Hawkwood agreed to allow a small team to soar over his walls in exchange for three hundred pounds of silver, five hundred crossbows, and ten neanderthal heart stones. It was a rather high price considering they could have just sneaked past him, but ultimately it was a trivial hit to Parabellums’ coffers.

The non-aggression pact that came with it was another story. To ensure the diseased sentinels didn’t make any hostile moves towards Parabellum for the next two years the coalition reluctantly agreed to send them twenty-four monthly payments of fifteen hundred pounds of silver, four hundred steel weapons of their choosing, one hundred humanoid skeletons, and a painful number of heart stones.

“Why do they hunger for silver?” Dirge asked as he buckled himself to a wyvern. “You don’t suppose that they possess a replicator of their own?”

“If they did, they wouldn’t have been that impressed with our ability to manufacture steel tools,” Sarin replied.

“They probably just use it as money.” Zhu clacked his teeth in annoyance when his explanation only drew more puzzled glances. He made sure Tyto wasn’t listening in before he elaborated.

“Eh, the concept is a bit hard to explain. The gist is that barter can be a pain in the ass, so more developed societies usually come up with this thing called money. This stuff works as a universal good that everyone in your inner circle wants and needs. Kind of like how almost all our past trades involved gunpowder and heart stones. The big difference is that money typically is worthless at face value and is made of a material that is rare or is difficult to counterfeit. Since silver is uncommon, pretty, and virtually useless except as a conductor, it’s a popular type of money. Of course, the big problem with a silver-based economy is that the replicator essentially destroys the crafting materials used to make our coolest gizmos. And since precious metals like gold and silver don’t just grow back like they do on Tannin, we might end up wrecking this world’s economy if we don’t convince the other nations to transition to another kind of currency.”

Sarin listened, engrossed by this topic. “What kind of material do you suggest we adopt in lieu of silver?”

“Paper money probably. But let’s save this conversation for another time. I still have to recover from that buttfucking we just took.”

Sarin nodded, then looked at Dirge. “Dirge, please check in with Dargoth or Zargon. I am concerned about their lack of updates.”

“You know what they say; ‘no news is good news’. I am sure everything is fine.”

Then, as if the world conspired to throw Zhu’s words in his face, Dirge approached him with a grave expression a minute later.

“Warlord, the base is under attack!”