Eric’s savage high, feeling like an avenging god as he brought death to one unsuspecting orc after another, froze to sudden apprehension, the warning in his Interface exquisitely clear.

Though why it would even do so was beyond him, feeling as if such favoritism was avoided as a cardinal sin. Unless, perhaps, his opponents’ breaches of good faith had been so egregious that even the System felt the need to even the score?

Still, the message was clear.

The hunter was being hunted.

And even if it was just a metaphor for the fact that assassins had been gunning for him over the last few days, and he’d be a fool ever to fall into too predictable a pattern, or the only warning he would ever get that an assassin was even now squeezing the trigger of his Mark II Deathblaze… he’d be a fool to do anything but assume he was under their cross-hairs at all times.

Because the moment he assumed he wasn’t…

Might be the last moment he walked this earth.

Quickness check made!

He twisted and ducked inside a tight alley between buildings, mind racing as he planned his next desperate move. He considered the virtues of fleeing after heading back to the warehouse district and claiming the countless crates of supplies still being stored in all the other warehouses before disappearing with the dawn, but shook his head. His original plan was better. It would take him hours to get everything in over a dozen warehouses, even with his speed and ES Storage space. Far better to use the final precious hour before true sunrise to cleanse this town of its orcish infection and claim it for himself. At that point, he could claim any and all supplies at his leisure before heading off for more hit and run tactics, so even if the invaders were stupid enough to make a move against Blue, they would have nothing to show for their efforts save an empty ghost town and one less faction that would trade with them under any circumstances.

Yet despite his decision he still felt metaphoric crosshairs on his back, his mind racing with possible solutions to that final deadly twist to his dilemma, thinking he just might have an answer as he slipped into one of the larger barracks filled with sleeping orcs and brutalized women, all thoughts of calculated vengeance turning to white-hot fury as he enacted retribution in the only way he could.

His mithril blade cleaved through orcish necks and bedframes with equal ease, the shrieks and screams of a dozen exhausted women easily drowning out the sound any sound that the half dozen orcs who managed to wake up in time managed to utter when they spotted the wild-eyed blood-spattered monster butchering them all.

Even in his state of pristine fury as he gazed at the handful of orcs snarling and roaring in confusion in the darkness, he realized that it no longer mattered how loud he was.

For the sounds of torment and cries were so firmly enmeshed within the background susurrations of this hellhole camp that no one would blink an eye to any sound made here.

Yet the orcs looking at their own entrails bursting from their ripped open abdomens could barely utter a wheeze as they curled up in agonized balls, let alone match the terrified shrieks of women who could see almost nothing in the pre-dawn gloom.

You have flawlessly decapitated 17 orcs!

You have successfully disemboweled 6 orcs!

You have cleaved free the limbs of 1 orc with the sense to grab a captive.

You have severed the spine of 3 orcs shouting their surrender!

Experience earned.

Congratulations! Swordsmanship is now Rank 23!

His earlier cynical observations aside, however, with the way Eric’s ears were now ringing painfully with the sudden decibel increase, he feared even their jaded neighbors might soon wander in to investigate.

“Shut up! You’re going to alert those assholes!” Eric shouted. Countless terrified screams instantly stilled as dozens of red-eyed women shuddering in too thin shifts looked blindly in his direction.

“What… what’s going on?” said the husky voice of a girl who couldn’t have been any older than him.

“Change in management,” Eric curtly said. “Now, can any of you use a musket? The ones I have are already cocked and loaded. But I’ll warn you now, try not to spill the black powder out of the ignition pan, and don’t bother firing them until daylight, and only if orcs actually enter.”

He didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried that three hands shot up, including the girl who had first spoken.

“I’ve shot my pa’s rifle since I was twelve. Been to two civil war reenactments. So yeah, I can shot those muskets just fine,” said the girl, Eric placing a full half dozen loaded rifles on the bed before her, after flipping all the corpses into storage, most definitely not infusing even one with necromantic energies.

The girl flinched at his touch, and he didn’t blame her, but he held her hand firmly, making sure he could feel the half dozen guns he had left.

“I’ll leave it to you to distribute them as you see fit, or just shoot them yourself, one by one, if this place isn’t cleansed by morning.”

The girl jerked a nod. “You got any powder horns, wadding, or shot?”

Eric wordlessly placed the orc’s munitions on the bed, trusting the girl to keep the guns loaded and ready for any trouble that might come their way.

“I… let’s just say there are a lot of rooms filled with women… and children… who have no idea what’s going on.” Eric swallowed. “I have to work quickly, so I don’t have a lot of time. What’s your name?”

“Marcia,” the girl whispered.

Eric nodded. “Then I’ll trust you to gather and organize the girls, Marcia,” he said, now leaving her a full twenty muskets, all lined up on the blood-stained bed.

“So, wait, what faction do you represent?” She bit her lip. “I’d… I’d like to join. Whatever fucking faction you belong to, sign me up, I’ll take the oath right here, right now.”

Eric was surprised to see more than one girl nodding at that.

“Sorry, I’m something of a free agent. There’s just me and my summoned crew. The territories I claim I just toss to Blue.”

Marcia blinked, soft brown eyes squinting in the dark as she tried to make out his shadowy form. “Wait, you’re officially claiming territories? So you’re an actual Contender? And you’re taking on the entire Blacktooth faction?”

Eric grinned. “Damn right. I know it’s not safe now, but if you ever find yourselves in Ashland territory, it’s now home to a full dozen delves with both the Endless Adventure and Adventurer’s Paradise Perks, not to mention a Tier 2 Ascension pod. Which means you can see if you have it in you to grab a class with zero chance of death.”

The girls murmurs grew hushed...then excited whispers filled the barracks.

“Are you serious? Fucking hell, you mean there’s actually hope for people like us?”

Eric nodded, giving her hand a final squeeze. “And Elonia Silver’s faction is just ahead. Assuming we can break the siege… I don’t think she’d have any problem accepting your allegiance, or even just escorting you to Ashland, where you might find that the former orc keep is now run by fellow survivors who will be happy to take you in until I can invest in apartments, townhouses, guildhalls, restaurants, community parks, shopping centers, and, well, basic infrastructure. Of course, there’s also Freetown. Though you might want to avoid Freetown, as I have it on very good authority there’s going to be a hot war there in the very near future.”

Marcia just stared at him as the words blathered out of his mouth.

Eric swallowed, not sure what else to say. “Alright, I gotta go. More reds to take out. More people to save.”

“Eric?”

“Yes, Marcia?”

“Um...” she rattled her chain collar. “I don’t suppose you have the...”

Strength check made!

Her eyes widened when Eric snapped the lock.

“Fuck, just how strong are you?”

Eric chuckled. “Alright, I guess there is one final thing to do before I go.” He quickly switched Strength for Blood Magic, pleased to find it worked pretty damned well as a key, even with magicless restraints like these. And twelve freed locks later, Eric was one with the night. Though he quickly found that his latest escapade finally clued his enemies that something was wrong, catching sight of several dozen orcs, both conscripts and classers blinking in the pitch darkness, roaring in the night.

“Wake up, stupidheads! We’re under attack! Wake up or I’ll—“

You have critical struck Orc Berserker!

Fatality!

In the blink of an eye, Eric was before his prey, finally unleashing tightly held fury as he roared his hate, his mithril blade whistled through the air as he painted the confused howling orcs in streaks of brilliant crimson only he could see, flashing a smile bright with fierce hate when his enemies lashed out blindly with their axes and spears, Eric weaving past weapons that now moved, to his eyes, as slowly and awkwardly as he had once felt, the few very times Vincent had made him practice sparring in a pool

A half dozen conscripts crashed to the ground in just as many seconds. Then a confused-looking Berserker blinked one final time as his skull exploded in a violent spray of bone and gore.

Eric allowed himself a single frown of disappointment as the remaining orcs, still seeing nothing but shadows, lurched back with guttural cries.

He had struck his last foe with the fury of fifty pound hammer, not the smooth slicing blow of a surgically sharp, micro-serrated mithril blade.

He needed to temper his rage.

He needed to focus.

Above all else, he needed to be worthy of his mentor’s lessons, no matter how much he screamed inside for the dozen girls that had put on such a brave front, for all that the air had been rife with their oppressor’s taint and their own blood in that awful chamber of death and despair. Having seen the crumpled lifeless body of the emaciated girl shoved in the corner of that barracks, a girl who hadn’t manage to survive yet another night of the monster’s ministrations.

A child he had failed to get to in time.

“Monster! A demon walks among us. Get the shaman. Get the shaman! We need to—“

Eric flashed a fierce smile when the largest of the remaining orcs radiating a Classer’s potency collapsed to the ground with a spurting neck stump, oversized head nothing but bone fragments and shrapnel spraying the flat-footed orcs.

You have critically struck Level 24 Orc Berserker with cannon ball!

And whether or not the orcs could see anything, they had certainly been stung by the bone shrapnel that had splattered everywhere, the sting of dozens of cuts and the stench of their commanders blood more than enough to break the remaining orc’s moral.

“Flee! We must flee! The Nightmare of Gilton has returned!” Screamed an orc who might or might not have once walked free under truce from the first city Eric had ever claimed.

Not that turning tale and running did them a lick of good as eight foot tall fleeing beasts found themselves stumbling over spurting leg stumps, trembling hands blindly feeling and being cut open by the mithril blades blossoming from their chests, or blinking in abject confusion, mouths opening in silent screams as skulls were freed of necks in sprays of frothy gore.

In less time than it had taken to carefully free twelve girls from chains of black iron, over a score of orcs had fallen to his blade.

Eric tilted back his head and howled at the moon that dared gaze down upon her crimson avatar.

Allowing the white hot fury to fill him once more, washing away all guilt, regret, or fear.

The exquisite precision of a perfect slice was a dream for another time.

Now? Now, there was only a berserker’s fury. He would paint the entire town in the blood of his foes.

A feat he pulled off before the first rays of dawn heralded a fresh new day, one careful ambush after another using sword and pilum slowly whittled his enemies down to less than fifty by the time he sensed his runic ritual finally coming to an end.

So he laughed as the air rang with the shouts and cries of the remaining clusters orcs, the most elite of the tribe, exquisite precision picking up the words he should have most dreaded… and most wanted to hear. He had already deduced that this den of nightmare and debauchery, a feast of torments for so many innocents, the stench of Rotgut on the breath of every orc and too many broken girls… meant that this town served multiple functions. Logistical Supply, and recreation for elite troops and those who had achieved significance on the front line, sniping away at his sister’s forces as best they could, just a territory away.

Where better for the elite assassins who had laughed so loudly after trying so hard to kill him and his sister both end up enjoying some much needed R&R than right here?

Yet an entire night spent killing orc classers and grunts, as carefully and quietly as he could, once he began to appreciate just who might make an appearance besides orc Classers and thugs, and not a whisper of any goblins could he find.

But now, with the crack of dawn and a shaman screaming that his magic had returned, the chieftain was most definitely on the hunt. Also making it clear that he wasn’t alone when the morning air rang with the crack of musket fire as more than one orc voice cried out in alarm, others in mortal agony.

Eric hissed and cursed under his breath, but was already moving, knowing that the dozen girls he had rescued in the first pleasure tent were about to pay the ultimate price for daring to defy the monsters that would break them, body and soul.

“Snible! The assassins are in there! Take them out, take them out!” Roared a voice that could only be the chieftain’s, Eric’s interface pinning an absolute swarm of red dots right before the largest of the brothel chambers, where Eric had given a certain hard-eyed girl a score of loaded and primed muskets.

“Hah! Are you an idiot? No assassin’s in that whore house. Just your bitches. It’s your own fault they got their oily little hands on your muskets!” The sound of three tittering goblin chuckles rang through the air. “Me and my boys came here to relax, Korlitch, not clean up your messes. But if you want us to put down the only reason why we come here, it’s going to cost you… 10,000 credits.”

“And we get to keep our favorites!” Squealed another tinny goblin voice.

“Yeah. What Zorgle said. We each take our favorite… and we’ll only have to kill one or two to get the rest to back… wait, what the fuck? No, no, NO!”

Eric smiled coldly as he spotted the massed collection of thirty or so orc Classers covered in pot helms and steel breasplates over hauberks of mail, each of them holding wicked looking axes or javelins, at least half of them now staring Eric’s way with looks spanning the gamut from confusion to absolute fury to awful despair as he popped out of his latest kill sight, flashing the amassed assembly of humanoid abominations just a few buildings away a killer’s grin. His silent commands assured that retreat would not be an option as all the alleyways between the buildings filled up revenants bristling walls of bayoneted muskets. Even the dullest of the orcs groaned with dismay when they realized they had been effectively surrounded on all sides.

Best of all, absolutely best of all, was the sight of three stunned-looking goblins, looking like 4 foot tall wet scabby dogs covered in exotic kevlar reinforced body armor, all three wielding bull-pup Mark I arcane blasters near identical to the two he had already claimed.

“NO! You should be dead, dead!” Screamed the wide-eyed Snible, slowly raising his blaster Eric’s way as he tried to slip halfway behind the roaring nine foot orc that had to be the chieftain, the latter roaring as he waved his massive guandao above his head.

“So, the rat nibbling at the heels of my men dares to reveal himself at last!” Korlitch roared as one stunned second became two, and even the chieftain’s eyes widened at the sight before him, lurching back from the pitiless gazes of hundreds of undead revenants pinning Eric’s prey into the central boulevard, Korlitch all but pressing himself against the shaman who clenched his eyes shut, pouring all the energy he could into the shimmering ward protecting the men behind behind him.

Unified Perception Check made!

Find Weakness check made!

You sense your opponent’s bluff, and the ebb and flow of the shaman’s ward!

“I challenge you! We will duel, you and I, for the right to claim this territory and lead this tribe!” Roared the chieftain.

“Challenge? No need for that,” Snible declared with a deprecating smile. “This human, he’s a natural fighter. A warrior, through and through! All this was to prove yourself, no? Prove yourself worthy of a destiny far beyond Blacktooth… worthy of serving as a mercenary assassin like my brothers and I! Taking out the most infamous targets in the galaxy, with millions, perhaps even billions of credits up for grabs to the most skillful bounty hunters in the sector! Isn’t that right, boy?”

Snible actually dared to wink. “You’re trying to unlock an Elite Tier class aren’t you. Well congratulations! You have! Fight by my side, and I’ll take you on as my own apprentice! What do you say?”

The chieftain glared at the goblins before roaring a second challenge as the goblins slowly tensed, their cries for mercy ringing false on Eric’s ears as the goblin assassins exchanged the slightest of nods, communicating with subtle shifts in stance, like the three well-trained killers that they were.

Before crying out when a coldly smiling Eric summoned his Soul Linked anti-material rifle, instantly appearing in his upright arm, cross-hairs already on Snible’s oil-slicked scaly forehead.

“How much you wanna bet I get your eyes before you raise those blasters?” Eric taunted his three would-be killers, their own Mark-Is frozen at a perfect angle between the ground and Eric’s face.

The chieftain’s eyes bulged, taking in the tools of death now pointed their way. “No. NO! This is not right! You have no honor! Fight me, would-be champion, and earn your place as the leader of our tribe, or die at my feet!”

Eric smirked, not even bothering to shake his head. All his focus on the three trembling goblins, all but daring them to try and fade before his sight. “I think I’ll pass. I have absolutely no interest in taking over your tribe, Korlitch.”

The chieftain frowned as Eric tightened his will upon the blood-soaked cloths covering so many white-hot pellets nestled in well-packed charges of black powder kissing balls of lead and steel.

“Then why are you here?” The chieftain asked in confusion and a sort of desperate hope as the goblins were the first to cry out in surprise when the tiny gap between two buildings, not even a proper alley, that they tried to slip through revealed the glowing green pin pricks of revenants so tightly packed that not even a master of stealth could slip through.

Revenants that only opened emaciated faces and smiled when white-hot streams of plasma did nothing but punch neat holes into bodies that were long past any metabolic needs.

“I’m here for your heads, boys!” Eric said with a killer’s grin. “This is Vendetta! This is war! You started it, and I’m going to end it! Before I’m done, I’ll see you all burn in hell!”

And before the wide-eyed Snible or the furious-looking Korlitch could react, the air erupted with the roars of six 24-pounder cannons going off in staccato rhythm, filling the air first with shells that effortlessly pierced the shaman’s soap-bubble wards before ripping completely through the entire packed company of berserkers, taking out the center mass a heartbeat before the air was filled with white smoke and a wave of cast iron shot ripping through every remaining orc shrieking for quarter like a blastwave of oblivion, leaving nothing behind but a massive crimson splatter interspersed with shockingly white shards of bone and grey colored gore that stretched for well over a hundred yards absolutely drenching the road and the sides of the adjoining buildings, the fronts of many of them almost as badly obliterated as the targets of Eric’s wrath.

A Pollock masterpiece of death and despair. Showcasing so viscerally the tragedy of war.

“That’s what happens to assholes who fuck with my world!” Eric roared, before howling with the sudden rush of power infusing his soul to the backdrop of terrified high-pitched screams as Eric silently gave his troops free reign to wreak holy hell on every remaining red in the city, countless blinking lights flickering out of existence as Eric finally claimed his due.

High command and the majority of all enemy forces within Greystone Province have been eliminated! You have successfully seized Greystone Province!

The endless potential of a fresh ripe territory lies before you!

And Eric could sense it all, in that pristine, glorious moment. How he could reshape this entire valley to be yet another glorious adventuring mecca. Even better, after his experiences in Solaris Territory, sensing the careful forging and weaving of an exquisitely pure, infinitely complex magical aura somehow bearing the spiritual imprints of his mother, twin sister, and Lady Arci herself, he understood what it meant to infuse a once humble territory with gloriously rich fields of arcane potential. It was a lesson he had learned so well in his halcyon moments of transcendence that he could now gift that High Mana trait to any territory he would reforge in his image, at the cost of a single Lesser Bounty.

Sadly, he couldn’t infuse Greystone with Spiritual energy, broken off as it was from the tiny handful he had been able to infuse with that gift, bridging the gap to a pristine cultivator’s realm. So too, Greystone would only be able to host a small handful of Delves, at best, separated as it was from the handful of territories saturated with the greater boon of a full dozen. Both of those traits were fantastic success he could only echo with adjoining territories that would serve as a continuation of the miracles that had come before. He could never replicate them again without any adjoining lands mirroring those marvels.

Even if he could still infuse any delve blossoming here with Adventurer’s Paradise, assuring at least the potential of great wealth, Promise of Adventure would only open a half dozen fresh delve portals within this territory, half the number in Picksonville or Ashland’s endless dozen. Yet regardless, they would assure challenging but fair encounters, where the peril was very real, but Delvers at least had an echo of a hero’s luck to see them through, free of the sacrificial deathtraps goblins deliberately incorporated within their own artificial constructs.

A single glance at Freetown’s surrounding delves in his Dominion interface map while infused with a creator’s power brought home that truth like never before. Eric could feel it in his soul. It was an epiphany that would leave him soon enough, but the memory of his insight would remain.

There was a deadly flaw in the dungeons around Freetown that all but assured too-high mortality rates, because it brought the dungeon-seeding costs for the Snicklit tribe to near zero. All of them instead seeded by the foulest of enchantments, with Poor Wealth and Perilous Sacrifice for the best of them. Because their faction clearly lacked anyone with Eric’s gifts.

No wonder they had been so hungry to recruit what Contenders they could. Assuming they weren’t actually quite happy with their piss-poor dungeons, eager to trap even the most hardworking adventurers in inescapable debt before forcing indentured-servant collars around all their throats before the year was out.

Eric was now halfway certain that such had been their aim from the very start.

He grit his teeth and shook his head. He was at war, surrounded by hostile territories on three sides. And to his west, a massive grey territory tinged the color of blood that had nothing to do with enemy reds, and everything to do with the threat tier and opponent levels his Interface made painfully clear could be expected within that territory. Wildlands filled with unseen perils significant enough that no faction had dared stake a claim in any wild territory that Eric could tell. No matter the dozens if not hundreds of level 20th and 30th level Adventurers that might be at their disposal.

Eric knew he’d be a fool to invest himself in this isolated territory that could so easily be snatched from him on all sides, lest he pay a cost in sweetest potential that would only strengthen the bastards so eager to kill him and his sister both.

He dare stride along no Path save that of Endless Bounty, drinking deep of its crimson cup of power, howling with the infusion of might now trembling through his soul, while leaving a pair of boons for the land in turn.

Strength has increased by 15 Points!

Vitality has Increased by 15 Points!

Greystone Valley has been infused with the blessings of Faerie.

Greystone Valley now possesses a high mana field.

The Crimson Balance has been maintained!

Path of Endless Bounty is now Rank 11!

You have Earned 1 additional Level as a Primal Adventurer. (You now have 27 unspent points to invest in your stats)

Will this territory serve as the foundation of your empire?

That will be a hard no, Eric thought, chuckling softly to himself when his bid was accepted faster than even he could blink, or any other contender could make a counteroffer.

Blue Faction accepts Dominion over Greystone Province in accordance with pre-established agreement between Lord Caliban and Contender: Eric Silver.

All sovereign rights to Greystone Province have been ceded to Blue Faction.

Eric Silver accepts standard 20% share of all profits generated within Greystone Province or from the auction or sale of first-hand goods manufactured with resources derived from Greystone Province.

Contents within storage facilities remain the property of Eric Silver.

All bonded Terrans within Greystone Province have received the status of Freemen. All Freemen are free to live and work without penalty within Greystone Province as they see fit. All Freemen will be given premium access to any and all employment opportunities that will be made available within Greystone Province.

All Blue Corp Territories are Safe Havens. Any and all parties and their proxies entering Safe Havens surrender all rights to engage in lawfare (whether contractual, civil, or Writs of Summons, Compliance, Servitude, Dominion or otherwise) against Eric Silver or any other VIP investors or their immediate families, companions, or adventuring parties while within said territories.

No force hostile to Eric Silver’s faction may enter any Blue Faction Territory wherein Eric Silver’s status is that of VIP investor.

Eric Silver is considered a VIP investor within Greystone Province / Picksonville Province / Ashland Province.

All members of Bloodtear Alliance must vacate Greystone Province within 24 hours or lose Blue Corp trading privileges within Subjugated world 6783Y! All members of Blacktooth (and all other Orc) tribes must vacate Greystone Province within 24 hours or lose Blue Corp trading privileges within Subjugated world 6783Y!

Note. Any attempt to seize significant territory within, or slaughter the citizens of, any Blue Faction territory will be seen as AN ACT OF WAR as per pre-established galactic protocols.

Blue Faction will respond accordingly.

Blue Faction reserves the right to develop Greystone Province as seen fit to maximize profitability.

Any ventures funded by Eric Silver within Greystone Province will be deducted a 20% Royalty fee (Earmarked for future planetary sovereign) and a 20% Administrative fee (Blue Faction share) to be taken out of profits exclusively.

Eric couldn’t quite hold back a gleeful cackle as he sensed the flood of red dots gathered near the territory map borders immediately head for the closest territory exits, all but fleeing from Greystone. He could just imagine the furious roars of countless orc commanders, after Eric slipped past Pilmsburg entirely, choosing to avoid the massive citadel capable of putting nearly any force in its place.

None of them had expected their logistical supply center and R&R hub to be snatched right out from under their noses. Because only a fool would leave at their backs an enemy fortress capable of slaughtering your supply train and reserves at will, or fielding countless troops that could rally and strike your rear flank at any time. Unless, of course, your force was comprised entirely of self sufficient extremely mobile units that could zip around battlefields faster than any knight, or even mechanized infantry, and were completely self sufficient, needing no logistical supplies at all. Even better if they were an ever growing force of near invincible soldiers, at least against low level opponents without artillery, that could be summoned entirely from a single ring.

“And that’s exactly what I did,” Eric said, looking at the absolute carnage of his no once-more stored cannon battery with a smile, now that the smoke had cleared and there was nothing but the shredded remains of countless bodies and just a few fragmented skulls that still had eyes intact enough to stare accusingly at him from the bloody soup that the ground had become.