“This, my son. This is your masterpiece,” Aurelia declared, her voice hushed with odd reverence as they gloried under golden shafts of sunlight blessed with Picksonville’s Epic tier boon of perfectly balanced Heaven and Earth Spiritual Energies resulting in the most fertile conditions to be found anywhere on Terra. Eric could so clearly sense this territory’s potential to grow any crop imaginable, whether Spirit Peaches or the magical fruit to be found in both Dairyland and Silvergrove, so rich in arcane potential. Such treasures would blossom with incredible vibrancy here, before yielding seasonal harvests nearly a magnitude greater than what could be found anywhere else.

With an odd shiver through his soul, Eric sensed that truth as if it were a fundamental law, tied as this territory was to a Contender’s will and an adjoining domain that literally bridged the barrier between worlds.

With the right caretakers, even Silver Tier cuttings could take root, blossom, and yield incredible prizes within this tiny oasis of rich fecundity beyond anything anyone would find anywhere else on the entire planet.

Eric smiled, but before he could think of a witty rejoinder to his mother’s compliment, his eyes drank in the sight of an entire grove of towering peach trees reaching for the heavens, leaves rustling with notes eerily similar to golden bells in the breeze.

His heart began to race as they drove past acres and acres of massive, glorious peach trees. All but tasting their wondrous potential, for all that not one branch budded with the slightest pink promise of an entire world’s bounty. But he knew that, one day, whether a year, or a century from now, his glorious grove would bloom with such a wondrous bounty of Spirit Fruit that an entire generation could be blessed with incredible gifts nearly the equal of his own.

His mother’s hand gently squeezed his shoulder. “Did you claim it?”

Eric chuckled softly. “You’re damn right I did. 60% of any profits are mine and mine alone. 20% Blue Corp’s, and 20% Elonia’s, should she actually manage to claim Earth’s throne as her own. Perhaps most importantly, I can gift the fruit I like to anyone I desire. And I’ll make damn sure no goblin is grabbing any who doesn’t bleed through the nose for the privilege.”

He could sense Aurelia’s brilliant smile. “Well done, my son. You always did have an eye for the bigger picture.”

Eric smirked. “Yeah, but until very recently, until I was forged in fire, I lacked the grit to follow through on pretty much anything.” He sighed and shook his head with a rueful chuckle, doing his best to forgive that young goofball who spent far more time brooding and gaming than he ever had actually forging the life he himself had so desperately wanted to live. The soul exception being his fierce dedication to the martial, which he actually had a talent for, unlike acting, where, for all his efforts, he had always fallen flat.

He still found it remarkable that he had gained any Acting skill at all, though he wasn’t at all surprised to find that his insights as a Thespian only blossomed when bitter consequences were the only boon he’d gain for flubbing his lines when trying to con his foes.

Negotiation, on the other hand, he almost thought he had a talent for, and liked nothing more than getting the best of sharp merchants or sharper foes.

“The last half year’s changed me in a lot of ways, Mother.” he said, gazing fondly at his glorious peach grove. “Dedication to a goal being just one of them. And even if it takes these beautiful specimens far longer to blossom than mortal peaches might, the rewards will be well worth the wait.”

“Assuming they’ll bloom at all with out master cultivators energy directing their growth.”

Eric chuckled at that. “With an Epic tier boon in play… you’d be surprised.” He did his best to ignore Annika’s surprised gasp, or the too intent stare his mother was now giving him. “Which is a damn good thing, since it seems I’m the only cultivator that I know of here on Earth. But if there was away way to speed up the process without stressing the peach groves…” Eric shrugged.

“And you clearly have responsibilities of your own to attend to,” his mother said sympathetically. “Not the least of which is doing all you can to grow stronger. So why don’t you leave the task of finding spiritual horticulturalist to me?”

Eric blinked, turning around to face his mother. “Wait, you know where I could find an appropriate sect of cultivators and help me find away to actually bring them here?” He winced under his mother’s bemused expression. “Sorry. That was a stupid question. You’re a Silver. Of course you do.”

His mother nodded. “Just because cultivation is most definitely not the best path for your sister, Eric Silver, doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of the many winding branches of that path and it’s myriad virtues, or that I lack connections with scores of allied sects that I’ve made over just as many centuries.”

He winced under her hard stare until she softened it with a smile. “And I will give credit where it’s due. You’re unique combination of a rather savage cultivation path along with an Adventurer class that allows you to combine all your strengths without forcing you to compromise is both remarkable, and suits you perfectly. Well done, my son.”

Annika’s eyes widened. She slowed down the levimobile and stared at Eric for a long startled moment. “Wait, my queen… are you saying what I think your saying?”

Aurelia smirked. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Annika swallowed. “Eric?”

“What’s up?”

“Do you really… I mean, do you actually have a class that synergizes perfectly with a Cultivator’s path?”

Eric nodded. “I do.”

Annika blinked, her soft brown eyes growing wide as they continued to ride at a steady clip over the grass-covered road cutting right through the heart of the territory.

“How? I mean… everything I’ve researched before finding my own path forward implied that combining cultivation with a Classer’s System path almost never worked. Not without making significant sacrifices to your node powers or to your cultivation. Or at the very least, you shouldn’t expect to be able to break through to Bronze as a Classer or a cultivator, no matter how rich your bloodline. Not unless you happen to be a member of one of the very few powerful clans who have found uniquely compatible pairings between Cultivation Schools and Elite System Classes, and those stiff-necks sure as hell aren’t sharing their secrets with any outsiders.”

“Well, it works just fine, no close-kept family secrets needed, if you have a Tier 5 Adventuring Class, I can tell you that much,” Eric said with a smile.

“Eric! That’s… wait, you actually have a Master Tier class?”

Eric smirked. He couldn’t help it. “Actually, Annika, I have two of them.”

Finesse Check made!

Eric winced, stabilizing the steering shift when Annika jerked in her seat. “Sorry, maybe now’s not the time to be talking about class builds,” he said while his mother snorted in the back.

Annika glanced at him helplessly. “How?”

“By achieving 100% Upper Dantian core saturation. Which, as you know, is different from the Lower Dantian used in cultivation. The middle Dantian is used by those cultivators who become classers accepting a hybrid path, leaving their System class ascendant, but allowing for a great number of level-up points, and a fair amount of cultivating power too. Or so it seemed with the classes I was skimming through when deciding upon my own build.”

Their vehicle had stopped at that point, Annika actually trembling. “100% Core Saturation? I haven’t heard of anyone doing that, Eric! Not even in the legends around Golds!” She had the grace to flush. “Actually, a few of them have, but they’re old accounts and more than a few seem to be...”

“Editorializing history?” Eric said with a smile.

Annika flushed before dipping a quick nod. “But I don’t recommend you ever saying that aloud beyond the borders of Earth, Eric.”

Eric winced. “Message received.”

Her hand gripped his own almost desperately. “How? For the goddess’s sake, how did you achieve that feet?” Eric flushed, sensing his mother’s amusement in back as she cracked open a fresh bottle of wine.

“Long or short version?”

“Short version please,” interjected his mother. “I would like to arrive at Ashland before lunch. There are several Blue Corp representatives who will be expecting us shortly.”

Annika paled. “Please forgive my impertinent questions, Your Grace. I’ll continue our journey at once.”

Eric sighed. “Long story short, I helped my friends out of a pinch, claimed a few territories as a Contender, and lost over 20 years of my life daring a path I was obviously completely unprepared for, but nonetheless managed to stop a lich from taking over Newark from the ground up, so to speak.”

Annika stopped the car again, gazing intently at Eric. “You what?”

“You lost over twenty years?” His mother hissed.

Wincing, Eric quickly went over his own budding attempts to master the arts of Necromancy and Blood Magic, his Greater Abjuration of a gate between Newark and a perilous pocket realm as well as binding a cursed artifact, disrupting its infection and making it eternally his own. Of course, all of those feats had come at a price.

“On the plus side, I ended up with a bow capable of shooting arrows nearly twice the speed of sound, and rights to a Master Necromancer class, including the option for a lich class… which I clearly didn’t take up,” he hastened to say at the looks of horror this latest tidbit earned.

“Eric, you’ve lost decades of your life!” His mother hissed.

Eric’s apologetic wince turned to a glare, hard and cold. “Yes, I did. Putting the lives of hundreds, maybe thousands, above my own. And what I got for my trouble was a corrupt little weasel of a mayor who sold my friends and I to slavers and made out like a bandit, claiming a territory I forged with my own sweat, blood, and life-force, as his own.”

Eric sighed bitterly, shaking his head. “And that’s when I learned never to play the fool, never to give to others to the point where you yourself were the one to suffer for your own grace… and to embrace the Crimson Path my mad necromantic gambit had opened up to me, making sure I myself would always have the opportunity to prosper and profit from my actions as a Contender at least as much as those who could and would stab me in the back.”

Annika’s eyes widened in sympathy. “Heaven’s mercy, Eric, I had no idea.”

“Don’t worry about it. I got to prove just how deadly the native magics so despised by our enemies could be to those Confederate bastards who thought we were all safely collared, the instant they let their guard down.” He turned to his mother. “And as for lost years and opportunities… let me first ask you this: Does a high Vitality play a role in life expectancy?”

“Of course. All other things being equal, an athlete blessed with high vitality will last far longer than one without.”

“How about 236?” The hovercar went silent. Eric grinned. “236 with 12 Divine Spirit peaches nestled inside my 12 meridians?”

His mother’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. “Then I’d say you’ll live as long as any Silver High Elf, even should you never adventure another day in your life.”

Eric chuckled at that. “Boy do I hope so, and I do believe that’s our stop.”

***

Eric felt a certain mercantile sense of exhilaration when he spotted multiple development projects within sight of the Delve entrance closest to Ashland’s Western border and thus closest to Freetown as well. From what he could see, it included an impressive multistory inn and a street of picturesque shopfronts with second and third stories no doubt intended for tenants, all built with a colorful European flair that Eric absolutely loved. He even noted the beginning stages of what would no doubt be a tree-lined boulevard, with any number of workers wearing Blue Corp uniforms using some suspiciously high-tech looking devices to install what Eric assumed would be flat top pavement. Because cobblestones might look cute, but one thing the modern era got right was concrete sidewalks and blacktop roads.

He couldn’t help but nod in approval. It was clear that the first phase of the Blue Corp development project was all about taking maximum advantage of the beautiful countryside scenery and giving the developmental properties an idealistic renaissance fair vibe while not stinting on the amenities that magitech allowed, and that Blue Corp alone seemed to have unfettered access to.

Eric couldn’t think of better partners for his own long term plans, for all that they were limited to only accepting territories ceded to them. Still, the peace of mind that having access to Bronze tier defenses brought was priceless. And whether it took months or years before such hypothetical defenses were brought on line, the fact that few Contenders wanted to risk antagonizing what might one day be a very powerful source of mercantile goods allowed for a degree of safety and security that Eric knew was pretty much every survivor’s dream at this point.

Which made Ashland with its Dozen endlessly progressing delves blessed with the dual boons of Adventurer’s Paradise and Promise of Adventure a priceless treasure for any Classer eager to make their fortune and level up, potentially without limit. Just as importantly, after a hard day of adventuring their hearts out, Classers could look forward to evenings of peace, luxury, and security more precious than gold, since Blue Faction was both developing and securing the adventuring towns and manufacturing hubs that would inevitably spring up.

An absolutely crucial draw

Just as importantly for the countless survivors desperate to see if they had a shot at a better life without risking a 90% mortality rate, access to a Tier II Ascension pod was just a single oath of non-aggression to one’s fellow Ashlander citizens away. That prize alone might increase the number of active Terran classers a full ten-fold above what the number was now, if not more. And for the other 90% of Earth’s citizenry with no Class abilities at all, it was a place where any hardworking citizen would be welcome, though of course Eric would absolutely love as many Professionals and Craftsmen coming onboard as well.

Ultimately, his goal was for Ashland to evolve into a beautiful sanctuary and a chance at a better life for hundreds of thousands of survivors.

If not millions.

Eric exchanged an excited smile with his mother, her twinkling eyes making it clear that she knew exactly what he was thinking, how he was feeling, and that she felt much the same.

“It’s going to be epic,” he said, all but rubbing his hands with glee. feeling that same rush he once hand designing multi-leveled masterpieces for his D&D friends. “Endless adventure awaits anyone who dares these delves! Except me, of course,” he acknowledged with a rueful chuckle as Annika wordlessly stopped the levimobile right before the entrance to the delve within sight of the rapidly forming town.

It was classic cave entrance in the steep depression before a hillock amidst the backdrop of a lush looking apple grove. The entrance itself shimmered like obsidian, liquid darkness that seemed to whisper of forbidden secrets, eldritch lore, and power beyond measure.

Eric got delicious chills just looking at it. Before furrowing his brow as a dozen hard-eyed elves slipped free of the entrance. Half wielded naginatas or glaives, the other half looked to be mages or artificers of some sort, with translucent round shields in their left hands and wands in their right.

“Commander Annika, we have compiled our report!” Said the man in the lead, wearing flexible silvered mail reinforced with steel plates and an open faced helm that gave him full use of his senses.

Annika returned the man’s salute, checking what Eric now realized was a Swiss watch, springs and gear-work being one element of technology completely unaffected by the change that had swept away so many elements of technology dealing with electricity, which had been pretty much everything. Though plumbing and windup watches were both completely unaffected, thank goodness. And if magic had been used to cheat a bit so otherwise powerless cities and towns weren’t backed up with septic sewage and still somehow had clean running water, Eric certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Just in time, Captain. Present your watch.”

Bowing, the man pulled his watch out of a padded leather fanny pack strapped to the small of his back, the part of his body least likely to take a hit and be damaged in a delve, Eric supposed, still gazing with bemusement at the scene unfolding before him.

Annika gave it a quick glance and flashed a pleased smile, before turning to Aurelia. “The flow of time seems to be in perfect sync with our own, Your Grace.”

At those words, all twelve delvers immediately fell to one knee, dipping their heads. Though Eric was pleased to see their genuflection didn’t require them to let go of their armaments in any way.

“All hail the Winter Queen!” They barked in unison.

“At ease,” Aurelia said. “Basic deference is fine. Please let your fellows know.”

The Captain genuflected again. “It will be done, Your Grace.”

Eric peered thoughtfully at his mother. “For us to arrive right here the second your soldiers were getting ready to give their report on my dungeon… just how well do you have us all mastered to know that our sporadic stops and leisurely breakfast would lead to this very moment?”

His mother flashed a lazy smile. “You give me too much credit, darling. It’s my frightfully competent second that assured our leisurely pace would be just leisurely enough to receive our boy’s report. Besides, I thought you’d like to see firsthand what your sister’s soldiers thought of your creation.”

Eric winced at the way the lead officer of the group, no fool, had been intently gazing at him, along with all the others. Twelve hyper-alert elves with Perceptions and levels that were definitely a cut above the common rabble, a truth made evident when Eric used Identify to take a close look at the captain.

Captain Nils.

Class: Infantry Commander (warrior/mage hybrid) Level 34

Strength – 55

Vitality – 40

Finesse – 50

Quickness – 55

Appearance – Handsome

Perception - 48

The captain honored Eric with a 45 degree bow. Clearly the man was aware of what Eric was doing, which was why he so rarely did it, but if anything, Nils seemed flattered by Eric’s examination.

“Your work is beyond anything I’ve ever before encountered, Dungeon Master, inexperienced as I was before making Terra my home. The first level is a lush forest filled with fruit orchards, wild boar, and extremely savvy hunting cats. And I’m happy to report that the fruit is both edible and nourishing, both inside and outside this pocket realm. And the quality of meat, pelt, and hide from both boar and cat is nothing short of exceptional! The tanners and craftsmen we presented our hides and furs to were more than eager to give us long term contracts, and the meat we have found to be exquisite, both prepared at the Blue Corp inn under construction, and of course in far more… primitive arrangements.”

One of the Captain’s underlings sheathed his wand and solemnly brought over a pack absolutely bursting with exquisite looking apples at the peak of ripeness. Annika grabbed one and took a thoughtful bite. Her eyes went wide and she all but moaned with delight. “These are exquisite! Your Grace, perhaps we could make a candy apple line with fruit harvested from this pocket realm?”

Aurelia chuckled. “I don’t see why not,” she gave an abashed-looking Eric an approving smile. “You’ve done well, ‘Dungeon Master,’ to assure dungeons rich in the most practical bounties of all. Food fit for a king and furs and hides that could clothe and warm entire communities.”

Eric grinned, pleased to see that when he offered his hand to shake the captain only hesitated a half second before doing such with a smile. “I’m glad you liked it! And level 34? I see someone’s taking advantage of my delves, just the way I had hoped they would.” He lowered his voice only slightly. “So, what’s you’re favorite 2nd edition class?”

The captain’s warm smile turned to a polite stare. “I’m sorry, Your Grace?”

Eric blinked. “Your D&D class.” He chuckled awkwardly as the man continued to stare. “You had mentioned calling me a Dungeon Master. I thought… ahem, this is awkward. I had thought maybe you played D&D?”

The man solemnly shook his head. “I do apologize, My Prince. I fear I am unfamiliar with the… ahem, pursuit, you’re referring to? Regardless, my men and I are humbled by your creation, Dungeon Master. The Sylvan Alliance will prosper mightily under your stewardship.”

Eric winced, alarm bells ringing in his head. “Sorry, free agent! I’m acting in a strictly independent capacity. Any individual or faction of neutral or better disposition towards myself and Blue Faction are free to make use of the dungeons… with the understanding that their technically subcontractors agreeing to a nice fat 80% cut of whatever they bring out… with the final twenty percent put in the care of Blue corp, 60% of which then goes to me.”

The captain stared at him for long moments.

“And by all means, feel free to call me by my name. No need for any titles.”

“Eric Orcbane is fine, Captain,” assured Aurelia with a bemused smile. “And the profit sharing arrangement, assures that we need never fear the ambush of our most vulnerable and valuable trainees and armsmen in this sanctuary, and can make use of what will eventually become Bronze tier facilities and resources. A priceless boon, costing us a mere 20% tax of all goods brought forth from the delves, and that is exclusive of any fruit or game we bring out, strictly to feed and nourish ourselves.”

“But Your Grace… it’s going to your son? Not to our faction?”

Aurelia winked. “My son is, technically, a free agent. And it is this technicality that allows us sanctuary here in a time where so very much is in flux. I’m sure you understand.”

The man stiffened and nodded at once. “Yes of course, Your Majesty!” He bowed low before them both, his men immediately following suit.

“Our most sincere apologies as well for any… misunderstandings between us. And may I say once more that yours is indeed a fine creation, Free Agent Eric Orcbane.”

“Um… thanks.” Eric said at last, hand instinctively grasping the gold capped scroll case the captain handed him before flourishing a final bow, then stepping back to confer in a quiet huddle with Annika and the rest of his soldiers.

“If you would be so kind, dear?” said his mother, pointing at the scroll.

Eric shrugged. “Sure.”

His mother proceeded to take out a handful of vellum sheets that gave a concise yet highly detailed summary of both their findings in regards to flora and fauna, as well as the layout of the first level of the forest. Which, Eric saw with a certain amount of awe, seemed to stretch out forever… but was, in fact, a pocket dimension that curved in on itself and seemed to have a surface area roughly equal to both Ashland and Picksonville as well.

Eric’s eyes widened with delight. “Fuck yes! This is better than I could have hoped!”

Aurelia furrowed her brow, bright emerald eyes revealing just a spark of the true depth of her insights and Silver tier comprehension as she analyzed the page he had been glancing at, a slow smile budding upon her lips. “It connects. That’s why you were unable to make anything beyond single tier pocket dimensions, no matter how wealthy, in the adjoining territory. Because Picksonville is also serving as a dimensional anchor between worlds.”

“But not Solaris,” Eric noted.

His mother’s eyes held his own. “Not Solaris.”

“Because it was already claimed by you? Or the headmaster? Save for a single shaping… my touch was light.”

“Save for plucking two precious souls free of purgatory, and infusing that territory with arcane energies so sharp and sweet that I’ve rarely tasted its equal,” his mother corrected with a smile. “But… yes. I do suspect that had something to do with it.”

Heart racing, Eric’s roving gaze went past the town being built at a wondrous pace, turning his gaze westward. Not that he could see past the interspersed forest and fields and dips in elevation, but all he had to do was pull open his interface map to understand why Blue Corp was focusing on developing the Northwestern tip of the territory hosting this delve before any other. Less than two miles away was the territorial boarder of what his Interface marked as a so called neutral region surrounding Freetown. No party was developing it, and it would be considered an aggressive act against both Snicklit and Blue Corp to leave it as anything but independent farmsteads among relatively wild lands that trade caravans and delvers could make use of while going to and from Freetown to various delves and other population centers dotting the Northeast.

All of which meant that, as far as expanding the potential of Ashland’s own wondrous overlapping pocket realms went, western expansion was a no-go. He couldn’t seize Blue Corp affiliated territory just to surrender back to Blue Corp, after all.

Not if the extremely strongly worded reply in big bold black letters amounting to - DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! - to the carefully crafted message he had just sent out to whoever was approving all of his conquests now that Caliban was missing was anything to go by. And the uncomfortable roil in his guts when he find himself brooding over Caliban’s fate, along with Rica’s and everyone else’s, praying that her little girl was okay, left him tightfisted and absolutely exploding with the need to do SOMETHING while his mother embraced the intricate dance of politics and diplomacy that he just knew was going to set him back something fierce.

Yet all he had to do was look east to spot endless territory, all of it wild and unclaimed, just twenty or so miles away.

If he were to dare it, no matter that it’s average monster level might be far higher than his own… would the size of his Delves continue to grow?

“A worthy dream, my son,” his mother said, eyes twinkling with excitement she didn’t bother to hide, tapping his forehead gently with one lacquered fingernail that nonetheless, effortlessly drew blood.

Eric winced, but understood there was a point when his mother showed him the drop, placed it in his hand, and squeezed it tight.

“Take nothing lightly, child. Because maybe you could do it, my mad, brilliant son. Maybe you could take on beasts and horrors my scouts placed at between levels 60 and 80. But there is a reason why all the Contenders are currently focused on claiming the interconnected white tier territories crisscrossing this continent like peripheral channels winding their way through countless deposits of deadly plaque.”

Eric gazed at his mother for long moments after frowning at his own internal map.

“My Dominion Interface is showing a number of white tier territories, like the ones I helped to seize, all with a monster level range of 1-20. Yet the only other colors I see adjoining us are a bright orange with a level range of 60-80. And beyond that, massive swaths of land showing a brilliant red, where creatures are at or near level 100.”

“Correct dear,” his mother said.

Eric frowned, shaking his head. “But that makes no sense. Where are the light green tiles, that are supposed to be for levels 20 to 40? Or the light yellow tiles, holding threats and opportunities suitable for those of level 40 to 60? Because my Map Interface makes clear reference to those colors and ranges, but I don’t see one single green or yellow tile...”

Eric’s heart began to pound when he did something he hadn’t dared before, actually zooming out, though it came with a hell of a lot more dizziness and vertigo than when using Googling Maps a lifetime ago. Right before a sudden flash of intuition had him immediately zoom back down, as if threats and perils… or at least the psychic eyes of seers and sages, awaited him if he dared glimpse too far above his station.

But what he had seen was enough.

“Mother, the entire Northeast! All of it! Either white, orange, or red. And even worse, clusters of black tiles. But there’s no green or blue territories anywhere!”

Eric winced before his mother’s wintry gaze. Before she softened it with a rueful smile. “I know, son. Which has curtailed countless strategies and techniques that has served the Sylvan Alliance in good stead for millennia.” She chuckled softly. “Had things been otherwise… had we not been forced to scrabble for limited territory against black powder wielding orcs boosted repeatedly by backers we know all too well… had we had anything like the training haven that your wondrously forged Ashland will hopefully become, your sister would be in a position far, far stronger than that of the helpless waif you still see her as, Eric Silver.”

Eric furrowed his brow. “But it makes no sense! Is this just a natural characteristic of Earth? Or are some powerful puppet-masters putting their finger on the scales of reality itself, making sure Terra blossoms in just such a way that the only delves or territories that any native or invading faction has access to, are level 20 tops? So that even after years of adventuring, they have no hope of getting to level 40, let alone be in any position to cleanse the terrors on nine tenths of the planet, not until the true galactic elites are finally allowed to come and claim the world right out from under everyone else’s feet?”

Much to his surprise, his mother sighed, looking as frustrated and uncertain as he now felt, giving him an answer he would never have expected. Not from her.

“I don’t know,” she said at last, shaking her head. “I truly don’t.” She gazed at her son for long moments, the tingling shiver he felt racing down his spine making it clear that she was measuring with far more than a casual glance. “Now prove to me that you’re just as savvy a player as I now believe you to be. Tell me what you noticed about Captain Nils, Eric.”

Eric gazed at his mother for long moments. “He’s level 34. A higher level even than Annika’s father, having survived countless engagements with orcs that are a deadly threat in unison, but individually, most orcs are relatively low leveled, even the Classers. And the musketeers have no real class at all, considered Rank 10 Conscript equivalent, thanks to their massive size and physique alone.”

He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles.

“Which means that Captain Nils has already cleared one or more bosses, and now explores dungeon levels hosting beasts at least at the level 30 range, to have shot up to Level 34 so quickly. Which is particularly striking since I recall hearing a couple friendly Blue Corp shopkeepers let slip that its many times easier for natives of newly ascended worlds to gain levels than any invading faction, even your own, Mother. All of which means that Captain Nils and his crew must have been grinding their heart out since you first found out that Ashland was super friendly to you all.”

Eric gave the officer still reporting to Annika an approving nod. “Somehow I’m not surprised to see him shooting up multiple levels in what has it been, just a little over a month’s time since I ascended those astral steps?” Eric shrugged. “I also really like the competent look of the men and women under his command. Even if they’re wielding weapons that might not be on the cover of any fantasy novel, without a single sword between them, with six naginatas and six shield-using wand specialists, he’s got a beautiful setup to take out any unknown threat. Best of all, he has the good sense to really like my dungeon. I think he’ll go far.”

His mother snorted. “I’m sure he will, my son. His excellent taste being but the least of his virtues.” His mother flashed him an unreadable look. “And some might call him… striking. Are you interested in him, Eric?”

Eric blinked at that, then chuckled. “No, mom. I just like his style. He reminds me so much of Percy, my favorite gaming buddy back before the world went to shit, and is there any way I can find out if he’s still among the living?” Eric frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe I can ask Blue Corp to help me track Percy down. Him, and everyone else I used to know.”

“Not a bad idea,” his mother agreed. “You know they would all be welcome guests of the Sylvan Alliance, whether or not they were gifted with the meridian channels that would allow them to become Classers, Professionals, or walk a cultivator’s path that would be so very different from your own.”

Eric frowned thoughtfully at the dashing elf who reminded him so much of a young Carey Elwes, before turning to address his way too intent looking mom. “But if things were otherwise, I’d love to have him and his whole team as an adventuring companions. I get the feeling they could teach me a hell of a lot of important lessons about team-play, even if they’d be smacking my ego down something fierce for the first couple of runs when I make an inevitably make wild-card ass of myself, just like in the best rookie training montages.” Eric flashed a pained smile. “Or at least I would if I wasn’t so certain that the dungeons I helped forge are, for me, a forbidden fruit that I’m savvy enough not to give my realm a tragic ending by actually biting into.”

He smirked at his mother’s twinkling smile. “Because we both know that the blood of faerie runs through my veins, and that’s as much tragedy as triumph… save for the heroes both smart and humble. And since I sure as shit am not humble...”

His mother nodded. “At least you have a decent head on your shoulders, Eric Silver, for all your other faults.” She gently squeezed his shoulder. “Few as those are.” She gazed at him for long moments. “I’m proud of you, Eric. So proud I could burst. You do know that, don’t you?”

Eric felt his cheeks start to burn. “Yeah, mom, I know,” he said, looking east once more. “Up to eightieth level horrors, huh?”

His thoughts started to race, dread quickly turning to exhilaration, then excitement, as he thought of all the possibilities such encounters might offer… assuming he survived them.

“Maybe it’s about time I invested that Master Necromancer perk I’ve been holding onto,” he muttered to himself, his mind going over a half dozen perks, each of which would serve as fantastic boons for boosting durability, quickness, or power. Even one that would allow him to use his Soul Orb with blood magic, opening an entire new realm of character development.

But at that moment, there was one perk that called out to him like no other.

One that would transform his legions of bayonet wielding orcs into an echo of infantry regiments that had once made the entire world tremble under their feet.

A perk so strong that even those revenants reduced to semi-liquid shamblers would awaken fit and strong enough to hold the line beside their brothers in endless battles to come.

Even if there was a price to daring such a powerful perk.

A price he’d best pay before daring to slip into sleep’s embrace once more, or risk losing all the men he would summon forevermore, no more real than the fading wisps of an ancient dream.

Eric closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of air rich with the scent of fragrant apples, evergreens, and rich woodland loam.

Yet more than anything else, he smelled the rich scent of history. He could all but taste the sweat and blood of countless thousands of men who lived and died by what had once been a formation that only the Romans had managed to best.

And that was the pike wielding infantry of the classic era, equipped with bronze-tipped spear shafts between twenty and twenty five feet long, forcing enemy troops to fight through not one but at least four rows of deadly killing spear thrusts before getting anywhere near their opponents.

In that endless heartbeat of history and time, Eric could sense them so clearly. The elite front line soldiers protected entirely by hammer-hardened bronze armor, gladius like blades at their belts their only backup weapon they needed for the very rare battle that necessitated them dropping their glorious pikes and embracing the hot fury of in-your-face melee.

Eric couldn’t help but smile even as his sense of history rolled onward in his mind’s eye, all but seeing firsthand the tightly packed scutum using Roman legionnaires taking full advantage of tightly packed shield formations, forcing their foes’ forest of spears up high.

A singular weakness in an otherwise perfect pike formation.

A weakness that would never be Eric’s own.

Because unlike slowly marching infantry, Eric’s massive 45th level revenants could move like the wind. Racing across the planes just as fast as he. Nearly five times as fast as the lance-using cavalry that would one day decimate the Roman’s tightly packed shield formations.

Which meant that Eric wasn’t just raising the spiritual essence of Alexander the Great’s deadliest troops to infuse his revenants with the skills of longspearmen lost to time.

He was simultaneously raising from death’s grasp warriors that could race across the plains far faster than any army of Huns, Hussars, or knights ever to gallop across the battlefields of history.

And it was from history’s grasp that he whispered ancient words that echoed through the air long into the future.

“Surge, centuria! Imperator imperat tibi!”

All twelve elven rangers hollered in sudden alarm, eyes wide with fright as they immediately assumed battle positions, wands crackling with elemental fury in between naginatas held in hanging guards as the earth began to tremble and erupt with horrors beyond count.

“It’s alright!” A quick-thinking Annika urged, sparing a single glare Eric’s way. “Our Orcbane hero and favorite necromancer in the world is just showing off what happens to any tribe that thinks it can get away with crossing the Sylvan Alliance!”

Yet the fear and disgust in the trooper’s faces didn’t abate as some 16,000 revenants slowly rose from the earth, leaf-shaped spear point first.

Eric couldn’t help but to grin with fierce pleasure when he saw the rune for resilience stamped not only on the foreheads of each of his massive eight and a half foot tall soldiers, but upon each and every bronze spearhead and piece of armor worn by men kitted as the most elite of Alexander’s ancient troops, decked out in rune-enhanced armor Eric was damn certain was far stronger even than the iron mail shirts his former musketeers had worn before their rather striking transformation.

His troop count had also somehow grown by a full 528. Giving him exactly 16,000 men.

The weight of twelve once admiring stares growing hard and cold was regrettable, but it meant nothing compared to the glory of seeing what Eric thought might be the greatest army on the face of Terra come to life, or undeath, before him.

All of his revenants immediately slamming left fist to chest, their right hands holding up their twenty five foot spears at perfect 90 degree angles.

“Ave Imperator Abedimus!” the massive regiment roared.

“Damn right you do!” Eric happily shouted back. “I won’t even ask how the hell you grew to a full 16,000, and I don’t care! To the 500 newly enlisted, I say welcome to an afterlife filled with eternal battle and glory! Enjoy the warm sun on your faces and the taste of sweat, blood, and battle to come! Now get ready, boys. Turns out there’s an obnoxious orange territory adjoining ours, filled with assholes who don’t think we white territory noobs have a chance against it. Time we showed those shits just how wrong they are!”

His troops didn’t move a muscle, though Eric liked to think their eyes were dancing with excitement. Or perhaps that was just the eldritch green flame burning within. At least the bunny on his shoulder squeaked with clear approval, flashing vicious teeth.

“You tell ‘em, Bunbun!” Eric said with a grin.

His gaze hardened when he peered at a coldly staring Nils. “Problem?”

The elven captain clenched his jaw… then slowly shook his head. “I could never have a problem with the one who brought my people back from the blink of oblivion. No matter how… unnatural your methods might be.” He jerked a stiff military bow, as did his entire squad.

Eric’s guts roiled. His ebullient, almost manic mood of moments before faded to something sour and sad. He could tell that they were utterly appalled yet doing their best to hide it, so acutely did they feel the massive debt their Faction owed him. Because without his fortuitous intervention, they probably wouldn’t be alive, and most definitely wouldn’t be leveling at all.

But still… he could tell it pained them.

Eric sighed, shaking his head, before turning to his mother. “Why?”

His mother gave him a strangely sympathetic smile. “It’s the way of our people and always has been.” She chuckled softly. “You would not believe the shock and horror that reverberated through our community when I dared to invite your father into my bed.”

Eric winced, feeling his cheeks blaze. “Yeah… that’s a conversation I want to have, like, never.” His gaze turned intent. “But I would like to know about—”

His mother solemnly shook her head. “Now’s neither the time, nor the place. And before you go hunting to what I am sure will be glorious effect, with so many pikemen fighting by your side, there are several people you need to speak with, so best you put your wonderfully loyal regiments back to sleep.”

Eric firmy shook his head. “No can do, mom. Not until I blood them, and lock in this glorious form for all time.”

His mother blinked, gazing at the forest of massive pikemen before her. “You’re serious. You would blood over 16,000 troops?”

Eric’s eyes twinkled with mad glee. “Either that, or lose them forever.”

He smirked at her horrified expression “I know, right? Your boy plays for keeps when it comes to the power-up game! Though I might need more than a single orange territory to give them all a taste of battle. Hah!”

His mother gazed at him for long moments before flashing a bemused smile. “Very well, my son. Embrace your glorious madness. But first, come with me.” She pinned the now trembling dozen rangers with her gaze. “I expect you all to keep in mind who is responsible for this haven you claim to admire so greatly, and to respect the weapons of war that secure our own future on this world, at least, if no place else.”

Captain Nils gulped, quickly falling to one knee. “It will be as you say, my queen.”

“Good. Eric? Come. We’re already running late.”