The Last Experience Point-Chapter 180: The Wayward Son

Chapter 180: The Wayward Son

Vim took a deep breath to keep his fury under control. Then, in what was somewhat uncharacteristic of him, he apologized to the aghast, horrorstruck lieutenant, whose eyes glistened as though on the verge of tears. Supposedly, this man had seen bodies torn apart and horrors untold, thus Vim did not believe he would be this wounded from a few little insults. “I…regret those things I said about your mother,” Vim began. “And also, your sister. And…your aunt.”

“And my grandmother?”

“Her as well,” Vim said as the conversation became even more awkward.

“They are all dead, Lord Alazar. I lost them all when I was a child. To a large monster that appeared suddenly in the night. They told me I was crazy, and they sent me to a psychiatric ward, but I know what I saw.”

Vim sucked on his tooth. “Well, clearly, I didn’t know those things when I said the thing about…you know, about how I’d use my…look, we don’t need to go over the exact things I said. I apologize, all right?”

“I accept your apology, Lord Alazar, and I hope you’ll pray the Gods treat them well in the world beyond. And that one day the truth will come out. Perhaps you will aid me in that.”

Great. He’s using guilt as a weapon.

“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied. “A boss spawning right in the middle of Nelear twenty-seven years ago? There’s no way that could ever happen in Giant’s Fall. And you should stop talking about it.” Vim cleared his throat as he tried to get things back on track. “But anyway, the point I was trying to get at,” he continued, “is that I’m very, very disappointed in the progress you and your men are making. And what’s more, I fail to understand how—”

Very quickly, Vim stopped speaking. He threw out his right hand, squeezed it into a fist, and then opened it again, letting a bullet he’d just caught fall to the ground. “Wow, that one would’ve gotten you in the head. I think we’re even since I just saved your life.”

“Th-thank you, Lord Alazar!”

Seconds after he spoke, a barrage of gunfire came from the north end of the street, where he and the lieutenant were standing face to face and discussing the current status of the war effort in this part of the city. Halfway down the elongated city street, three windows blew out from gunfire and a woman’s voice could be heard screaming.

Things were not going well right now. They were going awfully, in fact. And the situation was worsening rather than improving.

This is turning into a total mess!

What really rankled Vim was that the hard part was supposed to be over. They’d won! They’d toppled the Guild of Gentlemen’s forces here, and those who survived had escaped through tunnels like rats. Despite having every entrance and exit to the city blocked off, it seemed they had another way out, and thus a significant number of guild members managed to scamper off back to Tomb of Fire, the last remaining region under their guild’s control. But even still: with them gone, everything should’ve been much easier from here on out. But no! Things were not even close to easy.

Seemingly out of nowhere, they found themselves facing a new kind of enemy, something his top commanders were referring to as an “insurgency.” All across the city, including in places they’d already cleared, there were level-1 guerilla fighters shooting and killing at the armed troops of the Royal Roses and Lords of Justice as well as those who were unarmed. For this reason, all non-combat level-1 personnel such as social workers, doctors, engineers, and fire rescue teams had been yanked out of the city until the situation could be brought under control.

“I apologize for the slow progress, Lord Alazar,” the Lieutenant said to him. “But you’re gonna find the situation is the same everywhere, not just here on 10th and Junction.”

He wasn’t wrong. The city itself was in open revolt. And it wasn’t just adult men and women who were launching these cowardly guerilla attacks, but also children, too. And while, sure, the vast majority of leveled guild members had nothing to fear, it was impossible to control a city with guild members alone. Order and security required a large, stable presence of peacekeepers and level-1 personnel to be established. Otherwise, the city would be functionally useless as the revolting citizens turned to acts of sabotage such as destroying infrastructure, acts of terrorism against those who cooperated, and making economic activity of any kind impossible.

Where is that Gods-be-damned girl.

“Fylwen!” Vim shouted into the Comm after turning around and excusing himself.

“Hm?” she replied, her voice a buzz of coolness that did not carry the note of seriousness it should have. “What is it?”

“Where’s your daughter?”

“The same place she was the last time you asked. I believe she said they’re about to roll for loot.”

“Fuck the loot!” he shouted. “Get her over here now!”

Finally, Fylwen’s voice became heated. “Do you think I’ve not tried?”

Kalana’s presence here was vital to ensuring peace, as despite a thunderous hatred of non-human races, the people of Shadowfall Coast, for whatever reason, adored the Elvish princess. Supposedly, it had been due to her and Zach’s presence during the dragon raid, when they’d gone around the city shaking hands and taking pictures, one of which included Kalana holding up a five-year-old human child and kissing her on the forehead while she giggled. That one photo, unbelievably, had turned the Elvish princess into an icon. For there to be peace, they needed her here. Now!

If High-Lord Besh and I don’t turn this situation around soon, the People of Virtue are going to—

Almost as though on cue, he received a transmission request from his Comm, which he begrudgingly accepted. “Sir Gespon the Virtuous,” he said, not bothering to disguise his disdain. “How kind of you to call.”

“Indeed,” Abram replied in a way that came across as arrogant and smug. “I’ve come with some wonderful news for you, Sir Alazar.” Vim braced himself, as he knew exactly what the son of a bitch was going to say, and he wasn’t ready to hear it. “My sources tell me the Royal Roses and the Lords of Justice are struggling to peacefully bring the city back under civilized control. But don’t worry: I am dispatching twenty-thousand ground troops led by a hundred competent members of my guild to bolster your efforts.”

******

Abram smiled, but held back a laugh as Vim’s voice continued to howl from the speaker on his desk, releasing one vile, disgusting insult after the next. Abram was content to simply sit up straight and patiently wait for him to finish, as this was always the correct way to deal with the hot-tempered, foul-tongued little Gnome.

“—fucking son of a whore piece of shit!” he roared. “If you think you can just parade into the city after sitting this out and letting us and the Lords of Justice pay the blood price, you can fucking suck my—”

This continued for a while. Abram leaned forward and pressed the “mute voice” button then lifted his finger. His beautiful assistant strode over. “Yes, Sir Gespon the Virtuous?”

“I’ll have a coffee, please: dark, with one milk and two sugars. A gentle sprinkle of caramel, too.”

“Of course, Sir Gespon the Virtuous.”

He leaned forward a second time and unmuted himself as a panting, gasping Vim appeared to be finishing his tirade. “…which is why even your dog doesn’t love you.”

“I understand your concerns, Sir Alazar. But I assure you, this is purely a peacekeeping operation to ensure the security and wellbeing of all North Bastians.”

“Oh, cut the shit! You’re trying to gain leverage!”

Vim was right, of course. The People of Virtue, after all, had absolutely no leverage over what were sure to be upcoming negotiations regarding the future of Shadowfall Coast. For the past two decades, the Royal Roses and the People of Virtue had been extremely close allies, but something of this magnitude was naturally going to harm relations. Put simply, it was necessary, as with absolutely no presence in the city, the People of Virtue would be able to extract nothing from the conquest of Shadowfall Coast. Likewise, having chosen not to participate in such a risky military action, they lacked any kind of claim along moral grounds, either.

I made the right call not to join the initial attack, he thought to himself. If Vim, Kolorn, and the Elvish queen had failed, their cities would be up in flames right now, and everyone inside of them would be dead. No, I was right not to risk the retaliation.

Nevertheless, with their weakened, battle-damaged forces struggling to get the level-1 citizens under control, this was the perfect opportunity to send in a historic, overwhelming number of troops to help foster peace and defeat the guerilla forces that had already begun making Vim’s life hell—and not even a full day after their victory. Most likely, King Alistair had fomented such a force just in the event this happened, and it was paying off quite well.

“I don’t get it,” Tyson said with a bored-sounding drawl. The young, 29-year-old man—who behaved more like a child—was sitting on a large leather couch in the back of Abram’s office while throwing a ball up against the ceiling, waiting for it to bounce down before catching it.

“What don’t you get?” Abram asked, annoyed.

Tyson Revel was the second-in-command of the People of Justice, and with his father’s Alzheimer’s in its final stages, he was soon to be the first-in-command. He didn’t want this position, however. The young man craved only debauchery. He lived a life of drugs, gluttony, and extremely degenerate acts with leather- and latex-clad escorts whom he paid tens of thousands of gold to humiliate him. It was a disgusting, revolting lifestyle, and it stood in opposition to everything his honorable father believed in.

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For this reason, Abram had long been seen as the true leader of the People of Virtue, something he’d tried to keep under wraps. But even many of the ordinary, level-1 citizens had begun catching on, and many of the upper echelons of the guild wondered why he didn’t simply take over at this point. In truth, he could do so without any violence or struggle. Tyson, after all, would not even bother to resist. He would willingly resign and hand over control if asked. There would be no need for any kind of strife in the process. And yet, Abram simply did not find the idea of such an act sitting well with him. And there were multiple reasons for this.

For one, the “Revel” name was synonymous with the People of Virtue, as it had been for over five-hundred years. It was a cultural dynasty that Abram had no wish to break. But even more importantly, ruling the guild by proxy simply “looked” better than naming himself its new leader. There would be functionally no difference in terms of power if he removed Tyson from his role and rank, yet it would look quite poorly for Abram to actually do so. He would appear power hungry and like someone who chases glory and recognition.

He's not making this easy for me, though, Abram thought bitterly.

Getting up from the couch, Tyson walked over to Abram’s desk, where a virtual map of the city was printed on the screen before him. He tapped it. “What I don’t get is why you don’t just take it. The other guilds are weak, right? That’s what you told me before. You said we’re now the strongest guild in North Bastia because of all the people who died. So um, like…why can’t we just take it?”

Abram sighed. Tyson was such an idiot who had no understanding of the world. “After everything North Bastia has been through,” he said, “do you really think the people of our region care to see us betray our allies and take them on in open warfare? Especially with the massive outpouring of sympathy the people feel for Vim Alazar and Giant’s Fall?”

If Abram’s words registered, Tyson’s expression did not show it. “But…but you’re sending all those troops in anyway.”

“Yes, Tyson,” Abram said, nodding. Then he too tapped the screen, gesturing at the four corners of Shadowfall Coast. “But our goal is to establish a military presence.”

“Uh, okay, why?”

“To extract concessions during the negotiations. To give the People of Virtue a better deal on global shipping once we reestablish trade with the other races and Vim gets the ports back in working order.”

Tyson’s face went blank. “Yeah but…how can you extract concessions if you don’t plan to use military force?”

Abram couldn’t believe his stupidity. “It’s about the threat of military force that could happen.”

“Yeah, but, doesn’t Sir Alazar know you won’t actually do that?”

“Yes. Just as I know he will resist concessions only to the point where I would have to.”

“I don’t get it. It sounds fake.”

“It is fake,” Abram said impatiently. “The entire game is a coordinated dance that civilized regions play to avoid mass bloodshed. It’s why we had the SOLA accords: it’s why we do things the way we do them. It’s called brinksmanship. And the entire purpose, Tyson, is to prevent what happened in Shadowfall Coast with the Guild of Gentlemen from, well, happening.”

Tyson made a sour expression. The man had bright red hair, freckles, and was wearing a grey, button-up robe. His fingers were adorned with some of the world’s most expensive jewelry, but in Abram’s opinion, it only made him look trashy and vain and narcissistic. The man simply did not understand the difference between opulence and class.

“Okay, but here’s the thing, old man,” he said to Abram. “Let’s say we did just take the city, right? And the people get mad over it. Okay, so what?” He laughed. “We’re basically Gods to them, anyway. The fuck are they gonna do to us? Drown us in tears? Who even cares what they think? I can punch a hole through a steel beam. I can weightlift a bus. Why should I care what some pissant level-1 peasant thinks about my—”

Abram couldn’t stop himself. He slapped Tyson, hard, right across the face—enough to draw blood. Tyson recoiled, then dropped down to his knees on the floor, whimpering like a child who’d just been disciplined. “W-why?” he cried, sobbing. “Why’d you hit me?”

“Because you’re a fucking idiot!” Abram shouted. “And because you’re a disappointment, and a waste of time! And if you don’t start learning fast, I will have your head removed from your shoulders!”

“W-what?” he yelped. “Why? You don’t have to do that! I’ll just step down.”

“No!” Abram thundered, displaying anger he would almost never allow to be seen in public. “You don’t get to step down! You have a responsibility to this guild, and until you father a son or a daughter, I need to know that if something were to happen to me, you will not destroy it!”

Rubbing his face, he slowly stood back to his feet. “I didn’t even mean to upset you. I was just asking a question.”

Abram forced his muscles to relax, and he lowered his voice. “Do you like to eat, Tyson?”

“Huh?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“So, are you saying you don’t like to starve?”

“Of course I don’t,” he replied, sounding confused as though he did not understand where Abram was going with this.

Abram beckoned him closer, crooking his index finger. Tyson did not budge. “Come,” he said. “I won’t hit you again. I promise.”

Slowly, cautiously, Tyson approached. Then, Abram swiped his desk with his finger, removing the map of Shadowfall Coast entirely, and instead, he pulled up a map of South Bastia. He then blanked out the happy, prosperous region of Shores of Wrath: a region the People of Virtue controlled on the very northern tip of the southern continent. Now, he pointed to the center of South Bastia, his finger coincidentally resting on a region called “Dark-Water Depths,” though it didn’t actually matter which region he picked, as his point would be made with any of them.

“What’s life like for leveled people who live here?” he asked.

“Hell,” Tyson replied immediately.

“Correct. Why?”

“Because…because they’re starving, and they kill and torture each other.”

“That’s right. And what is the most common cause of this killing and torture?”

“Lack of food and water.”

“That’s right, Tyson,” he said, speaking to the idiot as though he were a child. Abram then swiped again on his desk, and now, he brought up a map of North Bastia. He tapped on the region of Whispery Woods. “And what about for people here? Leveled or level-1, I don’t care.”

“Also hell,” he said.

“Explain.”

“They’re impoverished, the education system isn’t great, and there’s a lot of crime. I hear the Elvish queen is going to change all that, though.”

Abram smiled. “But where would you rather live if given a choice? Let’s pretend Queen Vayra never appeared in North Bastia and the Whispery Woods region was still the same as it always is. Where would you rather live?”

Tyson answered immediately. “Oh, definitely the Whispery Woods.”

“And why’s that? It’s our poorest region.”

“Because life is still a thousand times better there than anywhere in South Bastia.”

“Exactly!” Abram said. He once again brought up the map of South Bastia. “But why is that? Why is it that even someone who is level 60 and a ‘God’ as you say can starve to death like a peasant in this region but not in Whispery Woods?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Abram nodded. “So then let me explain. And listen closely, because if I ever have to tell you this again, I will kill you. And nobody—not a single man or woman of the guild—will seek justice for your death.”

Nervously, Tyson nodded. “I’m listening.”

Abram stood up, walked over to the nearest window in his office in his guild’s high-rise tower, and gestured at the people of Varda’s Lair, who could be visibly seen commuting back and forth along the streets and roads of their beautiful, clean, and orderly city.

“When people feel they are part of a society, one with laws that protect them, they are productive. They are cooperative.” He now met Tyson’s eyes, and he made sure that Tyson gazed back at the seriousness in his eyes. “Conversely,” he continued, “when people live every day in fear and terror, when lawless thugs masquerading as guild members rape, murder, and pillage, people will put their own survival and needs above all else. They will hide food, they will flee, they will rebel, they will turn on their neighbors…every action they take will be driven purely by fear. As a result, supply chains break down, food becomes scarce, and life becomes, as you said, ‘hell.’”

Abram continued, “The life of luxury that you live is only possible because North Bastia is a continent of law and order. It is why Lieutenant Varsh was so despised and, quite honestly, destined to be taken out sooner or later for his illegal and uncivilized acts of terror against ordinary civilians. You see, right now, if you wanted to, Tyson, you could easily storm one of our towns, kill a few people, and demand all their property and belongings. Perhaps kidnap a few young women while you’re at it. No one will—or can—stop you. But what happens one week later if you try the same thing again? Don’t answer until you’ve thought about it.”

Tyson, to his credit, remained silent and contemplative for nearly a minute when, nervously, he said, “They won’t be there anymore.”

Abram nodded with approval. “That’s right. They’ll pack up and flee. And what happens to the productivity and output that town was creating for Varda’s Lair?”

“It’s erased.”

“Yes, Tyson. It’s erased! Do you see now? Government is nothing more than a contract between those who govern and the people. It’s a promise: in exchange for taxes and obedience, they receive protection and community. Without that, what you are left with is the strong feasting on the weak until there is nothing left for anyone including the strong. In the absence of civilization, all go hungry.”

Abram studied Tyson’s face, and in his eyes, Abram could tell the man finally understood his point. This was further demonstrated as he said, “So that’s why you won’t just take Shadowfall Coast?”

“Correct. Given that the nuclear bomb went off in Ogre’s Axe, and given the amount of blood that the Royal Roses have shed in Shadowfall Coast, if we take the city from them by force, our own citizens will resent us, and so will the rest of North Bastia. What we can do, however, is establish a military presence and use that as leverage to extract concessions.”

“I see.”

Abram turned back around to face his desk, but then he paused as an idea came to him. A crazy, wild idea. An idea that, in all honesty, was not just scandalous, but outrageously so. It was to the extent that he couldn’t believe he’d even thought it. And yet, it grew on him: fast, impulsively, and to the degree that he could not set it aside.

Could I actually do that…?

He could. And he would.

“Tyson,” he said, a smile forming on his lips. “I’ve just decided that you’re going to be spending some time away from Varda’s Lair. Beginning next week, you’ll be leaving on an assignment.”

Tyson’s eyes went wide, flaring with obvious outrage. “What the hell? What do you mean?”

Abram’s grin widened. “I’m sending you to Sir Zachys Calador of the Royal Roses. You’re going to be his obedient servant. I want you to join the adventuring community and learn what real hardship is.”

“Th-the fucking adventuring community? Those…those crazy, wild, smelly animals? Abram, please! Anything but that!”

“I’ve made up my mind,” he said. “You are a foolish man-child with absolutely no sense of decency or reason, but I don’t think you’re beyond help. I want you to beg that boy to take you in. I’ll even clear it with Vim as one of the concessions I’m extracting.”

Tyson shook his head. “He’s only seventeen years old! Why should I listen to a brat?”

“Because I said so!” Abram snapped. “And also, because if you don’t, you won’t wake up tomorrow.”

Tyson visibly shook with fear. “Okay, but um, Sir Calador isn’t an adventurer anymore, right? He’s a high-ranking member of the Royal Roses now.”

Abram waved off the remark. “That’s just what people are told. The boy lives a double life now. He’s both. You’re going to go to him next week once I’ve cleared it, introduce yourself, be humble, and ask him to show you how the dungeons work. This will also benefit the rest of society, as those of us in real guilds have no idea what goes on in those places, and everything you learn from him will be useful information to us.”

Tyson again began to whimper. “Please, Abram. I’m a simple man. I just want to have sex and do drugs all day. I realize how that sounds, but that’s just the truth.”

“Too bad. Also, no more drugs. They’re illegal on Elendroth anyway. The Elves will kill you if they find them. If you were a level-1, you’d be killed here for them as well. Perhaps you should be.”

Abram shivered with disgust. Tyson often got away with breaking the most serious laws, often going well above and beyond what anyone else in the guild was able to get away with. Yes, Abram himself broke morality laws on occasion while relieving stress with an escort, but in his case, it was infrequent. He never touched drugs, however, or other illegal and illicit substances. The only place on Galterra that allowed that was Vim’s region of Giant’s Fall, where their laws allowed for the consumption and sale of some forbidden drugs, particularly those that were less “hard” than some of the more serious substances.

“You have no special status to the Elvish,” Abram continued. “If they find any contraband on you, they won’t spare you, and I won’t ask them to. Now start packing. And kiss your father goodbye before you leave. Sir Goron Revel the Virtuous is going to die any day now, and there’s no longer anything left we can do to stop that. Pray that you can one day become a tenth of the man he was and not this…this filth.”

“Please, Uncle Abram.”

“Leave my sight!”

“Okay!”

The fool exited his office, and Abram turned his attention back to the situation at Shadowfall Coast—and the opportunities he found there.