Battleforged: Book 1 - THE BILLION CREDIT HEIST - An Earth Apocalypse LitRPG Adventure

K – I’m calling you Ernest. Can you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

E – Sure. System Shenanigans allowed for a fresh restart. Enjoy your new life. Seriously. Don’t fuck it up. No third chances bullshit.

Her eyes widened, but her younger sister was already dragging her out the door. And the look on Marsha’s eyes… she was clearly leery of Eric now, and thought him a bad influence. And Eric didn’t blame her a bit. He probably was.

K – Seriously? Just who the fuck are you?

E – A friend.

K – Ha. Mysterious Stranger it is, then. Confession time.

E - ??

K – You know more than you let on and you’re hot as fuck. Let’s meet up later and talk more about things, personally. Because inquiring minds want to know.

E – Okay… what do you want to know?

K – What are you like in bed?

E – Sheer trippy badassery.

K – Prove it.

E – :) Message me in 2 years.

K – I’m not really sixteen.

E – You sure? Because maybe you’re eighteen isekaid into a you that never quite was, but you wished with all your heart you could be. Or maybe you’re a powerful sixteen year old with flashes of memory that are almost your own.

K – Okay, seriously. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON??

E – :( Chill. It’s done. Everyone gets a second chance that no one outside this territory gets in the hell this world’s become. Just enjoy this opportunity to love your family and bond with your sister. And maybe ignore my earlier bullshit. You don’t need to adventure (and you shouldn’t! Not before Ashland is cleared. That alone = epic loot and levels and worth your time.) You need to be there for your family. And I saw the wand at your hip. TRAIN! Train with fencing clubs, polearm clubs (because spears and bardiches rock!) AND train with your wand. That = free points at Journeyman level anyway.

K – So who the fuck are you, anyway?

E – Take care, Kelly. I enjoyed chilling with you and your sister. Have the happy life you deserve.

K – Lol. Sure. So what are you going to do?

E – Same thing I always do.

K – And that is what, exactly?

E – Slaughter my enemies and claim as many territories as I can!

K – Okay ‘Edgelord.’ You have fun. But seriously. Message, me okay? I could use a training partner.

Eric smiled and went back to eating his burger, ignoring the odd look Annie was giving him. He sighed only momentarily at the three plates of barely eaten food, before scarfing it all down with a satisfied burp.

“Seriously?”

Eric blinked owlishly, catching Annie’s measuring gaze. “Wasting food’s a crime, and I’m as standup as they come,” he said, before slurping down the last of Marsha’s shake. He then gave her a wink and he got up to leave.

“Sir, the bill!”

Eric smiled at the waitress giving him an odd look that was half apologetic smile and half challenge, as if afraid he was going to dine and dash on her. He then flipped the Silver Eagle coin he had first put on the table her way.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Please let me get you change, sir.”

“No need. Keep it. That gorgeous smile already changed my life… for the better!”

Annie winced at the cheese, but the doe-eyed girl gave Eric a giddy smile.

“Okay!” She said, biting her lip as if girding herself to ask Eric something before he quickly turned around and darted out the diner.

And even if he was wearing a too smug smile, recalling the looks of amusement or consternation from the crowd left behind, he decided he was totally cool with that, feeling like a teenager exiting the scene of an 80s Breakfast Club movie.

Though by the time he hit the streets and lost himself in the crowd, a young pretender’s persona shifted into that of a very serious player who knew exactly what he was doing.

He couldn’t help flashing a fond, reminiscent smile for a certain wand establishment with the same Elven proprietress that he remembered, and he was pleased to see at least a few professionals with income… or perhaps the memory of income, and cards that reflected it, browsing her wares.

But before the nice elven proprietress could catch his gaze, he to turned his attention to shops stocking both potions and adventuring supplies, as well as high-end stores filled with eager looking adventurers browsing an abundance of steel in the form of deadly looking pole-arms and thick, high carbon steel plate armor that no mortal warrior could hope to wear without collapsing of exhaustion. Yet the armor would be absolutely perfect for Classers with Vitality and Strength in the 40s or better.

Eric shook his head and smiled, delighting in browsing shops that had never graced Freetown’s most exclusive quarter before.

But in this new and very much improved version of Freetown that had somehow always been, the influx of Bronze-tier Power-armored Mercenaries now allowed to be here under one pretext or another, meant that this quarter was blossoming in ways that the Caliban of a timeline ago could only have dreamed of. And the crown jewel of the adventurers market that Eric was steadily making his way towards was a very impressive looking emporium set up to service the most needs of the elite, those who had already achieved Bronze, and perhaps their proteges as well.

The exclusive nature of this corner of the market showed, as even if the casual foot traffic had reduced sharply in this area of the neighborhood. Strolling professionals and their families enjoying the nightlife and shopping seemed to be avoiding coming anywhere near the emporium hosting such a magnificent high-tech collection of goods, and Eric instantly understood why. Because even lower level Classers would find themselves sweating under the pressure radiating from at least half the actual Bronze-tier Classers presently browsing the displays and stands that clearly catered to them, even if an equal number of obviously high level shoppers gave off no overbearing aura at all, more skilled with control than their clumsier counterparts.

For some reason being this close to actual serious players put a smile on Eric’s face. Even better, there were no Goblin thugs, spies, lawyers, or hitmen in sight.

Just actual adventuring and mercenary classers wearing sleek, form-fitting armor or pilot skin suits with bionic, electromana, or perhaps just class-specific implants giving their skulls, necks, and faces a very distinctive look while browsing downright impressive displays of blaster rifles, hyper-polymer aketons, full sets of power armor, and an impressive selection of Tier-1 Implants.

Eric’s heart started to race, and not just from the looks that a few jaded men radiating power far beyond what any White-tier classer would normally possess were shooting his way.

He knew he looked out of place as hell. An obvious teenager who was no doubt one of the brats of the many white collar Professionals now inhabiting Freetown, and even if he was one of the kids who had dreams of significance and had somehow claimed a 20 or 30th level classer’s abilities, that just made him a tiny minnow, a child really, in a high-end store catering to actual elites who had broken through to Bronze. A feat that very, very few would ever be able to do.

“You sure you should be here, kid?” Said one woman kitted in what Eric thought of as formfitting mercenary casuals that of course displayed her assets to striking effect, presently looking at fiber-weave suit ideal for fast, agile fighters. Eric noted the quality looking Tier-II Blaster she wore on a quick-draw back holster.

“I am if you’re blaster’s anything to go by,” Eric said with a smile, noting her obvious partner, a bear of a man frowning at an obviously refurbished suit of power armor.

“Sure, kid,” she said with a snort. “And if you can actually afford what these people are charging for a Tier-II blaster, then you’re clearly from money. Because no way in hell are you going to make that kind of credit Delving around here. Not at your level, anyway.”

“Ouch,” Eric said with a smirk, but the woman had already turned back to her partner.

“The prices they’re charging for this patchwork shit is insane,” The powerfully-built man crossed his arms and glared at the selection of power armor suits that had clearly seen better days.

His partner did not look happy with his attitude.

“Fucking deal, Ace! We and every other hotshot might have backdoored our way here, but one thing we did not plan for was mana corrosion in the Red Zones and a fucking bottleneck on access to spare parts! I told you to grab the CyberMeister profession while you had the chance!”

“Zen was taking care of it. We were all good.”

“Yeah, well Zen’s dead, Ace. Those Delves are far too fucking hot for our armor. So unless you actually want to start Delving like a fucking primitive Warrior and leaving half your perks on the table… We stick to squad hunting or take standard contracts. And to do either of those things, you need a full set of fucking power armor! You plug a fucking potency point that I know you saved to make it your own, upgrade it like we talked about, and make it worth every last fucking credit!”

Ace sighed, rubbing his face. “Fuck, yeah. I know, babe.”

“Good evening, sir! How may I help you?”

Eric stopped browsing the blasters being listed at such steep prices and gave the professionally smiling Blue Corp representative who had addressed him his full attention. “I don’t suppose you sell items on commission?”

The professional-looking elven woman gave a polite chuckle. “I’m afraid that’s not how we do business here, sir. Though I’m happy to do a free appraisal and inform you if anything of interest that we might be interested in purchasing from you.”

Eric silently gestured for the woman to come closer. Her brow furrowed, but nonetheless, she took a step forward. “Sir…”

“Please, call me Ernest. Ernest Edgelord Slaughter.”

She gave him a flat stare.

“I mean… Edgelord Ernest Slaughter. Sorry. My bad.”

The woman sighed, now looking at him as if he truly were a child, her expression making it clear that he wasn’t the first youth to yank her chain that day.

“I do believe curfew is in less than an hour, child. Perhaps you should head home? Even those of you blessed with superhuman physiques, dreams of greatness, and a Classer’s potential are best served preparing for futures truly worthy of those dreams. Professions assure a lifetime of safety and security for both you and your…” Her voice cut off when Eric’s hands flashed. Her eyes widened at the prize that disappeared just a split-second later.

“Sir! Was that a...?”

Eric winked. “A T-III Hyperion Minigun? Wouldn’t that be a remarkable thing if my ‘dream’ had left me with such concrete artifacts of all the shit we never actually had to endure… in this timeline at least?” He smirked at her flinch. “And who knows? Perhaps my revelries in the land of nod were sufficient for me to pluck free multiple sets of only slightly battered power armor from the infinite froth of quantum flux, alternate timelines, and glorious probability. And definitely of finer weave and better quality alloy than what I’m seeing here, if my Unified Perception and Identify skill are anything to go by. And yeah. I might have plucked free a fair number of standard blasters as well. But you and I both know that the Hyperion miniguns are the gems that all of these gear hungry mercenaries that come in here will be salivating over.”

The elven proprietress gazed at him for long moments. “You’re no child who woke up beside his parents three days ago, when we were all hit by those awful dreams.” She took a shuddering breath. “You’re not from Freetown at all, are you?”

Eric grinned. “Never said I was. But that’s not the question you should be asking, is it?”

She swallowed when he stepped right up beside her, acute senses making it clear she wasn’t trembling with fear or discomfort when he whispered softly into her ear. “The only question you need to be asking, the only question that matters, is how much fucking money we can make, when desperate bucket-heads find out that we’re the only game in town? Because if what I’ve seen is holds true for the rest of the city, if the comments I’m hearing a certain group of hard-eyed customers grumbling about is anything to go by… we really are the only game in town. Hell, we just might be the biggest market for Bronze tier electromana gear in the Northeast, if not the entire continent.”

The proprietress snapped her gaze to meet his own for long moments, totally not bothered by their sudden close proximity, eye to eye, a hairsbreadth from their lips touching, her meek demeanor of moments ago vanishing to reveal the mercantile huntress just underneath.

“We split the profits from your ‘finds’ in half, and we’ll make sure all traces of System edict violations disappear long before anyone can put you in cuffs.”

Eric smirked. “You’ll take a ten percent cut of goods you’ll find are ‘somehow’ grandfathered in to be perfectly legal for me to own, no matter how twisted and fractal the legaleez or System convolutions become.”

The woman before him blanched only momentarily, before chuckling softly, not shying away when their lips touched. “A one third cut from prizes seized by an obvious Contender merely playing at being a spoiled local.”

Eric’s smile hardened. “Twenty percent. The same exact cut that Blue Corp offers all Contenders seizing territories and throwing them your way.”

Her smile matched his own. “Twenty percent. Done and done,” she said huskily, cherry red lips pressing against his own before she broke off their kiss and whispered in his ear. “You may call me Nikita. Now come in back. Let me see just what you’re packing.”

A smirking Eric did just that, pretty sure that her husky voice and yes, most definitely swaying hips was just for show, all the more so when he caught a few pairs of measuring eyes. Eric chuckled softly, having to admit that it was nice, even if it was really just a part of their negotiation and a way to throw off thieves and competitors.

Then he caught a look at his own image from one of the many reflective mirrors that were all about showing off the customers and their wares to best effect… and avoiding unnecessary five finger discounting. He winced, looking at a pair of dreamy brown eyes adorning perfectly symmetrical features graced with heavenly soft curls he had sensed the proprietress having to fight to not twirl about her finger when they got just a bit too close for that boundary-breaking kiss that might have started as a challenge… before pheromones clicked and it became something more.

That’s when it finally clicked. No matter the occasional shockingly beautiful youth he recalled seeing in Freetown’s first incarnation, so many of the Bronze-tier Classers he had encountered might have a fearsome presence and maybe rugged good looks, but very few of them had any Appearance or Charisma boost beyond whatever excellent health their Bronze-tier ascension granted.

And even if he had thought himself a rare strategic bird focusing on Vitality before good looks… some of the titles he had earned had definitely hit his Appearance stat. And maybe being permitted to freely boost Charisma and Appearance with level-up points was just as unlikely as automatically healing all wounds for anyone not born on a newly ascending worlsd like Earth. Of course there was plastic surgery. But what were the odds that superhuman physiques would naturally try to ‘heal’ it back to baseline, like any other injury? And if the recovery wasn’t absolutely perfect… one’s face would looked stretched and deformed. Far worse than doing nothing at all.

And here I am, strutting around with a 29 Appearance my magical ring transferred to my human persona, just like a Korean MMO where every single character is photoshop perfect! No wonder Kelly was flirting with my goofball ass after just ten minutes of me giving unwanted big brother advice and using her for cover, he thought to himself. And with a Vitality above 580 and an elf’s knack for picking up on pheromone potential… Eric winced, recalling all too well how close a certain velimobile ride had come to turning into a hell of a lot more than a meeting of the minds. He already knew just how quickly and fiercely elves could become infatuated with a potential mate… and he could sense the sharp increase in the proprietress’s heart rate as she readied herself to turn around as they discretely made their way down a tastefully decorated corridor with tungsten alloy walls and arcane wards just below the faux wood paneling, because this was a place where serious business took place.

Nikita swiped a card through a reader at the end of the hall before gesturing for Eric to come forward while her glare dismissed what Eric was sure would normally be an assistant.

Finesse check made!

Eric caught the man’s curious eyes. “Stay,” he mouthed, even as he summoned the prize that had caught the shopkeeper’s interest before their little negotiating dance. The man froze, clearly alarmed to see the weapon Eric held so comfortably in his grip. His features went deathly pale as the woman turned around to gesture Eric inside.

“Come on, brave adventurer. I’m eager to see your—” Her husky words were cut off, cheeks flushing prettily as she cleared her throat before Eric’s cool gaze as he held the prize he knew she was most eager to claim.

“An X-Class Mark-III Hyperion minigun.” Nikita’s pupils dilated, her voice now husky with a hunger that went far beyond the carnal. “May I… see?”

Holding back a smile, Eric solemnly handed the woman his prize as he and the assistant now dutifully following right behind them made their way into what appeared to be a high quality assembly room, complete with microscopes, digi-scanners and what he could only assume were arcane apparati useful in ascertaining the quality and authenticity of the items they brought and sold.

Silken pant legs swished as Nikiti quickly proceeded to one of the tables bare of exotic equipment, bright hazel eyes glittering prettily as she whispered a few quiet syllables.

Arcane Perception check: Success! Appraisal chant in use.

Her eyes lit up with unmistakable delight. “It is authentic, and by some miracle, free and clear of any stricture! Somehow, this prize is considered an Earth-aligned relic and so may be brought and sold at our pleasure.” Her lips curled in a smile. “I have several outstanding buy orders. I could sell it for over twenty million credits right now if you’re interested…”

Eric held her gaze for long moments. “Fifty.”

The assistant gasped. Nikita’s playful expression flattened. “These, as high end a prize as they are, can be purchased for three million credits in any major market. Even considering our location…”

Eric, cool smile firmly in place, slowly shook his head. “We’re in an isolated ascending world, and somehow I wouldn’t be surprised one tiny bit to find that, despite a surprising number of Bronze tier classers being permitted to ‘assist’ us in our time of transition, that any supply of high end Bronze caliber weaponry is extremely… limited. Even for Tier 1 blasters. And for toys like this? All but nonexistant. Am I wrong?”

Nikita swallowed. “I…” She shook her head, brows furrowing with confusion. “No, I do believe there is a Goblin charter, which is why we must act before we can be undersold… but wait… the goblin faction… they… they were never a part of Freetown were they?”

Eric said nothing, though his eyes twinkled with mercantile joy. “The important point being that there are no goblin merchants here, whatsoever. And if they had some arms-selling license tied to their bank charter… well, that doesn’t do them much good if they have neither bank, nor representatives here, does it?”

Nikita’s smile matched Eric’s own. She chuckled throatily before sighing, her grin turning apologetic. “Unfortunately, Blue Corp policies prevent excessive markups even with artificial scarcity, I’m afraid that—”

Eric cleared his throat. “Am I Blue Corp?”

Her eyes widened.

“No. Indeed, you’re not. We’re selling on commission. We’re merely the facilitators!”

Eric nodded. “And you can hardly be blamed if some egotistical self-important adventurer insists on selling an item that could arguably be considered priceless as power armor specialists’ levels and accrued wealth rises, even as their gear inevitably takes a hit. And for those willing to stick it out with lesser blasters for the moment… we both know grabbing this prize will become the goal of a hell of a lot of them. So let’s make it a nice round number. Because we don’t need them all thinking the price we list it as is acceptable. We just need the one thirsty merc that’s desperate enough to buy it.”

“Well said, sir.” Her assistant quietly commended, dressed impeccably in a perfectly creased uniform, looking for all the world like a snappily dressed butler with his hair slicked back, gazing Eric’s way with the warm fondness of a born bootlicker.

Nikita gazed thoughtfully at Eric. “Your position has merit. But our competition could undercut us by ten million and they would still lock in a forty million return for any mercenary or lucky adventurer willing to sell their prize.”

Eric smirked. “Because sometimes things happen, and a prize just ‘turns up’.

“Precisely.”

“But what if we have all the prizes in play?”

Her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I…”

She gasped, gazing at Eric in awed disbelief when he then pulled out a second Hyperion Minigun, then a third, then a fourth. And finally a fifth.

“Where… how…”

“Oh, I also have a T-III Sniper Rifle! Check this glorious bad-boy out.” Eric solemnly pulled out a thing of beauty leagues beyond even his incredible T-II kickass Hyperion Blaster. “Though we’re putting this one up for a hundred million.”

“That’s absurd!” She spat out on pure reflex.

Eric grinned. “Yup. Don’t worry, I don’t actually expect to sell it. If no one claims it, I’ll take it back, no harm no foul, when the miniguns start selling. But it still serves a vital purpose, market-wise. It helps raise the bar of what is an ‘acceptable’ price here, making the fifty mil for the mini’s seem relatively reasonable in comparison. And you know sucker psychology. The more they see a certain good going for a certain price, the more they’ll think that price is an acceptable norm, even if it’s well beyond their means.”

“Ruthless,” she whispered.

“But he does have a point, Lady Nikita, and the onus is on him, not the Blue Corp name,” assured her assistant.

Eric smirked. “That’s right! Let them all hate on me. I’ll be crying all the way to the bank. But it always pays to have a bit of added padding, just in case. So, on that note…”

With an exaggerated wave of his hand, Eric began pulling out a full half dozen power armor suits in nearly perfect condition, and another half dozen that were little more than scrap.

Nikita’s gaze went from bemusement to awed admiration to caution born of fear.

“This… is a most impressive collection, Lord Slaughter.”

Eric smirked. “Lord now, is it, sure. Ernest Edgelord Slaughter. It does have a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

She gave him a look.

He ignored the flush in his cheeks. Social Perception and What The Other Party Wants were both proving incredibly useful for hitting all the right notes during their negotiation, and making it painfully obvious when he was straight up playing the fool.

“So, tell me what Blue Corp would normally sell these suits for, and again we’ll double it and round it up. Because we are the suppliers and we’re making the market. By the time those poor suckers are done being bombarded by sticker shock, their mushy minds will be putty for whatever we put on sale.”

“Truly wicked, my lord. I stand in awe!” Whispered the flunky that was definitely growing on Eric. Quite the likable chap, really.

Eric chuckled. “Isn’t it? Now as for the lower end blasters… yeah. I get the feeling the Mark-I’s are common enough that we won’t be able to squeeze the market like a bloodfruit with them.”

“Unfortunately not, Lord Slaughter,” Nikita commiserated, looking for all the world like she felt the loss just as acutely as he did. “Though by no means common enough for White-tiers to get ahold of them, not unless they’re being actively sponsored by an elite mercenary company, their price point is around 450,000 credits and that’s been stable for as long as we’ve been here.”

Eric smirked, but let that go. “Alright then… how about Mark-II Death Blazes?”

“Between 3 and 5 million.”

Eric nodded. “How many do you have in stock?”

“Three at the moment.”

“Okay. Here’s ten. Let’s mark them at nine million each. We’ll put them out, bold as day, apologizing for nothing. Calling it top tier versus secondhand. Once people buy out the secondhand, which they’ll do like people worried about toilet paper during Covid when they see how much pricier the new stock is… then the market is ours.”

“Brilliant, my lord!” Declared Nikita’s assistant, who showed himself to be more than just a talented bootlicker when, with brisk efficiency, the man had all the weaponry presented in all their glory upon black velvet cloth with a whispered chant cleaning them of all dust, gore, and superficial scratches polished to a shine.

The armor took longer, and Nikita seemed perfectly content to let her assistant who, despite his supercilious charm, was obviously both a Professional and a Classer, handle the displays while she wrapped up the paperwork with Eric as soon as they finished negotiating over a few final toys which included quite a large bulk amount of miscellaneous gear that Eric was happy to offer for lot sale for what he knew was too high a price, yet after the rich promise of profitability with all the other delicious items for sale, Nikita was more than happy to put up with. Which suited Eric just fine, since Nikita was now effectively holding miscellaneous toys and treasures Eric would gladly pick up after his primary mission that demanded an absolutely empty storage space… knowing that no one was going to buy all his miscellaneous shit for an absurd ten million credits.

He had held back a few truly choice items, of course… just in case desperation or a desperate bribe would make all the difference… gear he was more than willing to carry in his own bloody hands if it came to that, should he achieve his goal and still have to run all out for Freetown.

“It truly has been a pleasure working with you, Ernest Slaughter,” Nikita said with a certain twinkle in her eye, clinking her champagne glass with his own, before sliding a vellum card holder across the table. “And this is for you. Along with an interest-free ten thousand credit extension from us. My assistant took care of the details, so no need for you to worry over it.”

Eric blinked, surprised to find a Blue Card with his alias, though without the Edgelord moniker. In truth, he was surprised. He thought they needed a drop of his blood. But apparently not? He beamed with pleasure.

“Thank you! This will make things easier, since I won’t need to pay for everything with coin all the time.”

“If only more adventurers had your problem,” Nikita said with a fond twinkle in her eye.” She tilted her pretty head, giving him a thoughtful smile before taking a sip of her bubbly wine. “So, how does it feel to know that you’ll soon be filthy rich?”

Eric chuckled. “Let’s just say that I’m eager to kit up our brave boys in steel blue with the best gear that money can buy.”

“Cheers to that!” Her smile grew as she eyed him thoughtfully over the rim of her glass. “It occurs to me that you’re actually a new face here in Freetown. How would you like to see the sights with a native? I’d be happy to give you the grand tour...”

Eric chuckled. “If only I had the time. Now that I’ve unloaded prizes won in gambling halls best never mentioned, I need to disappear for awhile.”

Nikita froze, her ardor immediately cooling. “You do know that we sell only high end goods of impeccable background, yes? And trouble sent our way will not be tolerated.”

Eric’s gaze hardened. “Don’t get cold feet now, Nikita. Our contract is signed and sealed. Besides, you saw for yourself that everything I sold was fully sanctioned by the System. Everything was claimed far and square.”

Nikita froze, before slowly giving a nod. “That’s true enough, I suppose.”

“Though if you wanted to double or triple security with Blue Corp’s finest for awhile… we both know our profits will more than cover that expense.”

Her brow furrowed. “I was going to offer limited overtime… but you’re right. With this much capital invested in our venture, triple standard security will serve as both a show of force to deter theft, while underscoring just how valuable our prizes truly are.”

“That’s the spirit!” Eric declared. “And as long as I’m here… maybe can get geared up myself?”

This earned a bemused smile. “I note you’re wearing American teen casual. As a disguise, I’m guessing? Surely no one would have suspected that you have a net worth in excess of half a billion credits worth of goods, assuming we actually manage to sell it at your listed prices, and I have no better gear in stock than the Tier-IV Hyper-Polymer skin suits you yourself are putting up for sale through our emporium.”

Eric crossed his fingers and rested his chin on them, gazing at Nikita with a whimsical smile. “True. Though I can think of one prize even better than the hyper-polymer.”

“And that would be…”

“Mithril.”

Nikita blinked, giving Eric a slow, measuring look. “Ah. I see.”

Eric ignored the twisting in his gut, enduring her too knowing stare. His Nose for Trouble was completely quiescent, but he had already proven to at least one group of overconfident Rank 30+ Bronzers the price of relying on perks alone to suss out any situation.

Still, enough was riding on the line that he was happy to quietly sip what tasted an awful lot like his mother’s favorite Champagne while undergoing Nikita’s thorough scrutiny, now almost certain she was accessing one data bank or another, no doubt more than a bit curious about the mysterious stranger before her. Of course him triggering her alarm implying that he was just a lucky bastard who had ripped off a Bronze merc company in shady gambling halls somewhere should have made her cautious, and it was on its surface unbelievable, save for the uniquely odd talents that Terran Contenders popped up with, as he had noted more than one opponent cursing to their frustration. So why not one that allowed him to out-hustle pretty much everyone?

No, he wouldn’t regret his alluded to story. Because no other explanation made sense without outright declaring himself a powerhouse at a time when he absolutely wanted to avoid serious attention being sent his way with Bronze tier professionals and Classers after him, and how the hell did that come to pass when the goblin faction had been all but wiped out?

He kept his half-smile in place, enduring Nikita’s scrutiny while her lips curved in a bemused smile, eyes twinkling with an odd sort of excitement once more. “You truly are an intriguing one, aren’t you, Ernest? Well, it just so happens that a full suit of mithril armor was recovered by a mercenary who I’m all but certain had a highly advanced Treasure Hunter perk.”

Eric froze, ears roaring with the pounding of his heart. It had been a shot in the dark. He hadn’t seriously thought that he might actually luck into what he had been desperate for since first robbed of so many treasures right before the endless night began. Still, he’d be an absolute fool to give away just how desperately he wanted such a treasure, Nikita’s long pause suddenly making sense. She hadn’t been doing a background check for its own sake… she had been building up tension, trying to feel him out.

To see just how much such a prize would be worth to him.

He took a careful sip of his drink. “Fascinating. How much did he sell it to you for?”

This earned a warm, throaty chuckle, Nikita’s smile revealing brilliant white teeth.

“Why Ernest, that would be telling!” She said with a playful wink. “And the best part is, the treasures are actually Wind affiliated, is that not fascinating? Cultivation treasures found here in Freetown where there isn’t a cultivator to be found anywhere. Quite a remarkable find! Wouldn’t you say?”

Eric shrugged, the interest fading from his eyes as he gave a restless crick of his shoulders. “Actually… I was hoping for a mithril blade.”

He smirked, patting the prize radiating magic that he had claimed from a mercenary that had been dead set on killing him, not that long ago. A prize he had slipped in its sheath under his coat just seconds after leaving the ice cream parlor. “A gladius like this, that our merc friends seem to love with a force shield, for close melee-range shield bash and killing, is pretty badass when you’re fighting in power armor. Hell, this prize is actually a vibro blade and more than capable of cutting through half the shit I saw on display. But it doesn’t really suit my sleek, badass fencing style. I can’t look dashing twirling a short range hack and thrust blade around like this, can I?”

He then casually unsheathed his blade and put the tiniest trickle of mana through it, suppressing a smirk a the way Nikita’s face absolutely paled, Eric suddenly acutely aware of just how deadly that cutting vibro blade was.

His interface suddenly spiked with a dozen warning messages about the risks of causing harm to a Blue Corp associate and how absolutely stupid that would be.

He immediately withdrew his will and mana pool from it, sighing sadly as it took long seconds to power down before resheathing it. “I can’t even show off a proper twirl. But a nice katana? Or even better, a dachi? Have you seen half of Blue Corp’s anime? Heroes look so BADASS flashing those blades around!”

Nikita blinked, thoughts clearly whirling as she reoriented herself. “It just so happens that I might be able to locate such a blade for you, Ernest. But just to be clear, do you truly have no interest in mithril armor?”

Eric frowned. “Do you think it would match my badass trench coat? I mean, my next stop is to see if I can get it enchanted by this really hot… I mean, very gracious and kind enchanter I helped out of a pinch the other day. So… yeah, I mean, it might not hurt to have an extra layer of protection and all, and it would make a super sweet gift I bet if I ever find a cute elven warrior princess who wants to adventure by my side… as long as it’s not too crazy priced.” He furrowed his brow. “Do you think I could have them melt it down and make me a nice katana or dachi? I got a few character points I could use to flash learn an absolutely badass combat style, I just know it!”

Nikita’s look was one of quickly suppressed horror. “To use your infinite ability to shape your soul on such a…” she took a deep breath, quickly getting a hold of herself. “Ernest, I would be more than happy to direct you to several very skilled trainers who could teach you both the basics and the finer points of numerous combat styles. Men and women who are currently working full time polishing the skills of countless youth who woke up with the memories of warriors and adventurers from either a different world or era. They would be more than happy to teach you, and would counsel you to save every last one of your precious ‘points’ to achieve elite attributes or the absolute highest ranks of the skill, after you’ve achieved Journeyman level on your own, which itself will prove a remarkable and hard-won feat more than worthy of your time!”

Eric grinned, more touched than he wanted to admit by her obvious concern. “Great! So I can melt it down if I decide it isn’t for me and my future adventuring companions prefer the shit I’m selling here to shiny chain mail. So, how much would it cost me to get whatever mithril scrap you have?”

Nikita’s anxious look turned to a rueful chuckle, her gaze both playful and scolding.

Eric kept his expression neutral, his Social Perception making it clear that he had overstepped.

“My dear boy, I almost think you’re trying too hard! We don’t sell scrap. We sell treasures! And I’d be happy to sell you a certain pair of treasures… mithril hauberk and helm, for one hundred million credits.” Her smile grew. “Even better, since I happen to have so many of your wonderful toys on collateral, we could make the trade right now, a deduction from whatever profits you make from your commissions, without you being short a single silver coin.

Eric clenched his jaw, knowing he had fucked up, but determined to play it off as simple disappointment. “I see. Well, I’m sorry I wasted your time then,” he said with a sigh, getting up from his chair. “I’ll be back in a week, or you can System message me once we make sufficient sales that its actually worth my time to pick up my cut?” he forced a smile, dipping his head at her tightened expression. “Thanks for the Champagne. It was my mother’s favorite.”

For some reason, this made Nikita pale.

But it was only when he turned his back and made his way for the emporium exit that her warm golden laughter washed over him once more.

“Ernest… Ernest! Come. There is no reason not to finish your drink! I have an entire bottle for us to enjoy. Perhaps there is something else you desire?”

He forced a thoughtful nod. “Well, you did mention that you might be able to source me a blade. I’m guessing the guy who found the mithril armor probably kept the sword? Yeah. You can let me know if you find it, sure.” He patted the blade at his hip, what truly was an odd fusion of magic and high magitech artistry, a Bronze tier weapon that he was almost certain wouldn’t have any problems surviving even the most chaotic territory or delve chock full of wild magic. But maybe it was worth soul-bonding after all. A quick hold-out weapon he could ram under an assassin’s ribs in the instant someone attacked him in the dead of night.

He let his resolve show on his face. “And you know what? You made a damn good point. Why burn a precious level up point when I can earn free levels just by training my lazy ass? Thanks for getting my head straight on that.” He chuckled softly. “I think a certain lucky windfall of my own almost made me lose my common sense.” He grinned. “And there’s no way I’m paying a hundred million for shiny chain mail. That’s a sucker’s price, Nikita. You and I both know it.”

Her gaze narrowed. “So, you are interested.”

Eric shrugged. “I’ll pick it up for the same price as the best power armor we’re selling desperate Bronze tanks, which I’m most certainly not. It’s cute, but like you said, the Tier-IV Hyper Polymer skin suits are top of the line, and you’d better believe that I kept one for myself.”

“Fifteen million’s an insult!” Nikita glared.

Eric crossed his arms. “So was high-balling me with bullshit. So let’s do twenty.”

“Forty. For just the hauberk.”

“Thirty for hauberk and helm, and you try to get me that mithril blade for ten or less.”

“Thirty five for the hauberk, five for the helm. And that sword, if I can even get it, will cost you another twenty!”

“Deal.”

And so fast it was almost magic, an amendment was signed and Eric found her assistant ushering him to a private showing room where both sparkling mithril hauberk and helm were adorning a mannequin that had never looked so majestic. Eric held in a shuddering breath, eyes flashing with exultation he did his best to keep in check. Yet it was clear from the half-smile Nikita was giving him that she was reading him like a book.

“Would you like to try it on?”

Not trusting himself to speak, lost in the glorious sparkle of a prize that called out to him so sharply, all he could do was nod.

Her warm laughter caressed his spine. “If I didn’t know better, Ernest, I’d think that this prize was worth far more to you than the forty you’re paying.” She said as her assistant quickly removed the priceless treasure from it’s mannequin and presented it to Eric with a bow.

“A prize worthy of a king! Masterful negotiation, my lord,” her assistant said, handing Eric the mithril treasures. And it was only in that moment, heart in throat, that Eric dared to acknowledge the terrible doubt in his heart.

They hadn’t been won in battle. What if these prizes refused him?

Yet much to his awed relief that he revealed only then, the mithril armor flowed into his arms like silk, resonating warmly, happily, with his cultivation base.

Eric couldn’t help but chuckle with fierce satisfaction, eyes twinkling with mirth when he finally understood.

Nikita blinked. “Why do I suddenly feel like you would have paid your entire fortune to secure that armor?”

Eric’s grin was all teeth. “I guess it’s fair to say… I won that negotiation round, no? Of course, that’s the beauty of our Blue Corp mercantile empire. By meeting each other’s needs, we both come out winners.”

Nikita frowned, giving him an ever more thoughtful look. “You’re not lying.”

Eric blinked. “Excuse me?”

“When you said ‘our mercantile empire…’ you meant it. As if you also had a stake in this grand, glorious game that we play. How fascinating.”

Eric’s heart started to race. Because as a fifty percent stakeholder in the bank that technically owned the entire city and all the real estate and businesses therein… he did indeed mean it. And he was an idiot not to think that a merchant like her had some sort of lie detection skill.

His cheeks flushed. Which meant that she knew he had been stretching the truth regarding the origins of so many prizes now being sold on commission. Because sure as shit, he hadn’t won this gear with opponents gambling. Not unless you counted the bets as being nothing less than the very lives of his opponents. His prey. But even if she caught that, she would have also sensed that he was entitled to every last piece of high tech hardware he had claimed from the killing fields of a world, or a timeline, that now somehow never was. Or had always been. That endless night somehow baked and backended into the bedrock of causality itself.

He felt a cold prickle of concern, if not outright alarm. Now pretty damned certain that he had only been half as clever as he had thought, and that Nikita now knew far more than he had intended to let on. But all she did was bow her head.

“It has been a genuine pleasure working with you, Lord Slaughter. I look forward to our next engagement.”

Eric grinned. “Myself as well. Now if you’ll permit me a few minutes to change…”

This earned a bemused eyebrow. “That hungry, are we? No longer playing? Good. Now I know I could have gotten that hundred million from you.” She sighed, giving him a rueful smile. “Well played, Ernest. Well played indeed.”

Eric grinned. “And you’re still up 40 million. I’m betting that’s triple what you bought it for.”

Her eyes twinkled. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it? And a good merchant never reveals her clients’ secrets. Now go change. I’m eager to see just how dashing you look!”

For getting the best of a skilled Professional while still assuring that you both come out ahead, you have achieved 1 additional Rank in Negotiation!

Congratulations! Negotiation is now Rank 15!

Note! Your Acting skill has failed to level.

Almost in a daze, Eric solemnly did just that. Fighting to swallow the lump in his throat when he gazed at his own reflection. Not as Ernest, but as Eric, tears streaming down his eyes, his ice blue irises now surrounded by a corona of gold and violet, fire and ice, shimmering the same as his ever fainter and increasingly exotic looking essence tattoos gracing both his cheeks.

In that moment he could admit it. Even with the exotic polymer skin suit serving as padding, the mithril armor fit him perfectly. He looked like an elven prince out of his mother’s grandest productions, ready to take on a world and claim his throne.

He closed his eyes, ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks, squeezing his hands as Ernest came to the fore once more, mithril half-helm disguised by the power of his ring and the wide-brimmed hat he wore once more.

When he stepped out of the changing room, his acute perception picked up the voices of outraged sounding mercenaries, placating security, and he knew he had fucked up.

Not because of the healthy commotion in the front of the store that was a sign of lively capitalism and exploitative pricing at its best, but because of the look of awe in Nikita’s gaze.

Awe and fear.

FUCK! He should not have eased the power of his ring, not even for a second. Because she had seen. She must have! And why the hell wouldn’t she take a moment to glimpse whatever secrets her customers were stupid enough to reveal in a changing room? Maybe it was a safety and theft precaution too. No need to assume malice, even if mild predatory capitalism was something he had somehow persuaded her to engage on his behalf. But still.

“My lord, please. You have to leave. Now.”

Eric froze, jaw clenched. “Explain.”

“Goblin elites and barristers are heading this way, Your Grace. If you would save our city, you have to disappear before they can find you!”

Eric’s eyes widened. “Fuck.”

She knew.

She had pieced it all together with a single fucking tell.

Of course she had! She was a Blue Corp executive with enough competence and pull to run the most lucrative and dangerous branch of their entire operation! Catering to power hungry Bronze elite. And why the hell had she zeroed in on him, a casual-looking kid, within seconds of him entering the plaza, just one more browser among many?

Eric’s cheeks flushed, realizing that, as skilled and clever as liked to think himself, he was a babe in the woods playing with centuries-old masters who actually had classes in arenas where he only had a few perks and a Negotiation skill. Did she know from the start? Had their entire negotiation just been a song and dance for his pleasure?

No. He couldn’t let himself spiral down that line of thought.

His Negotiation skill advancement gave him a tiny sliver of comfort in a sudden sea of worry, and his failure to level up the lower level Acting skill suddenly made perfect sense. He always had been playing to his weakness in that arena. It would be a miracle if Acting ever became a strength. Even if Rank 6 was, technically, strikingly good compared to most mortals, and the Eric of today wouldn’t have been nearly the embarrassment to the Silver name that he had been just a few years back. It didn’t change the fact that his social opponents today were the farthest thing from classless mortals.

He quickly reigned in his racing thoughts, Battletime in full effect as the world seemed to slow, processing so much in the time it took Nikita to blink just once. Whether or not she had known from the start, and had been desperately messaging Caliban on how best to handle him, or only in the second he had dared to reveal himself in what he thought were private chambers… to sense himself in the Windridge Clan mithril mail as himself, his true self, so he could Soul-Bind his prizes at just half standard cost, being as familiar with the mail as a second skin… it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that the hour was so late and the stakes so high that social niceties and pretexts were being put aside for survival.

The survival of Freetown as the magical second chance he had intended it to be for countless thousand of souls hinged upon him getting the hell out of this city and retrieving a fortune in gold just as fast as he could.