Two Hundred and Thirty-Three. No quarter.

Two Hundred and Thirty-Three. No quarter.

Bob was putting in the work. He was on day six of a marathon week, fueled by his experience of watching the sunset over the Grand Canyon. He'd taken advantage of having picked up his prepackaged meals from Kevin and was delving eighteen hours a day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all consumed while he directed Jake through the process of killing monsters.

He was sitting with Monroe on his lap. The big floofer had laid down the law two days ago. If his human-servant was going to spend all his time delving, then he'd just have to provide supplication at the same time. The extra two hours a day he was delving effectively added nearly an entire day of productivity, which was important when Bob considered that his weekend plans were rather pricey. Well, they were pricey in terms of Mana Crystals. It turned out that he had better than a hundred thousand dollars in his account at Bank of America, the residue of the many tons of copper he'd conjured for the Old Guard.

He planned to put that money to good use by going on single-day vacations. Dave and Amanda had been quite enthusiastic about the idea of visiting the Bahamas. Bob had seen photographs of the beaches, the aquamarine waters and had felt something stir in his chest. He'd gone for a swim in the pacific ocean, but the beach hadn't been very nice. So when he'd asked the pair if they'd ever gone to any tropical beaches, they'd waxed poetic about the Bahamas, and when Bob had asked if they'd like to spend his day off there, they'd readily agreed.

It would save him an entire day of travel, as he couldn't portal there himself, and he'd have had to fly otherwise. Given his uncertain relationship with the government, Bob wasn't sure if they'd even allow him to board a plane. Dave and Amanda claimed they had a perfect spot to portal to, a little grove overlooking the bay that was quite a ways off the neatly curated trails.

The emojis they'd used to describe it left little to the imagination as far as just how they'd found it.

Tomorrow morning, instead of waking up and portaling straight of bed and into his Arcane Depths, he'd instead meet Dave and Amanda at the D&D Dungeon, and they'd portal over. They'd picked up a couple of dozen mana potions from Harv, which ensured that they'd be able to spend a little mana without out too many worries. Bob had kicked himself when he'd read that message. His initial experience with mana potions had been... less than pleasant. He shuddered as the memory of his battle with the Big Fucking Nope flashed through his mind. He admitted that he might have suffered a tiny bit of trauma from that night.

One of his persistent effect Utah Raptors darted back toward him, then dropped another Animal Affinity Crystal into the bag at his feet. Bob had decided that ultimately, the Animal Affinity Crystals were an acceptable alternative to Summoning Affinity Crystals. He'd done some more napkin math, and he realized that in addition to effectively allowing for an overleveled summons for battle, those same summons could be used for other purposes.

It turned out that there was a permanent ritual called 'Dimensional Anchor' that served to either block or redirect all forms of dimensional magic. Trebor had explained it to him when he had idly wondered how national borders could be enforced when transportation magic was so common. From what Trebor had said, it was common practice to layer Dimensional Anchors, the first blocking transportation entirely except for those who were keyed in via their matrix, and the second redirecting those who managed to punch through the first.

Another application disabled access to dimensionally expanded spaces, such as his inventory.

That particular revelation had caused him to break out in a cold sweat. He'd been counting on his inventory home as a fail-safe. Being able to simply drop into it and disappear was a trump card, or at least he'd thought it had been. He'd immediately added that ritual to his list of those he needed to either fit in his build or, better yet, learn to cast without the system. By their nature, Dimensional Anchors had to be stationary, but that didn't mean that Bob couldn't make sure that he only spent time in areas with a Dimensional Anchor to which he was keyed.

Having a team of people teleport in on top of him was a recurring nightmare.

His discussion with Trebor on the nature of Dimensional magic had eventually turned back to the fact that at the moment, Earth didn't have a dimensional membrane, which was the only reason that portaling from Thayland to Earth was as easy as it was. Once the integration occurred, getting back and forth would require considerably more power. That particular revelation was one that Bob wasn't sure he needed to share. Ultimately, if people had to hang out on Thayland for a bit longer because folks needed to grind up in order to open portals back home, it wasn't that big of a deal. At least not in comparison to staying on Earth and risking near-certain digestion.

Also, he'd been a little too free with the knowledge he had access to via his advanced integration. He'd caught more than a few knowing looks from his friends and had overheard a few people mention just how knowledgeable he was about a world he'd only been on for two years. He'd hoped that he'd been more subtle, but in the end, he chalked it up to his general lack of social graces.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts long enough to dismiss Jake and then resummon him a few seconds later. Despite his level, the UtahRaptor did take damage from the monsters and had to be resummoned periodically. Directing him back into combat, Bob mentally shifted gears, trying to focus his thoughts on the beautiful beaches he'd be lazing on tomorrow rather than the troubles of today.

Emmanuel Gracia liked to think of himself as a just man. He'd been elected President by a narrow margin in an election that had been expected to fall to his opponent, a man well known to be in the cartel's pockets. His campaign had run on the promise of integrity and a return to law and order.

He'd survived two assassination attempts in the first year when he made it clear that he intended to deliver on his promises. When it came to corruption in his country, his progress was far from steady. President Hartford's words concerning the guilt her citizens bore in regards to the hard currency that flowed through their borders, enriching and emboldening the cartels, were entirely correct. It was too easy for a public servant, barely getting by, to take a small bribe to overlook something minor. Everyone did it. And if at some point, something more important was needed, something more illegal... well, they had blackmail, didn't they? And if they didn't comply, they could always simply threaten to kill a family member.

President Garcia knew exactly how the corruption had spread as deeply as it had, but he lacked a solution for dealing with it.

Until now.

He read the report again, his heart pounding. He could admit to himself that he'd gambled. Taking real action against the cartels was dangerous, not just to the men he'd sent into battle. The cartels had made their displeasure known when previous actions had upset them, killing prominent officials and executing the families of any men who had been identified as taking part in the raids.

Today, he'd changed the political landscape of his country. He'd rotated men through the Dungeon they'd been given access to in Glacier Valley, leveling them up but not too far. He'd needed numbers, after all.

One hundred men, each at level ten, all taking a path that focused on strength, endurance, and coordination. The men had tested themselves and confirmed that they were, at least against NATO rounds, completely resistant to small arms fire. He'd given the go order a few hours ago, sending four teams of twenty-five men each into the heavily fortified bastions that served as the seats of power for the cartels.

Harv nodded slowly. "Let's ignore the fact that it would take a million crystals," he murmured, "it would take twenty-eight hours of non-stop casting."

Steve felt like he'd lost the thread of the conversation, which was definitely not ideal. He decided to push forward. "Materials and personnel won't be an issue," he hastened to assure them. "Again, we have thousands of people who are eager to learn the process."

Carol-Ann snorted indelicately. "Steve, you have no idea the resources required and the special skills needed by the personnel to produce the cure," she said flatly.

"Well, I'd be delighted to find out," Steve grinned brightly. "Rebecca has several contracts drawn up that would let us get started immediately."

"Contracts?" Harv asked.

"I explained this," Carol-Ann sighed, "they are going to want you to sign an agreement stating that you won't share the cure with anyone else, and in return, they'll give you a minuscule share of the profits they make from selling it."

Harv blinked. "I thought you were joking," he said before looking at Steve. "Why would you want to keep the cure for yourselves?" Harv asked.

It was Steve's turn to blink. "We don't want to keep it for ourselves, so much as we would like to be the only ones who manufacture it," he explained carefully. He had no idea how a researcher had managed to miss patents and contract law during their education, let alone their employment. "Pfizer will be investing an enormous amount of time and money into this, and we'll need to make sure that we can recoup that investment. Ensuring that we are the only ones manufacturing the treatment is the simplest way to do that."

Harv and Elli both turned to Carol-Ann, who was apparently here to serve as a translator of sorts.

"They'll take the recipe for the cure, make it, and then sell it across the world. The agreement will state that they're the only ones who can make it, so you won't even be able to make it and distribute it without getting in legal trouble," Carol-Ann explained.

Steve had years of practice to fall back on as he suppressed a wince.

"I don't like the bit about them being the only ones to make it," Elli shook his head, "but I can understand selling it to cover the costs of making it."

"They'll be selling it to make a profit," Carol-Ann said flatly.

Harv shrugged. "You have to pay people for their time and skill," he agreed. "I don't see anything wrong with making a living, as long as they aren't being greedy."

Carol-Ann shook her head with a frown, which Steve tried very hard not to mirror. It was clear that she had a grudge against Pfizer, which wasn't terribly uncommon given her chosen vocation as a nurse.

"They'll charge people a small fortune," she disagreed, "and anyone who can't pay, they'll let die, even though there will be stockpiles of the medicine a hundred feet away."

Steve knew his smile was starting to look more like a grimace. "I can understand that during the initial rollout of a medication, the costs can seem exorbitant," he began a familiar explanation. "The fact of the matter is that the cost of research, development, testing, retooling for manufacturing all have to be recouped as quickly as possible to keep the company solvent. As much as we'd like to give medicine away, and we do," he hastened to assure them, "we can't ignore the basic economics of running a business."

"Maybe we should just deliver the finished product to you, and you can distribute it," Harv suggested. "That way, we can write an agreement that lets you charge a small fee for taking advantage of the network you've already established to deliver other products."

Carol-Ann was beaming at him, and Elli nodded his approval.

Steve shook his head, still smiling. "You're not taking into consideration clinical trials and regulatory approval. You'll need massive quantities of the treatment just for the trials, as well as qualified personnel to run them. Believe me, you'll want us in your corner for all of that."

Harv and Elli exchanged looks again. "Let us take a few days to think this over," Elli said. "We'll look through the contracts," Harv continued, "and we'll get back to you in a week."