Book 2: Chapter 32: A Mercenary Mindset

Book 2: Chapter 32: A Mercenary Mindset

Roman stood on the balcony, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the horizon. Below him, the city of Easton spread out for more than a mile. The old wall had been dismantled, and the area surrounding his palace – the former police station – had been meticulously redesigned. The Architects, Builders, and Sculptors had only had time to implement the new plans in an area of about two square blocks, but they covered more ground by the day.

“It truly is amazing how quickly people can work with these new classes,” he remarked, careful to measure his words. With his position, he needed to maintain a certain aura of authority, and speaking like a small-town police chief was no longer appropriate. Instead, he struggled to channel a more imperious personality – even when he wasn’t in public. He turned to Fiona, the Mage who had become his closest advisor, and asked, “How long until they complete the Royal District?”

The mousey woman’s expression didn’t change as she answered, “Victor claims that it will be complete at the end of next month.”

“And the new wall?” asked Roman, squinting into the distance. The wall in question was located two miles away, but even from such a distance, it wasn’t difficult to see. Roman had approved the plans himself, but it was still hard to believe such a thing was possible. Little more than the foundations had been completed, but when the wall was finished, it would stretch almost three-hundred feet into the air and encircle the entire city. Even the outskirts.

“That will take longer,” Fiona answered. “Six months. Perhaps a year.”

“Unacceptable.”

Fiona said, “We’re pushing them, but the Arcane Researchers all agree that –”

Roman’s glare was enough to send her sputtering to make excuses, and each one angered him even more. His knuckles whitened as his fists tightened, but he refused to shout. He was better than that. He needed to be steady. Strong. Immovable. Otherwise, he couldn’t be a proper leader.

So, he listened as Fiona haltingly explained how the complexity of the wall’s intended enchantments were slowing down its construction. The true issue was that he was dependent on a bunch of Scholars. Ever since Earth had felt the touch of the World Tree, their mere existence had been a thorn in his side.

In the beginning, his annoyance with their archetype choice was born of simple practicality. When they lived in a world where every day was a struggle to survive, fighters and crafters were exponentially more useful than someone whose skills began and ended with the ability to remember things really well.

That was an intentional oversimplification, but the fact remained that Roman regarded anyone who chose the path of a Scholar as, at best, selfish. At worst, they were cowards. Most of them were idealistic idiots who refused to accept that the world had irrevocably changed and that their priorities should shift as well.

Even if it was uncomfortable.

Even if it meant they’d have to do the sorts of things they often regarded as barbaric or beneath them.

Of course, Roman was no idiot. He understood the value such people could bring to a society. However, he also knew that, when food and security were in such short supply, Scholars and Researchers were a luxury they couldn’t afford to indulge. So, he’d made a lot of difficult choices. He’d indirectly killed thousands by refusing Scholars entry into Easton. Each one of those deaths weighed heavily on his shoulders, but that was what leadership often was – choosing between a collection of terrible options.

And now, the price of those choices had come due.

It had been months since he’d rescinded the moratorium on allowing new arrivals with Scholar archetypes into the city, and though the population of dedicated academics had grown significantly, few exceptional people had emerged. Some of his advisors had pointed out that some of that was due to the city’s reputation. The world was disjointed and disconnected, but there was enough trade between Easton and a few other towns and cities that word of their discriminatory practices against Scholars had spread. Because of that, very few of those people even tried to enter the city anymore, opting for more accepting environments.

As a result, Easton’s advancement had suffered, though Roman had some ideas on how to solve that problem. He only needed a little more time before he could implement those plans. In the meantime, they were forced to work with the tools they had on hand, which meant that development on a project like the wall was slow.

Still, Roman hoped it would be worth it, especially considering the resources they’d put into it. He’d lost count of how many Ethereum they’d spent – not to mention the physical cost of all the labor that had gone into it – to get even this far. And the price would only become more exorbitant before the project was completed.

“It will be worth it, sir,” said Fiona. She was his right-hand woman, and as such, she knew him better than anyone else in Easton. Especially since Alyssa had met with her unavoidable fate. “When the wall is finished, we won’t have to worry about spontaneous Voxx manifestations anymore. Not to mention that it will keep out the monsters.”

Indeed, even though the second was the traditional purpose of a wall – especially one as formidable as what they were building –the first benefit was the most important. Every week, Roman read reports about those spontaneous manifestations. Voxxian monsters suddenly appearing in people’s homes, in businesses, and even in public squares. The city’s guardsmen dealt with them as quickly as possible, but rare was the instance where one of the Voxx was killed without taking at least a couple of citizens with it.

“I know. That’s why I greenlit the project,” he said, turning away. Then, he looked at his watch and asked, “Where is he? He should be here by now.”

“I am,” came a voice from nearby.

Opposition could not be allowed.

Not yet.

If they were divided, the city would fall. Roman knew that as surely as he’d ever known anything. Which brought him to why he’d summoned Trace to the palace. The man was uniquely qualified to do the job Roman had in mind.

“I have a proposal for you,” he said.

“No offense, chief, but I’m not looking to get married,” Trace said with the same crooked grin he almost always bore. “Nothing against you. You’re great. Very handsome. I’m just not interested in that kind of –”

“Take this seriously,” Roman interrupted.

“The world ended. Magic and monsters exist. If you’re taking this seriously, you’re doing it wrong.”

Roman’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the threat of which Trace did not miss.

He held up his hands, saying, “Fine. Putting on my serious face. What’s up? What do you have for me?”

“Like I said – a proposal. An opportunity. I want you to head up a new division of the government,” Roman said. “Your focus will be information gathering and, if necessary, quiet removal of threats to the common good.”

The decision had not been lightly made, but Roman felt confident that he’d made the right choice. Not only did Trace’s class suit the role perfectly, but he also had a certain moral flexibility that would almost assuredly prove necessary. Couple that with his connections throughout the city – the man seemed to know every low-life in Easton – and he became the clear choice.

“That sounds an awful lot like a secret police, chief,” Trace said. “Not a great track record for those, historically speaking.”

Roman didn’t dispute that. “I will give you resources,” he stated. “You will have top-tier equipment. Good people. Advancement opportunities. And, of course, you will be well-compensated.”

Trace grinned. “You had me at well-compensated.”

“That is literally the last thing he said,” Fiona pointed out, her first contribution to the conversation.

“And the only thing that mattered,” Trace pointed out. “Look – I’m a simple man. Pay me what I’m worth, and I’ll do whatever job you’ve got in mind.”

“A true mercenary,” Fiona said. “Don’t you have any civic pride? Don’t you care about the greater good.”

“If the money’s right, sure. I care about all sorts of things if you pay me enough.”

“Disgusting.”

“Practical.”

“Enough,” Roman said before the two could further their argument. Then, to Trace, he asked, “You’ll take the job?”

“I will. And I promise I’ll root out all the bad apples. Every last one,” Trace said. “Now, let’s talk more about my compensation. I assume there’s a bonus for every traitor I find...”