Making Game: CH 172 – Artist's Conviction (Patreon)

The galactic net was ablaze with anticipation. Across dozens of settled star systems, from the gleaming spires of the Core Rims to remote agrarian outposts, prospective buyers had already primed their personal compadres on the official Round Table Studio storefront, ready to execute automated pre-orders the very second the Caliburn VR seat became available.

On the studio's primary Stellarcast network, a public broadcast channel had gone live with a synchronized countdown timer. 

Tens of millions of viewers had already flooded the lobby, and the scrolling chat box moved at an impossible speed. Emotes, wild theories about upcoming virtual reality titles, and messages of encouragement for Arthur and his team cascaded across screens throughout the Accord.

…

Far away on Sela, inside a penthouse that overlooked the golden twilight of the entertainment district, Zoye Raves sat comfortably in front of a wide volumetric display.

He swirled a vintage dark Jovian wine in a crystal glass, watching the digital numbers on the stream tick down. A quiet, venomous amusement curled the corners of his mouth. He could already picture the horror that would soon unfold across the stage on Friton.

"Don't blame me too much, Arthur," Zoye murmured to the empty room, lifting the glass to his lips for a slow sip. "I'll gladly make it up to you when the time comes to pick up the broken pieces of your little enterprise."

Every move had been plotted with meticulous care. The studio's golden reputation felt unassailable to the public, yet all it required was a single sudden disaster to destroy the customer trust Arthur had spent years cultivating. That lethal catalyst was already resting in Ravli's trembling hands.

Securing the backing of the Ministry of Technology would cement Zoye's undisputed dominance over the consumer hardware market, yet the bureaucrats in the capital had demanded a demonstration of his competence before lending their official authority. 

The secret agreement was simple. Zoye would turn the Caliburn premiere into an utter catastrophe on live air. The moment the hardware failed, pre-written smear campaigns and fabricated leaks would flood the media networks, claiming Round Table Studio had endangered consumer safety by deploying unstable, untested prototypes pirated straight from the Ministry's classified research labs.

Following that manufactured public outcry, the Ministry would step in to freeze the studio's assets and place their core systems under administrative custody. It was an audacious gamble, yet Zoye felt safe from the fallout. If the operation went wrong or investigators dug too deep into the source of the logic bomb, every trace of blame led directly to Ravli.

Zoye sank deeper into the plush leather of his sofa, wearing a calm, predatory smile as he waited for the tainted spectacle to begin.

…

Across the stars, a disguised Bureau of Stellar Order battle cruiser drifted silently along a commercial transit lane in the Mid Rim. Its exterior hulls were painted in the dull greys of a civilian logistics freighter, masking the heavy plasma batteries and elite strike units tucked behind its bulkheads.

Inside her private quarters, Captain Verza Zal sat surrounded by floating holographic folders.

She had been assigned to head a delicate counter-subversion task force. The glowing slates displayed the personal profiles, encrypted financial transfers, and intercepted transmissions of a regional planetary governor who had recently begun expressing anti-Accord sentiments during closed administrative councils.

Even with the case consuming her desk, Verza had carved out a corner of her peripheral vision for a separate feed. The countdown for Arthur Pendragon's launch event hovered quietly beside her intelligence maps.

Verza considered herself a pragmatist. The harsh core message and complex story within his games had provided her with practical lessons, helping her sharpen her situational awareness and refine her command instincts under pressure. Missing the public unveiling of his most ambitious machine felt unthinkable.

She leaned back against the cushions of her lounger, rubbing her temples. The governor's dossier was filled with circumstantial hints, and building an ironclad justification for an arrest warrant would require weeks of patient surveillance.

Her gaze shifted to a locked terminal beside her desk. Stored inside the encrypted drive was the fragmented profile of the mysterious composer, Percival. For now, that pursuit remained on hold while the Bureau directed her attention toward this current case.

Verza looked at the paused file with a quiet smirk.

"Count yourself lucky," she murmured softly into the dim cabin. "For now."

…

The recommended directory of the Stellarcast network had become a sea of silver banners. At the very top of the page, the official Round Table Studio launch stream held the featured banner, drawing an audience that was already breaking platform records. 

Just beneath the main feed, thousands of stellarcaster across every settled sector had launched their own concurrent watch parties, turning the wait into a massive galactic festival.

In one well-known channel, Roric sat amidst a museum of personal gaming history.

His studio walls were lined with custom display mounts and commissioned replicas from every major Round Table Studio title. In the far corner stood a life-sized set of polished Rathalos plate armor, its dark red scales catching the overhead studio spots. 

Mounted horizontally across a wall bracket was a sleek, glowing replica of the Stygian Blade from Hades, its celestial bronze finish polished to a mirror sheen. 

Beside it, an impeccably tailored Florentine assassin robe hung from a mannequin, complete with layered leather belts and silver cowl trims.

Roric himself looked ready to attend an elite planetary gala. He wore a sharp three-piece suit cut from deep charcoal synth-weave, fitted with subtle luminescent silver piping along the lapels and a crisp, geometric necktie.

Roric stood up from his command chair, tugged down his vest, and smoothed his cuffs with exaggerated elegance.

"Chat, feast your eyes on this," Roric declared, doing a slow spin before the primary optical sensor. "Look at me. Look at the readiness I showed to Arthur and the team today."

The chat cascade exploded with laughter, tuxedo emotes, and mocking applause:

>: "Bro is dressed like he is about to sign an interstellar peace treaty.">: "Formal attire for sitting alone in a padded room staring at a screen.">: "Ten out of ten fit, now please sit down before you rip the seam."

Roric laughed, dropping back into his ergonomic seat. "Hey, mock me all you want, but you have to honor the occasion. In fact, pull out your consoles right now. Send me photos of your best launch outfits while you watch this stream. Tag my public feed, chat. Show me how the real ones dress."

He glanced at the corner of his primary monitor. The official studio countdown still had twenty minutes left on the clock.

Roric pulled up his social inbox on a secondary holographic display, swiping through the flood of incoming tags. The gallery was an unhinged mix of dedication, comedy, and sheer chaos.

"Let's see what we have here," Roric muttered, opening the first submission.

The image showed a neman orbital dock worker sitting in an industrial crane cabin, wearing an extravagant, glittering emerald evening gown with white lace gloves while casually holding a half-eaten synth-ration.

Roric burst into loud, wheezing laughter. "Look at this queen! The crane shifts don't stop, but the ballroom elegance never fades. You look stunning, my friend."

He swiped to the next post, and his expression softened. A young couple was standing in their living room fully suited up in classic Pokémon trainer vests and caps. Between them sat their six-month-old infant, bundled inside an oversized, perfectly round Pikachu onesie with plush ears that drooped over the baby's eyes.

"Oh, come on," Roric chuckled, holding his hand to his heart. "That is downright adorable. Outstanding parenting right there. The kid is being raised right."

The third highlighted photo caused Roric to choke on his water.

A viewer had submitted a picture standing against a plain bedroom wall in a museum-grade cosplay of The Huntsman from the New World. Every single bone spike, cured leather hide, and jagged pauldron was recreated with terrifying craftsmanship. Yet the text caption underneath read: Full armor on the outside, completely naked underneath.

Roric clapped his hands together, howling at the camera. "Completely naked? Brother, that room is going to smell like a swamp by the time the Caliburn launches!"

…

Across the network on an adjacent high-traffic channel, the atmosphere was entirely different.

Inside FramePerfect's stream, there're no fancy suits or comedy reviews. There's only the rhythmic, intense click of controls and the hum of a man locked in pure concentration.

FramePerfect was currently deep in the trenches of Pokémon Arena, pushing through the twenty-third consecutive match of his zero-friendship challenge. The rules he had set were punishing. Every order had to be barked with precise timing, accounting for hesitations, stubbornness, and raw instinct.

On the volumetric projection, FramePerfect called out a flanking shift. His Charizard grunted in reluctant obedience, barely banking left in time to dodge a crushing hydro pump before retaliating with a point-blank blast of heat that scorched the arena floor.

The opposing creature collapsed. The golden victory banner flared across the sky.

Twenty-three wins in a row.

The viewer chat was cascading so fast the text became a continuous white blur:

>: "TWENTY-THREE! HE IS ACTUALLY DOING IT!">: "My heart cannot handle this. Two more games!">: "Are we genuinely witnessing historic gameplay right now?!"

FramePerfect let out a ragged breath, leaning back to glance at the studio launch counter pinned to his peripheral monitor. Fifteen minutes remained before Round Table Studio began their broadcast.

He cracked his knuckles, tapping the matchmaking confirmation button without hesitation. A confident smirk touched his lips.

"I told you, chat," FramePerfect said, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple. "I told you I could pull this off. Two more clean sets, and Agravaine owes this channel two hundred gifted subscriptions."

The chat immediately fired back with anxious warnings:

>: "This is mathematically insane. At your matchmaking MMR, everyone you face is an apex predator.">: "There're at least thirty high-ranked snipers queuing to ruin your streak.">: "Someone is going to bring out a hard counter and shut this down.">: "Hey, don't jinx it!">: "Relax, I don't see a Jynx anywhere in his battle roster."

FramePerfect chuckled at the terrible pun, though his eyes never left the loading screen as the matchmaking ring chimed. "Let them snipe. We finish this before Arthur takes the stage."

…

Far out in the Mid Rim sectors, the afternoon bell rang through the stone corridors of an ordinary planetary academy.

The double doors of a secondary classroom burst open, and Junior came tearing down the hallway at a dead sprint.

"I told you Mr. Faldi's lectures always bleed past the final bell!" Junior shouted over his shoulder, clutching his satchel against his ribs. "Move, move, move! We are cutting it way too close!"

Behind him, several breathless members of the school's Video Game Society rushed to keep pace, their shoes squeaking against the polished linoleum floor. They skidded around the corner, pushed through the heavy wooden door of their club room, and began frantically rearranging furniture.

Desks were shoved against the perimeter walls to clear a viewing lane. In the center of the scramble, Toby spun around in circles, gripping the sides of his head in sheer panic.

"Where is the holo puck?!" Toby yelled, his voice cracking. "Who moved the projector puck? It was right here during lunch!"

The club treasurer walked past him without breaking stride. She reached out, plucked the metallic disc off the seat of an empty swivel chair, and pressed it firmly into Toby's chest.

"It was sitting on the cushion the entire time, Toby," she said calmly, nudging her spectacles up her nose. "Try looking with your eyes before you start panicking."

Toby blinked down at the device, letting out an awkward, sheepish chuckle. "Right. Good catch, treasurer."

He scrambled to the central terminal, locking the puck into the main data socket. The emitter hummed to life, projecting the massive volumetric display of the Round Table Studio countdown directly into the center of the room.

Junior wiped his brow, catching his breath as he looked over the space. "Alright, gang. Do we have the snack secured?"

Standing beside the filing cabinet, the club secretary offered a firm thumbs-up. Arranged neatly along the shelf behind her were stacked cartons of sweet fruit juice, sealed bags of spiced crisps, and several boxes of local pastries ready for the broadcast.

The gathered students slumped into their chairs, letting out a synchronized sigh of relief. Above their heads, the glowing gold numbers of the countdown slid past the ten-minute mark. Everything was ready.

…

Back on Friton, the bustling energy around the outdoor stage reached its peak. Every diagnostic check had returned green, every auxiliary circuit was verified, and the production team had completed their final sweep. The entire launch rested on Arthur stepping into the spotlight to officially unveil the Caliburn.

Liseli stood near the front row of seats, tilting her head back to take in the stage architecture. The set was breathtaking. It captured the noble, regal atmosphere of ancient Camelot that Arthur had specifically requested. Blending the rough-hewn aesthetic of mythic stone fortresses with ultra-sleek, modern holographic projectors was a creative choice only Arthur could pull off with such style.

Kasavin took a seat beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. "Looking pretty proud of yourself, Lin."

Liseli gave a smug little chuckle. "Hehe. My art team rarely makes noise, yet their talent shows in the final product."

Logan walked past holding a cold drink, pausing just long enough to drop a dry comment. "Strange, considering you talk enough for the entire wing."

Liseli swiped her hand across Logan's shoulder. "Hey! Watch it!"

She turned back toward her cluster of junior artists, flashing them two enthusiastic thumbs up. The illustrators giggled and waved back, yet Liseli's smile wavered slightly as she surveyed the group. One familiar face was missing.

Bem leaned over from the adjacent bench. "Who are you searching for?"

"One of my junior modelers, Ravli," Liseli replied, her brow furrowing. "I haven't seen him since he carried the arch projector over."

Logan and Bem exchanged a brief, knowing glance.

"Don't worry about him," Logan said quietly, taking a slow sip. "He'll be here."

…

Inside the quiet corridors of the main studio building, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the festival outside.

In the center of the Junction Room, the legendary round table sat bathed in soft amber light. This was the sanctuary where Arthur and his department heads designed worlds. Unlike the grand boardrooms of Core Rim conglomerates, there were no elevated executive chairs or gilded nameplates here. Every seat was built to identical specifications, leaving zero visual hierarchy to signal who held power.

Ravli stood completely alone beside the circular table. His fingers dug into his coat pocket, clutching the metallic data puck until his knuckles ached.

The pneumatic door slid open with a quiet hiss.

Arthur stepped into the room, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. He paused near the threshold, his gaze fixing directly onto the trembling artist.

"So," Arthur said, his voice level and steady. "Are you going to do it, or not?"

Ravli flinched as if struck across the chest. His eyes shot wide, his breath catching in his throat. "Arthur..."

He quickly dropped his head, unable to meet the director's calm stare.

Arthur took a few slow, unhurried steps toward the round table. "Why are you lingering in here, Ravli? And more importantly, are you actually going to deploy it?"

A bitter, broken smile touched Ravli's lips. He let out a ragged breath, staring down at the polished floor tiles. "So you already knew."

"More or less," Arthur replied smoothly. "I have some understanding of what that drive puck was designed to do."

Ravli looked up, his face pale and eyes rimmed with red. "I came in here to hide until the stream ends. I spent hours trying to gather enough courage to confess everything to you. I told myself I would stop running away, yet the terror of facing the consequences of my own inaction paralyzed me."

Arthur watched him quietly for a moment. "I see. Is that why you spent the past week walking back and forth out in the hallway?"

As Arthur spoke, the air above the round table shimmered. Gawain's automated security archives flickered into view, displaying timestamped surveillance logs from the past seven nights. The footage clearly showed Ravli pacing restlessly outside the Junction Room doors, repeatedly lifting his hand to touch the door sensor before turning away in agonizing hesitation.

Ravli stared at the floating holo-feed, his heart sinking into his stomach. The realization washed over him with crushing clarity. He had never possessed a ghost of a chance. In a facility managed by a system like Gawain, his every breath had been cataloged.

"Why confront me right now?" Ravli asked, his voice shaking.

"Because I have to walk onto that stage in five minutes," Arthur answered calmly. "I need complete peace of mind knowing my presentation will not be sabotaged the moment I begin speaking."

Ravli pulled the small universal puck from his pocket with a trembling hand. He stepped forward and placed the cold metallic disc flat onto Arthur's open palm.

"I'll accept whatever punishment you decide," Ravli whispered, his voice cracking with raw emotion. "Report me to the planetary authorities, file criminal charges, do whatever you must. Please, Arthur, anything except firing me from your studio."

Arthur looked down at the dark metal disc resting against his skin. There was no anger in his eyes, only quiet calculation.

"Gawain, interface with the drive, please."

A localized flare of silver particles gathered beside the table, coalescing into the towering, armored form of the studio AI. Gawain extended a gauntleted hand, lowering his glowing digital fingertips until they rested directly against the physical casing of the drive puck.

Ravli froze in total disbelief. Holograms were composed of light fields and magnetic containment waves; they could never physically interact with solid hardware without robotic rigs. Yet Gawain's digital fingers were clearly interacting with the drive's data latch.

Beyond the bizarre spectacle, the lethal nature of the weapon struck Ravli with sudden panic.

"Arthur, stop! It's an Accord-grade logic kill switch!" Ravli cried out, stepping forward. "If that malware enters your central network, it'll destroy–"

Arthur raised a single palm, cutting the warning short with absolute authority.

"Let him go inside."

Gawain's optical sensors flared with intense azure light as the digital entity plunged his consciousness straight into the hostile architecture of the drive.

To someone like Ravli, whose life was dedicated to concept sketches and digital brushwork, Arthur's action looked like pure madness. An artist with minimal understanding of deep-level hardware architecture could only view an Accord-grade logic bomb as an absolute death sentence for any synthetic system.

What Ravli failed to grasp was the true nature of the entity standing before him.

Gawain was never a conventional corporate AI. Logan Kim had architected the core neural framework, pouring in software expertise that surpassed the top engineering divisions of the Core Worlds. 

Bem Lendu had reinforced the physical and sensory interfaces, applying the same rigorous structural principles he once used to design Imperator-class Super Dreadnought for the Accord Navy. 

And secretly fused into the heart of that extraordinary architecture was the living digital essence of Porygon. That miraculous synthesis allowed Gawain to manipulate raw data through localized light fields, granting him the unique ability to reach across the physical barrier and touch hardware directly.

A soft, high-pitched whine rose from the universal puck.

A thin wisp of grey steam hissed from the seam of the metallic casing, venting harmlessly into the cool air of the room. The lethal strings of Accord code were dismantled, isolated, and rewritten into harmless garbage data before they could even trigger an execution routine.

Gawain lowered his hand, his silver visor dimming to a steady glow. "The logic payload has been neutralized. Would you like me to trace the origin signatures, sir?"

Arthur kept his gaze on the cooling metal disc. "Does it lead back to a rival studio?"

Gawain nodded smoothly. "Heliotronic Arts, sir."

"Keep the logs sealed for now," Arthur said, turning toward the doorway. "I have a presentation to give."

Ravli stood frozen by the table, his shoulders slumped in shame. "I'm so sorry, Art."

Arthur paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "Are you going to join the rest of us?"

Ravli stared down at his shoes, shaking his head. "I don't think I can."

"Sure you can," Arthur replied easily.

"Art, you don't understand," Ravli said, his voice cracking with anguish. "From the first moment I walked into this building, I was told to sabotage your entire studio."

"I can plan to fire you, too," Arthur said, holding the artist's gaze with calm clarity. "That doesn't mean you are fired. What matters is the choice you actually make."

Ravli looked up, his eyes widening.

"Did you plug it in?" Arthur asked softly.

Ravli shook his head, hot tears pooling along his lower lashes.

Arthur offered a faint, reassuring smile. "Then my plan remains just a thought, as well."

He turned to leave, yet Ravli remained rooted in place, his chest aching with bitter self-reproach. He hated his own hesitation. He should have confessed weeks ago instead of cowering in the dark.

Arthur stopped at the threshold of the automatic door. Without turning around, his voice drifted back into the quiet room. "If you're feeling guilty, you should know that I already forgive you. Go find a seat with the others."

The pneumatic doors hissed shut behind him, leaving Ravli alone in the warm amber light.

Ravli dropped to his knees, burying his face in both hands. Sobs of pure relief shook his frame, washing away weeks of suffocating dread. Arthur was right. The intent to run meant nothing compared to the decision to stand still.

He pulled his personal comm link from his jacket with trembling fingers, thumbing his private household channel.

The audio connected almost instantly. His wife's cheerful voice broke through the speaker, accompanied by the muffled sound from her home holovision screen. "Rav? I'm watching the official studio stream right now. Where are you sitting? The camera drones keep scanning across the front rows, and I can't spot you anywhere."

Ravli swallowed the lump in his throat, wiping his wet cheeks with the sleeve of his coat. A profound sense of peace settled into his chest.

"Honey," Ravli said, his voice steadying. "Start packing our belongings. Let's move to Friton permanently, like the rest of the team."

He was choosing to commit everything to Round Table Studio. Perhaps Zoye Raves would attempt to retaliate, or even try to flag his citizen profile with corporate espionage charges. Yet even the most reckless gambler on Sela could see who held the winning hand.

A quiet pause fell over the line as his wife absorbed the sudden conviction in his tone. "Alright," she whispered softly. "I'll get the kids ready."

Ravli smiled, closing the link as he stood back up on his feet.

As he stepped through the exit to join the cheering crowd under the morning sky, Gawain's holographic form flickered beside the round table. The armored figure offered a subtle, knowing smile, then vanished in a silent streak of light to return to the studio core.

A/N: Next chapter is the end of this arc. See you on the next one ;)