Chapter 271: Politics (shudder) (Patreon)

One time, when he was on the 2nd Floor, William Oh cooked a yeti steak to well-done using nothing but rocks and ice.

-          Brennor Hastings, level 15 Carpenter.

“Her name is Emerie Vale, and she’s started a Stronghold right here.” Brianna said, pointing at a spot on Will’s map.

Will hadn’t chosen the location for his own Stronghold, he’d inherited it from the High Paladin of Granesh, Caddock. Caddock had chosen the spot with the best sightlines and the ability to enforce itself over the most Key Sites, creating a stranglehold over travel through the Tower.

That wasn’t a bad choice if you were trying to catch a young man with fleet feet, but for farming and mining…not so much.

They had to cut roads through solid rock to get to arable land, the maximum size of the stronghold was limited to what would fit on the plateau, and water needed to be supplied by mages because the water table was nearly a mile beneath them.

The point Brianna had gestured to was a distant swath of arable land that Will intended to expand to over the next few years. The land also blocked the way to a few excellent mining opportunities according to Will’s map.

The place aimed to intercept the miner’s trade route and starve The Burned Stronghold of taxes.

“Miss Emerie is the daughter of one of Marksman’s more powerful vassals. It’s a safe assumption that Marksman is her backer.” Brianna said.

 “So…It’s a threat.” Will surmised.

“Pretty much.” Brianna said.

“It’s also a bribe.” Will mused, rubbing his chin as he scanned the map.

“Eh?” Brianna blinked in confusion.

“Marksman wants that set real bad,” Will explained. “He’s one of the richest Lords in the Tower, owing to the critical nature of salt and the ease of transport between the second Floor and the ring.”

“…You think he’ll develop the land at great personal expense, and then sell it to you in exchange for the set?”

“Or try to strangle my Stronghold with it if I don’t accept, yes.” Will said.

Will had a achieved a form of self-sufficiency with his new vassals, but further growth would be stifled if they got penned in to the bad portion of the map.

“Do you…really care about the set?” Brianna asked.

“Not really. If it was any other set, I might sell it in a heartbeat,” Will said. “The problem that people overlook because of the Norworm crises is this: The set was driving Fabron mad before the worm ever got into his head, and I think the ghosts were the ones doing it. Those ghosts exist to hate me specifically, and any hands I deliver the set into will eventually become my enemy.”

“The way I see it happening is this:” Will said, pacing. “Marksman raises a necromancer or fire-mage subordinate with the intention of warding off Carrie Envar’s attempt to control transport through the Tower. This will piss off Carrie’s entire faction, of course.

Then Marksman gives the set to his brand-new young go-getter Vassal. The Vassal proceeds to go mad and kill his own Lord, then comes after me. I lose both ways.”

Will paused for a moment. “Huh.” Or do I? Let’s say I sell Marksman the set. After a certain amount of time, Marksman dies or is crippled, and the set comes back to me. If I inform Carrie of the possibility beforehand, I can stay on her good side politically, and I don’t suffer any fallout from selling the set to Marksman, while reaping the reward. None of the old blood lords would accuse me of trying to kill Marksman by simply giving him what he asked for…especially if I warned him first.

It would just mean knowingly allowing at least two men to die or go insane for my own profit.

Eh. Screw it. Will wasn’t going to treat everyone like helpless children. He wasn’t solely responsible for their well-being.

“Bri.”

“Yes?”

“Can you arrange a meeting with Carrie?”

“Do you want me to connect you two?” Brianna asked. She had the ability to instantly relay both sides of a conversation, even across Floors, with the sole downside that she might be privy to things she probably shouldn’t.

“It’s probably best if you don’t know about my murkiest schemes.” Will said. This was best kept strictly confidential between the two Lords.

“That murky, huh?” Bri asked.

Will waggled his hand. “Slightly. I just don’t want you to think poorly of me, or become a target.

What if I’m wrong and the set isn’t cursed? I’ll probably have to make some considerations to Carrie in exchange for empowering one of her biggest rivals.

I’ll probably have to loan her some vassals…on the condition that she doesn’t try to turn them against me or mess with their heads.

Frederick Wyrd…what a prick.

Will’s fist clenched at the thought of the former Lord of the 7th Floor, who was responsible for all of Brianna’s mental wounds.

The man had viewed his vassals as expendable resources, sacrificing dozens off to perfect a Build to create the ultimate in disposable infantry.

The culmination of that inhumane research was Brianna, and she had the scars to prove it.

It’s possible the man’s Charm archetypes were the ones actually running the show in the background. More than possible. Likely, even.

Will shook the tension out of his hand, reflexively pulling his mind away from the hot stove.

Charm Archetypes?

“What’s Emelie’s Class anyway?”  Will asked.

“It seems like her Class is a carefully curated copy of Travis’s.” Brianna said.

Well, that can’t be a coincidence. What message are they sending? ‘We’re watching you so closely that we’ve already deconstructed the build of your right-hand man’?

Travis wasn’t Will’s right hand man. He had the rare combination of disposable and indestructible that made for a perfect henchman.

But right hand man? Not so much. It would’ve been Loth, but she didn’t want to be anyone’s Vassal. At the moment, Will would classify Loth as an ‘independent contractor’ that he had a good relationship with.

The role of right-hand-man fell to Brianna. While nobody was as sharp as Loth, Brianna brought to the table an unparalleled ability to multitask.

I thought that, if anyone, they would be most concerned with Brianna’s Build.

Is she a distraction? Why would they be telling me they figured out Travis’s Build and not Brianna’s? Are they trying to recreate Brianna’s ability to communicate across any distance using illusions? That would be better ethically, Will supposed.

They have to know I can see what’s an illusion, and what isn’t.

Nowadays, Will could even hear an illusion coming.

“.When’s Ghoul coming to visit?”

“In another three days.”

“Already, huh?” Will stood and stretched his back. He’d re-assembled the pod to the best of his ability and restored functionality to every part of it that he could figure out. Now he wanted Ghoul to go over his work and the two of them could try to un-crystalize Steve Junior.

Assuming that’s possible, Will thought, glancing over at the crystalline egg at the center of the rebuilt pod, hovering in place on an Anchorite bowl.

That’ll be fun, but I need to sort out the current situation nice and neat so I can step away long enough to run the experiments.

Which meant that Will had to attend to – he suppressed a shudder – …Politics.

It would be a few days at the least before Carrie was able to visit so for now, he should go see what all the fuss was about, and confirm that his suspicions about the Bribe/Threat of a stronghold being built next door were correct.

“Can you arrange a visit?”

Lords didn’t just show up on each other’s doorstep unannounced. That was a great way to start a war.

Brianna nodded.

“And advise Jorn to keep out of their new territory until further notice.”

Brianna got to it, and by mid-afternoon, Will had arrived at the new Stronghold…Or the beginnings of one.

The land that had been taken was a vast, low valley close to the water table. While none of the soil on this desert Floor was good, this land was better than average.

In the distance was a large mountain with snow-capped peaks that gradually spilled down into the flat lowlands.

Already, farmers were beginning to carve up the land, creating individual plots with connecting ditches for irrigation that led up the slope of the mountain.

Hmm.

Will was walking up the rough-cut gravel road that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago, moving by foot to get a proper sense of distance and scale. When he flew faster than sound, he found that distance lost its meaning and he accidently made administrative mistakes, like assigning areas too large for the people meant to patrol them, or misjudging the output of a hectare.

There were thousands of farmers working as far as the eye could see, digging ditches and spreading manure to improve the sandy soil.

Will was curious about how this could be possible until he got close enough to talk to one of them.

Oh.

The illusion of a farmer stood up straight, rubbing his back, waving cheerfully at Will.

“Greetings, milord!” The man gave him a cheerful wave, one of the shoulder straps of his frayed trousers threatening to fall off.

The level of detail is impressive.

“Good afternoon,” Will said with a nod. “Your name is?”

“Mack, sir.”

“Where did you learn how to farm?” Will asked.

“My Ma and Pa, of course! I spent many years working on the farm with my brothers and sisters. My oldest brother took over the family farm and I moved out here for the opportunity.”

“And what’s his name?” Will asked, pointing at the farmer a few dozen yards further down, carving out more ditch for the irrigation.

“His name’s Mack, too.”

“Is everybody here named Mack?” Will asked.

The farmer looked perplexed for a moment before he broke into an amiable smile. “Actually yeah! Funny little world, innit?”

“Are they all younger brothers who came up to the tenth Floor seeking opportunity?”

The farmer looked perplexed for a moment before he broke into an amiable smile. “Actually yeah! Funny little world, innit?”

“That’s one way to put it.” Will said, moving on.

The idea that this was a bribe was gaining ground. After these illusions set up infrastructure for a second Stronghold, they could be dismissed and replaced with Will’s own personnel without rebellion, treachery, massacre, or any other unpleasantness that might happen when land changed hands.

The illusions, in essence, made it fit for sale. Their limited responses indicated that they weren’t human. Not to the extent of Travis’s, anyway.

She’s probably got a skeleton crew in the castle while the illusions handle all the physical labor, Will thought, inspecting the unfinished castle at the base of the mountain swarming with antlike figures and scaffolding.

“Greetings, Milord.” Emilie said as she arrived, gravel crunching under the feet of her and her court of some half-a-dozen stone-faced old men and women.

Hmm… officers on loan from Marksman? It wasn’t a bad idea to populate your staff with older folks who knew what they were doing…

Except their loyalty is likely to Marksman rather than her…making her something of a figurehead.

Will’s first few years as a Lord they suffered from an extreme lack of expertise, but on the other hand, none of his people had connections to other Lords.

“You know it’s impolite to visit another Lord without notice?” Will asked, referring to her visit to the Burned Stronghold the day before.

“Forgive me for visiting unannounced. I was curious to see the legend in person. Also, this may be…impertinent, but also, I’m not technically a Lord.” Emilie said.

She’s a lot smoother when Travis isn’t around. Note to self: Bring Travis.

“What do you mean not technically a lord? Will asked. “Are you setting up a Stronghold beside me that you have no claim of ownership with The Tower for fun?”

“I’m under orders from Marksman to prepare the land for it’s eventual owner.” Emilie said. “That may be me, should events play out that way.

I was right. Will thought. This land was for sale.

The question was, when would Marksman make the offer, and how much more could Will get out of him in exchange for the set?

 Can’t do much about it right now. The castle, the farms, the mines and the roads connecting them like arteries were all still under construction.

The construction was proceeding quickly, but it was likely to still take quite some time before the infrastructure was salable.

I’d give it a few months at least.

Even with her swarm of illusionary helpers, she would have to be able to demonstrate that the infrastructure was turning a profit before they could offer it to Will, and that took time.

They took Will on a carefully curated tour of the lands, but Will didn’t learn much that he hadn’t already gleaned from the onset.

Will, for his part, dealt with Emelie politely, as though she were another Lord, and didn’t let on that he knew the land would eventually be offered to him, taking a stance of establishing trade between the Burned Stronghold and her new one.

That made her older assistants regard him with faint scorn when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Not that he had to look. Will could read someone’s expression from the heat on the back of his neck about five yards away.

Perhaps they thought he should’ve treated her like the figurehead she was and approached Marksman’s envoys for the terms of sale rather than take the new construction of a Stronghold at face value.

I’m in no rush, Will thought.

“This has been a rather pleasant visit,” Will said. “I’m looking forward to a cooperated relationship between our Strongholds, Lord Vale.” Will said, shaking her hand.

“Please, I’m not a Lord.” Emilie deferred as she let go.

Suck that, Marksman.

“With Abilities like this, I feel it’s only a matter of time,” Will replied, bidding them farewell, and almost leaving before Emilie brought his attention back.

“Before you go, If I might ask…did um…did Travis say anything about me?” Emilie asked, the formal façade cracking just a bit.

Will blinked, recalling the hours of blistering, creative insults that Travis had dedicated to their new neighbor.

“…Nope.”