CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tower of the Lonely Warrior

  “And going ‘viral’ is a good thing?” Bram asked.

  “In terms y’all might understand, it’s like our game’s Rowan about ten minutes after her Showing of Mettle ended,” Chris answered.

  Underneath Bram, Renfri snorted as if he too had heard of Rowan’s overwhelming victory over the kingdom’s young knights.

  They were on the open road and traveling northward even further than Bellen, and Renfri was clearly enjoying being out of the stables again.

  “Ah,” Bram patted his hart’s neck, “everyone’s talking about us.”

  “That’s right.” Chris tipped his cattleman’s hat to Bram. “Just in the last twenty-four hours, we’ve reached a million views, hundreds of reposts, and the engagement on socials is—”

  The Texan just noticed Bram’s furrowed brow.

  The prince’s knowledge of the other world might be extensive these days, but he wasn’t all-knowing. Terms like ‘reposts’ and ‘socials’ were ones he’d yet to learn, and hearing them mentioned so casually made Bram feel like he’d failed in his lessons even though he spent much of his free time learning the ways of Earth.

  To lift his spirits, Bram and Chris glanced over their shoulders.

  The two riders following close behind on their harts looked no less confused than their prince, though they didn’t seem to mind as much as Bram did.

  Atop her russet-colored hart—the one she’d named Briar Rose—Rowan seemed too busy with her enchanted mirror to even listen to Chris’ report.

  “Oh, Curufin, must you walk into a place so obviously cursed?”

  Listening to her, Bram knew she must be following the exploits of one of the players.

  Ever since Nike, Rowan’s fascination with the players’ activities had grown to the point that she now followed several of them on Loomtube. She wasn’t the only one, either. It had only been two days since the Feast of Travelers launched, but the observer bug was spreading amongst the staff, and they were now ardent followers of several players—Nike being the most popular so far.

  “What’s Curufin up to this time?” asked the old knight who took a puff of his long pipe.

  Even sitting on his gray steed, he seemed tall, with shoulders nearly as broad as the prince’s. Like Rowan, he wore a hood. Underneath it was a weathered face with short-cropped, salt-and-pepper hair and a thick handlebar mustache.

  “Curufin’s asking to join the smithy,” Rowan answered.

  Ser Anthony blew out cloud-like smoke from his lips.

  “Cursed, yes, that’s exactly what the smithy’s like these days thanks to our prince.”

  Bram sighed.

  He couldn’t refute Ser Anthony’s words.

  Even though alpha testing for the Loom had just begun, Bram was already thinking about what came next. And, with barely three months allotted to prepare for the game’s beta phase, he was admittedly pushing most of Bastille Shire’s smithies into working overtime to produce beginner gear for the ten thousand travelers who would become their beta players. Of course, Bram paid the smiths extra for their due diligence, but the mountain of work to produce weapons and armor was challenging enough that others might consider it a curse.

  To be fair, Bram didn’t think Curufin would mind. From what he’d read of the player’s background, the middle-aged Curufin was Earth’s version of a magical engineer. Such a player might enjoy working in the smithy enough that he wouldn’t mind the excess labor.

  Ser Anthony leaned over to peek at Rowan’s enchanted mirror. “I don’t suppose you know what Gawain’s up to?”

  Even Bastille’s seneschal had caught the observer’s bug.

  “Didn’t Gawain ask to join our order?” Rowan recalled.

  “Yes, he did — without any skill to back him up.” Ser Anthony chuckled. “Ser Aveline beat Gawain to within an inch of his life before sending him away, and now I’m looking forward to seeing whether the experience will help to strengthen him or if he’ll continue to be reckless in his adventures.”

  He took another puff of his long pipe, sending the musty scent of cloud weed into the air.

  “Honestly, these players are so brazen that I’m surprised none have died yet.”

  “That’s what makes them so entertaining to watch,” Rowan giggled.

  She didn’t bother to mention that the players had survived their first two days on Aarde only because the entire monitoring team had intervened every time one of their precious subjects was about to die. Since Bram had saved Nike’s life, the other monitors had been given justification to rescue their players from dying because none of them wanted to be responsible for the achievement of a player’s first death.

  Their actions have caused headaches for Hajime’s team, earning Bram an earful from his friend, who, just before the prince had set out on this new adventure, had reminded Bram of the data’s importance, especially when it wasn’t tampered with.

  Remembering Hajime’s haggard face, Bram’s gaze returned to Chris, but the Texan didn’t look as peeved as Hajime had. He just laughed.

  “Glad y’all are enjoying our players’ antics,” Chris said. Then, turning to Bram, “Sorry, Boss. I’ll ask Bridge to make you a guidebook for digital marketing. We’ll talk more specifics once you’ve read up on that.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Bram replied, and he meant it.

  Most strapping young men of Bram’s age preferred more lively pursuits such as the thrill of combat or the chasing of young maidens over the thought of reading. Though he enjoyed such pastimes himself, Bram was also the odd apple who preferred the activities that helped elevate his mind, especially from those rare sources of knowledge that furthered his understanding of Earth’s ways. Instinctively, Bram understood that the path to Lotharin’s revival lay not in methods native to Aarde but in these concepts which often seemed so otherworldly to him at first glance. Already, ideas such as bonuses and paid vacation helped motivate those who worked for him, increasing their efficiency in performing tasks that others might find tedious. Knowing such tactics to be successful, Bram couldn’t help but be hopeful for these new concepts like ‘digital marketing’ now that he’s heard about them.

  “And can we use digital marketing here on Aarde?” he asked.

  “Not likely. Y’all need the internet for that,” Chris said, but seeing Bram’s frown, he quickly added, “We’ll practice other Earth marketing strategies. I’ll ask our new Head of Monetization to give a lecture on stuff we can use to liven up Bastille’s and Reise’s markets.”

  “And how is Juan?”

  Apart from their first meeting, the olive-skinned, lanky, middle-aged merchant Chris had brought to Aarde a few weeks back didn’t seem interested in exploring a new world. It was quite a disappointing revelation for Bram who believed all Earthers should be in awe of Aarde. Fortunately, Juan Dela Cruz seemed to be a lone anomaly among the new staff of Trickster Studios. Everyone else from the team had jumped at the chance to be isekai’d to another world.

  “I’ll drag Juan over here in a few days, Boss,” Chris promised, adding, “Once he’s taken care of the ad proposals we’re getting.”

  “Ad proposals?”

  It was another word Bram didn’t know yet, and the feeling of not knowing was quite frustrating for him.

  Chris was grinning again. “So, the buzz generated by our announcement trailer’s got advertisers interested in the Loom.”

  “What sort of interest are we talking about?”

  “The kind that you wanted to get — them bringing Earth products to Aarde.”

  “You mean…”

  “Just like how I had this baby made, we won’t need to summon stuff like soda to Earth.” Chris tapped the rim of his cattleman’s hat. “Those industry experts y’all wanted will want to come to Aarde themselves and make their company’s products here using Aarde materials. Even better, they’ll pay us for the privilege.”

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  The cogs of Bram’s brain began turning.

  “If they made their products here, then wouldn’t they want to sell it here too?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But will they want to?” Bram frowned. “For your Earth merchants, Aarde isn’t real.”

  “Real’s what we make it,” again, Chris’ grin widened, “and our videos make Aarde look like it really could be another world.”

  “Their immersion…”

  The alpha testers proved that the experience on Aarde had been life-like—because it was, but only the studio’s team knew that.

  “Earth’s products will feel real here just like in your world…and you want them to believe it’s real.”

  “That’s the goal of virtual reality, ain’t it — to build another world that people can escape to.”

  Chris’ gaze drifted off to his surroundings, to the blades of grass that moved with the breeze, the birds flying overhead, and the tall structure looming over the horizon.

  “Turns out we didn’t need to build it. Aarde was here the whole time. All we gotta do is bring people here. And where Earth people go, our businesses are sure to follow.”

  Bram’s grip on Renfri’s reins tightened slightly.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about Chris’ ideas. Travelers believing Aarde wasn’t real was at the core of the trick that was Bram’s way of soothing his conscience over kidnapping their souls and forcing them into his service.

  After noticing his boss’ furrowed brow, Chris chuckled.

  “Don’t worry — despite how real it’ll feel,” the Texan did air quotes, “My people won’t forget they’re still playing a game… We Earthers are a stubborn bunch.”

  Chris gestured around him.

  “And believing this is all VR is how they won’t freak out when they come here.”

  “And so, the great trick endures, though not exactly how we envisioned it,” Bram conceded.

  The cogs of his mind turned toward more optimistic pursuits this time.

  “Creating Earth products in bulk will require a labor force of dozens… It’ll mean new jobs for commoners.”

  “Assuming we can get the market going here and build an ecosystem where making money in Aarde also means money on Earth, then yeah.” Chris gave Bram the thumbs-up, which even here on Aarde meant the same as it did on Earth. Such was the universal symbol for good tidings. “Aarde becomes our new land of opportunity.”

  ‘Land of opportunity’ was music to Bram’s ears.

  “I know you’re both excited about the possibilities,” Rowan cut in, “but are we there yet?”

  This wasn’t the first time she’d asked this question.

  “You can see it now,” Ser Anthony answered.

  The party rode their harts along the Sovereign’s Road north toward a structure visible over the horizon. It was a tower at the top of a low hill, though calling it a tower was considerate. With its broken battlements, this tower was little more than a ruin, one whose severed top half still carried the scars of arcane destruction.

  “The Einsamer Krieger once stood as a bastion of peace and security for Central Lotharin. That is until it was destroyed in the War of the Thirteen,” Ser Anthony recalled aloud. “These days it’s little more than a nest for those too unsavory for even our impoverished towns…”

  According to Ser Anthony’s reports on the Shire, the ruins of Einsamer Krieger had become the base of operations for many unpleasant groups. Until recently, it was home to a drug cartel originating from the Valley Kingdom of Xanxi. That was until its current owners threw the tower’s previous owners out.

  “Are you certain about this plan, Your Highness?” Ser Anthony asked, also not for the first time.

  “The high cleric of Phoebus’ temple gave us a quest; one we can’t complete with just our little troupe of mischief makers. We need a force large enough to explore Bloodhaven,” Bram explained, adding, “From what I’ve heard of these mercenaries, they’re exactly who we’re looking for.”

  His gaze drifted up to the tower’s battlements. Soaring above it was a banner; a silver hunting dog running over a field of dark gray.

  “A gray hound,” Bram mused aloud.

  The prince glanced over his shoulder, to the old knight who was frowning as he too looked up at that banner.

  “They’ve taken a name that doesn’t belong to them,” Ser Anthony grumbled.

  Bram knew the reason his seneschal looked so annoyed.

  “What do Earthers call hero worship, Chris?” he asked.

  Chris’ face turned contemplative. “Fanboys?”

  “That would be an apt word for it.” Bram grinned. Wouldn’t you agree, Ser Anthony?”

  The old knight didn’t reply. Instead, he exhaled the smoke from his pipe like a dragon returning to its lair to discover thieves inside it.

  With their destination close at hand, Bram’s party quickened their pace, allowing them to arrive near the top of the hillside while the sun was still high in the sky. Of course, it helped that there was a waypoint near enough to the Einsamer Krieger that it only took them hours to arrive at its doorstep rather than the three days it would have taken traveling by the Sovereign’s Road from Bastille’s gates.

  Interestingly, the waypoint the party portaled in from earlier had been the same one hidden by that grove of oaks near Gabriel’s Farm where Bram and Ravi were ambushed recently by remnants of the Northern spies left in Bastille Shire. The memory of that encounter came unbidden to Bram’s mind now, reminding him that even the simple task of reaching one’s destination could be met by harrowing encounters.

  “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

  According to Ser Anthony’s reports, the mercenary company nesting in Einsamer Krieger had only recently taken up residence, but they’d dug in quite well. The encirclement of tents and barricades surrounding the tower’s base made that obvious.

  “Who’re you?” asked a guard in mismatched armor of varying gray tones.

  Bram looked down at the man protecting the path. “Are you the Gray Hounds?”

  “Who’s asking?” asked another mercenary.

  This one wore a similar patchwork set of gray armor. He was sitting nearby alongside others dressed similarly.

  Belligerent and irreverent—it was exactly what Bram expected from a group whose notoriety had spread across three of the Imperium’s twelve kingdoms. He didn’t dislike it. Such aggressive soldiers would be needed against the curse of Bloodhaven.

  Grinning impishly, the prince said, “We’ve come to bargain.”

  Bram heard sighs around him.

  “Chris,” Rowan called, “have you noticed how this line’s never worked before.”

  “Yep,” Chris replied, adding, “Whenever the boss says it, trouble comes running mighty quickly.”

  The Texan’s words seemed prophetic. As they spilled from Chris’ lips, the mercenaries who were lounging around rose to their feet with weapons in hand.

  Tension sparked in the air.

  “You’re a noble,” one of the mercenaries deduced.

  It wasn’t hard.

  Though he disguised himself like usual, the air around the blue-haired Bram made it clear that he was indeed one of high status. He didn’t doubt this was the reason for their hostility.

  “You don’t like nobles?” he guessed.

  “Nobles lie,” someone yelled.

  “They cheat,” another chimed in.

  “And they steal,” cried a third.

  Bram shrugged.

  Most nobles were indeed the sort of people who’d lie, cheat, and steal from others.

  Also, from what he’d read of the Gray Hounds exploits in other kingdoms, they were a mercenary company specialized in conflicts between nobles. Meaning they sold their lives away to spill noble blood.

  “Dax told us to come here,” Bram revealed.

  Dax was the old mercenary who’d told Bram about why Phoebus’ clerics were harassing a young woman. When Bram visited the Mercenary Guild after his business with the temple, Dax had been helpful again, recommending the Gray Hounds for recruitment on Bram’s, as the old mercenary called it, “Suicide run.”

  “Said you’d be interested in making some coin.”

  The prince hoped the promise of paid work might alleviate the tension in the air, but even that didn’t work. If anything, the mercenaries looked angrier that he was proposing to pay them.

  Bram sighed.

  Which arrogant noble cheated these people that they’re ready to commit treason now…?

  Bram wouldn’t receive an answer to his unasked question, but he did get something else.

  “Dax was wrong. We no longer take coin from noble bastards,” someone replied.

  The crowd parted to let a tall, lanky, bald man pass through. He had a thick brown beard growing past his chin. He wore a similar set of mismatched armor as the others around him, but with a fur cape draped over his shoulder to mark him as a leader.

  It wasn’t this mercenary that caught Bram’s attention though. That honor belonged to the man walking beside him.

  He was a pale man with dark hair, dressed all in black, and all kinds of weapons were strapped to his body. Floating above his head was a tag only Bram and his friends could see.

  The letters of his name were green, marking him as a player. But even if he didn’t have the tag, Bram would have still recognized him. After all, he’d seen this very player among the crowd that had been ready to fight against the sun god’s guards two nights ago.

  “Sweet Christmas,” Chris whispered.

  While Rowan giggled. “As you claimed, Ser Anthony, our players are quite brazen.”

  The old knight chuckled in response.

  It had been only three days since they arrived, but already a player seemed to be forming connections with a mercenary company. Bram wasn’t sure whether he was proud or annoyed at this go-getter attitude. Probably both.

  A notification flashed in front of him.

  It was a ‘Whisper’ from one of the observers of the monitoring team who was probably monitoring this situation right now.

  “This one’s journeyed all the way here after hearing about the tower from Cane,” Bram reported to his friends.

  “I met Cane,” Chris answered. “Nice guy.”

  “Typical of nobles, carrying on amongst yourselves as if we weren’t here, expecting us to wait until you deign us with your noble spit,” Brown Beard growled.

  He glanced to his right.

  “Oi, you said you wanted to join us?”

  Slaughter nodded.

  “Price of admission is spilling noble blood. Think you can—”

  “Spear throw.”

  Brown beard hadn’t even finished his sentence when Slaughter threw a spear at Bram, one that the prince could see was strengthened by an ability thanks to the system’s warning.

  Empowered by the Loom, the spear flew faster than an arrow in flight.

  Bram didn’t bother dodging. He didn’t need to.

  Ser Anthony’s sword came swinging sideward at just the right moment to block the spear before it could reach his prince. More than simply blocking it though, the old knight struck the spear in such a way that his sword forced it to fly back whence it came. It was an impressive opening act to the beginning of a new battle.

  Quick note: The schedule's a little irratic right now thanks to editing work. Apologies.

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