The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 462: Nexus guardians

Mason nearly flew down the pathways and ramps around the Nexus, looking for Carl and a few others. He had to admit to himself he was excited to leave Nassau, to go south, to explore on his own. All that remained was to make sure they were protected in his absence.

It wasn’t that he felt trapped in the settlement, exactly. And of course he loved being with his girls, and would have happily spent a lifetime safe with them, not worrying about the dangers of the post-apocalypse.

But he loved the solitude. He loved the sounds and feel of the natural world, and the excitement of exploring strange new places and dangers. He also loved the test, the conflict, the suffering—setting his will against whatever terrible things this ‘game’ put in his way, and coming through the other side. He’d tried not to admit it at first, but he didn’t fight it anymore.

“We’re not all going exploring anymore, are we,” Carl said, popping out of thin air about the same moment Mason smelled him.

“Jesus, why do you walk around invisible? You’re gonna give someone a damn heart attack.”

“Sorry.” Carl smiled, clearly not at all sorry. “But it’s good to keep you on your toes.”

Mason shook his head and gestured for the man to follow. He hunted down Phuong with Wayfinder and pulled both of his main ‘ministers’ into the Communication beacon so sit around a conference table.

“How’d the demonic salvaging go?”

Phuong shrugged with an expression that implied he found the whole business distasteful.

“The crafters seemed pleased. I expect there to be some arguing about who gets what. I was glad when I remembered I am a humble Minister of War and none of this was my problem. But I did demand a quarter of the ‘harvest’ be set aside, in case it became useful. For military purposes.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “I guess that means it’s my problem? The elves wanted a cut. Mostly the seer. But seeing as how Ayet closed the actual portal I didn’t see how we could say no. Peni and the others grumbled, but once I reminded them even the old lady was out there blasting demons they went quiet enough.”

Mason nodded, not really giving a shit. He knew the management of the civilians and settlement was incredibly important, it just wasn’t in him except to make general rules. Thankfully, he had competent people to delegate the details to.

And somewhere in his brain he supposed there was still a question of how to treat the elves—as a separate ‘sub-group’, or exactly like human civilians. But for the moment this went behind another concern—should they really be using these demonic bits and making tools from them at all?

“I don’t know how I feel about demonic power,” he said. “It might be too risky to be worth the effort.”

His memory flashed an image of his brother Blake choking to death in the Neutral Zone in their final duel, that demonic collar squeezed tight around his neck. Was that Nassau’s future if they played with demonic fire?

The older men gave thoughtful expressions. Phuong eventually looked like he basically agreed. Carl looked between them and frowned.

“Seems to me this world is awfully risky in general. Who knows what use this stuff might be? The elves approve. And I don’t get the impression they’re throw-caution-to-the-wind risk-takers.”

Mason wasn’t so sure about that assessment of elves. He was starting to think these ‘moon daughters’ especially had caused themselves plenty of problems because of an obsession with ‘unnatural’ magic.

Whether it was his affinity being clearly opposed to Arcane (and Abyssal, and whatever the hell else demons were), or just his personality, Mason wasn’t at all thrilled with most magic focused types.

That he himself was a ‘natural’ magic caster wasn’t lost on him, it just felt…different. He was guessing it had something to do with the source—something to do with ‘planar’ magic versus magic from the ‘prime’.

“Playing with planar magic is dangerous,” he said. “That’s just an obvious fact. I don’t care who does it or says otherwise.”

Carl raised a bushy brow. “I’m thinking you might need to explain that one, kid. And maybe ‘planes’ in general. I mean, are we talking Dungeons and Dragons here? Magic the Gathering? Lovecraftian ‘dimensions’?”

Mason sighed, not understanding most of that.

“Speak English. And I’m no planar expert. But I think planes are like…” he shrugged, not sure how else to say it, “other dimensions. They have different rules, different physical laws. But they’re big and out there and full of stuff that maybe doesn’t like us.”

Carl and Phuong exchanged a glance, the former blowing a puff of air.

“Sounds like D&D, then. You’re saying there’s a plane for all the different affinities?”

“Not sure. The Fey plane is how I move around so fast. It’s sort of… mapped to our own world in a way I think the others aren’t. I know there’s demon planes…something called the abyss, maybe an ‘infernal’. I know there’s elemental planes, at least fire. That’s it. While I’m gone go talk to Ayet and the seer, they can probably teach you more than I can.”

Carl nodded and sat back in his chair looking a bit overwhelmed. Mason winced.

“There’s more. I think there’s a bunch of gods, too. Not just the ones I know about.”

He explained about his meeting with Cerebus, about how winning the tournament had somehow changed things and given the ‘horned god’ more freedom in the fey. He told them about the ‘unseelie’, or dark fey, and possible other factions like the satyrs.

“I expect every plane has its own complications. Its own groups and hierarchies. Oh, and killing that giant demon got me cursed somehow. Whatever the fuck that means.”

Carl sagged with far-away eyes. Phuong smiled politely.

“If it makes you feel any better, patron. I believe my class and actions in the event gave me a kind of maximum penalty to abyssal antagonism. The creatures seem to want to…” here his lips puckered in distaste, “capture my soul.”

Carl snorted, and Mason gave the older men a grin.

“You’re right. It does make me feel better.”

The men exchanged a round of smiles, and Mason delivered the bad news.

“I’m gonna need more defenders now. I expect we’re not gonna get another demon portal in the next two minutes or anything, but…I can’t just…”

“We got it, kid.” Carl gestured at Phuong. “Our wall defences already worked a little back there. The murder hole things and the vines killed some strays. And I know there’s tree defenders coming, but we looked through the options and picked a couple more outside wall things. With your approval, of course.”

Mason waved a hand. “We have a lot of points, and just got a bunch more. I trust you, go ahead.”

Carl smiled and flicked through something in his profile, and Mason was reminded he still had a lot of ‘House’ points he hadn’t spent. And maybe couldn’t spend because his house wasn’t technically old enough, which seemed to be a kind of barrier. But he checked to see if there was anything relevant.

As Carl started talking about which group of players would hold back and defend, Mason saw a special category under ‘Nexus Guardians’, which was the ‘rulership’ type he’d picked for his house after winning the Nexus. Unlike most everything else, this was actually lit up, and therefore available. He opened the window and smiled.

Carl stopped talking and gave an eyebrow raise that implied Mason’s smiling concerned him.

“No offence, kid, but when you get that look, I start worrying I’m gonna have to fight a dragon, or something.”

“Nothing like that.” Mason pulled down the menu and swept his eyes over defensive structures, something like an arsenal of weapons and armor, and constructs. He took a deep, satisfying breath when he saw how many points he had compared to the costs.

“We’re Nexus Guardians,” he said. “My house I mean. And this here all around us? This is a Nexus.”

“OK…” Carl said, giving Phuong a side eye. “And that’s a good thing because…”

“Because I think this ‘game’ wants it to be real fucking hard to take a Nexus. Especially a Nexus guarded by a House of players literally made to defend it. And that doesn’t just mean hard for humans.”

Mason realized he could take literally every available option. It would take more than half his house points, but it wouldn’t let him spend them anyway until God knew when. And if his people all died because they were too weak to defend themselves, a lot of saved up points didn’t matter.

He swiped it all and accepted, and watched the crowned wolf of his house crest form on buildings, weapons, armor, and constructs as they raised up in his edited view. It became obvious the ‘armory’ was going to form on one of the platforms, a kind of construct ‘stable’ on another.

The system didn’t say exactly what it all did, and it warned him it would all be lost if his house ever abandoned the Nexus. But he could see the weapons and armor glowing with primal enchantment. He could see the animal-like constructs infused with symbol-magic like those he was learning to read.

None of it worked outside a certain radius, it said. And it was designed to be useless except in the hands of his House. Useless if anyone took it more than a mile outside the borders of the tree city. It was all made for a single reason: to defend the Nexus from any enemy. Demon. Animal. Man. It made no difference.

The system blared its warning about changes, and about staying inside. Mason blinked away his profile.

“Keep a group back, just like you planned. Improve the walls. But I’ve added some…extra help. Use the teleporter beacon for the other group, I don’t need it. I’ll have Orlon—that’s the elven scout—ready to warn me if there’s a problem. He can send messages any distance. And with Wyrdwalk I should be able to get back quick.”

Carl and Phuong exchanged a look, then nodded.

“Unless you object, my team’ll be staying back,” Carl said. “Becky’s hurt. Seamus and I will hit the training hall. And there’s plenty for me to do around here. Phuong will head out with Kiaan and go east. Billy, the Brewer, he’ll go west with Garet. It’s getting colder and I don’t think anyone but you can go north now.”

Mason nodded, giving his officers one more friendly smile. It was hard to imagine doing any of this without the men now. They’d been with him through a lot of shit, and neither had ever let him down. He knew their minds, knew what they wanted, how they thought.

Trust was hard for Mason, and that was putting it lightly. But the fact was he trusted these men, almost completely—trusted them in a way that put his increasingly difficult relationship with his brother in stark and upsetting contrast.

“You OK, kid? Something else we should be thinking about?”

Mason glanced at Carl’s kind, insightful eyes, and shook his head.

“Just make sure the groups take Rosa goodie bags. Best of everything the craftsmen have. I don’t care if there’s a delay. And if the civilians going can upgrade any of those storage powers, now’s the time. And tell them these don’t need to be endless treks.”

He took a breath and pointed a finger.

“And if there’s any trouble here in Nassau, you get Orlon to text me. Even if it’s just something not sitting right. If your gut quivers two days in a row, Carl, you give me a heads up, I mean it. I can be back fast.”

“Don’t worry, kid, I’ll look after them.” Carl thumped Mason’s hand across the table with a fist. But when Mason gave no indication of being satisfied he put his hands up. “And I’ll talk to the elf if there’s anything. Scout’s honor. You worry like an old lady, you know that?”

“Yeah. That’s how old ladies get old. The paranoid survive.”

Mason stood with a mind already racing to the fey now that everything was handled. He nodded to Carl and Phuong, then stood on the platform for a good minute trying to decide if there was anything he needed to take.

The answer was pretty much no. He didn’t want to get bogged down in any more goodbyes, and he didn’t need a bag full of nonsense to worry about. He had a small bag with water he’d save as long as possible. He had a chunk of salted stupid bird. Other than that, he’d hunt. He’d explore.

The post-apocalyptic world frightened him, that was true. It made him paranoid (OK more paranoid), it made him skeptical. But only because the people he loved were vulnerable, and it was his job to protect them. Once it was only his brother. But that time was long gone. These days he hardly even thought about Blake. There just wasn’t time.

And when Mason was alone, he didn’t fear anything. Not because he thought himself invincible or above the remaining risks. But because he looked forward to them. It was one of the few things that made him feel truly, and completely alive.

He watched the last minute of his Stag’s resurrection tick down, thinking about huge, dragon-filled mountains, ancient human cities, and the lost groves of powerful druids. Then he Wyrdwalked straight into his tree.