Dan's eyes had glazed over the moment I'd mentioned financial problems. Now he sat up, offended, "Not everything is as rosy, I'm afraid. Our clan's siding with the Fallen One might bring us some serious pain in the butt."
"So what?" I said. "We'll still have our XP bonuses plus the Goddess' skills..."
Dan and Frag exchanged glances. "How many deities are there in the Pantheon of Light?" Dan asked softly. "Your guess?"
I frowned. "Dunno. I was sort of too busy to find out. My life has been a bit hectic in the last few weeks. I thought you knew that."
Dan shook his head, refusing to accept my excuses. "Six—six gods, each with his or her own specialization. It's true that they don't have the High God or the First Temple: they've got some democracy there, or anarchy, whatever. But they're quite generous with their skills, not to mention their fourteen temples and their respective XP bonuses to all the worshippers of Light."
I slumped in my chair. How could I ever have missed it? True, I'd given their temples a wide berth, unwilling to worship one particular god: my chosen class cast plenty of shadow as it was. But how come no one had told me that? I desperately needed an analytics department of my own.
"So I hope you don't think," Dan went on, "that all the players will now march to join the Fallen One's ranks? True, the smarter among us—those who are either capable of independent thinking, have the necessary information or possess good self-preservation skills—will ignore the Light Ones' toys and will be more than happy to dedicate themselves to Macaria. Over time, we might look at a figure of several tens of thousands. Add to that those who'll follow him out of conviction or racial solidarity—there're bound to be a few. But those of the players who choose their religion by dumbly comparing the available bonuses will all remain on the other side of the barricades. And what do you suggest we do when, after a few tentative attempts, the Admins call for an event and a hundred thousand-strong crowd will arrive at the First Temple's walls? Who's going to face them—you and I and ten thousand die-hard permas? Because that'll be all the force we'll have."
He kept speaking, probably trying to bring me back down to earth by making me see the sheer vastness of the task at hand. And I—yes, I guess you could say I was a different person already because the problem's scope didn't scare me any more. To each of his arguments, my mind came up with a possible solution and a potential counter measure. Too many temples of Light?—we could always thin them out. Not enough manpower to defend ours?—Well, humans weren't the only AlterWorld's inhabitants. Gnolls and Hell Hounds were prime examples of the opposite. Our Pantheon too modest, the XP bonus too small?—It only meant we had to summon more gods and build new temples.
Had I bitten off more than I could chew? But that was the only way to do it. You had to have ambitious goals. Saving enough for a new couch would hardly motivate one to move his backside. But if his objective were to buy a Porsche Cayenne in three years' time, that might motivate him to move it and be proactive, seek so he could find.
I nodded to Dan, "I appreciate the sheer scope of the problem. But we'll make it. What solution do you suggest, personally? I'm not going to charge my allies seven million; I'm not even going to accept the two the General has already offered. I need friends and allies more than I do trade partners. I intend to make one of the Vets a priest so he can dedicate the entire clan to Macaria. I also invite you to sign up for my alliance, The Guards of the First Temple, in order to join our defense forces. I don't seek a commanding post. There are some people here who deserve it more than I do."
Again they exchanged glances. Oh yes, I was full of surprises: first my new confidence that seemed to defy the complexity of the situation, then my rejection of a very lump sum, and now the news of the alliance I'd created. They froze, apparently discussing their decision through some closed private channel.
I had told them the truth. I needed allies more than anything. Money, too, but judging by the auctions' trends, I had staked a gold mine with plenty of potential to pay off my castle mortgage. And one more thing. By refusing their money, I hoped to reset my clan obligations to zero. Because if one day they had asked me for a service in return, I'd have had to drop everything and comply. This way, I was debt-free with them.
Clink, a money transfer dropped into my inbox.
You've received a money transfer: 100,000 gold.
Sender: The official Veterans clan account
I raised a quizzical eye to Frag.
"We appreciate your proposal," he said. "We're more than happy to accept it. We also give our preliminary approval to joining your alliance, but this will need more discussion and working through all the agreement details. As a gesture of allied good will, we return to you the sum you paid us for helping to solve Taali's little problem. We'll pay our men from our own resources. Moreover, we'll monitor her problem closely: I can already tell you that we're going to replace her gun. The civilian Tiger is good enough but a Vintorez will suit her purpose better. I'll also make sure some of my men will cover her at the most difficult stage: a retreat."
At that point I couldn't keep my emotions in check any longer. Taali's problem was something I couldn't help her with which worried me quite a lot. These old dogs knew my weak spot, cleverly manipulating my nicest points. But I still had something up my sleeve to rub into their poker faces.
"I can't thank you enough for this," I said. "But as you've mentioned the guns, I think I've got something for you."
I reached into my bag, pulled out the steel invaders' heavy shooter and slammed it on the table. Nothing was going to happen to it. Mithril could take much more than that. One-nil, guys. I would claw through the Valley of Fear for another technogenic artifact just to see their expression again.
The General jumped from his seat and grabbed the gun. He studied it in disbelief. He unlatched the clip, pulled back and cocked the hammer a couple of times, then ran his sensitive fingers along the embossed frame. Still unbelieving, he exchanged glances with Dan and pressed the gun to his chest like a father who'd found his long-lost son. Was it my imagination or his eyes glistened moistly?
"Where-" his voice gave. He cleared his throat. "Where did you get this?"
"Just an echo of war," I answered in my best indifferent voice, enjoying the pun.
"Fuck the echo of war!" Dan exploded.
Frag gestured him to shut up. "Wait. Max, I hope you understand what it is you have here. Firearms can radically change the balance of power in the game."
"Actually," I said, cutting their greed down, "the game's definition of a gun is a lump of mithril ore ready for recasting. Secondly, ammo is a bit of a problem, especially as I doubt that gunpowder or whatever it uses to generate the gases has retained its properties after eight hundred years. And thirdly and mainly, where do you see this imbalance? Are you sure that bullets can be a stronger argument than a regular level 1 self-guided firebolt? I don't even mention the Meteor Shower Spell or Armageddon which is easily comparable with a volley from a multiple rocket launcher."
Dan shook his head. "I don't intend to start a flame war on whether firearms are cooler than magic. Wait till you get a fifty-gram slug up your ass from a sniper about a mile away. Or when your castle takes a direct hit from the aforementioned rocket launcher—then you can compare them to level-1 firebolts all you like. Magic and firearms are two unique tools at opposite ends of the same branch of evolution. If someone manages to merge them, the Universe will shudder. Then everyone who doubted our peaceful intentions will drown in the resulting bloodbath."