Chapter 66

Etson Square, Etson - 5:58 PM

The closer we got to the center of the Square, the more people noticed our presence. They pointed as they fell into hushed whispers. I could tell that Jeff was becoming more and more nervous as the crowd parted around us, and I placed my hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m fine, dude. You can go be with your wife if you want,” I said.

“Ain’t happening,” Jeff replied, though he didn’t look at me. Instead, he remained vigilant and kept a hand on his Killer Sting.

“Alright, well, keep your eyes above crowd level. If you see the sniper, don’t react but let me know.” I removed my hand, and Jeff grunted acknowledgment of his instructions.

The hush had begun spreading as I heard people saying my name. Some whispered in awe as they saw me, not that I thought I was particularly awe worthy in my straw hat and light windbreaker. Others said my name like it was a curse to be spat on the ground, and still more were merely curious.

It became abundantly clear that the two extremes were not mingling as much as they had the last time I came to the square. Those who were looking at me as if I were their hero were farther from the theater than those who spoke my name as if they were spitting up bile. Not only that, but at a glance the quality of their gear was lower. I tried to get a good look through the crowd towards Gabrielle.

I only got a quick glance, but she seemed to have been stuck in the same gear she had yesterday aside from a white rod she held that had two feathered wings coming out of the top. I immediately recognized it as a Dove’s Rod of Peace; it was an item that reduced the resource cost for healing spells and skills by 10% and increased the efficacy of those spells as long as the wielder hadn’t caused damage within a short amount of time.

A good item, but one good item was nothing to sneeze at. I shifted my gaze towards Etson Historic Theater and took a look. While many were still in what I would consider a state of equipment poverty, they were doing better than the former group. The level of gear was the same, but the armor they wore was more consistent and protected more of their body.

“Father Alexander has been waiting for you.”

I turned to see a smiling man in a long, black leather trench coat with a straight sword at his hip. He was in his mid forties and carried himself well. I looked him up and down, mentally checking off a list of magical gear. It was a considerable power boost, but that’s what I expected from someone inside Father Alexander’s inner circle. Behind him was Arnold, arms crossed with a menacing scowl across his face, whom I promptly ignored.

“Russel, good to see you,” I said conversationally. “Happy to see the system hasn’t done anything to help mitigate that unfortunate widow’s peak of yours.”

The smile on Russel’s face slipped for a moment, and I swore he almost reached up to touch his balding head. He recovered quickly, though the cocksure smile no longer reached his eyes. “Come this way, Anthony.”

“What, not even a please?”

Russel paused. “Please come this way,” he repeated unhappily.

“Sure thing,” I said, gesturing him forward. I turned to Jeff as we began walking towards the theater.

“You know I’m not leaving,” he said before I had a chance to.

“You know I have to keep giving you outs to make myself feel better about the dangerous situations I’m getting you in, yeah?”

“Says the same guy who decided my wife and I were going to take on Pain Wasp the Pain Loving Wasp by ourselves.”

“Hey, I helped in that fight,” I protested. “Still, outs, you’ll get them.”

“Well, stop it. If we want out, we won’t be shy about it,” he countered.

I chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose it’s not in your nature to beat around the bush, huh?”

The crowd parted around Arnold as though they were afraid to be in his path. I couldn’t blame them on that one, he was a large and angry individual. It was doubtful that he left a good impression on a lot of the people here. Being Father Alexander’s biggest lap dog gave him a lot of power, and he was the type to flex it constantly. That was one of the things that made beating him up so satisfying.

Russel, on the other hand, waved and greeted people by name as we passed. Despite his friendly demeanor, I could tell he was getting nervous. His hands trembled ever so slightly, and his eyes darted about as if looking for any safety nets in the crowd. “You alright, Russel?” I asked, not bothering to hide my amusement.

“Of course,” he said stiffly. He placed his hand in his jacket pocket mere inches from his sword. Since I hadn’t interacted with Russel during this run, I wasn’t sure if he had the same class as usual although I would bet on it. As a Crusader, he gained access to various combat skills and passives against those who expressed views and beliefs anathema to his own. As he was a true believer of Father Alexander’s scum sucking religion, that included me.

We entered the historic theater to find that most of the people had been cleared out. Emily was waiting there, arms crossed as she sat on the counter next to where the register used to be. She had gotten new gear as well. Atop her head was a black, wide brimmed witch’s hat that had a silver skull and crossbones charm hanging off of the tip. At her waist was a wooden back scratcher, though I knew the object was actually a wand containing a really nasty, annoying spell that caused rampant itching in the victim. The inflicted itch would move just as you attempted to scratch it. There was no recourse and ignoring it was difficult.

“Why aren’t you waiting with the Father?” Russel asked, evidently confused by her presence here.

“Because,” was all Emily responded with. She slid off of the counter and walked towards me. There was a look of determination in her green eyes that just barely masked fear and uncertainty. She stopped inches away from me, her bulky yellow robe brushing against my jacket.

“Can I help y-“ I was cut off as Emily reached up, grabbed me by my hair, and pulled my face towards hers. Our lips touched and her tongue slipped into my mouth. She tasted of watermelons. and in a bout of amused whimsy I allowed it.

The watermelon soon changed to a sour taste and I knew my tongue would start turning black. I hadn’t been serious when I offered her a second chance to harm me as long as it was with the Kiss of Death skill, but I had to admit the girl had spunk. My hit points began to drain slowly after a few seconds as the kiss built up enough poison to get through my constitution, but after ten or so seconds she pulled away. She must have stocked a lot of points into her toxicity stat for it to last so long.

Her eyes searched my face for any sign of the poison working. Instead of giving her what she wanted, I looked past her at the uncomfortable looking men watching us. "What?" I asked with a numb tongue. "Never seen the Kiss of Death skill before?" The determination Emily had clung to fell from her, and her shoulders lowered when she tried to walk around me to leave.

“Where are you going, Emily?” Arnold asked angrily. She didn’t respond to him as she head towards the door.

“Stick around outside,” I said without turning to look at her. The bell on the door rang as it opened, but I didn’t hear any more footsteps.

“Why should I? Gunna abuse me again?” she asked quietly. I knew that tone, and brushed it off.

“The city’s going to war, Emily, and we’re going to need all the help we can get.” Without waiting for a response, I started walking towards the back of the theater. Arnold and Russel attempted to challenge my words, but I didn’t bother with them.

The room was exactly how it was when I last visited, but this time Father Alexander was already here in his overly large chair and flanked by two more of his flunkies. His cassock was rumpled, like he had been forced to get ready for an audience in quick order. Seeing as it has been less than five minutes since I hit the Square, it made sense. Word traveled fast and I’m sure he was expecting me.

Behind him was a tan woman with bleached blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail. She appeared to be around the same age as Emily, and wore blue scrubs with an Etson Faithful patch sewn over her heart. Her name was Anna Jefferson and her class should be Empathic Healer, which healed by taking on a portion of the patient's damage. It had the capability to heal more than a mana based class, though it wasn’t nearly as popular for obvious reasons.

The other person was Father Alexander’s son, Phillip. The black haired man wore a black cassock just like his dad, though he had taken a different direction in class. While staring directly at me, he took a whetstone to the spear in his hands. Doing a poor job of it as well, not that I was about to give him tips. Just like Russel, if nothing had changed drastically enough then he should have been a Crusader as well, though the focus was less of a belief in Seraphim and more a belief in his father.

Father Alexander’s eyes met mine before looking behind me. “Where did Emily go?”

“Apologies Father,” Russel said as he followed us in. “I think it’s safe to say that she will not be joining us.”

I smirked as the old man scowled. “She’s the smart one, you know.”

“You have caused me a great deal of trouble, Anthony Franklin,” the Father said as he looked back at me.

“I think you’ll find that you’ve caused yourself a great deal of trouble, and trying to menace me by using my first and last name is going to do jack squat,” I replied. I stopped at the base of the theater’s stage and set my hands on my hips. “But please, feel free to tell me how your decisions are my fault.”

“You are the cause of the Writhing Zeppelin, are you not?” Father Alexander accused. I chuckled, and his eyes narrowed. “Do you think that’s funny?”

“I think you’re funny, yes,” I said, prompting a glare from Phillip. “I will admit that I’m the reason why the Writhing Zeppelin came in the first place, but only because Seraphim is a whiny, scum sucking man child who can’t wrap his head around the fact that someone’s playing his game so well.”

“You dare speak out against the Herald of the System in such a manner?” the Father asked, his brow furrowing in an unpleasant manner.

“He needs to watch his tongue before someone removes it for him,” Phillip spat.

“You’re welcome to try,” I said quickly before Alexander had a chance to respond. “Unlike yesterday, I have full use of my hands. Go ahead and ask Emily how bringing me in went even with that handicap. Wait, no, she ditched y’all. Guess you’ll have to ask Arnold instead.” To make my point, I raised my hands and flexed them. From somewhere in the seats behind me, I heard Arnold grumble.

“Enough, Phillip,” Father Alexander scowled. He returned his attention to me. “Despite your best efforts, Anthony, we are not here to be your enemy. Despite the system’s extra clear condition, no one here wants to offer your head to the Vespae.”

“Yeah, now that everyone’s calmed down I’m sure that’s the case. No one ever argues sacrificing one person to save many,” I responded sarcastically. “There’s never been someone who’s been wanted gone and some mysterious accident befalls them, leaving them conveniently dead. If you said that you weren’t going to personally kill me, then I’d believe it. If you wanted to sell me on Arny or Phil not staring at me with blood lust in their eyes, you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“I can hate you for being disrespectful to the Father and for stealing from our safe,” Phillip muttered. “Doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

“Wow, what a completely believable sentence from someone who’s finally got a taste of what they think is real power,” I scoffed. “Look, I can be rude to y’all here for hours, but it’s not going to get me what I want and it’s not going to get you what you want. So let me say this: offering my head to the Vespae queen will buy you peace for all of thirty minutes tops.”

“And what makes you say that?” Father Alexander asked. “How could you possibly know?”

“Because after I beat up your goons, I spent the rest of the night preparing the forest for war. My team and I waltzed into the forest, spoke with the Dryad who protected it, and freed her from Vespae control. In the process, we also liberated a tribe of Kobolds. Fuzzy dog people about waist tall, not the scaly kind.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?”

I crossed my arms. “The Vespae are conquerors and zealots. An alliance with them isn’t a partnership, it’s to take them as overlords. You work for them, you provide for them, if you’re unlucky then you fight for them as cannon fodder. There’s no becoming equal to them. Everything that’s not a Vespae is both inferior and disposable. Now, question for you, father dude, but what do you think will happen the first time Phillip gets annoyed by this treatment? He thinks he knows what power tastes like now, what about when he’s expected to be subservient?”

“I’m n-“

“Or Arnold? Or Emily?” I asked, cutting Phillip off. “What about anyone out there who thinks that they’re hot shit because they have two skills and their strength is a six at best? You know how people get, man. What about the redneck who thought getting a shotgun with three barrels instead of two was the best upgrade he could ask for? Or the lawyer who’s used to being in charge but now finds himself ‘temporarily embarrassed’ by the lack of points he has? What do you think is going to happen when even one person steps out of line?”

Father Alexander was silent, and his son steamed. I looked pointedly up at Anna, who had been silent during this whole exchange. She sighed as our eyes met. “Tempers are going to flare.”

“Yes, Anna, and what do you think happens?”

“Riots.”

I pointed at her. “The war renews, and it happens after the Vespae are in the city. But that’s neither here nor there, because there’s no way my head is being delivered. I’m answering your question because I need your help.”

Father Alexander scoffed. “You stole from us, Anthony, and have been nothing but hostile to us this whole time. Why should we help you?”

“First of all, I was merely rude before,” I said, snorting. “I’ll own up to that and apologize. Father Alexander, I am sorry for being a pain in your ass for our first meeting. I even apologize for leaving you here after I killed the Writhing Zeppelin, but that was in the name of the safety of all. If I thought I was in danger, then I was going to defend myself, and I was too hopped up on adrenaline and ham for that to go anywhere but poorly.”

“So you claim, and you apologize and yet you still stole from us,” he replied.

“In my defense, I know how your people operate. Arnold here was ready to take me in by force,” I said, jerking my thumb back at him. “No please, or thank you, or general discussion about what to expect. Emily at least tried to entice me into following her back. Failed, but at least tried. Oh, and she said something very interesting. I know she was here with the meeting with Thomas, but apparently she denied me having a spark of divinity? The very one you got excited about? Why would she lie about that?”

Father Alexander grimaced. “That was for your own protection,” he said. I didn’t believe him, of course, but I let him continue. “What would the people think if they heard you had been touched by an angel? Think of how suspicious they would be of you and the system’s special treatment.”

An angel’s done a lot more than just touch me. Instead of saying that, I just barked a laugh. “Okay, sure. Let’s say that’s true. I was rude, I stole from you. I am sorry, but I’m not giving the stuff back. However, you’ve lied to your people about me, you’re charging exorbitant prices for simple healing, and you’re showing favoritism towards those who lean into your plan. Your actions are going to lead the Faithful to ruin. We’ve had a spotty past, so let’s let bygones be bygones and walk into the future together.”

A silence descended on the theater as everyone turned to look at Father Alexander. Phillip still looked pissed off and hadn’t stopped sharpening his spear this whole time; if anything, he was doing it even more aggressively now. It didn’t even need to be sharpened, it was clearly a magical spear.

Anna, at least, looked contemplative. She was one of the more free thinkers of the inner circle, though I knew she would end up doing whatever Father Alexander commanded. Same with Russel, who was still somewhere behind me with Arnold.

“What do you have in mind?” Father Alexander finally asked, his voice strained.

I took in a breath. Either this would work, which was already a long shot, or it would be on to plan B. “What I propose is to finish the scenario early,” I said. “With the help of the Etson Faithful, we can attack the Vespae with their pants down and reduce the amount of casualties by a wide margin.”

Father Alexander scoffed. “We will do no such thing. The scenario passed down by the System clearly stated to wait.”

“It also said to prepare for the war,” I said before biting back the rest of the sentence. It wasn’t like Father Alexander was out there fighting, and we both knew it. Instead, I took a more diplomatic approach now that I had apologized. “Thomas has already agreed that fighting them before they’re ready is tactically sound, but he won’t commit to it without the Faithful to back us up.”

“Of course you went running to Thomas,” Phillip muttered.

“Yes, Phillip, because in order to get shit done I have to ask for help,” I responded.

“It’s out of the question,” Father Alexander interjected. “We know that the scenario will lead us to war, and we will fight when the time comes. We must trust the system.”

“The system is the cause of all this unjust death and destruction,” Jeff spat. “We don’t have to trust it for anything.”

“It was heralded by an angel, young man, this is obviously God’s plan.”

I stopped myself from refuting everything about what Father Alexander just said and instead put a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “I’m not here to say whether it is or isn’t,” I said, trying to make my voice as even as possible. “What I’m here to do is to ask you to join our plight. If we attack at dawn en masse, even if we only take volunteers, then we can have the Vespae wiped out in a morning. I understand that you want to do things in order, but that way leads to a lot of death and the destruction of wide parts of the city.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, and even agree with you on some of it,” Father Alexander said as he clasped his hands together. “But we will not waver. It is through faith that the believers will survive the coming days.”

“And all the people who are not believers?” I asked, not being able to keep the venom from creeping into my voice. “They die?”

“Or survive, depending on how well they’ve grown.”

“Grown, huh? With you charging them points just to survive instead of becoming stronger?”

“I am not the one who brought the System, Anthony Franklin, nor do I choose who lives or dies. The world will find balance.”

“So you won’t go to war with the rest of the city, then?” I asked. “Despite those who are willing to go, you’re going to sit back and wait?”

“We will go to war, but only when the time is right,” Father Alexander said as if it were a matter of fact.

Slowly, I nodded. This was what I had expected, but it still pissed me off. Jeff was quaking in anger, and I bumped into him. “Very well, then we have nothing more to discuss.”

Father Alexander stood up as I turned to leave, Jeff following behind me. “We are not done here, Anthony. You may have apologized, but we still hold you accountable for stealing the items that rightfully belonged to us.”

Ignoring him, I began climbing the stairs. “Plan B it is, Jeff.”

“Arnold, Russel, stop him!”

Looking back, I saw Phillip pulling his spear back and throwing it at us. The metal spearhead glowed a bright green right before he chucked it at me. I leaned left and snatched it out of the air. Despite not hitting the wall, the wooden boards shattered as if it had due to the Crusader’s skill and my arm went numb from just catching it. Twirling it, I threw the weapon towards the stage. Not at Phillip, but the ceiling.

Pushing the spear, it cut through a hanging stage light before pushing through the cheap ceiling tiles and lodging itself into the roof. The stage light fell between Father Alexander and Phillip, causing them to scramble out of the way even though they weren’t in any actual danger. Smirking, I moved on.

I looked at Arnold, who had stood up. “You really want to go for round two?”

At first, Arnold sure did appear to want to go for round two and I knew that he had a competitive drive a mile long. In order to make sure the answer was no, I looked him dead in the eye and hit him with Tyrant’s Will. He visually flinched backwards as dread flooded his mind, though with Arnold's temperament I knew it wouldn't hold him back long, and I looked towards Russel to do the same. Instead of just flinching, the man paused, then turned around and fled from me as quickly as he could.

Unopposed, I resumed climbing the theater steps even as Father Alexander and Phillip screamed in the background.

“What’s plan B, boss?” Jeff asked.

Reaching into my inventory, I pulled out a shining gold bowling ball. My fingers slid into the holes perfectly, as if they were made for me, and I rested it on my shoulder. “If all goes according to plan, Jeff, then we rip the Faithful apart. We rip them apart and hope there’s enough pieces left in the future to do some good.”