Chapter 53 – The Face of Havenholm (Patreon)

Johnathan Case rubbed his temples and did his best to keep his face impassive. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t endeavor to strengthen ourselves,” he said, for what felt like the 30th time. “All I’m saying is that we should proceed cautiously. Subjugating people does not tend to go over very well with morale, which you’ve put me in charge of if you recall.”

“And you are doing a fine job,” Marcy said, baring her teeth in a predatory gleam. “But your purview is to keep morale up despite the challenges, not just to hold people’s hands and sing songs around the campfire when bellies are full and monsters are nonexistent.”

She always brings up that stupid singing, Johnathan thought. “Listen, I don’t know why they keep chanting ‘we love the Company’ over and over, but you can’t deny the effect it has. It has lifted spirits considerably ever since the incident.”

It annoyed Johnathan too, but only because it worried him. It was worse than how people usually acted around celebrities and idols.

The Company largely had an invisible presence. No single individual to pin down all that fixation with.

But the organization’s power was undeniable, even after being sent to the assessment test. Merely buying items from the Company’s shop offered medicine more effective than anything on Earth had been and items that granted superhuman gains.

The stock was just limited, which made people feel that it was that much harder to earn the Company’s favor and attention.

Still, it made people happy to sing about the Company that had saved all their lives by ushering in magic and levels. Their happiness mattered more than his comfort and peace of mind.

If John was being honest with himself, it bothered him more that he felt the urge to join in the singing. It seemed harmlessly fun.

“Be that as it may,” Marcy said stiffly. “Far be it from me to hamper people having a good time. So long as nobody gets hurt and work continues, of course. But you have to admit it’s creepy.”

Several of the cabinet members nodded. The room was well lit. As one of the upper floors in Havenholm’s tower, it was afforded plenty of natural light, courtesy of its many windows. The round table they all sat at was a nice touch, John thought.

Even if it was a little odd how Marcy and Henry managed to sit directly opposite each other. There were no assigned seats for the cabinet members–the people trusted enough to help run the burgeoning settlement–but day in and day out, the same people sat at the same seats as if they were assigned.

“It’s super creepy,” Ronald said. Sandy-haired and freckled to within an inch of his life, he was their newest cabinet member and showing great promise in John’s opinion.

They had needed a tiebreaker after it became clear that there was a split in the cabinet’s former 6-man group, and Ronald was canny enough to understand his role as kingmaker despite his junior seniority.

“I’ll do what I can,” John said. “Just keep in mind that these people have lost everything, and the Company is something new to fill the void. Not to mention, it literally makes us stronger. Several people got some nice stuff from the shop. Which brings me to our next point: the [Bastion Crystal].”

“We’re working on it,” Henry told him sternly. The big man had bruises and cuts all over him. His oversized axe rested against the round table. “We’ve got another excursion out today once we figure out what to do about that group of squatters.”

The meaningful looks turned John’s way was like a physical force.

He sighed and rubbed his temples again.

The forward group, what Henry called his group of 6, went out to clear monsters ahead of the others and to plunder nearby towers and cellars for loot. They had made contact with another group of people.

They were called squatters because they didn’t immediately fight back, nor did they willingly join. Henry was alarmingly persuasive, and if Marcy was with him–which she usually was–then it was almost a done deal.

He wondered what sort of skills those two leaders gained to further their sway over others. John hastily pushed the suspicion aside.

Few people resisted their combined charms, which was what made the squatters so odd. They refused to leave, but did not overtly make themselves threatening. Firm but polite was how John put it after interviewing Henry’s forward group, of which he was not a part of.

“Why not just go around them?” John asked, knowing the answer already. Anthony, the forward’s Scout, had already explained the difficulties with that, even if the squatters were not hostile.

“Anthony counted only 8 total,” Henry said, knowing full well that John had access to the same information. “If they refuse to leave, we can make them. If they refuse further, we will do what must be done. The other paths are too dangerous to trek and my [Dungeon Key] tells me there’s something there. Maybe they don’t have a key to gain access, but they know the dungeon is there. We need that dungeon.”

That was another reason why they were called squatters. They were sitting on a dungeon, which supposedly could have valuable stuff inside.

“Then let me go,” John said. “I can negotiate, or at least try to talk them into leaving. We have a lot to offer a group out on their own. It’s been 10 days so far, there aren’t any loners anymore. They’re all dead.”

John felt a pang of loss at Luke’s grim fate. He harbored little hope that his friend survived. Who could, out there amongst all the monsters?

“The only people surviving are those like us,” John continued with difficulty. “And we’ve already made treaties with the three other large groups. They’ll have to join us or one of the others, eventually. At least we don’t use slaves. The same can’t be said of the New Sun. Maybe they don’t know about them, which is likely, considering they aren’t dead or enslaved.”

Henry glanced around the table. Out of the 7 cabinet members, 4 were in the forward group. Enough that they could make a quorum.

The big man glanced at the others in his group, assessing how they felt. Alice gave a kindly smile at John. Much of the soft motherly woman he once knew had been burned off by all the battle and fighting she underwent.

As one of the rare Healers who survived the first nights of slaughter where Healers across the assessment were targeted by monsters and then by other people looking to replenish their lost Healers, she was afforded a great amount of influence.

She used it wisely, but John could see that day-by-day she was getting worse. More aggressive, quicker to judge. Her family was all that mattered to her, even now, and each day that she received no news of them was like a dagger in her heart.

“I believe we can make accommodations for that,” Henry said. “But bring somebody you trust to keep you safe. Whoever it is has to have at least a stage one class.” Which was their code for the first class evolution, stage zero being the starter classes everybody had.

Like John, who wasn’t very keen on fighting to begin with and spent most of his time babysitting new members and generally making sure that there was a home for the fighters to come back to.

He never would admit it aloud, but he missed the feeling of excitement when it had just been him and Luke clearing out the dire bats in the tower.

Things had been so different.

Now he was the Face of Havenholm. People recognized him, even new members had seen him around, helping out. He still went with scouting groups, but the monsters near Havenholm were getting thinner by the day and besides, they were several levels below John’s level 7 Archer.

“I could bring Edwin,” John said. “He’s a Ranger.”

Henry shook his head. “He’s already gone.”

That shocked John. He had just spoken to Ed a little while ago. The young man was usually quick to mention when he was going on an errand for Henry.

He volunteers too much, John thought with a shake of his head. “What about Dexter then?”

“The IT guy?” Rachel asked, quirking her lips. “Didn’t he almost die the first day?”

Like you were any better, John thought sourly. You nearly killed half your own group with those poorly aimed bolts. And I’m still not convinced Tate’s death was entirely accidental.

To her face he said, “He’s improved quite a lot.”

“He’s an Adept Warrior,” she said scathingly. “A common stage one.”

John nearly grunted with the strain of not rolling his eyes. Ever since Rachel became an Elementalist, a rare evolution of Mage, she had her nose so far up into the sky she could tell you when it would rain an hour before the first drop fell.

Marcy watched the exchange with veiled amusement over one of her customary apples. A thin rind of frost gathered on the edges where her fingers touched the red skin. “Let him come,” she said softly. “If all we do is foster the strong to be stronger, we’re no different from the New Sun. And we may pass over diamonds-in-the-rough.”

Henry looked taken aback by that, but he recovered quickly. Far quicker than the choking-on-an-apple expression Rachel had. She deferred so hard to Marcy that at times, it felt like Marcy was a queen and Rachel was her handmaiden.

It didn’t help that they were both skilled magic users, with Marcy rumored to have an even rarer stage one class than Rachel, though she wouldn’t say what it was.

The two women were quickly becoming the beacons of magical power in Havenholm.

“If you’ll collect Dexter, we’ll be on our way,” Henry said, sliding back his chair and standing. “Unless there was any other business?” He glanced around the table, but the message was clear: they were done.

Shocked as John was by the suddenness of it all, he nodded and left the room to go find Dexter. He could usually be found on guard duty.

Ever since Luke fled, they had a stronger presence of guards, which seemed entirely unnecessary to John. There were a few ruffians who tried to break in, but they were quickly beaten back and since died or learned better because they were never seen again.

Havenholm, largely due to its unique position, was a beacon of safety. People were building crude houses and bunking up inside the tower where simple partitions made cramped rooms for the growing population.

There were even talks of making rooftop gardens on the tower and anywhere else that might support it. Nobody knew what would happen when the assessment was over.

He found Dexter in the garrison, trying to foolishly sharpen that shield’s edge again. He was convinced that a shield could double as both a weapon and a tool for defense.

The problem was, the shield wasn’t designed to have a cutting edge to begin with, so Dexter’s attempt to modify the shield took an inordinate amount of work.

Several off-duty guards watched with barely concealed laughter.

“Dex!” John called for the seventh time above the rhythmic scraping.

Dexter looked up, startled. The [Honing Stone] he had in his hands was something he found in a treasure chest while out on patrol. It could sharpen anything. He even tried it out on a cobblestone, which was oddly effective.

“You want to come with me and the forward group to check out an 8-man team of squatters?” John asked, perking up several ears in the cool stone room.

Dexter looked around. He had the same expression as the four other guards in the room: why him? “You sure?” he asked.

“It’s my call,” John said. “I wanted you to watch my back. Think you’re up for it?”

Grinning widely, Dexter hopped up and saluted. “Of course! Let me just grab my things. Meet you outside in five?”

“Make it three,” John said.

By the time John made it to the fortified tunnel leading into the ruins, the rest of the forward group was waiting for him. He could hear Dexter in his chainmail jangling behind him as he rushed to catch up.