Untapped ~ Chapter Eighteen!

There was a long, awkward silence following Joe's statement as each of the people in the room thought through their options. Then, seemingly all at once, the council chamber erupted into horrified murmuring. Joe's eyes twitched slightly at the lack of patriotic fervor, concern for the residents, or the potential for destruction that a war would bring.

“Martial law? You must be joking.” A man pulled out a pen and notebook, fingers shaking as he opened to a saved page and slowly drew a line through something. “Do you have any idea what locking the public out of the town will do to our profit margins?”

“Our weekender package includes a penthouse stay, a safari tour, skilled counseling, and a tour of the most important sites inside the city and out of it!” Another slapped his hand on an empty chair, a *thump* echoing through the room. “We are booked for the next six months; how long are you planning for this little tantrum to last?”

“No, cancel all bobblehead production immediately, we're going to short the-” the man talking quietly into a magical device yelped as a Ritual Orb pierced it and flung it across the room, where it shattered against the wall.

Joe let the panicked sounds wash over him like rain off a duck, finally feeling truly calm since he had entered the town. Slowly reaching out, he plucked the precious-metal-inlaid mandate from the crown out of midair with a flourish. “The king and queen of Ardania-”

He stressed that word in an attempt to help them remember where they were living. “Decided to give me some additional rewards for my service to Humanity, for my guild’s service. We've been given full authority to increase the rank of the Town to tier five, which will allow us to transform the Town into a City and the Wanderer’s Guild into the Wanderer’s Sect.”

Silence swept through the room, and he let it linger for perhaps a few heartbeats longer than totally necessary. “To that end, I'm going to upgrade the Pathfinder’s Hall, which should kick all of this off.”

He hadn't even finished speaking before the mood in the room shifted in a decidedly unexpected direction. All signs of panic vanished like cockroaches scuttling away as the lights turned on, but it was Mr. Johnson, leaning forward with a gleam in his eye, that drove home what was going on in their heads.

“You're telling me… the Pathfinder’s Hall is going to get an upgrade? Fantastic! It's already our biggest draw. People come here from all across Midgard just to see if they are making the right choices with their classes. We've got it down to a science… which ones are dead ends, which ones are diamonds in the rough-”

“I can't believe it's finally happening,” the muttering member pulled a second device out of his pocket, rapidly speaking into it before Joe could smack it out of his hand. “Pathfinder’s Hall expansion—speculative. Abyss, today's like Christmas in a futures market!”

“The first Sect! I can think of thirty new merchandise ideas off that alone! I need to get my people working on-”

Joe realized his jaw had dropped slightly as he looked around with glassy eyes, fully uncertain if he should be impressed or appalled by the shift he had just witnessed. “You suddenly want this? You do realize that, when we push for a higher tier, there's going to be a full-scale battle here. That's not even counting what it might look like when we try to shift into being a Sect. Who knows what sort of reaction we will get?”

“No one! That's the entire point of it. Think of the profit on the betting pools alone-”

“The town is going to be under siege!” Joe bellowed over the excited hubbub. “Maybe none of you were here during the last upgrade, but there was almost nothing left standing. We are risking almost guaranteed devastation-”

Instead of eliciting concern, as he had been hoping, a gentle rustling followed his words as each of the others in the room pulled out a matching leather-bound book, unclasping them to reveal detailed calendars brimming with text. Pen quivering in the air just above the page, Mr. Johnson waited patiently for Joe to speak again, but when he didn't, bobbed his head and pointed at the page. “Were you thinking a summer monster wave or sometime this fall?”

“Oooh, if we did it with the leaves changing color, any blood on the ground would blend in nicely.”

“End of autumn would be better, in case cleanup takes longer than expected. The cold would keep the smell down and give us a chance to clear the place out properly.” 

“That would give me time to work with the vendors and make sure we've ramped up our production on the commemorative-”

“Are you seriously,” Joe took a deep breath in through his nose, trying to maintain his cool, “Scheduling out the best time to summon a massive monster wave in order to maximize your profits?”

“Not just that, obviously.” Mr. Johnson flicked his pen. “We'll also need time to build up defenses, bring in combatants, and all manner of serious considerations. We need to make sure we are ready for this. If we do this right, we can brand ourselves as a true crucible, a proving ground that will pull in not just the tourists, but even the most serious of adventurers. Yet another world-shaking event happening right here… who wouldn't want to move here and be part of the next one? We are going to need to bring back every active member of the guild we possibly can, hire mercenaries, enlist Battle Mages from the college, and so much more.”

“I survived the Sect upgrade, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.” The financier Joe was starting to truly dislike whispered into his device. “I want ten thousand at a minimum-”

With a truly begrudging sigh, Joe grit his teeth and relented. “I can't say you're wrong to put serious effort into planning this out, but please keep the sales talk out of this until I leave. If someone talks about plushies, I might burn this entire place down and start over somewhere else.”

“Plushies? Of a potential monster wave? Certainly not, Joe.” Mr. Johnson shook his head, though he looked sidelong at the man sitting next to him and hedged under his breath, “but I bet the miniatures market would really-”

When Joe left the Town Hall, it felt less like he’d wrapped things up and more like he’d barely managed to escape a powerpoint session. The upgrade had been scheduled a month away, giving him an extra week’s leeway before he had to get to his mother’s wedding. Allowing himself one full-body shiver, he looked to the Pathfinder’s Hall. “That was brutal. But at least it’s on the books, and everyone’s on board with it. Maybe I should go—abyss, Boris!”

Flashing down the road, he was soon skidding to a stop in front of the egg-shaped building, yet his friend was nowhere to be seen. At first, he thought the old man may not have arrived yet, but a quick Omnivault straight upward proved that to be false. Time seemed to hold still for a long moment as he reached the crest of his upward travel, and his eyes locked on a pair of guards marching down the winding streets, holding Boris in the air with a hand under each of his armpits. 

“This has to be some kind of joke. I don't even recognize the guild here anymore.” In a matter of moments, Joe was landing on the road in front of the guards, sweeping into an upright position and glaring at them with his arms crossed. “I'm going to need you two to let go of him right now. This is the new curator of the Pathfinder’s Hall, and the way you are treating him is absolutely shocking.”

“Sir. Sir.” As Joe took a step closer, extending an outstretched hand to the Scholar, one of the guards, a burly lady with a square jaw and an attitude to match, held up a cudgel threateningly even as the other reached for his own weapon. “We’re dealing with a vagrant at the moment. I don't know what this man has told you, but we’re the security force of the Pathfinder’s Hall. We know everyone who works there, and he’s not one of them. Actually, he's in violation of the town code of conduct. No loitering, panhandling, and certainly no napping on the town streets—especially right in front of our main profit center.”

“He hasn't told me anything.” Joe didn't back down an inch, keeping his voice even and his eyes focused on the sunken-faced Scholar. “I own the Pathfinder’s Hall. I'm the first Elder of the Wanderer’s Guild. Boris was hired today; of course you don't know him.”

“Next thing you're going to tell us is that you’re the Dread Ritualist Joe, just because you shaved your head this morning.” The second guard snorted, reaching forward to try and smack Joe's arm away from where it was still resting in midair. To the man’s dismay, hitting that limb was like punching reinforced concrete—going by the pained *hiss* he let out even while the arm remained in place as though it were in geosynchronous orbit above the ground. 

“I don't care who you want to pretend to be,” the first guard took over, though she cast a slightly worried glance at her partner’s reaction. “You don't just get to ignore the town laws and keep hobos around because you're feeling generous. Unless you've got some documentation, you need to get out of the way.”

Finally turning his gaze to the guard, Joe stared daggers at her, his jaw working until he could force himself to remain calm as he spoke. “I am the highest ranking person in the guild on this world. As much as any one person can, I own the entire Town, and the rules are what I say they are. Now… you are treating my guest poorly, and I'm going to give the two of you one last chance to go about your business.”

Letting out a surprisingly deep snarl of anger, the square-jawed lady let go of Boris and stepped forward, taking a swing at Joe while tapping on the Wanderer’s Guild logo etched in the buckle of her utility belt. It flared with light just as the strike came down, but as the cudgel landed… nothing happened. 

As apparently only Joe expected.

“That… I struck you with the full authority of the council! You should have been thrown all the way out of town!” Her eyes went wide as she started to realize Joe may have actually been telling the truth.

But it was already too late.

Moving faster than either guard could react, almost too fast for them to see, he reached out and gently—relatively speaking—gripped her armored pauldron in an iron grip, twisted, and put all one hundred and fifty points of his strength behind throwing her. She sailed up and over the low building they were standing next to, vanishing over its edge with a startled yelp. Joe turned to glare at the other guard, who was now standing with his hands slowly raising in a surrender position. “Need any other documentation, or will that do?” 

Clearing his throat, the guard quickly shook his head in the negative. “That won't be necessary, sir! It seems my partner and I have made an error, and you helped bring it to my attention! My apologies. We have our protocols and weren't updated about your… return. Are you really… are you the Dread Ritualist?”

“Before today, I've never heard anyone call me that,” Joe replied dryly, offering a shoulder for Boris to lean on, as it seemed the guards had relieved him of his walking stick. Then the guard said something that made Joe physically cringe, pulling away from him.

“I hate to ask, since our first meeting was such an unfortunate interaction, but… could you sign my snow globe?”

Now under no restriction about moving Boris around, Joe scooped the man up and jumped on top of a building, then sprinted to the nearby Pathfinder’s Hall before the Scholar could get out more than a surprised, “You set me down!”

“Sorry about all that, Boris. Are you okay?”

“Unfortunately… it's nothing I haven't grown all too used to.” Boris tried to push himself away from Joe as the Ritualist set him down, only managing to put himself off balance for a long moment. “I was only trying to get a better look at the Pathfinder’s Hall, and I must have nodded off. Next thing I know, I'm being hauled off and called a public nuisance.”

Grumbling under his breath, Joe started walking toward the towering, egg-shaped building. “Come on, let's give you a proper tour.”

Yet, as they approached the building, there was one final barrier to leap. A bored-looking man sat behind a rope strung across the road, clearly designed to funnel foot traffic through a small kiosk. As the duo came closer, he looked up at them then back down to the book he was reading. 

Not even bothering to stand, the worker droned out, “Entry fee is a silver per visitor, but you missed the start of the last tour. Next one begins in fifteen minutes, to give our dedicated career counselors a chance to rest their feet. Please stay behind the yellow painted line.”

By this point, Joe was absolutely, completely done. Not even bothering to respond, he simply continued walking in a straight line toward the open doorway of the Pathfinder’s Hall, a good dozen feet from the stall. As he got up to the rope, he pushed forward, barely feeling any resistance as it went taut, then snapped, exploding into frayed ends as he burst through it.

“Hey! Sir! Excuse me!” the man called out in a half panic, scrambling to his feet too quickly and nearly falling as he clutched at his legs, which must have fallen asleep. “You can't just-”

“Getting real sick of people telling me what I can and cannot do today,” Joe softly seethed under his voice. “This is my building, and I think it's time to remind people why they set up shop a good distance away from the entrance.” Placing a hand on the side of the Pathfinder’s Hall, Joe interfaced with its system, only continuing forward as he heard a thunderous, repetitive noise. 

A glance over his shoulder revealed a juggernaut skidding to a halt behind him, weapon hoisted in the air to intercept any interlopers. The door sealed shut behind them without a sound, leaving the Ritualist and Scholar in total darkness for a bare moment. A few steps later, Joe felt his frustration melt away, being replaced by a spark of pride and happiness as Boris looked around and gasped in sheer wonder. 

The darkness around them receded, light swirling up and around the walls and giving them the illusion of standing over a chasm of stars. Below, above, around—every last inch of the egg-shaped dome was filled with celestial motion. Galaxies spun, stars burned, and meteors flickered past. Now that he had a far higher perception than the last time he had been in this building, not to mention his Journeyman-ranked Celestial-Arcane Interaction Lore, Joe was able to pick out each of the planets he had visited so far. 

His eyes wandered along the stars, easily finding patterns corresponding to his ritual diagrams and their exact placement. “It's even better than I remembered… this place is absolutely perfect for a Ritualist. I was absolutely underutilizing it before now.”

“What… is this?” No longer seeming even the slightest bit sleepy, Boris walked along the interior of the building, his eyes drinking in the crisp details of the universe surrounding them. The caution sound of each of his steps was swallowed by the enormous space, but the Scholar’s movements became more assured as he realized he wasn't about to drift off into the star field below them. He turned in place, following along with the slow drift of a constellation that flickered into place next to him.

When he touched the symbol, a soft ripple of energy pulsed outward, washed over him, then back into the constellation—which rearranged itself into a shape reminiscent of an unfurled scroll. Joe knew from experience that he was looking at his current chosen class path. Several sections of the scroll-like constellation were dark, hinting at unexplored options, while others were shining brightly, highlighting known class branches, with the brightest being the advancement path Boris had taken thus far. 

“This is the ultimate class compendium, but is it only my own? Is it adaptable? Is this a full archive of all known classes, or is there a set upper limit?” Boris trailed his index finger along the brightest path of seven stars, only then seeming to realize it detailed his exact progression. “Does this… how does it know so much about me?”

Joe, having interacted with the building, had seen how close it was to sending out its next Knowledge Nova. He’d started feeding in his mana at a slow trickle since they arrived, and so instead of directly answering the Scholar’s question, he topped off the well of collected power and waited. 

The entire space pulsed gently in response, energy shifting around and collecting into a singular point. Moments later, there was an absolutely enormous, soundless, and painless eruption as a nova of mana detonated outward from the Pathfinder’s Hall, leaving Joe tingling with the knowledge that he had just provided quite a bit of information on his own class that hadn’t been there a moment before.

A slight frown touched his lips, as for the first time he began to realize why more powerful people may be uncomfortable with the invasive nature of the data collection. Touching the wall, he double checked that his personal class information was locked behind permissions. It was a relief, to be sure, but there was still the unsettling knowledge that he had just been analyzed. “Yikes, that has a bit more kick now that I'm stronger.”

“Are we truly inside of a living archive of classes, fueled by ambient mana that has been collecting class progression data from anyone who enters it?” Boris yanked his hand away from the wall as if he'd been scorched by cursed flames. “This could absolutely revolutionize how Scholars approach class development theory! I could write a dozen volumes on the collection methods alone, not to mention the actual results! This is… is…”

Trailing off, Joe watched as a now-familiar bitterness settled over his friend's face. The elderly man let out a self-deprecating scoff. “Not that it will matter, unless you are able to get me reinstated. At most, I could hand the research off to a Scholar in good standing and have them publish it under their name, if they would even deign to offer me a meeting.”

“I said I'll handle it, and I will.” Joe gestured at a section of the floor, which shifted upward to reveal a stairwell descending into the depths of the building. “You're going to need lots of time to collect that data in the first place, so you shouldn't feel any huge rush. Come on, let's show you where you're going to live.”

“You expect me to follow you into a hidden basement in a sealed building? This is how people vanish, Joe.”

The Ritualist rolled his eyes at the half-joking accusation. “The only things down there are storage, a ritual design chamber, archives on the research anyone still actively doing things with my coven has been collecting-”

Boris was halfway down the stairs before Joe could finish.

“-and a bed or two.” Allowing himself a soft chuckle, the Ritualist confirmed a few of the changes he had been working on, granting Boris nearly unrestricted access to the controls of the Pathfinder’s Hall. “If I am going to trust him enough to grant him access to all these places anyway, I may as well trust him to take care of it when I'm not here.”

He then happily followed his friend and gratefully sealed the stairs behind him. If there was one thing Joe wanted at that moment, it was to be away from the commercialized abomination of his once-beautiful home.