MM - Chapter 208 - MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION

Few vehicles accompanied Raine along the wide streets leading to Grandmaster Vought's temporary villa. The tall buildings of Carter's outskirts faded to farmlands that stretched well beyond his destination—tall plaster walls hiding a small cluster of wealthy buildings. 

Raine knew that coming here alone was tantamount to suicide, but the repercussion for disobeying a grandmaster was guaranteed death. He told the girls nothing of his destination before leaving them at Soulgen, only relaying that they should visit Shillids to prepare for the auction. He’d also messaged Celeste and wasn't surprised by her lack of response. She deserved time after the bombshell he'd dropped without notice.

If she doesn’t show up or respond by morning, I’ll track her down before the servers come up.

Realizing he was thinking about her again, Raine jerked his thoughts back to the present, unable to afford the distraction. A dozen guards loitered around the gate leading into the villa. Lowering the window, he confirmed his identity and was waved inside. Passing through the gates felt like entering the waiting jaws of a lurking beast. An ominous presence hung in the air, as if the oxygen had grown thick and was laced with the stench of rotting corpses.

Was Vought's mental ability like this last time, and I just couldn't notice? Or is this something new?

Raine pulled bloodlust in tight, wrapping it around himself like a shroud. The odd sensation in the air diminished noticeably. He was escorted from the cab and into the main building. Bland, whitewashed walls stood in stark contrast to the air's tension, and nearby, a stream supplied a trickle of nature's ambiance that failed to cleanse the clinging death.

Vought waited for him alone. The Sky Dragon Rankings, which listed the most powerful grandmasters, placed him at 53rd of 300. He had not only climbed to the top of the entire world, but also chose to become a public figurehead, a champion of ‘peace and prosperity.’ That persona meant nothing; behind closed doors, Vought was as vicious as any other. Raine recalled little of the man from the past, other than that he remained in control of the Coalition of Masters despite the hardships wrought during the year of assassinations.

The grandmaster sat in a tall-backed wooden chair, body absolutely still. His chest didn't even rise and fall, leaving Raine with the impression he was facing down a living statue. Flint-grey eyes burrowed into him as the door slammed shut behind, sealing them in. More novel sensations were perceived through bloodlust, taking the form of at least a hundred separate micro-fluctuations of intent that wafted through the air. Raine hid his surprise at the grandmaster’s immaculate control behind a mask of practiced composure.

There was no matching seat for Raine. Normally, that would have left him kneeling, and he was glad to have escaped that fate. Raine leaned forward in his chair, bowing respectfully. There was no point in being overly defiant; it was going to be hard enough to get out of this villa alive.

Vought’s voice was hoarse, a rasp filled with purpose and hidden threat. "I’m surprised you came without fuss."

Raine offered a companionable smile, the gesture not quite reaching his eyes. "We both know how pointless it would have been to run."

"Indeed." Vought’s expression remained unchanged. "I’ll not waste time with pleasantries. A great many operations are being delayed to hear what you have to say about ZionLine. You should also know that I will not abide lies, half-truths, or misleading nonsense. You will answer my questions until I am satisfied."

"Our contract states as much. After this conversation, you’ll understand how important access to ZionLine is. I would rather die than lose it, and that means answering to the best of my ability."

Vought carefully measured the vehemence hidden in Raine’s tone. He nodded slowly, satisfied. With a flick of his finger, a file was sent to Raine’s watch. The displayed image was easily recognized: his twenty-first birthday. He was overweight, depressed, and unwilling to entertain the notion that his future held anything other than more of the same suffering. The fact that Vought found the image at all after the entities had supposedly scrubbed his digital footprint was a testament to the Coalition's information-gathering expertise.

"It is an undeniable fact that you should have died at the hands of Master Jedidiah. We know you gained some portion of your martial prowess within ZionLine," Vought began, his voice a low growl. "What we don’t know is how much, or how long it took. My first question: how did you—a twenty-three-year-old boy—go from that slob to someone capable of fighting on equal terms with a master in only two years?"

Lying was out of the question. Raine had anticipated this and composed an answer close enough to the truth to hopefully slide past the grandmaster's scrutiny. "It hasn’t been two years for me. It's been many times longer."

Vought’s brow furrowed, gaze thick with disbelief, and an equal amount of shock. The reaction confirmed the grandmaster could indeed sense dishonesty. Raine didn't leave him in suspense for long. "You should know by now that ZionLine utilizes a kind of temporal fluctuation, cutting the perceived passage of time to a third. I stumbled upon a special space, a Mystic Realm, that altered time's flow even more severely. While others experienced a minute, over an hour passed for me. I wasn’t training in that space the entire time, just so you know."

Vought took a moment to process the explanation. "That… is more believable than our current theories. How long, exactly? How many years has it been for you?"

Raine shook his head, a clear display of disappointment. "That’s not the question you really want to ask. Your concern isn't me, but everyone else. The real question is how long it will take a normal person to gain as much combat experience as I have. How long until they become a threat?"

Vought’s lips tightened into a thin line. He did not refute the claim and simply nodded. Raine's tone remained respectful, yet held an unyielding bite. “I’m not going to answer a question you didn't ask. No freebies, even for a grandmaster."

Vought scowled but played along for now. "Fine. How long until the average person is capable of performing at the same level as you?"

A sigh escaped Raine's lips. He could have been ambiguous, forcing Vought into more questions, but instead, he gave the grandmaster exactly what he wanted. "You have a year. Maybe less. It will start slowly. Within two months, expect those with previously hidden talents to emerge. A new city champion here, an unexpected tournament upset, a defeated master there. Then, new grandmasters appearing outside the existing power structures, and soon after, murdered grandmasters, overturned clans, destroyed cities, captured territories… all-out war."

Again, Vought displayed disbelief. He latched onto the one statement Raine had left as bait, turning his next question toward the Amanath Territories' fate, and away from Raine personally. "New grandmasters? Are you insinuating that ZionLine can train a grandmaster?"

"That’s right," Raine confirmed. "From Genesis to Old Monster, ZionLine has every answer."

In an instant, Vought was no longer seated at the far end of the room but looming over Raine. Hands of steel tightened on his collar, lifting him from the hoverchair. "Horseshit! That’s impossible! Those old bastards demand lifetimes of servitude for their most minuscule secrets, and you want me to believe some game holds all the answers to joining them?!"

"Don't take my word for it," Raine rasped, unfazed by the assault. "Ask Ziegfried. He helped design it."

This time, Vought was genuinely shocked. His jaw hung open in abject horror at the implications. "That maniac. What has he done? Why would he—of course. This was his plan all along. He's been biding his time, waiting for the right technology."

Raine readjusted himself as Vought released him, waiting patiently for the grandmaster to collect his thoughts. Vought’s mumblings hinted at a personal history with the Old Monster that Raine did not understand, but at least he was no longer being hoisted from his seat.

"I can’t accuse an Old Monster without more to go on," Vought didn't retake his seat, but paced before Raine. Despite being shorter, the grandmaster more resembled a twenty-foot grizzly than a man. "How do you know Ziegfried played a part in the development?"

Raine lifted an eyebrow. "Are you sure that’s the question you want to ask?"

"I’ll ask as many questions as I want, and you’ll answer every damn one, boy!" Vought’s voice boomed in the quiet room. "This is so much bigger than you that you can’t even fathom what’s at stake."

Raine remained impassive. "What does that have to do with me? You paid for five questions, and that's all you will receive. Why do you even want to accuse him? It won’t change or solve anything. You're about to have enough problems on your hands that going after an Old Monster should be the least of your worries."

"Mouthy little shit," Vought snarled, hand reaching for Raine again, slow and menacing. "It's past time someone taught you some manners."

The grandmaster’s hand jerked to a stop as Raine uttered a simple, whispered phrase. "Opération: Cor Anglais."

The name hung in the tiny space between them. Raine knew of the operation because, eventually, everyone had learned of it. It was one of the biggest scandals of the decade, an effort by the Coalition of Masters to close the gap between psychics and martials by quietly disappearing juvenile delinquents for horrific experiments. It had been the single most devastating stain on Vought’s record.

Vought grew truly menacing, exuding an immense mental pressure that caused Raine’s chair to whine in protest as it was forced to the floor. "You must not have anyone you love."

Raine gritted his teeth, pushing back with everything he had. It was no use. He was powerless before Vought. He rasped through lungs pressed tight from all sides. "Threatening my family and friends already? Go ahead and kill us all. Not like we can stop you. But you still won't get what you want, and your secret will still come out. There are at least six more questions that should be a thousand times more important to you than Ziegfried, or someone as insignificant as me."

Vought’s eyes were cold pits of the apathy that lies beyond fury. His voice was ice—a promise of endless rest if Raine made even the slightest mistake. "You claim to understand that running is impossible, yet you drop that name right to my face. You have to know there’s no longer a chance of you surviving the night."

"Sure there is," Raine countered, the air in his lungs nearly expired, and the pressure too great to draw more. "You have something I want, and I have something you can’t afford to have released with a crisis on the horizon. Believe it or not, I want the Coalition to succeed. I don’t want to see the world turned to ash."

Again…

Governments across the globe had used the fear of chaos and war to enact over-reaching restrictions on freedoms, which eventually culminated in the only access to ZionLine coming in the form of slave-LinQs. 

Raine knew he couldn’t fight against that future alone. He needed allies within the existing power base, willing or otherwise. The Coalition was the primary peacekeeping organization on the continent, the exact group he needed to fight against the future he knew was coming. However, to build trust from a foundation of blackmail, he had to give Vought something to destroy him with as well. 

When the pressure eased enough to take a desperate breath, Raine struck. “I don’t have a master. Everyone who showed up to the duel was hired. Almost everything I’ve learned came from ZionLine. I’m completely alone. Damian Tafell will do anything to see me dead, and the only reason he hesitates is because he thinks I’m someone’s pawn. Even Tannis has it out for me. So tell me, why should I care if you'll kill me tonight?”

Vought was only confused for half a second before his expression hardened once more. “Trying to be clever won’t save you. You crossed a line that you shouldn't even know exists.”

Raine tried to shrug and failed. “Like it or not, I’m your best chance to get ahead of what's coming.” His tone grew insistent. “I’ve spent more time in ZionLine than anyone else. I know its rules. I know how to maximize the potential of its systems. You understand what I’m saying, right? You can either wait for them to come, or make them yourself.”

Vought stared at him, gears turning at impossible speeds behind his flinty eyes. Instead of a final question, the grandmaster offered a choice that wasn't a choice at all. "Either you die now, or you train one thousand of my people in the ways of ZionLine.”

Raine met his gaze without flinching. “I can do that… for two hundred kilos.”

Master Torune

- Carter City -

The servant’s deft fingers straightened the severe lines of Master Torune’s tunic. She wore nothing, a deliberate choice to remind her of her station. Her earlier performance was admirable for a mere class 3 disciple, she had even thanked him for only breaking a few bones. Still, it was never wise to allow a lowborn to believe she was more than she was. If they were given even the slightest chance to think for themselves, disaster always followed. Torune dismissed her with a wave, not bothering to watch as she crawled from the room, loose leg dragged behind: his attention was elsewhere.

The convoy was loud in the streets below. Hundreds of buses lined the broad avenue, engines rumbling in a low chorus. They came from Sandstone City, each carrying primary disciples and their numerous attendants to his new seat of power. The scouting forces that had held Carter's throat until now were a token presence. These arrivals were his true legion, a gift from Grandmaster Pladius celebrating Torune’s elevation to peak master.

My time has come.

The thought was a familiar comfort. Torune would spread the martial stances of his forefathers, first through Carter, then across the continent. Initially, with its promise of realistic combat, ZionLine was meant to be the primary vessel to spread his glory. Unfortunately, the game had grown beyond any rational expectations, and for good reason. Its popularity was already a raging wildfire. But that was fine. Torune could tolerate sharing the digital spoils with the likes of the Tafells, for a time.

He caught his reflection in a polished black stone of the building's facade. A predator's smile briefly flickered across his face. The upcoming auction was more than a social event; it was his coronation. The blood from the Baptism had scarcely dried on the city's streets—his crimson tie, garish against the pristine black of his suit, was the perfect metaphor to remind them. But it was not enough. Tonight, the people of his city would learn the face of their master.

As for the interlopers from Astra Infernum, they were merely a vexing loose end. Their grandmaster had vanished after the duel, leaving no trace. Every attempt to establish contact had failed. Protocol, however, was a useful tool. After a sufficient show of due diligence, he would be free to act as though the phantom grandmaster did not exist.

The primary nuisance within Astra Infernum had materialized from nowhere and stolen the position of city champion from the agent Torune sent in advance. That act alone was an unforgivable insult. But Raine KongRu had gone much further. He’d thrown his weight around, costing CronGate a substantial sum in taxes, not to mention losses of equipment and levels in ZionLine.

Enough was enough. It was time for a reckoning. KongRu would be made into an example. He would be the first course in a long banquet, a public spectacle to show Carter City the price of defiance.

Yes, tonight’s auction would be a fine spectacle indeed.