187. Grinding

The following day (there weren’t really days on the planet, as it lacked a sun, but they measured time in 20-hour periods) Zilvesky showed the Tan siblings a variety of options for leveling up.

He grouped them in relative danger and payoff. The easiest and slowest method were the various dungeons on Ah’Drezakh. They were similar to the dungeons back during Armageddon, but more standardized. You knew what kind of monsters you were facing before going in, what kind of bosses.

Even the toughest dungeons would barely get them to level 99, and that was using a favorable estimate. A more conservative figure put them at level 94-96 after six months, which sounded fine, but it got exponentially harder to level up when drawing close to the bottleneck.

The medium risk option was joining a paramilitary expedition to the Fractured States. Yes, Alistair was hearing that right.

He had learned about the Fractured States in Praetei’s library. They were a huge polity, far larger than the Final Frontier Empire in both population and territory, spanning three entire universes.

However, as the name suggested, the Fractured States were fractured. There were thousands of warlords vying for land, warfare being endemic to the entire region. Trillions of soldiers and civilians alike died each year.

With such division, you might have expected the FFE to run over the Fractured States, but whenever outsiders progressed far enough in incursions, they would set aside their squabbles and temporarily band together for the sovereignty of their universes. The Empire had been rebuffed over three times in embarrassing defeats over the course of its existence, losing trillions of soldiers each time.

While large-scale warfare on both sides was off the table, that didn’t mean imperial citizens were forbidden from participating in raids. It was a way to hone real battle instincts in a way that sparring couldn’t truly replicate.

While the Fractured States were far away, most populated planets had a Teleportation Circle to a convoy only a few weeks’ away from the Elpan Kingdom, one of the outskirt states.

Normally that would have been an impossibly expensive feat, but the Emperor himself had issued a universal-wide Dao Command to weaken the fabric of space between the those Teleportation Circles and the Elpan Kingdom.

All that to say, if Alistair and Evangeline wanted, they could become mercenaries without too much difficulty. Any fighting they would participate in would be low-level warfare against guerrilla forces alongside the troops of the puppet regime the Empire installed.

It wouldn’t be enough to level up on its own, but the Quest the system issued for military service was extremely generous with levels.

Finally, there was the highest risk and highest reward option—the zombie worlds. There were thousands of planets in eastern Barrow Province that were infested with a zombifying virus 65 years ago. Billions died as the local government was unable to stop the spread in time.

As a result, the planets were lost to the zombies, where they continued to develop and cause problems for neighboring regions. Apparently, the zombie virus was a known scourge across the multiverse, hated by all living creatures and even the other undead. Strong strains of the virus could lead to trouble for even the peak polities that had Truthseeker leaders.

The zombies in Barrow weren’t that strong, but left to fester, could spread their corruption far and wide. That was why there was an ongoing movement to recruit people to retake the worlds.

There wasn’t even a comparison to a low-level war in the Elpan Kingdom. The crusade to retake the zombified worlds was utterly brutal.

That was also why it was considered a ticket out of the slums for many of the poor folk in Barrow Province. There was nothing without sacrifice. A 1% chance at Adept with a 99% of dying was better to many of the downtrodden than a safe life. No songs were sung about the meek and cautious.

Zilvesky hinted that the Clear Water Sect were unlikely to approve of such a dangerous mission, but they couldn’t exactly stop him. With that being in mind, Alistair had discussed it with his sister, who agreed that the high risk-high reward option was the best decision.

They traveled through airstreams, the official name for the tunnels of air and space Mana that he had installed back on Earth. Airstreams were the most common form of public transportation on poorer worlds that lacked truly sprawling Teleportation Circle systems.

Alistair wanted to explore the mysterious undead city more, but every moment counted. He considered sleeping the previous night to be their final rest before the great tribulation, so that didn’t count as laziness.

The airstream dragged them through the black smog into an underground bone cavern. Like the above ground, it was imbued with dense death affinity Mana, giving the alabaster color a dark aura.

There was an older lady sitting in an office carved out of bone with intricate hieroglyphics engraved throughout. Alistair felt a protective force surrounding the walls of the office, along with a shiny veneer of a suspended liquid window through which they could see the woman.

Wonder if they have to deal with some angry mercenaries, Alistair thought upon feeling the strength of the defensive aura.

Like the average citizen on most worlds in the Final Frontier Empire, the woman stood at the level 60 bottleneck. Given her wizened look, it meant she was in the final ten percent of her lifespan, probably in her late 200s.

There were hundreds of cultivators in an orderly queue behind them. Not surprisingly, they were mad that Alistair and Evangeline cut them in line. The baron used his clout to expedite the process for them, so they could only grate their teeth in silence.

The woman, dressed in a flowing silk robe, addressed the siblings while looking down at her holographic tablet. “Next. Name, level, intended destination.”

“Alistair Tan, level 73, Zombie World: Nuevo Invierno.”

“Evangeline Tan, level 65, same world as my brother.”

The elderly woman’s neck snapped up with far more force than what should have been possible for a little old lady. Her eyes glowed with the blue light of a cybernetic implant, temporarily shifting colors as she analyzed the duo.

“My apologies! Of course, the guests of the baron. GEORGIE!”

The woman’s shout didn’t feel that loud to Alistair’s ears, but he could immediately tell it would carry for as long as she wanted. Sure enough, a few seconds later, a tiny creature burst out of the void between worlds in front of Alistair and Evangeline.

It looked like a hybrid between a hummingbird and a bat, around the size of the former. Despite the fact that it teleported, which Alistair understood to be an ability reserved to the Visionary realm and above, it felt like Foundation.

Plus, would a Visionary be an assistant to an old secretary?

“Reporting for duty, ma’am!” the creature cried.

“These two need expedited travel to Nuevo Invierno.”

Georgie looked at the woman and then at the two siblings and then back at his boss. “Ma’am, Nuevo Invierno has suffered a 70% casualty rate per annum. Are you sure this is the right destination?”

The woman gave Georgie a stern look. “We’re not here to question the baron’s orders. Get them on the way, got it.”

There was a strange intonation to her last two words that Alistair picked up on. Lesser Samatha, which improved his natural Karmic vision’s ability to detect unsaid truths, suggested that the woman was aware of the delicate balance in carrying out the baron’s commands.

Given my impression of Zilvesky as a truthful and honorable man, he probably listened to our request almost exactly, finding the most dangerous and highest payoff world for our level. But she thinks that her duty is to protect the baron from making a foolish decision, like killing off his guests by accident.

“Yes, ma’am!”

Georgie used his wing to gesture forward. “Come with me, young guests. Your destination awaits.”

Alistair and Evangeline followed the strange hybrid through the liquid window. It turned out that the empty valley that appeared to be behind the thin veneer was an illusion—in reality, they entered a vast, underground chamber the size of a football stadium.

The walls were a pristine white, free from any natural flaw, forming an enormous dome. The lighting was dim and diffuse, stemming from the central piece to the chamber, a Teleportation Circle surpassing any that Alistair had ever seen.

Was it even correct to call it a Teleportation Circle anymore? The silver disc was constantly glowing with the blue light of outgoing and incoming teleports. Hundreds of people flowed in and out every second, materializing and dematerializing in flashes of light.

They poured into dozens of dark hallways like the one he and his sister were currently in, with the circle split in half by a red energy barrier to delineate arrivals versus departures.

Georgie led the two siblings to the departures section. Alistair felt the pulsating mass of Mana within the Teleportation Circle with his [Reality Sense]. The sheer undertaking of the massive item awed him. He had never felt so much Mana gathered in one place.

The moment they stepped on, their bodies tingled with blue sparks.

“That’s a nice touch,” Dev’rox said. “They’re going about it quite efficiently, pre-preparing the Mana for the teleport. It’s so hot and cold with the Final Frontier Empire where they’re impressive and where they’re trash. I have to assume all the impressive parts come from the Sublimed Machine Faction.”

“You have a chance to back out, you know,” Georgie said. “I can say this because the baron is a just ruler, but he is also quite direct. He’s literally sending you to the most dangerous of all the planets accessible to Foundation realms. It’s meant for Early Adepts, really.”

“I think we’ll be okay,” Alistair said. They had a few tricks up their sleeves that no ordinary Foundation had at their disposal.

“Your choice,” Georgie replied. “Good luck.”

Alistair raised an eyebrow as he realized that through [Reality Sense], he could interpret Georgie’s words before the sounds finished reaching his own ears. He disappeared in a column of light.

This was clearly the longest distance that he’d ever traveled via Teleportation Circle. Alistair wasn’t sure if his transdimensional escapade to meet the dead Truthseeker blood dragon counted as physical travel, so it was possible this was his longest trip ever.

Instead of the void between worlds that he witnessed with the portals etched into reality with the Dao, he felt stretched.

It was as if the aspect ratio of reality changed. All his senses were awash in a blue light, and he felt a distinct gap growing between his head and his toes. He felt an unusual pressure within his own body, as his organs strained in strange, dimensional ways that were impossible to put into words.

After five minutes, the light subsided. Alistair felt the nearby area, which was almost an exact replica of the underground cavern they came from.

A red arrow pulsated up from the ground, shooting toward one of the exit tunnels. Alistair could feel that the Mana of the arrow was a quasi-soulbound to him and Evangeline, so it would only appear to them.

“That’s an astute observation,” Dev’rox noted. “Your sister probably could tell as well, as a Spiritualist.”

Damn it, Alistair thought to himself. Tier 4 of [Ghost Whispers] and his improved control over nue were supposed to make his thoughts more private. It worked—but he wasn’t quite at an unconscious level of protection. He had nothing against Dev’rox—the imp had been his closest ally, but privacy in the comfort of one’s own mind wasn’t something to take for granted.

Alistair and Evangeline followed the arrow into a pitch black corridor. Perhaps as an artifact of its physical nonreality, the path of the glowing arrow didn’t light up the hallway one bit. It was strange seeing the light in darkness, with no illumination.

The corridor eventually opened up into what could only be described as the interior ice palace. A shiver ran down Alistair’s spine, not from the cold, which couldn’t affect him through Mammothskin Raiment, but because the frozen structure looked eerily similar to George’s proto-Domain.

When he examined it closer, there were major differences. The ice was mottled, partly black and partly white, like the melding of Yin-Yang. Alistair felt there was an element of death within it.

“Great,” Alistair said. “An ice planet, after all we’ve been through.”

Evangeline raised an eyebrow. “What were you expecting with the name Nuevo Invierno, Alistair?”

“That’s fair,” Alistair conceded. “Why are they using Spanish, anyway?”

Alistair already knew that answer. The translation service within the soulcore of every citizen of the Final Frontier Empire often made arbitrary choices for names, like the Russian accents of Trexians.

There were hundreds of people in the ice palace streaming out of dozens of corridors, though with how large the palace was, they were pretty spread out. Alistair would have asked where to go, but it was quite obvious from the get go.

There was an enormous man, so tall that Alistair would have used the term “giant” instead of human. He got vaguely titanic vibes, reminding him of Jason Evandikis. That was Cthonic ancestry, with a more earthen and subterranean blend, whereas the giant reminded Alistair more of titans from Greek myth.

He was around forty feet tall, sculpted out of impossibly large muscles, which bulged even on his frame. He was white as marble, thought mottled with black marks, similar to the ice of the palace.

Thankfully, for any of the more prudish adventurers, the titan wore a loose-fitting crimson cloak, which had a gray Seal of the Empire across the torso, an infinity symbol with cracks. At the titan’s feet, dozens of tiny clay clones spread out, talking to the various people. They were mostly humans, but Alistair noticed a bunch of different species, like elves and lizardfolk.

Alistair and Evangeline got into the shortest line, which turned out to be a mistake. Somehow, without them knowing, the line they were on went the slowest. He supposed it made sense, given that no one else wanted to join it.

Alistair closely examined the participants of the line, and realized that they were all undead of some variety—vampires, zombies, and skeletons. It was only through an active use of [Reality Sense] that he was able to realize this fact, which told him he had much to learn. It also piqued his curiosity about how everyone else knew to avoid the line. The undead looked just like anyone else at first glance, and their cloaks to hide their distinctive auras were pretty good.

After about fifteen minutes, the Tan siblings made it to the front of the line. A cat-sized clay miniature of the titan gestured with a tiny index finger for the next group in line as a witch and her skeleton familiars.

“You’re in the wrong line,” the titan said, with a deep voice befitting his larger self’s stature. “Were you not informed?”

Alistair held his tongue, but he couldn’t help but notice a consistent trend of rudeness with the Final Frontier Empire’s bureaucrats. “No, I’m afraid not. We were rushed here on short notice.”

The titan remained expressionless, his voice coming out of thin air. “Very well. This line is for the undead because they have an immunity to the zombifying virus. Everyone else needs the vaccine.”

“How effective is the vaccine?” Evangeline asked.

“As long as you avoid getting zombie blood within your spiritual pathways, you are a hundred percent protected. If that worst case scenario occurs, you’re screwed, and there’s nothing we could do about it. It would require a Visionary realm healer specialized in infectious disease to cure, and we don’t have those lying around for Foundations.”

With that, the clay titan opened up a black void in the air and pulled out two gelatinous azure blobs and tossed them to Alistair and his sister. “Eat this.”

Alistair, having a healthy paranoia drilled into him with all his experiences, used his new sensory Skill to examine the blob, which was around the size of a marble. Sensing nothing amiss after spending a point of Karma, he let go of his almost certainly unfounded suspicions and downed the blob.

“It’ll protect you for a year, so you should be fine for your stay. I’m legally required to inform you that there is a 70.51% chance of death for the average volunteer, given a one year’s stay. So you’ll either be dead before you need the vaccine, or you’ll have jumped ship once you realized what a shithole it is out there.”

The titan also handed them a nondescript black cloak. Alistair felt inklings of ice and fire affinity Mana within.

“Is it really that bad?” Alistair asked.

“This planet is so cold that it regularly drops below absolute zero into the Dao temperatures. This cloak will make that just bearable, for those with a strong will and decent Constitution. I have to get this line moving, so here’s the rest of your required information. Your task will be to kill as many zombies as possible. This can include zombified versions of a variety of species. The strongest beasts are peak Adept. If you encounter one of those, you are to flee immediately. If you die to one of the weaker zombies, the vaccine will prevent you from being zombified. You are allowed to hunt alone or in groups. For stronger zombies, groups are recommended, and killing of fellow non-zombified sophonts is strictly forbidden. If you ever decide it’s too much to handle, you’re going to have to find the nearest large station. There are twelve on the planet, so it might take you weeks to get to one, depending on your location. Now move along.”

Before Alistair could even react, which was saying something, given that his reaction speed was perhaps his highest percentile ability, the titan extended two fabricated limbs out of his shoulders and touched them.

Alistair could feel this method of teleportation wasn’t the Dao breaking open the void between worlds, but some kind of spatial Skill. Now that he thought about, the instant displacement was something that Pathfinder AI was quite good at it. Considering the titan was “only” in the Adept realm, he speculated that the system lent out certain spatial Skills for assisting purposes.

All those complicated thoughts flashed through in a millisecond as Alistair felt a chill against his skin.

A flashback of all the terror that George Moulin had brought upon the world came and went. He found himself in a dingy, apparently subterranean ditch. It was pitch black, to the point where the tiny amount of light Evangeline’s powerful soul emitted was enough to illuminate several feet ahead.

The cold wasn’t as bad as the center of George’s proto-Domain, but the aura felt distinctly similar. It was that signature combination of ice and the sickly death of the lich. Which made sense, because of the zombifying virus.

Thankfully, Alistair’s [Reality Sense] worked perfectly fine, and he felt out the dark cavern, which according to his calculations was the size of classroom.

Right as his sensory Skill registered the presence of a living being, an unmistakably human voice cried out.

“I could use some help. I’m dying.”