Chapter 31: I’m giving you an order, not asking your permission
Outside a small, unremarkable house in Silversky Town, a chaotic human pyramid had formed. Players were stacked three-deep, clambering over each other to peer through the windows and the doorway, which groaned under the strain of their collective weight.
Inside, the atmosphere was far more tense.
Alistair sat alone on one side of a long wooden table. Across from him, a nervous delegation was gathered: the beastkin Saintess, a bruised and sullen Riven, the calm player-representative Geralt, and a few other well-known players. They stared at him as if he were a dragon that had just coiled itself in their living room, ready to strike.
"I am not here to attack Silversky Town," Alistair repeated, his voice flat. His gaze was glacial, his expression a mask of pure disdain that perfectly conveyed his contempt for this small, insignificant patch of land. He was a portrait of a villain boss: cold, ruthless, and radiating an almost unbearable arrogance. Though he was one man against many, the pressure he exerted was immense.
"I am giving you an opportunity to negotiate."
He leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers. "The orcs are attacking Sablewood. I am leading a relief force. I’ve heard you beastkin have a contingent of ’outlanders’ who are unafraid of death. They are also called players, I believe. Lend them to me."
"No!" The beastkin Saintess, Lena, shot to her feet, her pretty face a mask of cold fury. She rejected the demand without a moment’s hesitation. "I will never agree! You want to use the Awakened as cannon fodder! You want them to die for nothing! You are a devil in human skin!"
Alistair rose slowly from his chair. He said nothing, simply staring at the beautiful, fox-eared girl with her white hair and striking gold eyes. As she shrank back under his gaze, he suddenly leaned across the table, his face coming to within inches of hers.
"Listen to me," he whispered, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "I’m giving you an order, not asking your permission."
His sapphire eyes glittered with a cold, killing light. The tip of his nose was almost touching her cheek, which was rapidly draining of color.
"You may negotiate the terms of your compliance. But if you refuse, my army will take Silversky Town by force. And I will throw every last one of your people out into the wilderness."
His voice was like the winter wind, and Lena felt a chill seep into her bones. She hugged herself, her own voice a trembling whisper. "How... how can you do this?"
"You seem to be confused about something. Silversky Town belongs to my domain, Frostfell. It does not belong to you."
"But... but this land... it was once a beastkin nation..." she stammered, tears welling in her eyes. "I only want a home for my people. Why is such a small dream so impossible?"
Alistair let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Your nation was destroyed. Its lands were forfeit to the Pyrian Empire. I am not a philanthropist, and I am under no obligation to gift your people a town." He paused, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You really are adorably foolish, my dear Saintess."
"Or," he said, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur, "perhaps there is another way." He reached out, his fingers gently tilting her chin up. He looked into her beautiful golden eyes. "If you were willing to give yourself to me, I might be convinced to not only spare your ’outlanders,’ but to sign Silversky Town over to you permanently. What do you say?"
"FUCK!"
Riven could take no more. With a roar of fury, he launched himself at Alistair, his fist drawn back. Lena was the woman he had chosen; he would not suffer another to humiliate her.
"Protect the Saintess!"
Following Riven’s lead, the other players surged forward, shielding the stunned and trembling Lena.
A notification chimed in Alistair’s mind: [Villain Quest 3: Complete]. A satisfied smile touched his lips. He turned and, with casual grace, swung his hand in a lazy arc.
Riven was only level 20. The buff from his Breakthrough skill had long since faded. Alistair’s backhand connected with a sickening crack, sending the player flying backward even faster than he had charged forward.
Alistair elegantly produced a white cloth from his pocket and meticulously wiped the back of his hand. "Let’s not waste any more time," he said with a pleasant smile. "Here is my final offer. Either all of your outlanders serve as my vanguard, my cannon fodder, and in return, you may name one condition—such as my granting you legal authority over this town. Or you can wait for my army to grind this place into dust. I will give you ten minutes to decide."
Without another glance at the stunned and silent crowd, he turned and strode leisurely from the room.
After a moment of dead silence, a hesitant voice broke the tension.
"Guys... if I’m not mistaken... was that a stocking he was using as a handkerchief?"
"Uh... yeah. A white one."
"Oh my god. I’m losing my shit..."
For the players, being used as cannon fodder wasn’t an unacceptable proposition. They could, after all, resurrect. But to die for nothing, with no rewards and an experience penalty, was just bad business.
The player representatives huddled, their whispers overlapping as they debated. After polling the wider player base and overriding Lena’s tearful protests, they came to a decision. They found Alistair waiting outside.
"We accept your terms," Geralt said, his voice even and his gaze steady. He met Alistair’s eyes without flinching. "But you must gift us Silversky Town in perpetuity, and you must swear an oath to the gods that you will never take it back."
"Is this your decision, or the Saintess’s?" Alistair asked, a flicker of interest in his eyes.
"Our decision is the Saintess’s decision."
"Very well," Alistair nodded. He placed a fist over his heart. "I am an unbeliever, but I will swear upon my honor as a knight. If your outlanders fight to the best of their ability in the coming battle, I will transfer the ownership of Silversky Town to you upon our victory."
"And yet," Geralt said smoothly, "we’ve heard that the Lord of Frostfell is not a man who holds his knightly honor in very high regard."
Alistair feigned a look of profound shock. "Wherever did you hear such slander? I am a knight first, a lord second, and an Earl third." He placed his hand over his heart again, his expression one of utmost piety. "I will defend the honor of my station with my life."
The players stared at him, their faces a mixture of shock and disbelief. A million sarcastic remarks died on their lips. The sheer, unadulterated shamelessness of the man was a force of nature. This was the same man who had threatened to butcher them all just three days ago.
But they had no choice. The power was in his hands. For now, they had to yield. Let’s just play along, was the unspoken consensus. When we’re high level, we’ll see who’s in charge.
Just as they agreed, a notification appeared on every player’s interface.
[ATTENTION ALL PLAYERS: A special quest has been acquired. Follow Lord Alistair Goldenlion to relieve the orcish assault on Sablewood Creek. Quest has been accepted.]
[REWARDS: ???]
"Whoa, what the hell? A boss can give us quests?"
"We’re going to war?"
"We’re the cannon fodder..."
"So what? It’s a game! This is gonna be epic!"
"COOOOL!"
"Fighting orcs? I’ve only been playing for five days and we’re already getting into this?!"
"ACCEPT! FUCK YEAH, ACCEPT! This is what a top-tier NPC is! Leading us onto a battlefield! Not like some weak-ass protagonist telling us to chop trees all day."
Nearby, Riven, who was nursing his jaw, flinched. Did they have to say that so loud? What’s wrong with chopping trees? You all seemed happy enough when you were accepting the quest!