Today's Earth date: January 21, 1992

I've found my groove with grinding. I can just turn my brain off and kill, take a nap, and wake up to do it again. The nicest thing about using this patrol to level? No one's bothering us to play dress up Hero and go to parties or meet so and so.

The only drawback to the grinding is that the others and our squires have paired off. I still have my squire, but I'm not interested. Being the only single Hero has changed the dynamic in a way I don't like, and I really don't enjoy the noises Rathain makes at night.

-The Journal of Laszlo the Paladin

***

With the Salt of the Earth Festival over for the year, most of the Blackwells departed, leaving only Billium and the house staff behind. The Zeroes now had their own rooms as well as an eighth room for Wayne and Fergus to use as an office. There, they consolidated everything they had learned about the ratmen and their connection to the first dwarves.

Though they liked Billium well enough, the Royal Scholars were careful to limit access to themselves and the other Zeroes only. If the room was left unattended, all of the sensitive and proprietary information got stowed in Goods Storage. Wayne and Fergus agreed amongst themselves to let the government bigwigs decide what to declassify and what to withhold. The Zeroes weren't under any sort of oath or legal obligation to be discreet–yet–but the growing sophistication of the ratman threat warranted additional caution in their minds.

They organized their research into three major structures:

They created a timeline of their adventures thus far and noted when they made key discoveries. Seeing their data laid out that way visually confirmed what they knew already: the ratmen were escalating.

All of their insights into first dwarf technology as well as how the ratmen appeared to be using it went into the next document. That tech seemed to be the catalyst for their efforts and was the source of most of the danger. Hopefully an expert mage, engineer, or alchemist could use this batch of information to catch up to the rats' understanding of how their methods worked and what they were capable of.

The final report focused solely on battles and tactics. They described their encounters with ratmen in detail, broke out separate lists for the varieties of rats they fought, and condensed their tactical conclusions into an easy-to-reference bulleted list. If this information was to be shared across the kingdom, the abbreviated format would make that easier.

The work was serious with dire implications, but Wayne loved every minute of it, as did his Royal Scholar companion. Synthesizing this volume of research gave Wayne the excitement of exploration. Analyzing a mountain of data to find relationships, trends, and anomalies was thrilling. Every pen stroke was a new piece of knowledge added to this world, and the impact of that knowledge had the potential to be felt for centuries yet to come.

Wayne and Fergus had done a great deal of thinking about their observations already, but none of it existed in one place. The very act of going back through all of their notes was like reliving the adventures anew, and Wayne quickly found himself swept away by the momentum of it all.

A few days into this process, Vanilli knocked on the door.

"I can come back another time if that would be more convenient," the demon said, pulling as much of his long, dark hair out of his face as he could.

"I'm amenable to a break," Fergus said. When Wayne nodded that he felt the same, Fergus asked, "What can we do for you?"

"What will happen to me when your report is complete?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Will they arrest me? Kill me?"

Wayne motioned for Vanilli to sit. "Where's this coming from? You're not in danger."

"Humans hate demons. Discovery of my existence on the surface will bother many."

"You're not in the reports," Wayne said.

Fergus took one of Vanilli's hands in both of his. "I'm so sorry. Have you been worried about this the entire time we've been working?"

Vanilli nodded.

"That must have felt awful," Fergus said, holding eye contact with Vanilli. "As Wayne said, you are not in the reports, and I'm sorry we didn't think to come to you days ago to confirm that."

"Why am I not in the report?"

"We're doing this to protect people. You are among those people." Fergus released Vanilli's hand and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're safe. We promise."

Wayne added, "Listen, I can't imagine how hard it is to be in your position. No matter how much time you spend with all of us, that worry of this all falling apart is always in the background, isn't it?"

"Yes, and I don't mean to offend you."

"We're not offended, but we also don't want you to live with that constant anxiety." Wayne took a moment to think. "In my world, we had something called a 'go bag.' If there was an emergency and you had to leave right away, the go bag was pre-packed with everything you might need to survive. Would something like that make you feel any better? We set you up with a plan and the means to disappear so you know it's always there."

"What would that look like?"

"Your necklace solves the largest problem. As soon as you look like someone else, finding you would be really hard, even for us. In my mind, that leaves you needing a way to get out of any immediate danger and then having the money to start over under a new identity."

"I like being Vanilli, but yes, that does sound comforting."

Wayne looked at Fergus. "Thoughts?"

"The plan is sound," Fergus answered. "The escape mechanism itself would have to be something he carried on his person, correct? An enchanted item of some sort would do the trick, even better if it's small and easily ignored, like an earring. Actually, now that I mention earrings, pirates have a tradition of wearing gold earrings should they need to pay for their own funeral. A simple piece of gold jewelry can be sold easily enough if you needed starting capital."

"Fergus is right. A good piece of jewelry is like having money on you at all times. We'll want to avoid something that draws too much attention or makes you a target for muggers…" Wayne smiled suddenly. "I got it."

Wayne grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down a series of instructions for Vanilli. He held it out and said, "This is all the information they ask for when you open a bank account. Decide your backup identity now, set up an account under that name, and stash an emergency fund there. Repeat the process in every major city so you're never too far from your money. Don't tell anyone about this plan, and that means not revealing your backup identity to any of us."

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Even you?"

"Yes. If we don't know who your backup identity is, you don't have to worry about any of us betraying you, intentionally or unintentionally. We can't reveal information we don't have."

"I see. That does sound like it would help."

"Good," Wayne said. "We'll look around for the right escape item in town, but I'll also write to Perris to see if he has anything in his collection that would work. In the meantime, get that account set up. I know it's tempting, but don't make your backup identity Milli."

Before Vanilli could reply, one of the house butlers appeared behind him. "Apologies for the disturbance, sirs, but an official is here to see you."

Wayne patted Vanilli on the back as he and Fergus went to greet the visitor. "Let us know if you ever feel this way again, okay? There's no need to stew in it."

Vanilli nodded.

When Wayne saw the guard waiting for them outside, his immediate assumption was that General Poltur had sent them a message.

"Wayne and Fergus, the Royal Scholars?" the guard asked.

Both nodded.

He handed each of them an envelope sealed in wax. "In Iomallach, absence is considered an admission of guilt, so please remain in the area until this is resolved."

They opened their letters as the guard mounted his horse and rode back toward town.

"Sanders is suing us," Fergus said, dejectedly. "He's claiming we are liable for arena damages because we cheated during the match."

Wayne's letter had the same message, and it gave him flashbacks to small claims court on Earth. A neighbor had cut down a tree that was clearly on Wayne's property and refused to apologize let alone compensate Wayne for the "mistake." They ended up in small claims court for the value of the tree and the cost of replacing it.

Local bureaucracy? Judges with questionable qualifications? Long waits in musty courthouse waiting rooms? Endless stink eye from the offending neighbor? Every aspect of the process was miserable.

The letter in Wayne's hand did not say the amount Sanders sought, but if it was for arena damages, it was sure to be an incredibly high figure.

"How worried should we be?" Wayne asked.

Fergus was re-reading the letter, yet again. "I'm afraid I'm not sure," he said without looking up. "I suppose we shouldn't be surprised."

The thing was, Wayne did in fact cheat during the match. He entered with potions of Cure Poison hidden in his armor just in case. He hadn't needed them in the end, but he did it nonetheless. Furthermore, accessing Goods Storage in the middle of the fight was questionable, but he doubted there was much legal precedent for whether opening interdimensional storage in the midst of an arena fight counted as cheating.

To Wayne, Three Deaths was a boss battle in a game with perma-death. For the most part, if you beat the boss in a game, the game didn't care how you did it. RPGs were full of "game breaking" loopholes that weren't intended by the design but were permitted by the mechanics. With his life on the line, any advantage he could milk from the arena rules or from his system access was fair play in his mind.

The letter in his hand was a reminder that life wasn't as simple as a video game.

"I think I can get us out of this," Fergus said, folding the letter back up.

"How?"

"My natural charm."

Wayne leveled an unimpressed stare at his best friend.

"...and our importance in the ratman effort. I suspect we can get this thrown out just by asking."

"That fight was part of our ratman investigation," Wayne added.

"And it led to our discoveries at the Targitaus ranch." Fergus smiled. "Yeah, I'll get this wrapped up nice and easy."

He didn't.

In this world, journeys were always long, and that was a difficult adjustment for someone who came from a world with airplanes and next-day shipping. Wayne found that the pace of his new life shrank his perspective. In the Capital, even news beyond the Royal Library and his own little neighborhood wasn't likely to reach him unless he sought it out.

Everything that mattered was within a few blocks of his apartment. He thought he would find that suffocating, but it was the opposite. It was freeing. Another uneventful day at the library was all the good news he needed, and the bad news of the world was rarely bad enough for it to filter all the way down to his little corner of existence.

Now that Wayne was connected to a continent-wide emergency, he found the wait maddening. The ratmen were mobilizing right now. They were making more abominations right now. Even with the swiftest riders, gathering the right leaders in Iomallach could take two weeks or more.

He passed the time in Iomallach's little library, reading as much as he could about the region to occupy his mind.

"Did I hear correctly? The Zero Hero is getting sued?" Kryss asked, taking a seat across the table from Wayne. The heat made her clothes stick to her body.

"Fergus says we shouldn't worry."

"Are you worried?"

"A bit," Wayne admitted. "He also said he could squash it real quick, but that hasn't worked out."

"Is it true you're working closely with the Iomallach Defense Force?"

Wayne sighed. "If I was, I doubt I'd be allowed to talk about it."

"I can keep a secret."

"Sure."

"Why are you so crabby? Are you still upset about our date?"

After a deep breath, he answered, "You made it clear you weren't interested, and I'm fine with that. If I'm coming across as crabby, it's because you aren't exactly subtle when you want something."

"Can't friends talk?"

"Of course, they can. There are still things I can't share, friend or not."

"You know what, you're right," Kryss admitted. "This isn't about friendship. Your work for Blackwell is ruining mine. I know you won't confirm it, but I'm aware that you discovered something big at the Lighthouse, and the worst part is, Blackwell is getting credit."

"We haven't messed with any of your projects."

"That's not what I mean. I could be competitive before by hiring the right researchers, but that's not the case anymore. Now that you and Fergus both have Diary access? Whatever team you play for wins."

"We're not picking teams. Lord Blackwell had work that you didn't. That's all."

"He had leads on the Vientuls dungeon?"

Wayne shook his head. "Our arrangement includes a bounty for alerting him to new discoveries we might make during our travels."

"The Blackwells are old money. I'll never have the capital to compete with that."

Closing his book on above-ground coral growth, Wayne said, "Look. That sucks, and I'm not being petty when I say that. It really does suck to get outspent on something you're passionate about, but this is between you and Lord Blackwell. We're just freelancers."

"What would it take to get you to come work for me?"

"Lord Blackwell is generous with pay and perks. We're pretty happy with what we have."

Kryss lowered her voice and glanced around like someone might hear. "What about for more catalog pages? I have one with me and know of four in Bata."

"I can buy them or sign on for work that doesn't conflict with Blackwell's."

"Are you sure that's the only way?" Kryss slid a piece of scrap paper across the table to Wayne.

It read:

Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing!

Weatherbrief

U.S. Atlas

World Atlas

Wayne didn't make the mistake of revealing his interest in this Page of Power like he did in his first meeting with Master Sanders, but the feeling was the same. His own nostalgia for Mavis Beacon programs had him itching to acquire this new page. Was that really nostalgia or was that his desire for more system power?

Didn't matter.

He wanted the page. Badly.

"I can pay you or sign on for work that doesn't conflict with Blackwell's," Wayne repeated.

When he offered to return the paper to Kryss, she closed his hand with both of hers and allowed her touch to linger. "Think about it."

With one last wordless gaze, she stood and left the library.

Wayne re-read the list of items on the catalog page and wondered how terrible his words-per-minute would be after not using a keyboard for so long.

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