The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 401: Prowling the promenade

After enough sitting on his 'private' balcony and staring at the rest of humanity's players, Mason remembered a survivalist he'd paid to teach him a few things outside Houston.

The man was generally abrasive and hard to get along with, full of venom about the world and everyone in it. But he did have a few nuggets of wisdom. A specific quote came to mind:

‘Eat when you can eat.’

Mason stared at the teleporters and all the other players enjoying themselves, and he supposed he'd better not let stubbornness stop him from making use of the endless system gourmet on offer.

He eventually teleported himself up some Texas brisket with sauce on the side, then every other piece of meat he could think of, about as smoked as the system allowed. Halfway through, he supposed his new super metabolism had its upsides.

"I can't tell if I'm impressed or disgusted," Carl said.

Mason belched and looked at his graveyard of bones. He felt Streak sensing him eating, and a soulful howl/whine nearly crossed the planes. He rolled his eyes and activated Call Beast.

The system flared some warning about keeping animals under control—that any aggression by the animal would count as violence done by the owner, with no mitigating circumstance. Mason accepted the prompt, impressing Streak with a harsh feeling of being good, and forced starvation if he ran off and hurt anyone.

The wolf whined its version of a teenage ‘yeah, yeah’, licking its lips as it sat there quivering. Mason summoned him his own collection and set it on the floor, jumping as the wolf attacked with abandon.

"He'll never be quite as cute and fuzzy after almost biting my arm off," Carl said, watching the wolf throw back chunks of meat without a hell of a lot of chewing.

"That was a love tap. But it's probably best you take him seriously."

The feeling of being truly full and satisfied was almost bizarre, and Mason could hardly remember the last time he felt it.

"I need to walk this off," he said with a bit of a groan. "Want to go scare some people?"

Carl grinned and nudged Phuong, who nudged Alex, until half the damn players were all gathering up to march through the promenade. The other half mostly grunted and curled up on little mats to sleep.

Somehow Streak actually finished and leapt down the stairs to join them, his face still covered in bits of meat. Mason shook his head and gave the wolf a scratch. Now they were definitely going to turn some eyes.

"Where to, chiefy?" Seamus grinned. "Oh! Let's go find some player ladies, like. I'm top tier, man, I'm probably a celebrity."

Mason rolled his eyes, but Carl cleared his throat.

"He kind of is. Those western casters keep trying to talk to him, have him join their stupid order."

"Like I'd join some stuffy, stupid club full of posh and noble shites." Seamus rolled his eyes. "I hated school, man. Fecking hated it."

"I expect if they knew what Seamus was actually like, the mystique would quickly end," Phuong said dryly.

"Well alright. Shots fired. There's no need fer it. And after we've shed blood together, man. After I sent a dozen men to their fiery graves for you. After..."

"If we find any 'player ladies' who love Irish celebrity wizards," Mason cut him off. "You get first choice. OK?"

"You see? The chief gets me. Don Juan himself gives me his blessing. That's all I was askin' fer. Let's go."

Most of the players couldn't help but grin, especially as Seamus puffed up his chest and summoned his robe, popping the collar.

Seamus was a dangerous, unpredictable, annoying kind of man. But he was also upbeat, and pretty funny. And Mason knew he couldn't underestimate the value of a soldier who kept a positive attitude in difficult times. Despite their...inauspicious beginnings, he reminded himself to reward him. And somehow avoid inflating that ego too much...

They walked down the stairs and around the curving pathways as a loose pack, inspecting the many pools, tables, and artwork. They had sculptures and paintings set out that belonged in some fancy museum. The occasional placard that described the period of human history like it was all some ancient civilization.

"Is it just me," Carl said, "or does this stuff feel like the worst attempt ever to flatter us?"

Mason nodded, finding himself surprisingly calm about it. He started to wonder how much of his recent impatience and temper was actually a kind of never-ending hunger he hadn't satisfied because of his changing body. It made some sense, considering his libido. It probably wasn't the only appetite he had to deal with.

"This piece speaks to me,” Mason said, gesturing at a painting. “It says: look how impressive you were before I turned you into a science experiment.”

"I think it is more like a zoo," Phuong said, inspecting some kind of maybe Aztec pot. "A menagerie for man. To make us comfortable."

"Yeah." Carl rolled his eyes. "After those perfectly natural fictional fights to the death, it's like I'm back home."

Phuong shrugged. "I did not say it was good at it."

Mason walked on, noticing a lot of eyes now that they were getting closer to other players. He was trying to do a rough count, but it wasn't easy with all the visual clutter.

"How many actual..."

"My estimate is five hundred," Phuong said, grinning as Mason quirked a brow. "I could see you counting, Patron. Most are likely sleeping in their rooms, but I've watched them since the beginning. Though it does occur to me there might be other gathering areas. It might have broken us into groups. Or else placed a limit to how many the Eastern capital could bring per house. Or well...who really knows."

Mason nodded, knowing roboGod well enough now not to make too many assumptions. On one hand, only 500 players in the world was a pitifully small number. On the other hand, compared to Mason's even more pitiful 10 (13 with Blake and his), it was an army.

"Fourty to one," he said, shaking his head, then glancing at his 'Minister of War'. "We're talking Alexander against the Persians outnumbered."

The ex-soldier grinned.

"Yet Alexander defeated the Persians, Patron. With superior troops, and tactics."

"Maybe." Mason shook his head. "But we're not up against underfed peasants. Those are all baby superheroes not so different than us."

"The lamb is not so different than the lion, Patron," Phuong said with a subtle smile. "If you look at its genetic code. But I would not bet on a herd of sheep against a pride."

"Ancient Buddhist wisdom," Carl said, sticking his head over Phuong's shoulder. "He's full of quotes. We could probably make fortune cookies."

Phuong sighed. "Are you certain about your second in command, Patron? This is the man in charge of the West if you fall."

"A scary thought," Mason agreed, leading them to a busier, louder area that had more players. Quite a bit of conversation stopped as people turned to stare at Mason and the others. Some were just curious, others concerned. But there was also plenty of open hostility.

"I think you can forget about fangirls, Seamus," Carl muttered.

"The good ones’ll be getting their beauty sleep," said the Irishman. "We'll find them at the dance."

"Ah Christ I already forgot that." Carl winced and looked for a clock. "I'd better go find that girl of mine and check in." He looked the other players up and down. "Clean yourselves up. You're all sweaty, disheveled messes and you make us look bad. You're representing Nassau. So take a shower. And stand up straight."

The ever-silent Jason actually tried to stand a little straighter. Everyone else just rolled their eyes.

"You know, when I met you," Mason said, "you were pretty much wolf food, pissing yourself and covered in tree sap as you hid in a tree."

"And now I'm Chancellor of the West," Carl said without missing a beat. "Better be careful. I'll probably be your boss, soon."

Mason laughed, which made Streak howl, which made pretty much every player in a wider radius go silent and stare. For the first time, Mason found the attention didn't bother him.

That's right, he wanted to say, look at my giant wolf and remember. He might be the last thing some of you see.

He turned and walked the narrow pathways back around the unused pools and hot tubs, and the mostly un-examined artwork. He hadn't seen the emperor or any of his council, who were likely all meeting or resting for the next round of matches.

As usual, Mason expected a twist. Maybe it would change the environments to something awful. Maybe it would add monsters. Maybe it would make the fights actually to the death.

You could never know with this fucking thing, which in itself had become a kind of 'norm' that Mason realized was making him more comfortable with unfair chaos.

A part of him wondered if that was the point.

"Go listen to your Chancellor," Mason said, waving the others back towards the elevator. "I don't care if you go to the dance. Up to you. And feel free to talk to these players as much as you like. I'd like to find anyone else in the west, especially. I was hoping they'd come find us but it sounds like no one has."

Carl shook his head in confirmation, and Mason sighed. They probably saw Mason's player killer aura and assumed he'd hunt them down like dogs the second he found them. How he was going to convince them otherwise he had no idea. If it was him, he'd be equally afraid.

But one problem at a time.

He was going to go rest and get cleaned up, then put on his friendliest face and smile to hopefully win over as many people as possible. But considering his aura, and the efforts already to brand him the 'Warlord of the West', he didn't expect a miracle.