The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 397: What can be done in a day

Tommaso woke up and cringed as he put his hands to his gut. Getting cut in half by some spell hadn't been the greatest experience, but it hadn't hurt nearly as much as he'd feared. Once he’d managed to collect himself, he looked at the clock on his wall, then rushed down to meet his newest beauty at full speed.

This one was Moroccan. Dark haired and eyed with a body even Tommaso hardly deserved. And she spoke Italian! This she did with a French accent and a girlish voice that might have got him going even if she wasn’t so beautiful.

They'd agreed to meet in the hotel after Tommaso's next match, and even civilians could watch the bouts, so she’d know he was coming.

The anticipation of a woman moved him like nothing else. He raced to the 'elevator' and thought of the right room number, the machine's ding sending a jolt of electricity through his heart. He stepped out, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw her.

Farah stood between the kitchen and a bedroom in a white robe, her hands on her belt.

"You took your sweet time," she said, fiddling with the cloth as she tossed her hair and stuck out a bare leg from the opening.

"My apologies, lovely lady." Tommaso came forward with growing confidence, stripping off his shirt as he crossed the distance. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

"Oh I can think of something."

She grinned, and Tommaso came forward and pulled her into his arms, kissing her roughly as he took a handful of her dark hair and put a hand inside her robe. She panted against his touch, the false mask of resistance crumbling as had happened with so many women before her.

He had met her in the hotel lobby. Their eyes met and then the beautiful girl pretended not to notice him. But Tommaso was no stranger to the amorous looks of women, and it hadn't taken him long to pin her down for a drink. Only a few minutes, really, of flirting and touching and saying all the things a woman liked to hear. And now here they were.

"Who are you?" she asked breathlessly as Tommaso's hand crept closer to its target. "Where do you come from?"

"I'll tell you anything you like, curious girl," he said, kissing her ear as his hand found its mark, which was just as incredible as he imagined. The girl gasped beneath his touch, panting as she held his eyes. He smiled, leading her towards the bed without removing his hand. "After."

* * *

The emperor of the world sat at his temporary 'command post', hating this 'Neutral Zone' and its rules. To think that his enemy was so close, so vulnerable.

All Jeong had to do was cross the small space between them with his army of players and slaughter him and his in their beds, and the game would be all but over. Instead he could do nothing.

He had considered sending players to kill several Westerners in their sleep anyway, letting them pay whatever price was required. But it was no simple matter to actually enter the rooms of his enemy.

And it seemed entirely possible their alien overlord might not permit them to actually die. That it might punish Jeong as the ultimate guilty party and ‘resurrect’ his enemies. Better to be patient, he decided. Better to be sure.

"Tell me what you've learned," he said once his small council had gathered. "I want to know everything about Mason and his key players."

Jeong's people were largely getting slaughtered by the Western players. That was clear. None of his council elite had fought any of them yet, so that test was still to come. Jeong himself, of course, had defeated the large Scotsman easily.

But tier 1 was proving a nebulous bracket. The distribution of power of the tiers was nowhere near equal, and to be in the ‘top 10%’ could mean a vast gulf. The fact was, a handful of players were far more powerful than the rest of the players in the world.

Jeong's people had been watching the fights, and making a list.

"Finding information about their players is proving...difficult," said Michael, Jeong’s spymaster. "Outside of what we see in the arena, their people aren't talking to us except about trade. None of my spies have managed to learn anything useful about their players in the bazaar."

Jeong did his best to hide his sneer. They knew roughly who the power players were—a fire caster, a divine support, some kind of mixed melee, an arcane defender, an arcane rogue, a caster with constructs.

A few others were still uncertain. But these, plus Mason himself, seemed to be the 'key' players with him he had likely captured his Nexus. Michael was still talking.

"Their leader did take a civilian girl to a public restaurant," he said, as if it were some incredible bit of knowledge. "They seemed to be a couple. A short, attractive brunette. We'll learn who she is soon."

"You think I care about some useless civilian?" Jeong felt his temper flare dangerously. "About what hole my enemy sticks his rod in? I asked about their players. And you're telling me you have nothing new? After a full day?"

"I am in the arena as much as you are, lord," said Michael, sweat beading on his brow. "As are all my player spies. We have only our civilians with which to..."

Yasmeen opened the conference door and stepped inside with a bow to Jeong. She seemed a little flushed, probably from being late. If it were anyone else he would have reprimanded them then and there, but with his wife there was always a good reason. She came and knelt at his side, whispering in his ear.

"I have information, lord. Would you like it now or in private?"

"Now," he said, no attempt to be quiet. He gestured for his closest assistant to get out of a chair so his wife could sit. Yasmeen bowed in apology, then sat and smiled at every man at the table politely. Jeong tolerated it all, knowing subtlety and politics were part of her craft, and she plied it well.

"I have the names of every key player," she said, “and considerable knowledge of the trials and tribulations of the main Western settlement thus far. Though I have only a single source, I believe him trustworthy."

Her words hung in the air, and Jeong almost leaned across the table to stare at his spymaster with contempt.

‘There is what can be done in a single day!’, he wanted to shout. But he knew he didn't need to. He just smiled and gestured for Yasmeen to go on, and she bowed and began.

She told a tale of desperate survival—of very few players coming together in almost random ways, all eventually beneath the banner of House Mason. Jeong's enemy sounded like a folk hero. He had killed some tyrant settlement leader and saved his 'brother'. He and the others had fought off orcs and goblin raiders. He had killed a huge worm. A stone giant. Defeated a dozen dungeons and who knew what else.

"Mason is said to plane walk," Yasmeen said, meeting Jeong's eyes. "My source says he can cross the continent in days. Without a teleportation beacon. Though he has one of those, also."

Jeong said nothing, regretting slightly now that he hadn't had Yasmeen inform him alone. It seemed this Mason was both weaker and stronger than Jeong expected. His brother, by Yasmeen's description, was the truly ambitious one—this Mason more like an accidental king, stumbling into his rulership and even possession of the Nexus.

"We must win this Blake to our side as soon as possible,” Jeong said. “Sew division, at the very least. Entice him with offers of anything he might possibly want."

"Contact has already been made," said Erik. "He has agreed to join the Arcane Order. As soon as such things are possible."

Jeong nodded, not entirely pleased. He didn't trust the swede or his order. Not truly. But for now it was better than nothing

Brothers! He thought. How incredible. And on a continent with so few people left alive. And both two of the most powerful players in the world. And so young. It seemed almost impossible, and not at all to Jeong’s fortune.

But complaining about luck was never useful. And the news wasn’t all bad. Mason and his brother were exceptionally young. Their inexperience would be useful and exploitable.

Jeong would order his wife to seduce one or both brothers as soon as possible before they left the Neutral Zone. He would finish this ridiculous arena with as many prizes as possible. But in truth, he didn't much care who won. He would avoid losing to this Mason, if it seemed he might. Though he doubted it.

By watching him fight, it seemed he had never truly encountered something stronger than himself. That he had used a combination of his ranged powers and speed to defeat his adversaries, relying on his swords against weakened targets. But Jeong would not weaken.

Mason's bow would make no difference when Jeong crossed the distance in seconds, moving too fast to be shot. His 'healing' powers wouldn’t matter when Jeong caught hold of him, and literally ripped him limb from limb.

The strength of Jeong’s Vessels flowed through his veins, even now bringing him a boundless, restless energy.

All of Jeong's players were exhausted from the grueling schedule. Most stared blankly with half lidded eyes throughout the meeting. But not Jeong. He was ready for whatever came. He looked forward to meeting Mason's elite one by one, crushing the life from their eyes as their patron watched. It would be soon now. Very soon.

"My lord?"

Yasmeen was looking at him, but he hadn't heard whatever was said. He found he no longer cared.

"The meeting is dismissed," he said with a polite smile. "Thank you everyone, that is all. Go and rest. And good luck in your upcoming matches."

With that he stood and walked towards the exit, patting the ever silent Damian on the back with a friendly gesture. They had entered the two man team together, and thus far crushed everyone who opposed them, just as they always had.

He hoped they met Mason together before Jeong fought him alone. He expected to win now in both cases. But it would be a fond memory to share with his one true ally.

"I'll see you soon, my friend," he said. "Drink more coffee, yes?"

He paused, thinking perhaps the man might like his wife in his bed again. He hadn't used her in some time.

"Yasmeen?" he said, seeing the fear in the woman's eyes as she sensed his intention, however she might try to hide it. "Please go with Damian and help him relax. He will need his rest."

"Of course, husband," she said, no trace of her disgust. Jeong smiled politely, pleased with her as ever. She took Damian's arm as they walked for the door, and Jeong put his arms behind his back as he waited, clearing his mind by humming a tune from his youth.

It was propaganda, of course, another song to worship the rulers of his homeland. But the mind was a strange thing, and no matter how much he hated the words, it still always brought him comfort.

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