Mom left me breakfast, bacon and eggs, toast. Numbers on the plate showed the calories and nutritional information. The glass of juice showed the same. There were more calories than I needed, but I didn’t know when I’d have the chance to eat again. I ate it all while I watched the news on yesterday’s battle.
“There was a traitor in the clan, a mole working with the class-A threat,” Otto Hinterleaf said. It was a video recording from real life. The familiar pot-bellied old man didn’t look worried, just a little tired. “And we deliberately passed false intel onto the Threat about the Great Portable Altarl”
“What about the real altar, Mr. Hinterleaf?” the cute journalist girl asked.
“All in good time. That’s all, we’re in a hurry!”
Fen Xiaoguang flashed by in the background. I heard the journalists crowding him with questions: “Mogwai! Mogwai! Tell us about your duel with the Threat…” but he waved them away and told them all to go to the Nether in both English and Chinese. The subtitles beneath copied Fen’s bombastic speech aimed at me: “a toad who wants to tty swan meat” and an “insect” that he would crush.
The video changed. The interview had been taken before the battle, but now the viewers saw the beginning of the real altar’s sad end. First there was a short clip of Deznafar’s attack, peppered with exciting commentary from the hosts. Whenever a new type of undead appeared, the video stopped and whatever information was known about the mob was shown, including its stats and abilities. A reporter gleefully discussed the scenes where Shazz’s undead tore into the preventers.
Then they showed the huge Armageddon meteorite falling down on the cart, followed by the appearance of Supreme Grand Master Oyama and his immense strike from afar, crushing all the top players beneath their array of shields. There was nobody left to record me destroying the altar.
“Many have heard legends of Oyama, who joined the battle unarmed,” a commentator said. “Such myths have formed around many supreme grand masters of the martial arts. In answer to the question of where to find them, Snowstorm representatives have always said these masters show up when the time comes. It seems the time has come for unarmed fighters; Dis now has someone who needs a teacher at such a high rank! We have almost no doubt that this ‘someone’ is the class-A threat…!”
Other clips flashed by; material uploaded by the scouts who were first to the battlefield. They showed a bird’s-eye view over four black craters the size of a football field. White bones gleamed through soot on the desert’s burning sands.
The image froze. The recording rewound to the point where the battle was still looming on the horizon. A small section in the distance was highlighted red.
“Note the highlighted area.” The view zoomed in on the area and the holovideo changed to slow-motion. “Do you see movement? Unfortunately, at this distance it’s impossible to say who it is, but someone was definitely there on the battlefield. Our experts believe that it was the class-A Threat and their minions. And we have confirmation!”
The screen switched to a video interview, this time in Disgardium. A hunter with Asian features appeared on the screen. After a moment, I recognized him as Yagami.
“…I told you!” No comment!”
“Mr. Kobayasi! Yagami!” the journalists shouted. There were no microphones in Dis, of course, but the reporters still pointed some little boxes at him, showing the name of their news organization. “At least tell us the Alliance’s view on the outcome of the first battle?”
Yagami stopped and sighed heavily. I made out Darant streets behind him, and the portal building from which the Mizaki clan leader had emerged. The level three hundred and ninety forest elf rubbed his temples, then spoke.
“Unfortunately, the Goblin League has ended its relationship with all the clans of the Alliance… Just two days ago, I felt proud that Mizaki—the leading clan in Japan!—was part of the Alliance, a group of the strongest clans in the world. Now I sorely regret my decision. The Alliance leaders have committed grievous mistakes. The total losses of our clan alone amount to millions of phoenixes, and that’s not even counting the priceless loss of reputation with the goblins…”
There were other general shots: preventers gathering for fresh raids, broken recordings of battles with desert beasts. The presenter began to smoothly wind up the report.
“Only a few moments ago, we finally managed to get a comment from Horvac, leader of the Travelers…”
The stream switched to the desert. Top players were running around in the background, and I could hear the sounds of spells and the din of battle; they were clearing some mobs. Horvac appeared on screen, level three hundred and ninety-seven warlord, a mighty ore with fangs filed to a sharp point, shaved temples and tar-black hair gathered in a thick braid.
“Mr. Onegut, hello! Will you answer a couple of questions for Disgardium Daily?”
Horvac roared and shouted off to the side:
“Why are there journalists here? Hellfish, Cannibal, Seth! Why the hell did you let them in? Get them out, right now…!”
“Please, Mr. Onegut!” a velvety feminine voice said. Horvac thawed, nodded. “What does the Alliance plan to do next?”
“Bad enough we had a mole at HQ…” the leader of the Travelers muttered. “Now you want me to broadcast our plans online?”
“Is it true that you plan to use Armageddon on an even greater scale? Do you believe that Nergal will continue to aid you? Do you hope to restore your reputation with the Goblin League?”
“No comment…” the ore growled, disproving the presenter’s words that they’d ‘managed to get a comment from Horvac.’
The door bell drowned out his voice. A new screen appeared on the holopanel showing my visitors: Ed, Hung and Malik.
I went to let them in, not at all surprised—we’d agreed the
