CHAPTER 611: ATALAR

Stranger

The yeti’s request was not how Atalar usually conducted such affairs. Violence and force are tools that had a specific use, it preferred to, if there was an actual need, eliminate targets with overwhelming force. Reaction Engines were preferred, as there were few things that could defend against it, especially when they didn’t see it coming. Some outliers aside, it was a good option that only rarely failed to produce the desired effect.

The aid that Ra’azel requested denied Atalar the use of such means. Complete annihilation of their target was undesirable, Ra’azel needed them alive. Capturing someone was far harder than just outright killing them. And this target was triggering numerous of Atalar’s threat assessment warnings.

Ra’azel was powerful, but he himself admitted that he did not properly understand the level of power that their target possessed. All that they knew was that it was proficient in manipulating Essences related to frost.

A small group for support and transport was something that Atalar could easily provide. The type of aid that Ra’azel would need was another matter. The Empire’s most powerful were needed on the front, to slow down the advance of the oncoming counterattack by the Sects. Atalar’s Herald was preparing the ground to meet them. Their priority was to prevent them from discovering and endangering their great work before it was too late.

Atalar quickly came to the conclusion that outside help was needed. It scoured through its databases, weighing thousands of factors as it attempted to narrow down its choice. The nature of the chosen had to be considered greatly. A mercenary was preferable, or someone whose goals would align, or at least not conflict with those of the Empire. Someone who would be open to a bargain, and whose price wouldn’t outweigh their worth.

There were very few candidates who fit the criteria. Those powerful enough usually had their own agendas or had cut themselves off from such matters. Even less that Atalar could actually contact and have any hope of enticing into service. The truly powerful rarely needed anything. But Atalar had access to more information than anyone else in the world.

It thoroughly combed all the relevant data until it came up with a single target that matched its criteria. Contacting them would be dangerous, negotiating even more so. Though, Atalar had some idea of what the person desired. Not through its scouring of the Knowledge Plane, but actual information gathering by the imperial spies. Without them, Atalar wouldn’t even know about this person’s existence, their presence in the Knowledge Plane was nonexistent, a result of careful managing of information about him and his past. He existed there, of course, his information was recorded but the only thing that the Plane of Knowledge noticed was that which was uttered or written.

Atalar dispatched its agents to make contact.

A man sat in an inn, it was an old building, wooden and visibly worn. The name of it was the Inn at the End of the World, which was the truth. The inn was actually at the end of the world. It was located at the northern Frontier, at the furthest point where civilization stretched. Situated in between the territories of the Triumphant Hive and the expanding Exalted Empire, it wasn’t associated with any great faction. The territory was claimed by the village and the old man that was its chief.

People had ventured farther, of course, but this place, the small village of Riverbend—named not so originally for the river bend it was built on—this place was the last spot before the wilds beyond.

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Explorers came here on their way out, and this was the first place they came when they returned to the Settled Territories. It didn’t look like it, there was no luxury here, no grand displays of wealth. It was a small place, surviving off the land and not that much of the traffic. In truth, visitors were rare. A group of those who wished to take a stab at making something for themselves out there where there were no rulers. Few survived, but that didn’t stop groups from gathering every once in a while. Those who survived most often were individuals, the strong, the lucky, or the desperate.

The man sitting in the corner of the inn, looked across the room and saw two groups. One was a group of a dozen people looking to make a new life beyond the Frontier, they were part of a larger expedition that was currently camped outside of the village. The group in the inn were the leaders, owed the right of enjoying the last soft bed before they were beyond such things, while their people spent the night in the tents.

The other group had only two people, they kept to themselves, their presence far different than that of the expedition. They at least looked capable, relatively speaking. The expedition was doomed to fail; death would be the most merciful of the fates that could befall them.

The man knew the dangers beyond the Frontier intimately, he had been venturing out for years, seeking for a place that could serve his purpose. Unfortunately, no matter how far he explored, he realized that it would never be far enough. The Settled Territories were expanding, growing their borders with every year. Once, this small village was an island far beyond the actual civilization. Now, it will be swallowed up by other factions in perhaps a decade at most. He and his people needed more room, more time… more everything.

He needed not just a way to get far enough away, but secrecy, time to build and grow, resources. All the things that he could not get easily, not now. The world was on guard for his kind, they were still hunting down the remnants, even those who’ve been able to hide. They had ways of detecting the gift on them.

The man sighed, he had returned to civilization simply to inquire about any news, pickup messages and to send out responses to his people. The more time passed, the more he knew that a more drastic move would be needed. Getting what he needed in the amounts he needed would require interacting with those who were powerful. And doing so without being detected, secretly while keeping their anonymity would be nearly impossible. A move like that would mean only one thing. It would mean igniting the hostilities again, announcing that the remnant had survived after the war. And that was not something that he wanted. He had seen power beyond himself, seen his great master, and had seen the power that had cut that pinnacle down. Fighting before he was strong enough would be foolish.

Perhaps that was what was necessary, or perhaps he had just gotten too impatient. He had no need to rush, no need to make drastic decisions. His outlook on life was far different than that of most living people. He understood time and what future could hold far better. He had seen the glorious possibility, the world of true peace, and he would see that vision come true. Even if he had to wait for a million years.

The door to the inn opened, and a person walked in. The man raised his head and glanced at the newcomer, then frowned.

A cthul entered the room, cloaked with a hood up that obscured much, but not the mouth tendrils of their kind that gently swayed beneath. The inn grew quiet, the presences of a cthul did not always mean the Exalted Empire, but there were very few of their kind outside of it.

The cthul made his way across the inn, his destination clear. He stopped next to the man’s table, then pulled out a chair and sat across from him. The man could glimpse the flickering light of machines embedded in the side of the cthul’s head, illuminating the top half of his face in pale shadows beneath the hood.

“I am Sixty Fifth Speaker of the Machine, I greet you in the name of the Machine God,” the cthul said.

For a moment, the man said nothing. Dealing with the empire was not something that he had anticipated. In fact, he had been doing his best to evade them and territories under their influence. He wasn’t sure if they knew who he was, or if this was just a coincidence. The cthul seemed like he had come here with purpose, the cthul made his way directly to him.

His senses told him that there were four more cthul outside, of significant strength, but not enough to concern him. Fighting would paint a target on him. Though perhaps one was already present. Running away was a possibility, but he was curious to know how exactly he was discovered.

“What do you want?”

The cthul looked at him for a moment without answering, then stiffened. When he spoke, the voice that came out was deep, devoid of any inflection.

“We wish to make a bargain.”