The Adventurer's Rest inn had one big common room and a few bedrooms at the back. It smelt of stale beer, woodsmoke and wet dogs.
Dante sat at a wooden table, drinking a glass of bitter ale. It was awful, but it was real.
Across from him, Rin-Rin was poking sullenly at a wooden bowl of greyish-brown pottage.
"Producer-sama, this craft service is zero stars," she complained, her voice was very quiet, like a whisper, and you could hear it all over the room.
"It's all... brown! How is an idol supposed to maintain her sparkle on a diet of brown?"
Dante ignored her. He was busy watching Shivvy.
She was sitting on the bench next to him, her knees tucked up to her chest. She wasn't eating the pottage. She was still, with a single-minded reverent focus, eating the apple Mistress Gable had given her.
She was taking tiny mouse-like bites, as if trying to make it last for an eternity.
The sight of her — her quiet profound happiness over a single piece of fruit — sent a complicated pang of guilt and responsibility through him.
He was safe. He was fed. He was clothed.
His new linen tunic was rough, his woolen trousers were itchy, and his leather boots were stiff.
'But I never felt so equipped before.'
[Creator Mana] = [20/20].
His [Haste] buff had faded, but the mental clarity it had provided remained.
He had a quest. He had a party. He had a plan.
The plan was simple: Walk to the ruins, find the Goblins, and unleash Rin-Rin [Toxic]. Collect loot. Profit.
It was a good plan. And it was, his brain suddenly insisted, a terrible plan.
A familiar anxiety (the "RPG paranoia") crept into his thoughts.
Goblins = trash mobs. Easy.
[Toxic] = AOE nuke. Works.
But... Reeve Murdoch had mentioned a "Leader."
Leader = Boss.
Boss = Mechanics.
Mechanics =...
'What if the leader was Poison-Resistant? What if it had a "Magic-Resist" aura? What if it was a high-level "Shaman" class that could dispel Rin-Rin's song?'
His entire strategy was a one-trick-pony.
He was relying on a non-combat-tested gacha pull. If [Toxic] failed, he had nothing.
He'd be a man in itchy pants, a cowering bank-alt, and a very-confused idol, and they would all be slaughtered by a Hobgoblin.
He needed a new tool.
He needed a contingency.
'Hmmmm... I could afford a contingency.'
His new mana pool was a new tier.
His old "Summoning Cap" had been 10 Mana (Rin-Rin).
And his new cap was 20.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the interface, The List.
'I am not just "Producer-sama" for an idol. I am the manager for all 453 of my creations. It was time to check my whole roster.'
Sort by: [Mana Cost].
Range: [11-20].
The list populated. A few names and a few portraits appeared.
[Sir Cluckington] (Level 12 Chicken).
[Game: Serene Valley Saga].
[Cost: 12 Mana]. [Upkeep: 2/hr].
'Useless. A gag character I made to win the farm festival.'
[Ignis 'The Spark'] (Level 15 Fire Elemental).
[Game: Aethelgard Online].
[Cost: 14 Mana].
[Upkeep: 5/hr].
'Tempting. A real elemental. But "Fire" felt loud. And messy. It felt like an 'aggro-everything' button.'
[Unit 7] (Level 20 Sentry Bot).
[Game: Exo-Frame Genesis].
[Cost: 18 Mana]. [Upkeep: 6/hr].
'Pure DPS. But my regen was 6/hr. I would be at net-zero mana gain. Too risky. I needed a buffer.'
And then he saw her.
The portrait was just a black silhouette and a featureless grey background.
[Subject 47] (Level 50 Infiltrator)
[Game Origin: Phantom Echelon (Stealth-Action)]
[Personality Trait: 'Ghost' (Perfect Stealth, Non-Lethal Specialization)]
[Summon Cost: 15 Mana] [Upkeep Cost: 4 Mana/Hour]
Dante's heart didn't pound.
It... clicked.
Phantom Echelon. He remembered that game. It was a punishing and hardcore stealth-action title. He'd spent an entire summer trying to get the "Ghost" achievement; complete the game with zero kills and zero detections.
Subject 47 was the character he had done it with.
A Level 50, max-stat infiltrator.
He did the math, his mind racing.
Regen: +6 MP/Hour.
Shivvy Upkeep: -1 MP/Hour.
Subject 47 Upkeep: -4 MP/Hour.
Total Upkeep: -5 MP/Hour.
Net Mana Gain: +1 MP/Hour.
It was a stable build. He could run his bank and a high-level specialist, and still be regenerating mana.
'Ahhhh… It was beautiful.'
He had a new plan.
The Reeve wanted two things:
1) Clear the Goblin camp. 2) Retrieve his son's brooch.
Dante's gamer logic saw this for what it was.
'It wasn't one quest. It was two. A main "Extermination" quest, and a secondary "Item Retrieval" quest.'
Why do them at the same time? Why risk a TPK (Total Party Kill) for the brooch?
He could do the "stealth" mission first.
'Get the brooch. Get the bonus. Then come back, regroup, and AOE-nuke the Goblins with Rin-Rin.'
'Yeah. It was perfect. It was the gamer way.'
He opened his eyes.
Rin-Rin was now trying to "teach" Shivvy how to pose, which resulted in Shivvy just hiding her face and crying quietly.
"Rin-Rin," Dante said, his voice cutting through the "lesson."
"Producer-sama!" she beamed. "My kouhai is hopeless! She has zero 'sparkle'!"
"You're benched."
Her smile vanished. It didn't just fade; it snapped off, like a light being unplugged.
"E-eh...?"
"You're benched," Dante repeated, standing up.
"This next 'gig'... it's a stealth mission. A covert ops thing. And it's not your venue."
Rin-Rin's face went through three stages of grief.
First, shock.
"B... benched...?"
Second, denial.
"But... but my fans! The Goblins! They're waiting for my encore!"
Third, anger. A full foot-stomping and twin-tail-quivering pout.
"This is so unprofessional, Producer-sama!" she snapped, her voice rising. "You can't bench your star! It's... it's a breach of contract! I'll be talking to my agent!"
"You don't have an agent!"
"Then I'll talk to your agent! Oh, wait!"
She pointed an accusatory sequin-gloved finger at him.
"You're my agent! You can't do this! It's... it's a conflict of interest!"
Dante sighed. He was a manager, and his talent was having a tantrum.
"Rin-Rin. You're my 'AOE' specialist. This is a 'single-target' retrieval. I'll bring you back for the main show. Okay? The 'concert'."
She sniffed, crossing her arms.
"...a bigger stage?"
"A much bigger stage. The whole ruins."
She actually considered this.
"Hmph. Fine. But if this new 'act' bombs, I'm saying 'I told you so'!"
"Deal."
Dante focused his will. "Dismiss."
"And I want a new rider!" she yelled, just as her form began to dissolve. "With sparkling water! And... and... strawberries—"
She vanished in a sulky poof of pink glitter.
The common room was, for the first time, blissfully quiet.
Shivvy just stared at the spot where Rin-Rin had been, her half-eaten apple held tight.
"She's... she's very loud, Creator," Shivvy whispered.
"I know," Dante said.
He looked at his mana.
[20/20].
"Okay. Stay close, Shivvy. This next one is... different."
He focused.
He found the black silhouette on his List.
Summon: Subject 47.
[Creator Mana: 20/20] -> [5/20].
There was no pop and tear in the air.
There was just a shift. A soundless vibration.
The shadows in the corner of the inn room seemed to thicken.
They gathered, deepened, and then resolved.
A figure was standing there.
It was a woman. At least, Dante assumed it was.
She was tall, slender, and encased from head to toe in a sleek, dark-grey suit. It looked like some kind of matte with synthetic polymer, broken up by segmented plates over the joints.
There was no skin visible.
Her hands were gloved. Her face was a smooth black visor, curved like the head of an insect.
"Eeeeeee-kkkk"
Shivvy let out a single high-pitched terrified eep.
She dropped her apple core and scrambled behind Dante's new boots, her entire body shaking.
'This... this thing... was infinitely more terrifying to her than the pink noisy one, huh.'
The figure, Subject 47, slowly turned her head.
The black visor tracked, analyzing the room. It looked at the farmer-patrons. Then looked at Shivvy.
And then, it looked at Dante.
She was unreadable. Like a statue.
She didn't speak. She didn't bow. She didn't call him "Creator" or "Producer-sama."
She just waited there. She was, in every sense of the word, a professional.
Dante swallowed. His heart was hammering.
"Uh... Subject 47," he said, his voice sounding strange and loud in the quiet.
"We... have a mission."
47's head tilted. Listening.
"It's an item retrieval. A 'heist.' From a Goblin-infested ruin. Your specialization is... 'non-lethal,' right?"
47 lifted one gloved hand. She tapped two fingers against her black visor.
[Affirmative].
The word wasn't spoken. It just inserted itself into his brain.
Dante's eyes widened. Telepathy?
"Right," he said, grabbing his new, empty waterskin from the table.
"Good. Let's go."
***
Dusk. The sky was a deep purple, the first stars poking through.
The air was cool, smelling of pine and damp stone.
They were one hundred yards from the crumbling watchtower. It was a two-story skeleton of stone, black against the twilight.
Dante, 47, and Shivvy (who was under a strict order to stay hidden) were crouched behind a line of thorny bushes.
"Okay," Dante whispered, his breath pluming. "This is it."
He didn't even need to ask. 47 was already working. She was perfectly still, but her head was scanning the ruin.
Dante's vision... changed.
It was his normal view, but it's overlaid.
Faint red digital brackets appeared, tagging the Goblins he could see.
[HOSTILE: GOBLIN (LVL 3)] x 4.
[HOSTILE: GOBLIN (LVL 3) (SENTRY)] x 1.
And then, inside the second-floor window, a new tag.
A deep-red bracket.
[HVT: HOBGOBLIN (LVL 12) (LEADER)] x 1.
'So 47 can feeding me intel, huh. This was... this was a game-changer.'
"The target," Dante whispered, his heart hammering.
"Is a 'brooch.' The Reeve's. It's on the 'HVT.' On the second floor."
He felt like a real commander.
"Your mission is: retrieve the brooch. Primary objective. My preference is 'Ghost.' Zero kills. Zero detections. Can you do it?"
Subject 47 turned her unreadable black visor to him.
She gave him that same, single, sharp nod.
She tapped her visor.
[Affirmative. Standby for extraction.]
And then… she was gone.
Her feet making zero sound on the gravel and twigs.
She ran at the wall.
Her gloved hands and booted feet found impossible microscopic holds in the crumbling stone. She was scaling it, like a spider, her movements silent.
In three seconds, she had reached the second-story window. She hooked one arm over the sill, poised, listened, and then flowed inside.
'She was already in.'
Dante was left in the bushes, his jaw hanging open.
Beside him, Shivvy was trembling, her eyes fixed on the tower.
"Creator..." she whispered, her voice shaking.
"I know, Shivvy," Dante whispered back, his eyes glued to the ruin.
The Goblins at the campfire hadn't even looked up.
"Just wait."