100X Returns: Starting with 1,000,000 System Points

The town announced itself long before we reached its gates — smoke rising from more chimneys than Brightwood’s entire population could have produced, the road widening and hardening under our boots into something closer to actual cobblestone, worn smooth by generations of cart traffic.

I’d expected, somewhere in the back of my mind, something closer to the neat, orderly fantasy towns I’d wandered through in Eterno Online — clean lines, helpful NPC signage, everything arranged for convenient exploration. What greeted us instead was louder, messier, and considerably more real: a sprawl of buildings crowded close together, merchants shouting over each other from cramped stalls, the smell of woodsmoke and livestock and unwashed crowds all tangled together into something that hit Sharp Soul Perception like a physical wave.

I clamped down on the sensory flood out of long habit now, narrowing focus before it could overwhelm me the way it had that first night behind my hut.

The gate itself was manned by two guards in the same blue-hawk livery Vale’s escort had worn, checking papers and asking questions with the bored efficiency of men who’d done this ten thousand times.

"Business in town," one of them said, not quite a question, eyes flicking over Thorne’s Guild insignia first, then settling on me with a fraction more scrutiny.

"Guild business," Thorne said, producing a marked token from his pack. "And a formal hearing at the Baron’s court, three days hence. This is Zayne Ailfos, one of the named parties."

Something flickered across the guard’s face — recognition, maybe, or at least familiarity with the name. "Aldous’s complaint," he said, not quite under his breath. "Word’s gotten round already."

"Has it," Thorne said flatly, and the guard seemed to catch the warning in his tone, waving us through without further comment.

I filed that exchange away carefully as we passed through the gate. Word traveling this far, this fast, meant the miller’s reach extended considerably further than a single village dispute should have warranted.

The Guild’s local Chapter house sat near the town’s center — a solid, unglamorous stone building, considerably larger than the canvas tent post back in Brightwood, with the low hum of activity that suggested a place people actually worked rather than merely passed through.

Thorne led the way inside, and I trailed behind, watching him shift into a different register entirely — more clipped, more professional, greeting the clerk at the front desk with the easy familiarity of long acquaintance.

"Thorne. Back from Shadowfang already?" The clerk, a middle-aged woman with ink-stained fingers and sharp eyes, glanced up from her ledger with open curiosity. "Guild post only sent word a week back that the instability warranted assessment. Wasn’t expecting resolution this fast."

"Wasn’t expecting it either," Thorne said, producing a written report from his pack — the one he’d apparently been composing in fragments throughout our journey, whenever we stopped to rest. "Core’s been extracted and stabilized. Dungeon’s instability should settle within days, if it hasn’t already."

The clerk took the report, scanning it with professional efficiency that slowed, notably, somewhere in the second paragraph. Her eyes flicked up toward me, then back down to the page, then up again, more slowly this time.

"This says the extraction was performed by—" she checked the name again, "—Zayne Ailfos. Unregistered."

"Correct," Thorne said, and I could hear the deliberate care in his tone, the same careful positioning he’d used against Vale in Brightwood’s square.

"Clean core extraction, first attempt, without certified containment gear, by an unregistered civilian." The clerk set the report down slowly, studying me now with an entirely different quality of attention than the guard at the gate had offered. "Do you understand how uncommon that is? We’ve had certified extraction specialists botch cleaner attempts than what’s described here."

"I got lucky," I said, and felt, not for the first time, how threadbare the excuse had worn after so many repetitions.

The clerk didn’t look convinced, but she also didn’t push, filing the report away with the careful precision of someone who clearly intended to flag it for further review later. "The Guild will want to speak with you properly at some point, Master Ailfos. Extractions like this don’t go unnoticed, whatever the circumstances."

"Not today, though," Thorne said, a touch more firmly than the conversation strictly required. "We’ve a hearing to prepare for."

The clerk’s eyes flicked between us, something calculating behind her professional courtesy, but she let it go. "Of course. Guild will follow up in due time."

I felt Thorne’s hand settle briefly on my shoulder as we left, steering me back out into the crowded street.

"That went about as well as it could have," he said quietly, once we were clear of the building. "But you should know — that’s not the last time the Guild’s going to come asking. An extraction like that doesn’t stay quiet forever."

"I know," I said, and meant it, filing one more complication onto the growing pile.

We spent the afternoon walking the town proper, ostensibly to familiarize ourselves with the layout before the hearing, though I suspected Thorne had a second motive in mind — testing the currents of local gossip the way he’d tested wind direction before lighting a campfire.

It didn’t take long to find what he was fishing for.

The innkeeper where we secured rooms for the coming nights turned out to be a talkative sort, eager to share opinions with anyone willing to listen while settling their payment.

"Aldous’s boy, you mean? Word is the miller’s got a cousin here in town — sits on the merchant’s council, has the Baron’s ear more than most folk realize." The innkeeper counted out our coin with practiced efficiency, entirely unaware of how carefully I was listening. "Whole town’s been buzzing about the hearing. Some say the Baron owes Aldous’s family a favor or two from a grain shortage a few winters back. Others say the Baron doesn’t care either way and just wants the noise to stop."

"Which way do you figure it’ll go?" Thorne asked, casual, though I caught the sharp attention underneath the tone.

The innkeeper shrugged, unbothered by the question’s weight. "Baron’s fair, mostly, when it doesn’t cost him anything to be. But fair and neutral aren’t always the same thing, not when one side’s got a cousin whispering in the right ear."

I absorbed that quietly, the earlier confidence from Vale’s carefully brokered compromise curdling into something more uncertain. A neutral hearing was one thing. A hearing where the opposing party had quiet influence woven into the very court judging the dispute was something else entirely.

"Guess we’ll need more than just the truth on our side," I murmured, once the innkeeper had moved off to other business.

"Wouldn’t be the first hearing I’ve sat through where the truth needed help standing up straight," Thorne said grimly. "Good thing we’ve got a genuine Guild report backing your account now, not just words."

That evening, in the small shared room above the inn’s common area, Thorne ran me through what felt like an entirely different kind of training than anything we’d covered on the road.

"Court conduct," he said, settling across from me with the same patient focus he’d brought to Qi correction. "Different rules than a dungeon. You don’t win a hearing by being right. You win by being harder to dismiss than the other side."

"So what do I actually do?"

"Answer only what’s asked. Don’t volunteer details, don’t get defensive, don’t let anger show even if Aldous says something that deserves it." He ticked the points off with the ease of someone who’d clearly navigated similar situations before, on behalf of Guild business if nothing else. "Address the Baron properly, let his court officials guide the proceedings, and for the love of every old god, don’t mention anything about your... gift, unless directly and specifically compelled to."

"I wasn’t planning to."

"Good. Keep it that way, even if they try to bait it out of you. Nobles love finding leverage in things people would rather keep hidden."

I nodded, absorbing the advice, and once Thorne had settled into his own bedroll for the night, I took a quiet moment to check my Status, weighing whether any preparation beyond conduct and testimony was worth doing before the hearing.

[System Points: 1,346,900]

[Level: 24]

Points enough to buy outcomes most people in this world couldn’t imagine, sitting untouched, patient, waiting for a use I still hadn’t found a safe way to justify. No amount of System spending solved a political hearing, though — this was a fight that couldn’t be won with a sword or a well-fed Qi loop, and the realization sat uneasily against everything I’d learned to rely on so far.

I closed the Status window and let myself finally drift toward sleep, the day’s accumulated tension slowly loosening its grip.

I woke sometime past midnight to a soft, deliberate knock at the door — not the innkeeper’s usual heavy-handed rap, but something quieter, almost furtive.

Thorne stirred instantly, hand already on his sword hilt as I crossed to the door, cautious.

A folded note had been slipped beneath it rather than delivered by hand, whoever brought it apparently unwilling to be seen doing so. I retrieved it carefully, unfolding the parchment in the dim moonlight filtering through the shutters.

Master Ailfos, it read, the handwriting careful, deliberately anonymous, the hearing is not as simple as you may believe. Not everyone in the Baron’s household shares Master Aldous’s interest in your punishment. Come to the eastern garden gate an hour before the hearing begins, and you may find an ally where you least expect one.

No signature. No further explanation.

I read it twice, feeling the same cold, electric weight settle low in my stomach that every prior warning — System or otherwise — had brought with it.

Thorne, watching my expression from across the room, was already reaching for his boots. "What is it?"

I handed him the note silently, and watched his own expression shift from wariness into something more carefully calculating as he read it through.

"Could be a trap," he said finally, folding it closed. "Could be exactly what it claims to be. Either way—" he set the note down, meeting my eyes steadily, "—we go in expecting both possibilities, and we don’t walk in blind."

I nodded slowly, the earlier uncertainty about the hearing sharpening now into something closer to genuine unease.

Whatever’s actually waiting in that court, I thought, staring at the folded note, it’s already more complicated than a miller’s grudge.

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