Outrage of the Ancients

Yesterday, and the day before that, had sucked. It had been an awful combination of depressing, disgusting, and exhausting that would likely stay with me until the day I died.

This morning, I’d woken up feeling terrible, tired and with a headache, hungover without ever having touched a drop of booze. Not that I was generally a big drinker, I was perfectly able to come up with plenty of dumb shit without the help of the bad idea juice, but I’d made a point of avoiding alcohol entirely these last few days.

It was too easy to distract myself with it and never manage to crawl back out of the bottle in the current mess, not to mention that probably wasn’t the best move to make myself unavailable while acting as the mountain’s chief diplomat. Granted, I might be asleep or not have cell service on occasion, but both of those things could be fixed relatively easily if I was informed of the need. Being drunk, on the other hand, would render me useless for hours.

However, that had been hours ago, and I was feeling much better now.

For starters, getting out of the mountain had put a spring back in my step. The ancient fortress’ coolness factor was literally off the scale, but it had already been a teensy bit claustrophobic before I’d spent an entire day cowering in its heart, hoping the undead wouldn’t overcome the defenders.

Also, at breakfast, a slightly abashed-looking Charlemagne had gotten around to using one of his boosting Skills on me, one that gave me the training needed to act as a “Missus Dominicus” or “envoy of the ruler.” As far as I could tell, he’d had the Skill the entire time; he’d just neglected to apply it. Though the only reason I knew that was that [Will of the Sovereign] was warning me just how much he didn’t want me to ask about when he’d gotten that ability, or even comment in general. I also sure as shit wouldn’t have picked up on his embarrassment without that extra bit of information.

[Trait gained: Missus Dominicus Training]

So yeah, a whole bunch of legalese had been stuffed into my head, along with a ton of incidental information on the Holy Roman Empire and, generally, some extra training on personal conduct. I trusted that [Innate Etiquette] and [Will of the Sovereign] would have covered almost completely for my rather lacking formal training, but it was still great to have the upgrade.

And finally, I’d simply gotten the chance to play with my Skills again. Not use them, not experiment to find their limits, play. I’d gotten the chance to mess with [Modern Makeover] to make myself the perfect outfit for the meetings I was about to attend, and I’d grasped onto that excuse with both hands.

At first, I’d created a custom three-piece suit with a deep black jacket, pure white shirt, and crimson tie … and then I’d actually looked at myself in the mirror. Aside from the fact that I had hair, I looked like Agent 47. Maybe that was a mental association only someone in my generation would make, but I still didn’t like the idea, so I changed.

The jacket wound up a deep blue instead with a light gray, almost metallic, shirt under that, and the tie stayed the same bright red my original had been.

Hm … almost. Still not quite the image I wanted to display. So I further darkened the jacket and lightened the shirt. A slightly unusual color combination for a formal suit, but that was also kinda what I needed right now. Because I was neither a traditional diplomat, nor was I acting on behalf of an ordinary government. And the whole thing certainly wasn’t necessitated by ordinary circumstances.

I’d also managed to borrow Reinhart’s leather briefcase, to put the documents in, which I then shouldered. Damn, now I felt like a lawyer. Or, as I’d once heard the job be described, an “attack librarian.” Actually, there were a lot of jokes about lawyers, but most of them were pretty mean-spirited. Like “Civil Lawyer is an oxymoron” and so on.

I wound up shoving the briefcase into my [Diplomatic Pouch], where I could retrieve either it or the individual papers at will.

With that done, I headed out to the newly made helipad. Using magic, it was ridiculously easy to reshape stone and forge new, albeit basic, structures.

The helipad was above the entrance and slightly to the side, with the staircase that led there having been squeezed between the stairs to the murder holes and the cafeteria. Thankfully, some slight reshaping of the fortress’ structure allowed the staircase to be wide enough that we could even carry stuff through when that was needed. Though I was pretty sure this entire passageway was going to be sealed in advance of the next Challenge, simply because it was a rather large weak point in the defenses.

I stepped out through the meter-wide gate that led inside and saw the helipad for the first time. It looked like something you’d see in a steampunk world. Smooth stone, but very clearly just stone, formed the reinforced platform, and differently colored rocks outlined a yellow “H” in its middle, as well as drawing a circle around the landing point.

There were also multiple stone benches sitting against the mountain’s face, thirty meters away from where the helicopter would land. Reinhart was sitting on one of them, clearly waiting for me, so I joined him.

“Feeling nervous?” he asked, grinding out his cigarette in a stone ashtray that had been forged into the bench directly.

“I’d be a moron not to,” I shrugged.

“Good poker face, though,” he grunted and hauled himself into a proper sitting position.

I shrugged again. “I’m more worried about saying something stupid.”

“Let me guess, your imagination’s running wild, constantly suggesting the absolutely worst thing to say?” Reinhart asked. I nodded mutely.

“Let me let you in on a little secret, everyone’s imagination does. The real trick is forgetting the suggestions instead of dwelling on it,” he said.

“I guess … honestly, that part should be fine. It’s the negotiations that I’m worried about.”

“Did you figure out what you want to ask for?”

“Obviously.”

“Did you figure out what you need?”

“Yes?”

“Have you settled on some concessions you can make to let whoever you talk to feel like they got a partial win?”

“Yeah,” I grinned.

“Then you’ll be fine,” Reinhart slapped me on the back. “Now, go get ‘em.”

At that point, I could hear the sound of helicopter blades in the distance as my method of transport arrived. It was a military helicopter, not of a kind I could identify at a glance, but definitely not a proper transport chopper. Though, based on what I knew, a gunship didn’t have the space for passengers. A hybrid design?

Either way, this was a thing that could handle itself if it got attacked, which was sadly a necessity under the circumstances. I waited until the chopper’s blades stopped spinning, then headed over to where a soldier was already waiting in the now-open door.

“Ambassador Vogt?” she asked. I nodded.

She took a couple of minutes to get me properly strapped in and set up with one of those helicopter headphones.

“Am I going to be taking the helicopter the entire way, or is there going to be a transfer to a plane?” I asked. Choppers were barely faster than cars in terms of top speed, but they could travel from place to place much more rapidly since they flew in a straight line and could keep up their maximum speed basically the entire time.

“I’ll be taking you the entire way, it’ll be about two hours,” the pilot responded, not bothering to elaborate. Though it made sense. Any transport needed defenses, and switching to a private jet at the airport in Munich would require them to draw multiple fighters away from combat operations to provide adequate protection.

“Thank you,” I replied, and then spent the rest of the flight trying to avoid looking like a little kid staring out the window. Hopefully, I managed it. I’d certainly avoided pressing my nose against the small window and considered that to have been a major victory.

But being on a helicopter was an entirely different experience than flying on a plane. With the latter, you had two minutes of being able to see the stuff on the ground grow smaller and smaller, and then you could basically see nothing even if there wasn’t a cloud cover. But choppers flew much lower, and granted a much better view of the ground.

From above, Germany looked surprisingly undamaged by and large, but the scars were there. Tank columns driving on the Autobahn, huge burned patches of forests, fields, or even towns that had either been caused by monsters or someone attempting to get creative against said monsters, and just in general, things looked wrong. There should have been people out, driving cars or living their lives, not … this. Not cowering at home, likely clutching loved ones or makeshift weapons. It was understandable, anyone trying to blame them was a heartless asshole, but it did add a certain layer of eerieness to this world.

And how long was this situation sustainable? How long could society continue with people staying inside, how long would infrastructure continue to work, how long until the plants on the fields died to something?

These were questions above my pay grade, but not by anywhere near as much as it should have been. Even if my job as an ambassador wasn’t entirely and fully official, I did work directly for two of the most powerful people in the world, magically speaking, and I had their ears. I was involved, no matter my official job description.

But the helicopter flight came to an end soon enough as Berlin came into sight.

***

The chopper did a low overflight of the city before landing, leaving the Bundestag behind since this meeting would be happening in the foreign ministry, though even during that brief moment, I’d seen the massive military presence on the plaza in front of it. I was glad I didn’t have to get anywhere near that.

Though it was very telling that I’d be meeting the foreign minister. Not the chancellor, not the president, ceremonial as the latter office might have been, not the minister of defense, who’d be getting the most use out of the treaty, but the guy whose job was dealing with foreign affairs.

Was that a sign of respect, an acknowledgment of my status as an ambassador, or a clear line in the sand, drawn to empathize that they no longer saw the Untersberg as a part of Germany?

And then, I had another idea. Was he a sacrifice? Something to protect the majority of the government in case I was a malicious actor? I shivered. That was a scary thought, but hardly one I could prove one way or the other.

The helicopter touched down on the helipad, and the copilot opened the door to let me out. I staggered slightly for the first few steps before I found my footing again and headed towards a young man standing near a door that clearly led deeper into the building.

“Ambassador Vogt?” he asked with a tone of formality that made it clear that he already knew who I was, he just needed to check for protocol’s sake.

I nodded.

“If you’ll follow me, please,” he said and led me through the building on a surprisingly short and direct path. My experience with German government buildings was showing up half an hour early and still getting to your meeting late, after getting lost half a dozen times and having sworn an oath to murder the architect at least twice that often. Though maybe this was just an exception made to avoid pissing off foreign dignitaries.

Using [Innate Etiquette], I schooled my face into a calm, even expression even as every part of my mind tried to convince me to stare every which way and gape like an idiot. Thankfully, I managed to resist the urge.

So, after barely two minutes, the aide and I reached a slightly fancier pair of double doors that were guarded by two rather large gentlemen in suits. A sign on the wall proclaimed this to be the office of “Jonas Funke, Außenminister.”

The door was opened by one of the bodyguards, and I was let in … just like that. I’d expected to be searched, though when I thought about it for more than two seconds, I realized just how rude that would have been, considering that I was being acknowledged as a proper ambassador.

“Thank you,” I told the aide as I entered, then faced the man who’d stood up behind his desk. He was in his mid-fifties, reasonably fit for his age, white, and had graying brown hair. What you pictured when you thought “politician,” in other words.

But there were more things to see than what the eyes saw.

[Piercing Gaze] triggered as I looked at the man. His priorities were, in order, his career, himself, and his legacy. I could work with that. All of those were linked to his image in some way, and if he fucked this up, he’d lose that.

“Tristan Vogt, Ambassador for Karl der Große and Dietrich von Bern,” I introduced myself, already offering my hand.

“Jonas Funke, foreign minister for the Federal Republic of Germany,” he said, already mirroring my motion.

The handshake that followed was bizarrely simple. Grasp the other person’s hand, one pump up and down, release the other person’s hand, neither of us initiating the movement, both of us moving simultaneously. [Innate Etiquette] was what had allowed that to happen, I think.

“Take a seat, please,” Funke offered as he sat back down, and I immediately took him up on the offer.

“Thank you,” I said, pulling a piece of paper from my storage and placing it on the table between us, turned so that the text was right-side-up for him.

“My superiors want to help beat the monsters and ensure that humanity survives what’s coming. However, they would prefer to be working with the governments of the modern day, not around or even against them,” I said in a perfectly even tone. “There are some basic things that would facilitate that, and some others that would speed up our efforts at the Untersberg and allow us to support efforts elsewhere much more quickly.”

“First, in the name of the German people, I’d like to thank your superiors for their efforts,” Funke replied. “While some proprieties need to be observed, we definitely intend to help.”

Translation: we won’t be giving up any power. And as for the thanks, words were cheap. [Piercing Gaze’s] new upgrade told me he meant it, but not how grateful he was, and there was a very big difference between being grateful and being willing to make major concessions. Even so, it was a good starting point.

“Oh, let me make one thing clear: my superiors respect the German government’s power. I’m here to make sure our existence in the modern day causes as little disruption as possible.”

In other words, you’re still the boss. A big “concession” that wasn’t a concession at all, not really. If the government made it through this intact, then that was great because “yay stability,” and if it failed, Charlemagne could always step in to fill the void. Fighting the democratically elected government for control would not end well under any circumstances.

He still wanted to regain control of his empire, [Will of the Sovereign] let me sense that quite clearly, but I could also tell that he knew better than to pick that fight.

And as for Dietrich, well, he was plenty happy with how things were. His instructions, both those gained via the feelings the Skill passed to me and his talking to me directly, basically boiled down to “don’t start a war, and I want to keep going like things are, fighting monsters.” It was what he’d done for most of his life, surrounded by friends and allies, and he’d have zero problems continuing on that path.

Funke gave me a warm yet slightly patronizing smile. “That’s very good to hear.”

Did he think I was as naive as my age might indicate?

Good.

That meant he underestimated me.

“I’m glad,” I responded with a fully sincere smile. “Though we do need to settle a few matters before someone decides to twist them into something troublesome.”

“Oh?” Funke asked.

“Karl der Große would like to buy the German portion of the Untersberg. Seeing as it’s located in a national park, it’s under the direct ownership of the Bavarian federal government, which should make facilitating the purchase rather simple.”

We, meaning Charlemagne, had actually already been gifted the Austrian portion by Salzburg’s city government, who’d controlled the mountain, but it was quite a bit smaller than Germany’s part.

“It’s not quite that easy,” Funke told me.

Lie.

“Nothing ever is. However, this is rather important,” I replied, not revealing that I knew he was full of shit on this particular topic. His whole attempt to make it look harder than it was to earn some brownie points would fail to garner him any goodwill, and I couldn’t call him out on it to speed things along without revealing my abilities.

“We offer payment in gold, ancient manuscripts, historical artifacts, services, or resources.”

“Services?” Funke asked, likely assuming that I was threatening to charge him for military help.

“Not the kind you’re thinking,” I assured him. “The military services, if we are in a position to provide them, will be given on the basis of mutual aid. I’m referring to the other abilities the mountain possesses. For example, do you know Czech, Minister Funke?”

He shook his head.

“I could teach you, here and now, all it would take is a single second. Or I could teach you sign language. I’m currently learning Mongolian; I’ll be good enough to teach it too in about a week. After that, Spanish, Hindi, Mandarin, and so on. If you’re interested. And that’s just something I can do; I’m just one of many. If the price is reasonable, we can pay it in ways you can’t find anywhere else,” I offered.

After that, it was only a matter of nailing down the price, and I used [Knowledge Trade] to shove my knowledge of the Czech language Funke’s way before he realized the Skill was demanding payment in return, even if I wasn’t asking for it.

We’d basically pay in information on monsters, tips, and tricks other than the ones I’d already made public, as well as insight into the System. There was still information I’d keep a lid on, Ascendant Capstones and the fact that they basically nixed any and all attempts at government control through force chief amongst them, but overall, it was surprisingly cheap. Then again, maybe he hadn’t realized how easily information was gained and spread in the mountain?

Either way, we soon reached the second point.

“There is also one big thing that should be morally okay but could be turned into a legal ball and chain if someone wanted to make it an issue,” I replied.

“Oh?” Funke raised an eyebrow.

“Tell me, does the German legal code have any provisions that state that killing a zombie does not count as corpse desecration? An argument can be made that falls under self-defense, but considering it was never meant to apply to a situation like the current one, there are gaps in the law,” I asked.

“That would never happen,” Funke responded, and I didn’t even need my Skill to tell that was a bald-faced lie, simply put, I had proof, very recent proof, in fact, for something that stupid happening in the German legal system.

“Morally indefensible prosecutions being caused by legal technicalities sadly happen all the time. There was a case involving a schoolteacher that got resolved only two months ago ...”

“Fine,” Funke sighed. He clearly knew what I was referring to.

It had truly been the stupidest and most ridiculous prosecution I’d ever heard about, not to mention easily the most offensive one.

… that hadn’t occurred due to corruption. Corruption could result in something worse, but that wasn’t what I was talking about here.

Basically, a high school teacher had learned that a female underage student was being blackmailed by classmates who had a sex tape of her, so the teacher got her hands on the tape for the sole reason of preserving evidence, which she immediately handed over to the police … and was promptly arrested. Because there’d been a recent change to the law that stated that anyone in possession of child pornography needed to be prosecuted, and the minimum sentence was one year in jail.

Now, the teacher had gotten off, almost one year later, but the way that had happened illustrated the issue with the prosecution more clearly than everything else combined.

Simply put, everyone involved, including the judge and even the prosecution, had known how wrong the trial was and delayed, stalled, and generally made the proceedings move at a snail’s pace while the law at the root of the issue was being reworded to fix the problem. Which did end up happening two months ago, because that teacher wasn’t the only one who got arrested for providing evidence like that.

Things might have worked out semi-okay in the end, but the fact that the issue had occurred at all was utterly indefensible.

“We’ll also need a second official pardon for how we disposed of the bodies. They were buried with as much dignity as we could manage, and improper disposal of bodies isn’t necessarily that serious a crime, but several million cases add up.”

Funke paused, briefly, and I flashed a long glance into the corner, towards the stenographer. He flinched. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, but I still caught it. Checkmate … probably.

“We should probably make an addendum to the law to cover that, but for now, an executive order for the duration of the crisis is necessary to protect you, your people, our military, and anyone who was forced to act in self-defense against a monster of the Second Challenge. Thank you for pointing that out.”

Funke didn’t glance over to the stenographer, though it was very clear who that statement had been directed at. A propaganda statement, but one that had gotten the point across.

“And then we’ve got one final big issue. I’m sure you already know, but we got multiple reinforcements during the buildup to the Second Challenge, and in case there are some who were meant to be elsewhere, like active military or police …”

“You’re trying to cover desertion,” Funke pointed out.

“If that’s how you want to phrase it …” I replied slowly. “This is an issue of people stepping up and risking their lives in a spot where they could do an order of magnitude more good than in their assigned areas.”

“That doesn’t really matter,” Funke said. “Desertion has been a real problem since the System arrived, and we would have been much more able to defend ourselves without it.”

Partial lie. Germany was surrounded by strong military allies, which weren’t overly able to help since everyone was under attack simultaneously, and had let its own military atrophy. Deserting, be it to protect one’s own family or actual cowardice, wasn’t what had damaged the defenders’ efforts.

I sighed. “How bad would the fallout be for them?”

“Not overly punitive,” Funke replied. “Some concessions will be made, considering the circumstances, but this is a situation where we can’t simply set aside the rule of law.”

Truth, surprisingly.

“I’m guessing there’s nothing I can do to change that?” I asked, using [Innate Etiquette] to project an impression of being worried but hiding it somewhat badly.

Funke shook his head.

I sighed, pulled back the list I’d put on the table, and made it vanish into my pocket dimension.

“Could you draw up a treaty based on what we discussed?” I asked, pretending like I didn’t have something just like that already stored in [Diplomatic Pouch], along with almost a hundred other variations, to be brought out if needed. Though right now, I needed to give him a win.

Yes, I was screwing over anyone who’d abandoned a post to help us, but the thing was, no one had deserted. I’d made sure to check, and the people at the mountain knew I’d checked. So I was actually screwing over a ghost, a possibility, a road not traveled. A concession without consequence.

But that wasn’t something that Funke could have possibly known, not yet. The situation was way too chaotic, and there had to be hundreds of people who’d not shown up to their jobs for one reason or other. Checking for the overlap between the mountain’s population and those missing would require more information than they could have already gathered.

We spent a few more minutes discussing minor issues, like the environmental issues caused by major construction in a national park, our continued draw on the Technisches Hilfswerk, and the like.

“And in exchange, we’re offering to draw in all monsters that would show up in southern Germany, and once anything that attacks us is dead, anyone available will be sent out to support the Bundeswehr’s effort,” I finished.

“What kind of help?” Funke asked.

“Unless they’re literally on their deathbed, Dietrich von Bern and Ogier Danske at the very least,” I said. “Each of them can take out a Raid Boss on their own, and all you need to transport them is a helicopter for each of them.

“But we need certain kinds of support to make that realistic. A defense that we threw together in three days took most of the day to beat just the second wave; the third one will bog us down for much longer. Logistical help and military reinforcements.”

“We’re already stretched thin,” Funke replied, and I didn’t even my Skill to know that was true.

“I know,” I replied. “But we’re facing over a third of all of Germany’s monsters in the Untersberg, and we need barely a twentieth of that to adequately defend the fortress. Barely noticeable elsewhere, but it’ll take a huge burden of Germany’s defenders elsewhere.”

“Maybe …” he responded, letting the statement hang in the air, clearly dangling bait for me to offer more.

“Of course, we could always turtle up in the mountain and create a series of killing rooms to crush all our enemies slowly but surely. But that would take forever,” I replied evenly. “Maybe you could figure out how to funnel the rest of the monsters our way so that we can take them out? This really isn’t a matter of if we can win, it’s a matter of how long that will take.”

Obviously, that was probably not true, not forever. Eventually, there’d be a Challenge that was beyond us, but by that point, the Bundeswehr would likely no longer be in a position to help.

This wasn’t about whether or not we’d get reinforcements; it was about what we’d have to pay for them, even though we were the ones offering something much more valuable.

“There are limits to even the government’s means,” Funke tried to backpedal.

“Priorities have to be set, I understand,” I assured him in such an earnestly curious tone that was so obviously a shift from my previous expression that it should convey that I was merely acting. “But now I’d like to know, what are the government’s current priorities?”

Funke had expected to be dealing with a naive boy of not even twenty-five, and not gotten one over on me, not even once. And now, I was allowing him a glimpse at what I could actually do and let his mind fill in the blanks. Whatever he was imagining would inevitably be worse than the me he was actually facing.

Between my Skills and the knowledge gained from Charlemagne, I was better than I had been by several orders of magnitude, but Funke could still have soundly beaten me. However, I could tell he was rattled now.

And capitalizing on it was simple. Freak him out with an even, eerily perfect smile as I rattled off what we actually needed. Because he was freaked out, and trying to cut off reinforcements from the lynchpin of Germany’s defenses without a damn good reason or, at the very least, a solid fig leaf, was career suicide, and he was too distracted to come up with either.

So eventually, we’d nailed down our terms, and the treaty was signed.

“Will you be needing transport back?” Funke asked me.

“No, I’ll be teleporting back,” I replied as we shook hands once again, enjoying the look of surprise on his face.

The aide led me out, down onto street level. I crossed the road before turning around to look at his office window and gave a single wave before stepping into the portal as it manifested, not even bothering to watch the wonder of magic as it appeared.

I’d been tempted to run around Berlin a little to get some more good points to teleport to next time, however, I felt like making this point was more important.

***

Once back in the mountain, I returned to my room for an hour to calm down, rest, and watch some cartoons. But that last part was not just leisure, but me learning Mongolian. Cartoons were simple, provided plenty of context clues to what was being talked about, and [Burgeoning Omniglot] was rapidly letting me pick up on the meaning of the things that were said while constantly expanding my vocabulary with new words that it simply plucked from the ether.

After the hour had passed, I wouldn’t trust myself to order food at a Mongolian restaurant, let alone talk with anyone of import, but it was a solid start. I also didn’t have the time to do anything else since I had a meeting.

So I got up, cleaned and un-rumpled my clothing with a thought, and headed towards the throne room.

It was strange seeing the cavernous room so empty, just the three Ancients, Mia, Kittel, and Reinhart, sitting around a table. The bosses, one of their apprentices, the castellan who was partially in charge of logistics, and our military liaison.

The model of the mountain slash battle plan had been moved to the opposite side of the room, and the original meeting table replaced by an oval table made from solid polished rock, with Charlemagne sitting at one end, staring expectantly.

Fuck, was I late?

I glanced at the clock on the wall. No, I was just on time. A minute early, to be overly correct.

So I sat down in my chair, retrieved my copies of the various bits of paperwork from my storage, and reported what had happened. Five thousand soldiers would trickle in over the next five days, leaving us with seventy-two hours to integrate them into the chain of command.

We’d also be getting better technical support, military-grade communications, military rations and other forms of shelf-stable foods, and finally weapons. Weapons that should not have landed in civilian hands in a million years were getting handed out like candy, including several sets of lighter artillery pieces. No smart weaponry, sadly, but that was fine. Guided missiles and the like were in short supply, and we weren’t in a position to be using them to their fullest potential.

“Thank you, Mr. Vogt. I’ll be sending the payment in gold after this meeting. Good job,” Charlemagne said. “Now, this brings me to the main topic of this meeting. The upgrading of the Untersberg Fortress. As I’ve already told some of you, [Instant Improvement] is a Skill that allows me to instantly upgrade my holdings according to any plan I have, as long as I also have the required resources. However, this Skill has a cooldown of one year.”

In other words, we’d only be able to use it once.

“Do the materials in the ground count? Do they need to be processed, or can raw iron ore and coal stand in for steel?” I asked immediately.

“If the unprocessed resources are in the same location as the upgrade, they work,” Charlemagne told me, immediately setting Mia off. In a good way.

“So the plants around should count as a source of carbon, and there should be at least traces of iron the stone, which means that no matter what changes we make, you should be able to add rebar to the outer layers of stone,” she began.

“Rebar?” Dietrich asked.

“Steel reinforcements inside large concrete structures that prevents them from cracking,” Mia explained. “An interconnected network of steel rods on the surface is going to keep things holding together even if we’re struck by a giant. It’s not practical to set up normally when building a bunker, but we’ve got magic, don’t we?”

“What about technology?” I asked. “How complex a machine could you make? What about modern AA defenses, or a munitions plant?”

“If I can get the plans,” Charlemagne nodded.

That could have been useful to know this morning, though I doubted I’d have gotten away with asking for all that from Funke, so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. In fact … that was probably why he hadn’t told me. He didn’t want me to push my luck in an attempt to impress him and/or Dietrich. Smart, but it didn’t feel too good to be on the receiving end of.

“We might be able to negotiate for them from the manufacturers,” I suggested. “I …”

That’s when my fucking phone rang. It was the primary contact point between the mountain and the outside world, so it needed to stay on, but this … oh, I was in so much trouble if this wasn’t of vital importance.

“Yes?” I asked even as Reinhart’s phone likewise rang, though even through the noise of the older man’s death metal ringtone, I could hear Hofmann’s voice on the other end, feeling my heart sink with every word uttered.

A new monster had spawned, smack in the middle of Paris. Something classified as a Nation Boss. And so far, even artillery hadn’t been enough to scratch it.

… Scheiße.