The Gamer Chapter 1305 – Fusion Festival 12 – The Small Council of the Divided Gates (Patreon)

Room 84 was one of the definitely larger saloons on the Palace’s lower floor. It had that elongated boardroom shape, with a stretched table at the centre. The colour scheme, the typical combination of dark wood and red leather and cloth, was off to that end. Whether a boardroom typically included a bar was up for debate.

Up to forty people could have comfortably sat around the table. At the moment, there were only five. Romulus, with Sol and Luna standing by his side, sat at the head of the table. He had reduced his size somewhat to fit the chair, yet remained a large figure of heroic build.

Then there was Socrates. The Greek boulder of a man was sitting two chairs down from the Apex, reading a scroll he had produced from his pocket dimension. He gave John a glance but, in respect to the air in the room, did not raise his voice.

Last was Osman. The prince of the Great Sultanate had both arms crossed, staring broodingly ahead. He seemed even more annoyed with having been ordered to appear by Romulus than John, somehow.

“You answered my call, within the demanded time,” Romulus remarked.

“I did.” The Gamer’s response was short on his words. Stopping at the opposite end of the table, he put his knuckles on the surface and just stared. Silently, he waited for any sort of apology. He could still call this off, separate the Horned Rat from Lydia before they even met.

The very fact that he had that option meant that Richard had deemed it so unlikely it wasn’t worth considering. It appeared he was right, as Romulus returned John’s gaze with the tranquil dismissiveness of the eternal ruler. There would be no apology here.

Sitting down, John broke eye contact and instead looked around the table. Osman’s fingers were drumming on the armrest of his chair. Sol was glaring at him. Luna whispered something into Romulus’ ear and he responded quietly. A magical effect on their voices prevented John from understanding what they were saying.

Beyond those whispers, no one said anything. “Say, Osman,” John raised his voice, “what do-“

“Prince – Osman,” the young heir of the sultanate insisted. He was 27 and level 354. Yet another member of the Generation of Monsters, it appeared, albeit an older one. “We are of no friendly standing.”

John had to swallow his inner contrarian. The rationale was at least one he could agree with. “Prince Osman, what do you think about my Palace? I understand that the Great Sultanate has some of the oldest architecture of the Abyss in its territory.”

The prince leaned back and gave the environment a once over. “The exterior could use some work. I understand being a podium for the statue, but it is too plain for a seat of power. The interior, however, is pleasing. Low on symbolic decorations and annoyingly neutral in its adherence to a creed, if I had to point out anything.”

“Noted,” John said. “Although I must correct: this is not a seat of power. It’s merely where I live.”

A mocking exhale communicated all the prince thought about that. Before the conversation could continue, the door opened behind John. In walked Kulvin. The blue-marked demigod was, against all odds, the second weakest person in the room. Only Socrates, at level 217, was below him. John was fourth, below Romulus and his two goddesses.

“Everyone has arrived,” the Apex stated.

“No,” John disagreed. “Not everyone. Nathalia and Nightingale are still to come here.”

“What gives you the right to invite them here?” Sol hissed. “Romulus was the one to put this meeting together, for your benefit, thankless brat!”

“Be at ease, Sol,” Romulus told his gold-haired goddess. Even as he spoke those words, his gaze sought out an answer to the same question.

“Since you have decided that Patron Goddesses are attending this meeting, Fusion’s should be present.” The Gamer gave Romulus a cocky smile, while Kulvin and Socrates made individual note of this now solid confirmation of Nightingale’s status. “Would you not agree that I should be treated as an equal, when this gathering is to my benefit, emperor?”

Sol was about to raise her voice again, Luna stared daggers at John, and Romulus raised his hand. “Wait outside,” he told his goddesses. “We will oblige you in this matter, President Newman.”

Of the various ways Romulus could have reacted, John had deemed that as the second most likely. Not exactly what he wanted. Still, close enough to work with. Elsewhere in the Palace, the Creator Puppet and the two goddesses stopped approaching.

The door closed behind the two celestial goddesses, leaving the four men alone in the room. “Can I offer anyone a smoke?” John asked, a friendly way to stall a little bit more. “The ventilation here is strong enough to prevent any inconveniences.”

“What is on offer?” Osman asked.

John opened a cabinet, where fine cigars were kept in a glass display like expensive whiskey. Obviously, there was a whiskey cabinet too. Reading off a bunch of the labels, the Gamer waited for Osman to make a pick. He deliberately went from cheapest to priciest. The prince seemed like the kind of person that would go for the most expensive option by default.

A reading that proved completely correct. The moment John read out the name of the most expensive cigar, the prince declared. “Hand me that one.”

“I would partake in a Royzel, if I may,” Socrates requested. That was a middle of the road cigar (as far as this selection went, none of them were cheap).

John carefully (or slowly) brought over the cigars complete with the cutting kits, flames, ash trays, and all of the involved process. Halfway through, his eyes dashed to an update by Lydia. She was now in the building. It just took a little more.

“Anything you would desire, Romulus?” The Apex folded his hands in front of his chest. There he sat, a figure from ancient mythology, in the flesh and even more important than his legend would have let on. There John stood, just smiling away diplomatically, too far along this crazy ride to care about these things anymore.

By now, he himself was a legend in at least two worlds and a person of immense importance in this one. There was little use to be had from fame alone. What John cared about were principles and power. Everything else was just window dressing.

The long contemplation on Romulus’ side was almost certainly connected to him communicating with Sol and Luna. Having them leave the room had been a mere formality. They were his contracted elementals, he could talk to them at any time. “I wish to start this council,” Romulus declared. “Take your seat.”

The Gamer calculated numbers in his head, how fast an annoyed Lydia would walk, what kind of barrier Sol and Luna would present to her, and then nodded. “I just want to try and be a good host,” John said and began the track down the side of the table. Step for step, he leisurely strolled to his chair, walked behind Socrates’ back as he puffed his cigar and glanced over to Osman on the other side of the table.

The moment he sat down, Romulus’ expression darkened. John maintained his smile. No sound came from the outside, the insulation prevented it. Then, suddenly, the door flew open and Lydia stepped in.

Dressed in her usual militaristic attire, the queen of Rex Germaniae took large strides down the right side of the table. As she walked, she let her coat glide off her shoulders, tossing it over the back of the armchair eight seats down from Socrates. She sat between Romulus and John, effectively.

Her appearance was overshadowed by the one who came in next. The Horned Rat giggled, a simultaneously shrill and deep sound of two overlapping voices, as he came in. “What a lovely little party,” he greeted.

“One you were not invited to partake in, Muris,” Romulus said.

“Oh, but I was,” the Horned Rat disagreed. John could feel the claw coming down on his backrest.

John put both elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. “The Illuminati are Fusion’s oldest ally,” the Gamer stated. “It would be incomprehensibly rude of me not to invite any of their representatives to the anniversary.”

The thing was that he wasn’t even lying there. He had sent an invite to the Illuminati and some people had responded. They just hadn’t asked for an official meeting (likely because the Horned Rat had always planned on just appearing when it pleased him).

“It would be rude indeed to not include one’s close allies into any discussions of this scale,” Lydia added, the venom in her voice apparent. “An international scandal, one might say, not to invite a fellow representative of the Divided Gates into a meeting.”

Osman and Socrates were puffing their cigars while all of this unfolded. Kulvin sat quietly. The queen’s words went unanswered, as the Horned Rat sat down directly to John’s right. “By all means, means,” he squeaked and growled. “Begin this meeting, Romulus. Enlighten us what requires this secrecy.”

“I think, in this privacy, we can drop the pretences.” John found himself supporting the Horned Rat. Felt a bit dirty and he knew he was being played – it just so happened that this was what he wanted himself. As the god of future calamity had stated before: the best way to assure he and John kept working together was to keep their interests aligned. That way, personal opinions of each other were secondary.

In the room were now the leaders of Rex Germaiae, the Sons of Rome, the Illuminati and Fusion, as well as the first heir of the Great Sultanate, a demigod from the Odin’s Sons and a member of the Wise Council of Prometheus. Six of the nine current Divided Gates, represented by people either embodying or closely involved with the highest authorities of their guild, and one powerful upstart.

Romulus was visibly displeased by this development. Ultimately, he leaned back and started speaking in a measured tone. “The Divided Gates are a formal group, first and foremost,” he raised his voice. “An acceptance between different guilds that there are others approaching them in their might. Powers that are equal or close enough to equal that messing with them would come at costs too high to be sustained, without a good reason. We are divided because the very existence of this category is born from differences. We are gates because the guilds carrying this title are who shape the current path of the world. Traditionally, there have been ten seats among the Divided Gates. This was not by anyone’s design, not even Gawain’s.”

‘The Divided Gates trace their origin back to the Knights of the Roundtable?’ John wondered. It was remarkably difficult to find a proper history on where this trend had started in the Abyss. History was always scarce on this side of the divide, especially when it came to an ‘organization’ that was purely informal. ‘Or is this just some other guy called Gawain?’

“By the bedrock of the Divided Gates, there is no need to invite a tenth member nor is there any council that can be called in. Yet we do meet and we do decide on who joins us, because when we do not welcome new blood into our ranks, the people will decide for us who stands among us. Powers that do not talk are bound to clash.” Romulus took a pause. “Present here is a majority of the Divided Gates. We are missing only the Purest Front, the Mandate of Heaven, and the Dangun Clan. I will soon call upon a meeting of the heads of all the Divided Gates in Rome. I called upon this meeting for two reasons. A date should be agreed upon and clarity found on the primary topic before we make our statements to the public.”

All eyes turned to John and the Gamer kept his expression stoic. He had known where this was likely to go from the moment Romulus had called this meeting. A surprise visit was within the Apex’ character, but to secretly have the present heads convey could only have a grand reason.

“Will Fusion accept the invitation to the Divided Gates?”

The answer to that was more complicated than one might think. Acknowledgement was a powerful tool in the realm of politics. Countries were only truly independent when the majority of the globe recognized them as such. A great power was only a great power when its word was worth as much as its military.

John had a Quest to have Fusion recognized as a member of the Divided Gates. It had been active for over a year now. To resolve it was an obvious boon. Joining the current acknowledged frame of the world also meant that he was accepting some of the burdens that came with it. It meant that he was expected to resolve differences with other Divided Gates diplomatically. Implied in the acknowledgement that someone was in the realm of the truly powerful was always the demand from the others not to rock the boat too much. European great powers had a tendency to meddle or join in the wars of one another.

‘I’ll be subject to that anyway,’ the Gamer thought. When one was truly powerful, very little stood in the way of doing what was strategically expedient. “Fusion would be honoured to join the ranks of the great powers,” he responded, having gone through his pondering. “A meeting would be a fantastic opportunity to communicate with the Dangun Clan and the Mandate of Heaven as well. Fusion has territorial interests in some tributaries of the Mandate of Heaven. That can likely be solved with some talks.”

“Would the present powers object to an admission of Fusion into our ranks?” Romulus asked.

“Rex Germainae supports the motion.”

“Of course you do,” Osman chuckled. “Guided by your emotions, how could you not be?”

“Spare me the snide comments, Prince Osman, I can calculate my country’s interests beyond my emotions. Fusion is an ally of my people, economically and culturally. A lack of nobility does not counteract the greater alignments in values.”

“Is the Great Sultanate in a position to make enemies?” Socrates spoke with a previously unheard lack of passion in his voice. “It struck me that your decline remains steady. What allies do you have that are of note?”

“Retain these grudges for the meeting,” Romulus interjected, before Osman could give his response. “Does the Great Sultanate agree to Fusion’s admission?”

“I do not speak for my father, the sultan,” Osman responded. “Personally, I believe that he will not sway either way. The Great Sultanate has no love for Fusion and no intent to oppose it.”

‘No intent or no ability?’ John wondered, keeping his expression calm, even when he felt like putting on a mocking smile.

“What does Prometheus think?” Romulus continued.

“Prometheus agrees with the admission of Fusion into the Divided Gates. We take them as valued allies of our fellow knowledge seekers in the Illuminati,” Socrates responded, giving a slow nod to the Horned Rat.

“The Illuminati obviously agree as well,” the god stated.

“As the bringer of the petition, the Sons of Rome will lend their support too,” Romulus stated, then looked to Kulvin. “What do the Sons of Odin think?”

“…I cannot say,” the demigod responded truthfully and leaned back. “Odin and the pantheon are displeased with Nightingale and that may cloud their vision. They may see opposition to this as a punitive action. Perhaps our worldly leaders can convince them otherwise. I would bet on neutrality, as our official stance.”

“That makes four votes in favour, two neutral, three unknowns,” Romulus summarised. “Wherever the chips may fall when it comes to the remaining three, this will allow Fusion to join.”

“But what if Odin insists on an opposition and the other three fall in line?” John asked.

The Horned Rat cackled. “Then you will have to prove Fusion’s power, or at least yours, the old-fashioned way.”

That was the expected answer.