Mage Tank

Chapter 185: Accidental Nation Building

I was not averse to learning. I often took it upon myself to investigate and explore a variety of subjects, Delver-related or otherwise. I was the type to fixate on a topic that struck my fancy and go full gonzo with little regard for my health and wellness, spending twelve hours crawling through mainline sources until I was deep into obscure texts filled with potentially problematic hot takes. It was practically routine.

However, that was when I gave a shit about what I was learning. Otherwise, it was a struggle. Fortunately (or unfortunately), my Earth life had been filled with studying things I felt no love for, primarily out of the obligation to earn money for basic necessities and a certain level of personal freedom. I wasn’t happy to do it, but a strong sense of ‘you gotta do what you gotta do’ had been beaten into me at a young age. I was more than capable.

Suffice it to say, I wasn’t terribly keen on learning the subtleties of high-class Hiwardian do’s and don’ts. The general concepts of diplomacy didn’t bore me, and understanding the cultural origins of such behavior was fine, but the study of such topics rarely focused on the why and was more concerned with the how.

This additional information also wasn’t conducive to cram sessions. Riona was forced to ride the line between appreciating my enthusiasm for the context of our lessons and becoming frustrated at my endless curiosity.

“If we had a decade to prepare you, these would be wonderful questions,” said Riona. “We have a day.”

“Learning the reasoning for a particular behavior makes me much more likely to remember it,” I countered. “A long list of random numbers is much more difficult to memorize than the formula used to derive those numbers.”

“Unless that formula requires years of study to comprehend,” she said. “Then, you should just memorize the numbers.”

“That assumes I have no background in math.”

“Do you have a background in the logic of Hiwardian etiquette?”

“Only a small one,” I admitted. I had studied it briefly after emerging from the Creation Delve. “But it’s entirely possible I have exposure to a much broader intersection of cultures than anyone present.”

“I don’t see how,” said Riona. Her tone was level, and I had to admit she was being exceptionally patient.

“I’m a traveler from a distant land,” I said. “It was a nation composed of people from practically every other nation in existence.”

“You’re from Ayama?” she asked. “I thought you were a Xor’Drel.”

“This is a tangent,” said Varrin. He placed a hand on Riona's shoulder. “Just assume he has a cosmopolitan background.”

Riona looked skeptical but sat back and crossed her arms.

“Fine,” she said. “When Hiward first earned its independence from Litta, there was a period of disruption to the supply chains. Imports became difficult from eastern nations until relations between Litta and Hiward cooled. Because of this, various spices Hiwardians had become accustomed to became unavailable. Salt was the most prevalent since many foods Hiwardian slaves consumed were preserved in salt or brine.

“Timagrin fell outside of Litta’s influence due to its geographic separation on the western side of the continent. Thus, Timagrin became Hiward’s primary trading partner. However, the Timans used different preservation techniques and produced significantly less salt than Litta. They had no excess to trade.

“Timans preserve many foods with a pickling method that uses sunseed oil, which they have in abundance. Sunseeds are harvested from sun peppers, and the oil is quite spicy. Hiwardian slaves had little exposure to spicy foods, so this was initially unpopular. However, given the limited options, Hiwardian trading houses began purchasing the oil in bulk.

“To encourage Hiwardians to buy the oil, the trading houses employed merchants whose entire purpose was to travel the country and extoll the oil’s virtues. Claims were made about the health benefits of spicy foods, the minor amount of mana the oil absorbed when left in the sun, its alternative uses in medicine, as a lubricant–”

“The best sword oil is derived from sunseeds,” Varrin added.

Riona looked at Varrin in annoyance. Her patience with her brother was significantly lower than her patience with her students.

“Some claims were spurious, others legitimate,” she said. “The merchants were heavily incentivized to travel for long periods, which left them little time to place down roots. For this reason, the merchants were frequently single. It then became a common saying that a person who’d not been betrothed by the time they were eighteen was a ‘sunseed man’ or a ‘sunseed woman’.

“It became a tradition to give gifts of sunseed oil and other products made with sunseed oil to people who’d passed eighteen and who were not betrothed. The merchants encouraged this practice since it helped business, and even offered small amounts of free sunseed products to unmarried individuals twenty-four or older.

“As we discussed earlier, noble families are constantly in search of new connections and alliances, often through the mechanism of marriage. They modified the sunseed custom by creating several sunseed dishes that are now served at all formal social gatherings, and that are only consumed by unwed men and women who are eighteen or older.

“Over time, the practice transitioned from an obligation for the unwed to eat these dishes, to more of a voluntary practice. Someone eating a sunseed dish is thus signaling to the room that they are both single and also looking to wed.”

Riona took a deep breath. “And that is why you should only eat the sun pepper cake if you’re trying to get married.” She tucked an errant strand of white hair behind her ear and raised her eyebrows. “Satisfied?”

“Yes,” I said, slowly. “I appreciate how thorough of an explanation that was, but I agree that level of detail is probably too much for the time we have.”

“Fine,” she said. “Then how much do you need?”

“Hmm. Something like ‘traveling merchants sold sunseed oil and were frequently single. Eating sunseed dishes at formal events became synonymous with being unwed as a result, so only eat the sun pepper cake if you’re trying to get hitched.’”

“Then I will endeavor to provide you with the relevant historical context, condensed to a point where it becomes unrecognizable.”

Varrin frowned at Riona, then looked up at me. “The history of our nation is important for Hiwardians,” he said. “Trying to explain things in such concise terms is a minor taboo unless both parties are known to be familiar with the topic.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. I tactfully decided not to point out that my insistence on context had yielded an additional bit of etiquette that I otherwise may not have learned. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, Riona.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. We’ve been at this for hours. We should take a break.”

*****

We made it through Riona’s foot-high pile of folders in about twelve hours, which equated to approximately three years of lessons. I didn’t have a perfect memory like Etja, but my experience in academia and insistence on scholastic excellence provided me with a solid foundation for approaching new subjects.

Having a 40 in both Wisdom and Intelligence–giving me a superhuman capacity for absorbing new information–probably helped as well.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

At one point, Etja and Nuralie made an appearance, returning from their time in Eschengal. I was momentarily confused about how they made it into the Closet until it was explained that Grotto had opened the Checkpoint for them. I’d already forgotten the Delve Core had figured out how to do that, owing to our ever-improving soul connection.

I was in the midst of answering an intense series of hypotheticals thrown at me by Riona, so the exchange was brief. The pair pulled Xim aside to have a lengthier chat before retiring to more comfortable surroundings.

Once Riona was satisfied, we moved on to Sineh’s lectures on the current geopolitical landscape of Arzia. This was a bit more interesting, and SIneh was a fairly charismatic presenter. The next four hours melted away.

When the cram session was finally over, I’d earned 1 level in Diplomacy, and I was eager to see how my party members had spent their time in Eschendur’s capital.

Varrin, Riona, and Sineh went to oversee additional preparations, and I left the drawing room to make my way to the lounge. Several servants paused their work to give me a brief bow and greeting, and I did my best to get each person’s name as they went by.

The expanded penthouse was rapidly filling with antique furniture, fine rugs, and art in all shapes and sizes, generously loaned to me by the Ravvenblaqs. The place was really coming together, and by this point, it had transitioned from a pocket penthouse to a pocket mansion.

I looked things over with a careful eye but tried not to linger. There was plenty more I could do before we received our guests, but a bit of relaxation with friends and a few hours of sleep were in order. I opened the door to the lounge in high spirits, ready to unwind and allow the double shift of diplomacy lessons to wash away.

I was surprised to find the Zenithar of Geul having a cocktail, sitting on a couch next to Etja. Nuralie was at the bar, mixing a drink that bubbled and spat vapor.

“Zenithar Zura,” I said. “I’m honored to have you visit, although I’d not been informed of your arrival. Otherwise, I would have come to greet you sooner.”

The olive-green Geulon gave me a wry grin.

“No worries at all, Master Xor’Drel,” Zura said. “I would have waited to arrive more formally, but I am told your Checkpoint portals require a 24-hour cooldown. Either I came tonight or waited until tomorrow evening. My apologies for intruding earlier than expected.” She nodded after saying this, then looked at me with a raised eyeridge.

The Zenithar’s tone was lightly humorous, and I surveyed the trio, noting that Etja sat stiffly upright, looking composed and alert. Nuralie also stood with her back ramrod straight, delicately stirring her drink. They both wore exaggerated expressions of sophistication and poise.

“Well, this is the lounge,” I said. “And I am declaring this the official cozy zone from 10 pm to 4 am.” I walked to an armchair and collapsed into it. “So, get fuckin’ cozy, I guess.”

Zura chuckled and Etja flopped back, nearly spilling her drink. Nuralie’s shoulders relaxed and she cracked a smile.

“Thanks the heavens,” said Zura. “I’ve had enough politicking for today.”

“My brain hurts,” said Etja. “At least, the part responsible for being polite does.”

“Lots of action in Eschangal?” I asked.

“It’s a feeding frenzy,” said Zura. “Half of the clergy have submitted requests to undertake the Creation Delve.”

“Really?” I said. Nuralie walked over and handed me the bubbly drink, then went back to the bar to start mixing another. “I didn’t think they had much enthusiasm for Delving.”

I sniffed the cocktail, which had a tropical scent. I sipped it, finding it exceptionally refreshing and delicious. I presumed Alchemy helped with mixology.

“When the slots were limited, the clergy would bow out of most selections,” said Zura. “It was a way to raise up talented individuals, especially those with no official position within the Church.”

“But now you have your own Creation Delve,” I said. “And everyone wants a piece.”

“Precisely, Master Xor’Drel. Precisely.”

I leaned into my chair’s armrest and rested my cheek against my palm.

“I really don’t like that ‘Master’ is the title I’ve been given. What am I the master of?”

“Shog,” said Nuralie.

“Not really,” I said. “He’s off doing whatever he wants.”

“You gave him permission.”

“You’re Grotto’s master, too!” said Etja.

“Definitely don’t let him hear you say that.” Although, he was the one to give me the title.

Zura cleared her throat and sat her drink on a rosewood coffee table. “Tell me, Arlo, how much space do you have in here?” she asked, waving a hand at the environment. “The footprint of this estate alone is quite impressive for a dimensional pocket.”

I considered the question, deciding how much I wanted to share with Zura. If the Closet were flattened out to have a maximum height of 100 feet, the total ‘land’ mass would be several hundred square miles. Not exactly huge, but that area was growing every day. I wasn’t eager to advertise that to anyone who might have an incentive to use such a space. I trusted the Zenithar, as much as I could trust any head of state. That equated to a friendly acquaintance at best.

Zura sensed my hesitation.

“It is understandable if you do not wish to tell me,” she said. “Such things are often held in secret.” She tapped a claw against her chin in thought. “Allow me to entertain a hypothetical. Let us say this space extends well beyond the grounds of your estate. The size of a small island, perhaps. To what nation does that land belong?”

I ran that through my head, using the legal precedent I was familiar with in Arzia. Even the nations with robust protections for private property still claimed all lands within their borders. A citizen could own land in Litta, for example, but they were subject to the empire’s laws and authority. In Hiward, all lands belonged to the crown. Anyone who resided on the land was renting, at best.

“The only nation I’m a citizen of is the Xor’Drel tribe,” I said. “No other nation would have a claim. The Xor’Drels use ritual to establish their domain, which they haven’t done here. As far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t belong to any nation.”

“Let’s say the Xor’Drels have no desire to intrude on your private space,” Zura continued. “If the lands are unclaimed, then what rule of law is there?

“Huh. You know, that is a great question,” I said. “If people are coming in from all over, what happens if a crime is committed? I hadn’t really considered that. Maybe the law of international waters?”

“Those are poorly developed,” said Zura. “The most heavily traversed waters are all claimed. Even where international rules apply, interactions are typically governed by treaties between the relevant nations.”

“That’s workable. If a Hiwardian commits a crime against a Hiwardian, Hiwardian law applies. If it’s a Hiwardian against an Eschen, then it’s dealt with however the Hiwardian-Eschen treaties say it’s dealt with.”

“Very well,” said Zura. “But if you treat this space in such a”–pause–“neutral way, who would oppose another nation coming in and laying claim?”

“I would, obviously.”

“Under what authority?”

“Mine. It’s my Closet.”

“But you are an individual,” said Zura. “With no legal framework governing the lands you are claiming. A man alone is not a code of laws, and he is not something that other nations interface with.”

“Are you suggesting I establish the Kingdom of Arlo in here?” I asked.

“Do you wish to be a king?”

“Not really, no.”

“Oh!” said Etja. “The Democratic Republic of Arlo!”

“Who’s voting?” I asked. “Grotto? Shog?”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” said Nuralie.

“Emperor Arlo!” said Etja.

“That would require multiple kingdoms under my control,” I said.

“So?” asked Etja. “King Grotto and King Shog!”

“The System did say Shog is almost a Brood King,” Nuralie added.

“That would imply my empire is primarily composed of c’thons.”

Nuralie shrugged, apparently having no problem with the concept. The idea was more attractive to me than I thought it should be.

“The only workable systems have me as an autocrat of some kind,” I mused. “Without citizens to vote or other entities to share power with, I hold all authority.”

“Supreme Leader Arlo!” said Etja.

“Hard pass.”

“Until you choose another title,” said Zura, “‘Master’ is the most appropriate. You are the master of your summon and familiar, and the master of these lands.”

“Yeah?” I said. “Is Eschendur ready to negotiate some treaties with the Mastery of Arlo?”

“I would like to veto that name,” said Nuralie.

“You have no power here,” I said. “But I’ll take it under advisement.”

“What would the treaty cover?” asked Zura. “We are always looking for allies if the terms are satisfactory.”

I paused to study the Zenithar. Despite our casual interactions, she was one of the three theocratic rulers of Eschendur.

“You’re being serious?” I asked.

“You have done a lot for Eschendur,” she said. “Your party helped break the Littan blockade, returned Inquisitor Nuralie to her homeland, risked yourselves to bring many other Eschens to safety, and–intentionally or not–effectively brought an end to the armed conflict between Eschendur and Litta. I would not be opposed to formally recognizing your dimensional space as a sovereign land and lending legitimacy to the claim.”

I tried and failed to hide my surprise. I’d thought we were having a friendly intellectual spar, not an honest evaluation of the merits of establishing my own country. Even Nuralie looked taken aback. Apparently, she’d also thought it was a jape of some sort. Only Etja seemed unsurprised.

“Can I become a citizen?” she asked. “Mirtasia doesn’t, uh, really exist anymore.”