John waved away some of the cigar smoke that wafted his way. A fruitless gesture, as the majority of the air in the room was already pregnant with the heavy smell. The ventilation in the ceiling ensured that there always was air to breathe, but it seemed adjusted in such a fashion that some smoke always stuck around. Presumably, they kept it as part of the whisky club’s aesthetic.

Noticing his gesture, Maximillian gave him an amused look. ‘That’s what you should have expected, buddy,’ it seemed to say.

‘I did,’ he responded by rolling his eyes.

“Stop being so bothered by some smoke,” Magnus grumbled into their non-verbal conversation, taking another huff of his cigar.

“Give me half an hour, I’ll get used to the air poisoning my lungs,” John retorted, while Hera came over and placed the whisky in front of them. Each glass was a work of art, faceted like a diamond and with the establishment’s logo, a cube of marble, engraved on the side. The Gamer took his ice-cold glass and carefully sniffed at it. It had that typical whisky aroma, with a hint of peppermint of all things. He nipped at it and his mouth filled with a refreshing mixture of alcohol, smoke, ebon wood and that particular taste good whisky had. The cooling dice of metal inside the drink clacked when he put it down. “Good choice,” he complimented the bartender.

“Thank you, Mister President,” Hera said, bowing her head.

“John will do fine, for the evening,” he told her.

“Max,” the self-exiled king suavely followed suit, “if it pleases you.” He nipped at the drink and made a delighted sound while swallowing. “This drink definitely pleases me. A fantastic recommendation.”

Hera was about to respond when the oldest of the three followed the trend in his typical, stern voice, “Magnus. The cigar menu.” He held out his palm and was handed the menu a moment later.

“Whenever you need something from me, please ring the bell,” she said, pointing at that golden handbell attached to the wall-facing end of their table. Then she bowed, gave Maximillian one last glance, and took her leave.

“Yo, Magnus, can’t you let a man flirt?” the gravity mage complained.

The addressed didn’t even think that worthy of a retort, just opened the menu and checked the assortment.

“What do you even need the cigar menu for?” John investigated. The Fateweaver had brought his own box of five cigars and there was no way he would churn through all of them this night. Even if he was eagerly huffing from the one he had lit up the second they sat down.

“You never know what rare brands places like this have.” Magnus turned another page. Placing the cigar on the ashtray, he reached out to the empty glasses and pitcher of water in the middle of the table. They had been brought along without even needing to be requested. This was an establishment to taste whisky, not one to get drunk, and many of the little things reflected this.

Maximillian sighed, likely because he had no girls to talk to anymore. “Alright then, let’s behave appropriately for the surroundings,” he decided. “How is the economy, John?”

“Pretty good. The first official trade vessel returned from its trip to Europe yesterday,” John responded. “Which will do wonders for our import-export balance.”

“It does make you less dependent on the empty storages of people coming here to sell,” Maximillian nodded. Whenever someone traded between two points, it was common sense to want to carry something on the way to and on the way back from the destination. Returning with an empty ship meant that half the trip was without profit and merchants were, in no age, known for leaving an opportunity for earnings unclaimed.

That did mean that wares did leave Fusion, despite them not having a merchant fleet to speak of. The problem was that the pace of export was entirely dictated by importers. Not a situation John considered sustainable for long. “Personally, I hope that additional shipyards will soon be constructed in Miami and Boston. The Hudson Barrier can’t produce the entirety of the Federation’s sea-faring vessels. Not when I need it as the main harbour for our military.”

“I think you overestimate the importance of ships in modern Abyssal warfare,” Maximillian pointed out. “You can get everywhere via plane. It’s all about striking enemy bases of operation with elite squads and Fateweaving sieges.”

“I don’t think you realized that we are now transitioning into a new paradigm of Abyssal warfare,” John responded while shaking his head.

Magnus closed the cigar menu and raised his whisky. “In the future, all airports inside big powers will be locked down via Trap Barriers. The Mobile Barrier will become the primary movement option for Abyssals.” He nipped on his glass and looked at the self-exiled king. “The fact that Fateweavers are now scattered between individual guilds means that such tools are more readily available.”

“Which leads to their increased use and former strategies becoming unavailable,” Maximillian realized, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t considered that. Previously, factions had mediocre Fateweavers in their own ranks, at best. If Magoi oversaw a Trap Barrier at the NYC airport, even elite invaders would be stuck.”

“Stuck deep in enemy territory,” John added, “with a position impossible to reinforce. Hell, if we are backing Magoi up with numerous Fateweaver enchantments and apprentices, we might even be able to separate the attacking force into its individual participants. Divide and conquer – or repel, in this case.” He swirled his glass in his hand before taking a hearty gulp of the cold alcohol. “Abyssal warfare is going to gradually move away from relying on mundane transportation and more on Mobile Barriers. They have no predictable schedule, are almost impossible to invade, nobody but skilled Fateweavers can sense them and you can fit a lot of people in them.”

“Why fly 5 elites into a trap when you can put 500 soldiers on an invisible boat?” Magnus posed a question.

“A boat that you can use as a base of operations to siege every location of import along the coast, with little to no possible recourse.” Maximillian nodded along.

“And that, if large enough, can be filled with enough magically enhanced plants to function as its own supply base,” John put the cherry on top. “With the nationalization of the Fateweavers, we are entering a new arms race. Those powers that have more Fateweavers, more Mobile Barriers and diversified vessels will have a massive advantage over the others.” Leaning back in his chair, he looked at Maximillian. “This is why Fusion is in a perfect position to become the world hegemon. If my Federation controls the east and west coast in addition to the Panama Canal, we can dominate the seas of the world. The Guild Hall produces all of the resources required to build the strongest navy the Abyss has ever seen.”

“Our program to find and train new Fateweavers is among the most ambitious on the globe,” Magnus added.

“And we are researching additional land and air vessels,” John finally boasted. “The main thing holding us back is time. The wars of consolidation take the majority of attention at the moment, but Fusion will eventually enter a years long period of peace. Then we can catch up on all of the big toys the Divided Gates have.”

“Are you certain you should tell me all of that?” Maximillian asked, bemused. “Vacation or not, I have been and will become again king of Austria.”

“I’m not giving you any top-secret intel or details, just what everyone can see if they spend three seconds looking into it.” John shrugged uncaringly and took another sip from his whisky. Then he decided to finally pour himself a glass of water as well. The strong alcohol made him shiver. “That aside, I don’t plan to challenge Romulus. I have no need to. He is and will likely remain the strongest individual on the planet, save for Gaia. Between Lover’s Will, my Guild Hall, and my understanding of modern administration, I can create a realm that will be stronger than his.”

“So, you’re saying your realm will out-scale his,” Maximillian summarized and shook his head. “A preposterous notion that you think you can overcome the Apex.”

“Watch me, friend.” John pridefully grinned. “The numbers don’t lie and the winds of history blow in my favour. Nothing remains uncontested forever, and if there is anyone who can do the impossible, it is me.”

“I am inclined to agree,” a fourth voice suddenly entered the conversation.

It belonged to a man of slightly below average stature. His build was eagerly middling, covered by a three-piece suit of a creamy brown colour, a black shirt underneath and a red tie between it all. Brown hair, strictly combed and gelled backwards, covered the top and sides of his head in a slick display. By his face, he seemed no older than thirty. He had a stern look to him and oozed an air of superiority. He grabbed a chair.

John raised one foot and prevented the unknown visitor from placing the chair at the table. The table became very quiet as two pairs of dark brown eyes stared. The Gamer disliked immensely how this man looked at him from above and something about him seemed familiar. Familiar and disgusting.

“May I sit down?” the man asked after five seconds.

John moved his foot. “For a couple of minutes. This is a private meeting.”

“That’s what I wanted at least,” Maximillian chimed in, his tone joking but slightly strained with annoyance. Pride was a sin both of the younger men on the table possessed. “John insisted we have to visit a public establishment.”

“A happy coincidence for me, then,” the man said. “I have been interested in meeting you, John.”

“That’s President Newman for you,” the Gamer insisted.

“I am not one of your subjects, so I will refuse there,” the interloper said and relaxedly leaned back in his chair. “Do not mistake that for a lack of respect though, John. I greatly admire you. Truly, you are an incarnation of the potential of your people.” Every compliment by this man made the Gamer feel like the inside of his ear was being brushed with something slimy. “You also seem so terribly naïve.”

“I did let you sit down at this table, so I agree,” John responded flippantly.

The interloper smiled sourly. “I was referring to your lack of centralized power. Your people need the guidance of a centralized authority, John. You refuse to firmly grasp the reins and direct their efforts to the common good. I’ve followed your exploits with close interest. You are smarter, more driven and more powerful than your subjects. You are a tiger in a world of sheep. Certainly, you should lead them.”

“Tigers don’t lead sheep, tigers eat sheep.” The Gamer grabbed his whisky glass. “To start with, I don’t agree that the people are sheep. If we go by that analogy, however, I’d be a shepherd’s dog.”

The man scoffed, furrowing his eyebrows, “A degrading position for someone of your power, is it not?”

“To watch and direct the herd in their prosperity? I could not disagree more.”

“You will not be able to enforce their prosperity if you simply watch.”

“You cannot enforce prosperity, period. Extensive welfare failed in Rome and every system that tries to dictate the perfect citizen inevitably crumbles.” John narrowed his eyes. “Whatever kind of authoritarian hogwash you want to sell me, you will not find me eager to buy. I know my principles and what would break them. Convenience is not among them.”

“Is it a desire of convenience to create an orderly society in which the best and brightest lead? Where everyone knows their role for the welfare of the state?”

“The best and brightest do not lead a society in which power is concentrated.” John shook his head. “You want those with the most merit to lead, yes, but you never know who the one with the most merit is or where they come from. Any centralized system to that end will inevitably be faulty. Make the politics too powerful and society itself will be sick.” John emptied his glass. “I think it would be best for you if you left now.”

The interloper pressed his lips together. Then he smiled and extended his hand. “Perhaps we can discuss this again another time, John.”

The Gamer looked at the hand. A number of advising voices inside his head all went silent while he reached out to take it. They were all ready to do more than just comment. John and the interloper just shook hands.

“If you insist on wasting your time,” the Gamer told him. The man rose and left without another word. John waved his hand around as if he had just touched something disgusting.

“Can’t believe you took his hand,” Maximillian said.

“Thought it would be the quickest way to get rid of him,” John admitted to his sole reason. “Any idea who that was?”

Both of the men on the table shook their heads. “Sounded like he was just visiting,” Magnus pointed out. “Didn’t Observe tell you anything?”

“It was completely blocked,” the Gamer told them, which had both raise an eyebrow. “Whoever that was, he is important…” he sighed. “I’ll look into that tomorrow.”