Ben and Jordan continued their inclined trek, the forest growing denser, the air cooler and heavier as they ascended the hill towards the distant orc citadel. The silence was broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional distant roar of an unseen monster. Jordan glanced at Ben, who walked with an unwavering, almost serene focus, his tailored suit oddly pristine amidst the wild landscape.
"Hey, man," Jordan began, breaking the quiet, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I ain't gonna lie, with what you can do, you'll be making the SSS-rank leagues soon. Hell, maybe even ascend as the 12th God globally. With your unconventional, overpowered class, you'll be making headlines, dude. Everyone's gonna be talking about the Tax Collector." He paused, considering. "What's your plan? Will you join the PBA? If I were them, I'd give you the entire fucking PBA. They're looking for ways to regulate Players all over the world, and when they find out about your skills, you can be sure they'll be freaked out. They'll want you."
Ben answered, his voice calm, cutting through the rustle of leaves. "Joining the PBA is no different than tying yourself to them. Besides, this new era is no different than the old one." He adjusted his glasses, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "Before the monsters and the System, powerful people found ways to avoid the watchful eye of bureaucracy and the government. In fact, it'd be more accurate to say they held the government by the necks. How is it any different with the PBA now?"
Jordan stammered, trying to formulate a counter-argument. "W-Well, public Players won't stand for the PBA being controlled by a group of people, right? They'd riot if it became too oppressive."
Ben scoffed softly, a sound devoid of humor. "You missed the point, Jordan. How is it beneficial for the Players all around the world that the PBA can now actually regulate Players with their power, using me? I mean, if I did the same to you, if I started auditing your every gain, you would find ways to escape or kill me, wouldn't you?"
Jordan's jaw tightened. He thought about the terrifying implications of Ben's words, the absolute, inescapable nature of his abilities. He thought about the Orcs, dragged screaming into a pocket dimension. "W-Well," he stammered again, a nervous laugh escaping him, "that's actually true, yeah. So what are your plans then? If not the PBA, then what?" Jordan looked at him, genuinely curious, a flicker of something deeper beginning to form in his eyes.
Ben stopped, turning fully to face Jordan. The dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy, highlighting the sharp lines of his face, the unwavering intensity in his eyes. He wasn't just talking; he was laying out a creed. "My plan is to make myself stronger. Since I'll be facing not only monsters but Players—powerful ones, arrogant ones—I need to at least be able to fight. Before any form of society or civilization was truly formed, there existed a strong hand, a decisive will, that guided the masses to follow the rules, to enforce order. It's my priority to become stronger than the entire world combined, to even begin to enforce some kind of true order."
He paused, his gaze lifting towards the distant, mist-shrouded peaks. His voice dropped, becoming almost a whisper, yet carrying an immense weight. "My priority would be to become stronger than the gods themselves. To become the God of Order."
Jordan heard that. He felt a light, an almost ethereal glow, coming off of Ben, not a physical light, but an aura of absolute conviction. A true leader. There had never been a leader that could truly enforce humanity again, not since the old world crumbled. Someone with a lot of charisma who could not convince people with their words alone, but by their actions and their unyielding will. Though what Ben said was an outright, audacious wishful thinking—to become a God of gods—Jordan knew that if anyone witnessed his power, truly understood the scope of what he could do, they would know exactly what he meant.
What Jordan felt was a profound admiration for Ben, a man who saw the rot in the world and possessed the terrifying, beautiful power to cleanse it. Someone he could follow. Someone who could actually bring real change. Jordan, in that moment, knew he would follow this man, for life.
As they walked, the forest grew increasingly hostile. The ambient mana hummed with a raw, untamed energy, and the sounds of the wilderness shifted from distant chirps to closer, guttural snarls. The trees grew thicker, their branches gnarled and twisted, casting deeper, more menacing shadows. The ground became uneven, strewn with sharp rocks and tangled roots, forcing Jordan to constantly adjust his footing. Ben, however, moved with an almost unnerving ease, his polished shoes seemingly gliding over the treacherous terrain.
They encountered a few more orc patrols, their numbers larger, their levels higher, their roars echoing with a growing savagery. Each skirmish was a brutal dance, a test of their nascent partnership.
In one encounter, a pack of seven orcs, led by a burly Level 20 brute, ambushed them from a thicket. Jordan moved first, a blur of purple and steel, his dual sabers carving arcs of light through the dim forest. He weaved between the charging orcs, his Butterfly Swordsman class allowing him impossible agility. He would strike, a shallow cut across a thigh or a shoulder, then pivot, leaving a shimmering purple afterimage as he darted to the next target. The metallic tang of fresh blood began to prick the air.
Meanwhile, Ben was a silent, terrifying force. His briefcase vanished, replaced by the glint of the Shortsword of Compliance and the golden Scales of Guilt. As Jordan drew aggro, Ben moved into the chaos, a dark suit amidst green hides. He didn't engage in flashy combat; his movements were precise, economical, each tap of his sword a surgical strike against the System itself.
[ ✦ Mark of Debt applied ][ ✦ Stat Recalibration Seal: -25% to all stats ]
An orc, mid-swing, suddenly staggered, its powerful arm losing all momentum as its strength plummeted. Its roar became a frustrated grunt. Ben moved on, a ghost in the melee. Another orc, attempting to cast a crude fire spell, found its throat constricting, its mana flow choked.
[ ✦ Seal of Silence: Seals 2 random skills ]
Jordan, slicing through a hobbled orc, saw Ben tap another's weapon arm. The orc's axe dissolved into shimmering motes of light, leaving it bewildered and defenseless.
[ ✦ Disarmed – Seal of Arms Activated ]
The air thickened with the acrid smell of burnt mana. Jordan, now facing only sluggish, disarmed, or silenced opponents, moved with renewed ferocity, his blades finishing what Ben's debuffs started. He reveled in the efficiency, the sheer unfairness of it all. It was like fighting drunkards.
Each time an orc fell, Ben felt a faint tremor of satisfaction, a cold, clinical sense of justice. The System automatically collected its due, adding to his own EXP and stat pool. They left behind a trail of bewildered, de-leveled orcs, some whimpering, others staring blankly at their empty hands, their power stripped. Beside each fallen monster, a shimmering magic stone, a tangible reward for Jordan's efforts, added to their growing pile. Their teamwork was brutal, efficient, and deeply unsettling to anyone who might witness it.