The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 138: Do you know any wizards?

Blake and Ilya returned to the orc ‘pub’ that night. Then one by one orc warriors were brought in as if to drink or eat in the tavern, and one by one Blake sat them down in a back corner, and asked them his questions.

"What are your parents' names? Tell me your greatest fear. Tell me what you want if you could have anything."

They were confused, sometimes offended, sometimes amused. All that mattered was that they gave Blake the information he needed for Mind Control to be most effective. Once or twice Chief Terzog reassured them if they tried to leave, then they'd sit back and down and look into Blake's eyes. He always started with the barest flick of Mental Influence—a little Trust, just enough to activate the power.

Mind Control was easier on targets he'd already Influenced. Like Influence, it didn't produce something the mind didn't already have. Blake's powers simply used those tools to his ends, and the main tool was narrative. What a person told themselves, what a person believed—human or orc, it mattered more to them than reality.

Mind Control was largely a story. Blake wasn’t exactly certain why or how he understood his power, save maybe that he’d been such a good liar in his former life. But he did.

So somehow he knew he didn't destroy the will of his target. He merely broke their natural disbelief—tricking them into believing something he wished them to believe. Once tricked, their will became his. Their resentment and rage, their hopes and dreams. It was something like magic hypnosis.

Once he learned the fears and goals of each individual orc, things became far simpler. He also learned Mind Control had two forms—the second only becoming available when he was out of a dangerous situation and with a somewhat willing participant.

The first was instant, temporary—clearly designed primarily for turning foes in combat with a simple change in who they perceived as friends or allies. Or for quick convincing. The other was more like…a suggestion, to be carried out later by the target. This was the version Blake decided to use.

He planted a seed in every orc's mind, just waiting to be activated. But Blake wasn’t trying to help them stop smoking cigarettes.

A time will come when King Gromsh gives you one command, and I give you another, he began. To prevent your <insert fear>, and to achieve your <insert goal>, you must obey me in that moment.

He hoped that did the trick, but he couldn't be sure. All he knew was that terror and reward were the two building blocks of proper motivation.

When he'd finished casting the orc would blink or shake their head in confusion, and Blake thanked roboGod for his Orc Whisperer title. The occasional warrior got a nose bleed.

"Is it finished?" they'd usually ask, and Blake would nod and smile.

"Your mind is now protected. Wait for the command of your chief."

Off they’d go, then Ilya would bring him the next, and the process would repeat. To Blake's nearly overwhelming joy, every orc he Mind Controlled gave him experience. After twenty three he'd even leveled up again.

Blake Nimitz

Level: 8

Class: Psion

Strength: 3

Dexterity: 3

Vitality: 3

Intellect: 8

Will: 6

Presence: 12

Luck: 43

Titles: Alpha01, Alpha Tester, Patron, Killer, Puppet Master, Orc Whisperer, Phase Jumper

Powers: Mental Influence (enhanced), Telekinesis, Meditation, Mind Control, Arcane Affinity, Arcane Blast, Dream Walk, Mind Veil

Apparently level eight was yet another new power. He was rather pleased, but also reminded his previous level was supposed to be something else, and tried not to be bitter. Better to focus on the now, and the useful.

Yet again he had options. It occurred to him he had essentially no defensive powers whatsoever, which seemed something he’d best remedy. But was it the most critical thing right now?

It looked like he had two primary options: ‘Psionic Shield’ for physical, and ‘Psychic Resistance’ for spells and mental. He expected the former was more important, but he really preferred just not to get hit…

He saw some kind of ‘mass’ mental influence, the ability to maybe make psionic ‘constructs’, whatever that exactly meant. Pain manipulation? Mind Blast? That all sounded interesting. He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking everything was worthwhile but he had no idea which to take. There was a specific Psion passive, too, which promised a boost to…basically everything.

One of Blake’s many intuitive pings made him linger on the power. It didn’t sound flashy like so many of the others. But the fact was he didn’t know what he’d want, and didn’t currently need anything. So why not stick to general improvement? He took the passive and watched the description scroll.

[Psionic Physiology. Passive power. Mind over matter.]

The second he took it a brand new ‘bar’ appeared near his mana. On one side it said ‘physical’, on the other ‘mental’. It sat in the middle for now, but it seemed he could slide it back and forth. He was definitely going to be playing with that.

But for the moment his mana was almost drained, and it was time to stop trying to control orcs while he still had a little in reserve. Terzog was coming back in alone, and sat in the chair opposite Blake.

"That's all we've gathered,” he rumbled. “Should we try for even more tomorrow?"

"I think not," Blake rose and stretched, feeling a little wobbly. "Twenty-five is near my limit. Best not to push me too far."

"As you say." The orc was always vaguely uncomfortable in Blake's presence, though of course he was Influencing him whenever possible. With a nod the big chief rose and left the tavern with his hood drawn, and Blake sat alone with Ilya.

"You must be hungry," she said. "The stews here are very good. Let me get you some."

"Eat with me." Blake reached for her arm but stopped. "You've risked your life for me, and I hardly know you."

Ilya smiled shyly, then went to the back of the tavern and returned with two bowls of stew. Blake sniffed his, expecting to have to keep a straight face at the smell of nearly rotten, unseasoned meat. But actually it smelled delicious.

"Mushroom and worm ," Ilya said as if this should be a delicacy. "With garlic, and whatever the cook’s secret is."

Blake tried not to wince, because the truth was he was famished and his stomach growled at the smell. He spooned a generous portion into his mouth, then made a sound like ‘haw’ as he blew and reached for a cup of water. Then he looked up at Ilya, who was covering her mouth in surprise and ill-concealed laughter. Blake chewed and frowned.

"My suffering amuses you?"

Ilya shook her head and clearly tried to fight her amusement. "You don't act like any orc I know."

"Well,” Blake shrugged. “Do you know any wizards?"

"No." Ilya grinned, and Blake quirked his head in victory. The orc leaned forward, seemingly not much interested in her food. "Please tell me about where you're from. I've never left the towers. Are there many orcs? What is it like?"

Blake sighed, not that enthusiastic about lying to the girl more than he had to. Partially he supposed because then he'd have to remember. Partially because he just liked her. But the best deception was close to the truth.

"It's a small place. Very few orcs. Our warriors are powerful, though, as are our wizards."

"Do the gods favor you with tasks? Like guarding the holy stones?"

"Sometimes." Blake smiled. "Why do you think I'm here?"

Ilya’s eyes went wide. "You are Chosen."

"Some might say so.” Blake shrugged and kept eating. The worm was actually not bad. “But I don’t want to talk about me. I want to know where you got your scrying crystal, and how you managed to see me. Where did you learn such things?"

Ilya’s skin flushed a little yellow as she looked at the table. "My mother was an oracle. I was not chosen, but, she taught me things anyway, before she died."

"I'm sorry." Blake said reflexively, but Ilya shrugged.

"It was many years ago. I have her orb, and her staff. I can cast some spells. But not well."

"I disagree." Blake spooned in some more stew, then waited until Ilya met his eyes. "Without Ilya, there would be no rebellion. Remember that. It would make your family proud."

She smiled, and so did Blake, with a small trace of guilt, perhaps, but more devious pleasure. They ate their stew together in a pleasant silence, then Blake followed Ilya back to his hiding hole. As usual the guards paid little attention if they stayed out of the middle of the street, and soon he was safe and hidden by his little creek.

"Good night, Thrall," Ilya smiled shyly. "If you need anything else, just ask."

"Good night Ilya. I'll see you in the morning."

Blake was no expert on orc women, but something about Ilya's expression gave him a continued feeling of...invitation.

An all around bad idea, he decided, not trusting cultural or biological differences, nor his magical deception nearly that far. He could also be entirely wrong and end up with a knife in his eye, or at least alienate the girl to become less useful.

So instead he played with his new passive power, sliding his bar entirely to physical as he lifted a rock and squeezed. The difference was instantly obvious. He noticed his physical stats were glowing slightly, too, though they gave no indication of how much they’d been affected.

Not sure exactly how it would help, he slid the bar entirely to mental, feeling a very strange, almost cold rush of air through his brain. He blinked and tried a few mental calculations, definitely feeling like he could do them faster and with more digits than he could otherwise.

He grinned, but let it sit for now. He needed mana, and sleep, so he closed his eyes and started Meditating. He wanted half a quarter before he Dreamwalked, and hoped Mason actually slept like a normal person soon.