All Poisons Can Become Medicine - 2
"Hoo..."
I carefully examined my status window. If I'd missed any clauses, I might not be able to retrieve the items.
Adjusts the connection strength with dimensions to control the flow of time!
From 0.1 to 10 times, freely adjust the time multiplier!
It was definitely a useful ability. If I needed supplies, I could wait just a month and get ten months' worth.
'But it's a double-edged sword.'
If I sped up time on the other side, the connected dimension—or the connected faction—could develop faster. I could lure them into gathering resources that took a long time to produce or collect.
'Of course, there are limits to that too...'
Still, I couldn't use time acceleration on the Wasteland 2 world right now. It wouldn't bring much benefit. Speeding up their time would mean Lisa, who got water from me once a week, would only get it once a month. Their outpost was stable enough now that they wouldn't die of thirst without it immediately. But even if I got more Lumikite faster and in larger quantities, it wouldn't change much. No matter how fast their world turned, there'd be no meaningful gain.
Slowing down their time would be the same issue. They'd have to hand over the Lumikite they gave me once a month every week, increasing the pressure on them. It was better to leave the settings as they were rather than mess with the time multiplier needlessly.
In the end, what I did was trade. If what I offered wasn't attractive enough—or not in sufficient quantity—I couldn't expect them to fetch the goods.
'But this world is different.'
The world I was choosing this time was the Frozenstorm Colony.
"Hoo..."
Frozenstorm Colony. A roguelike city-builder game. The protagonist becomes the governor of a "colony" scattered across worlds, secures resources, and achieves goals. Once the outpost stabilizes and the objectives are met, one game round ends. The governor hands it off to a successor and moves to a new colony.
The game had many features, but the most important was the "storm." At the end of each cycle, a massive storm wiped the world clean, destroying all colonies. Survivors had to evacuate to safe zones beforehand. Even without mega-storms, periodic rains and gales threatened citizens' lives. Players built up colonies against limited resources, shortages, invasions, and wild beasts.
But a savvy governor could develop the colony in a flash and push for bonus goals—like erecting massive, storm-proof structures or unearthing ancient relics buried in the storms.
What I wanted was those ancient relics they'd find.
'The Heart of the Storm...'
In that world, a year divided into six months: two summer, two autumn, two winter. At 10x multiplier, I'd get five years on my end.
'Still, it'd be better if the trading post appeared in a somewhat developed outpost...'
I needed to win over the governor, supply them generously with what they needed, develop the colony I'd contacted, and have them embark on adventures to bring me the Heart of the Storm.
"Let's get started."
I took a deep breath and activated the ability.
"World connection. Target: Frozenstorm Colony."
Perception scan begins. Searching for similar worlds.
The ability activated. I felt a mystical power surging within me, reaching across space and dimensions to touch that world.
The trading post was built.
A shrill, piercing voice echoed through the forest.
"Keep moving without rest! Fell trees to clear paths and build our shelter!"
The new governor, Shatinbelle Silkraise, gazed arrogantly at her subordinates. Dozens moved at her command.
"Finally... we've made it here."
She recalled the trials to claim the governor position.
Eternaras. The world's sole safe zone, a grand underground city. But to her free spirit, it was like shackles. For the winged Joinkind, being trapped below ground was torture.
She could fly and yearned to soar freely, waking to warm sun and fresh air.
Yet her noble parents wouldn't let their pampered daughter venture into danger. Shatinbelle had no desire to toil as a laborer or soldier in some outpost.
She studied, proved herself relentlessly, outshining peers in governor training. Now here she was—a rookie with unprecedented support.
"I can do this. I'll succeed. I'll return triumphant, then conquer the next colony, and the one after—"
A building materialized before her beaming face.
"...Huh?"
Thinking her eyes deceived her, she rubbed them with feathers and looked again. The structure remained.
"Trading post established. Governor, or the governor's representative, please visit now."
A voice emanated from within.
"It has to work."
I figured success odds far outweighed failure, but variables abounded.
'First variable: trading post location...'
Per the status window, it would land where people gathered. But no guarantee it'd be a colony—could be the Fire Empress's domain, Eternaras.
I could trade there with effort, but facing a bigwig from the start? Players never met the Fire Empress directly, but lore painted her as transcending mortal wisdom and power. Negotiating with her might complicate things.
'Second: whether trade succeeds...'
For Wasteland 2, it was obvious: water. Any intelligent group needed it, mutants or raiders alike.
Here, it was trickier. No single item was universally vital.
'Food, wood, stone...' Needs varied by settlement—and even shifted over time, turning desperate wants into useless junk.
Earth was vast, logistics solid; a bit of cash got anything shipped globally. But some things I couldn't provide: population, unique artifacts, or safety.
Safety was the biggest hurdle. Fetching the Heart of the Storm required expeditions. A stable settlement might prefer cozy stagnation over risky ventures.
"Anyway, first contact..."
No meeting, no problem assessment. I hoped my worries were unfounded, tuned the broadcast, and waited.
The status window flashed. A mana screen flickered.
"Ah... this must be video comm magic? You wield intriguing spells, stranger."
"Ah."
I barely swallowed the "shit" rising in my throat.
"From the glow, it seems I've connected to your colony. Are you the... governor, sir?"
"Shouldn't one reveal their own station before inquiring another's?"
Her sharp, high-pitched voice pierced my ear.
'Ha...' My gut feeling—no, certainty—that this wouldn't be easy hit home the moment I saw her feathers.
"Yes. I am Jeong Isu, merchant."
"A curious spot for a trading post. Very well. I am the lawful heir of the illustrious Silkraise house, top graduate of the Imperial Governor Academy, bearer of the gracious Fire Empress's mandate to rule this colony—Governor Shatinbelle Silkraise."
My head spun. Too long. Didn't care.
"...Ha?"
Silence fell; she frowned, a mix of confusion and irritation.
"Y-yes. Any issue—"
"You do not bow..."
"Pardon?"
She pondered, then softened into a faint smile.
"No matter. I shan't teach imperial etiquette to a barbar—er, outsider."
I endured the discomfort boiling inside.
'She's not outright malicious...'
Shatinbelle's mind held pure suspicion: 'Normally, they'd bow. Why doesn't this man?' No rage over my lack of bow—just mild prickliness. She acknowledged I was foreign, unbound by empire customs.
A truly nasty, dim noble might've demanded Eternaras obeisance anyway. But her innate arrogance oozed from every word.
'This won't be easy.'
I gazed at screen-Shatinbelle: slender, fragile limbs; stunning beauty; iridescent hair; feathers cloaking arms like sleeves. Just like the game's Joinkind.
'Why—why of all governors a Joinkind... damn it all!'
I masked my sigh and sorrow with a faint smile.