Unchosen Champion

Coop lifted the fanciest teacup he had ever seen toward his lips, uncomfortable with the delicate porcelain between his fingers. Compared to the sturdiness of his ethereal weapons it felt unnatural, like his hands weren't meant for gripping such a fragile item. He gently blew into the liquid, before taking a hesitant sip.

Despite trying to avert the tea party, Coop had been unable to avoid it. The expensive rarities that were brought out belonged in a museum, but the man who kept him company insisted that valuable items were best appreciated by being used for their intended purpose.

It was a philosophy that Coop understood, but didn’t live by. He was the type of person who hoarded his resources for a rainy day, overly concerned with wasting them when they would have been better applied at a different time. Coop was self aware enough to compensate for that fact. His remedy was in accumulating absurd quantities of useful resources so that he always had some extra as backup and was therefore more willing to use portions of what he collected. That’s how grinding had become a natural habit when he sought optimization, even before the assimilation.

The only exception was when it came to items with only one purpose. Even Coop couldn’t find a reason to save them for later, so he begrudgingly made sure they would be used.

But he was learning that actively using every possession possible was a philosophy that didn’t only apply to objects. It could be applied to people and the human resources they represented as well. Coop felt like the Grand Horde was an example of actively using all that was available, taking the idea to an extreme that went beyond even what Ghost Reef had been implementing, and his island settlement had been operating that way out of necessity based on its tiny starting population. The Grand Horde didn’t appear to be under the same limitations.

The comparison made him reflect on how his own subconscious inclinations had changed the dynamics of the Ghost Reef settlement. There had been many situations where he had shouldered burdens that someone else in his position would have distributed to others. Things would certainly be different if someone else had been in his place, but not necessarily better or worse. Just different. He had delegated virtually all of the political and administrative responsibilities onto others, for instance, but when it came to any sort of combat, he consistently accepted the responsibility of going first.

As Coop swallowed, he felt the soothing tea go down. It left a refreshing sensation that wasn’t dissimilar to the health elixirs from back home. The sip was invigorating, causing him to lift the tea cup to look a bit closer, taking the description a bit more seriously after experiencing the taste.

It had been characterized to him as snow lotus tea, made from a rare flower found in the Himalayas where the Primal Constructs failed to survive long enough to evolve into more advanced variants. It was supposedly a pristine environment that preserved some of what Earth once was.

Coop took a deep breath that filled his senses with the light floral aroma as the hint of sweetness faded from his tongue. He could almost feel the snap of cold air in his lungs, imagining the harsh environment of towering peaks and high altitude meadows where the flowers thrived.

A quick check of his status revealed a 30 minute ‘satisfied’ buff that regulated his temperature to maximize his comfort, an additional bonus tacked on to the taste. He wondered if there was a specialized profession that existed in the cross-section of alchemist and tea sommelier among the Grand Horde. They might make a decent rival for the coffee dominated territory back home.

Coop let a satisfied exhalation escape and turned his full attention back to the man that had invited him to have the tea in the first place. Seated across the solid wood table, beneath the temporary tent that had been lined with thick rugs in the middle of the Underlayer, was the Warlord of the Apocalypse. The older gentleman was smiling so wide that his cheeks were turning rosy while the rest of his face was squeezed tight, ironing out the wind and sun borne wrinkles that otherwise lined his face. Once the Great Khan of the Grand Horde took his conical helmet off, his presence transformed to one that Coop couldn’t help but find friendly, like a merry old uncle.

Coop wondered if he was experiencing a similar effect to the presence he supposedly gave off himself, where his aura and personality conflicted in a way that undermined expectations. The other man had gone from Warlord of Apocalypse leading a Grand Horde of barbaric warriors while riding his Doombringer mount to jolly confidant and mentor once up close.