Francis threw on an apron and joined Wilbur at the grill. Right now meat was cheap, an unintended side effect of Amanda destroying Olympia.
He had expected there to be famine and severe rationing. That was normally what happened during a refugee crisis. Instead, the people of Olympia had slaughtered their herds and used magic to preserve the meat, temporarily driving down prices.
Meanwhile, Farmers with special abilities were bringing life back to the fields and farms surrounding Brexis. The plants there had been engineered using Necromancy to produce exceptional yields, much like the gardens surrounding the palace.
Between that and the trade flowing through Brexis, nobody was in danger of starving anytime soon. Francis couldn't help but think about how much magic affected logistics.
Back on earth, food preservation and mechanization had allowed armies to swell in size. As technology improved, so had the amount of force that could be brought to bear.
As a Marine, Francis had seen the difference between the American armed forces and their enemies. Heck, even their allies could hardly match them in terms of pure earth-shattering firepower. But it was logistics that won wars.
If a missile battery went down halfway across the globe, in the middle of hostile territory, Uncle Sam could have a replacement part there by the next day. Before he got blown up, there had been talk of using rockets to deliver equipment even faster, cutting that time down to a few hours instead of days.
While their “near peer” adversaries were running out of fuel, America was delivering equipment at the speed of sound. They didn't even have to fight their own wars if they didn't want to. America had enough surplus equipment (and the infrastructure in place to deliver it) that they could easily keep their allies armed to the teeth.
Francis' goal was to replicate that here in Vahnis. He wanted Brexis to be a big nasty bulldog that punched far above its weight. The undead labor force alone was a force multiplier when it came to industrial output. Add in their proximity to the Silver River and it was easy to see why the city had prospered before internal politics brought it down.
If their city was to survive they needed to dominate economically, culturally, militarily, and technologically. Mentally he was grouping magic and technology together, seeing as they were in a magical bullshit fantasy world. Semantics aside, they filled the same niche.
Francis had never been much of a thinker. That usually led to him having to explain himself, or argue with people who used big words like “calculus”. He didn't understand calculus, and definitely didn't want to. Francis was a Marine, if someone else wanted to count the bodies or the bullets it took to put them in the ground, that was their business.
Being default aggressive had kept Francis alive when the odds were stacked against him. He simply kept fighting until there was nobody else left standing. No counting was required.
There was a certain purity to acting in the moment, free of the doubts second thoughts could bring. Unfortunately, as a leader he was finding himself increasingly responsible for the welfare of other people. He couldn't throw himself at problems and see which one broke first, not if he wanted to succeed.
Language was another tricky thing he was getting used to. Grunt was simple, there were a lot of words for “kill”and some very creative ways to swear. Learning Vahnissian Common had given him another tool chest worth of concepts and ideas. But, like someone spending hours setting up their fancy new cutting machine when a hacksaw would do the job in minutes, there was a risk to changing his way of thinking.
He needed to be a smart grunt, like those Delta guys with their designer drugs and masters degrees. Not an egghead that got paralyzed by choices and uncertainty. Francis was a Marine, and needed to act like it, even if he was stuck in a leadership position.
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Gruntness aside, he had made some interesting observations about the world around him. Jack could probably have used some ten dollar words and scientific theories to explain what was going on. Francis had a much easier way to describe it: Things in Vahnis were simple.
It was like someone had taken half the laws of physics and thrown them away for being too complicated. For example, fire didn't consume the air around it. It simply continued to burn until the fuel was gone, or someone put it out. Carbon monoxide apparently wasn't a thing here either.
Smiths still used bellows or abilities to make their forges burn hotter. But it was as if the act of using the bellows was more important than the air they provided. Using a tool, spell, or ability could apply an effect that otherwise wouldn't have been present.
Meat on the grill in front of him was either raw, partially cooked, done, or burnt. Intention and skills seemed to affect the finished product. He could still cook a steak medium rare (or even well done if he hated the person he was making it for) but the process of cooking was greatly simplified.
Francis decided to ask Wilbur about it. “Hey, grill meister. What the fuck is up with the physics in this place?”
The old man shrugged and took a sip from his beer. “I wasn't really involved in the decision making.”
Wilbur paused as if trying to recall a distant memory. “I do vaguely remember something about a time versus memory trade off and using rounding to simplify the math. Apparently it's much more efficient this way.
“Plus, things like dragons and giants don't really work well with regular physics. The square cube law fucks creatures over pretty hard once they get past a certain size.”
He grabbed a hand rolled cigarette to go with his beer. “Entity was super passionate about it. He liked the idea of making a world that was more like a video game because it would take less processing power than a straight up simulation. It also had the fringe benefit of allowing him to use code that had already been tested for exploits and glitches.”
“Entity?” Francis asked, “Who the hell is Entity?”
“Oh, Entity is System's boss. He's the guy who created this place. You would probably like him. He tolerates zero bullshit and is fairly easy going for an all powerful being. Or at least, the closest thing we have to one. I'm still holding out to see if my god is real. The jury is still out on that one.”
The Marine blinked. “You're religious? How the hell are you religious? You're practically a death god!”
“I don't particularly want to get into a discussion about religion, seeing as people worship both of us. It also tends to piss people off. But you have to remember that faith doesn't need logic to function. It's about belief.”
Wilbur took a long pull from his beer before he continued. “My beliefs from when I was a mortal have stuck with me as I've changed and evolved. Nothing I've seen has diminished my faith. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“I could try and justify it with science. I could talk about the possibility of beings from other dimensions molding out reality like clay. But using science to justify belief is like dragging an ice cream cone through gravel. You fuck them both up.”
“Huh,” Francis said, “I suppose you're right. But how does that work with the gods we have here?”
The old man laughed. “That's not my secret to tell. But you could easily apply logic to that particular puzzle to figure it out for yourself.”
The Marine found himself frowning. “I'm not good at puzzles. Speaking of which, I've got one that I could use some help with.” Francis went on to tell Wilbur about Mac’s hint and the situation with the dragon.
The old man nodded to himself. “Well, it's pretty obvious if you're a bastard like Mac, or an old devil like me. I'll tell you what, if you can't figure it out by tomorrow I'll give you the answer. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” Francis agreed, reaching over to clink his beer against Wilbur's, “Thanks for helping out with all this. I'm out of my fucking depth here with the god and leadership stuff.”
“Don't worry about it, you'll figure it out. That's the nice thing about this place. As long as nothing kills you, you've got all the time in the world.”
The Marine took a minute to consider Wilbur's words. Francis had been so busy putting out fires that he had missed something incredibly important about his new situation. He was a god, and gods didn't age.
“Holy shit,” he said as it finally dawned on him, “You're right. I'm fucking immortal!”