Estimating his stats, Leo walked out satisfied. His Strength had to be at least 45, Dexterity over 40. He couldn't pin down Vitality or Energy, but they couldn't be low either. Already his attributes were far beyond any starter in Diablo II.
With this set of perfect gear—199 defense total—and a few antidotes, he even felt bold enough to rush Andariel herself.
"Leo, wait."
The quartermaster holding the roster stopped him before he left.
"Yes, sir. Do you have further orders?"
Inside, Leo worried—had he broken some rule? Maybe each recruit was only allowed one weapon, and he'd grabbed too many.
"Each of you also receives 5,000 gold in battle funds. This token is your voucher. Exchange it at the mission site in three days. And sign here."
Leo accepted a silver badge, blank of markings, and scribbled his name on the ledger. The treatment felt so premium he half-expected a Level 12 VIP tag.
Back in his single-occupant barrack, he lay down, restless.
Handing out twelve hundred sets of flawless gear—unthinkable. In Diablo terms, perfect whites were rare treasures, not bulk stock. And 5,000 gold apiece? That made six million total. Back home, after all expenses, his family could only save one or two coins a year—the equivalent of ten or twenty thousand RMB. This was tax revenue from nations piled together.
Even in his old peaceful world, nobody would believe such manna. But here, where life was cheap? Impossible. Unless… maybe Reinhardt knew something.
He jumped up and knocked on his friend's door.
"Hart, you in there? Need to talk."
Inside the keep, quarters were spartan but private.
"Coming, coming. Quit hollering!"
Leo eyed him suspiciously. "Took you long enough. Hiding something in there?" He sniffed the air, smirking.
"Damn it, quit spouting nonsense. What do you want?"
Still grinning, Leo lifted his gear. "Three days from now—do you know what's really happening? I can't shake the bad feeling."
Reinhardt hesitated. "I don't know. Highest-level Alliance secret. We're the first batch."
Leo pretended to search the room. "Oh? Let's see what you've been up to, then."
"Wait! Fine, I know a little. Just stop."
Leo flopped onto the bed, waiting. Reinhardt sighed and spilled what he knew.
"This is humanity's all-in gamble. Our 1,200 aren't the only ones. Other powers have joined too."
He grew serious, sitting across from Leo. "Think of it this way—no one would sabotage humanity's future."
"From the Skovos Isles—five hundred Amazons. Gods, they're fiery. In every sense. I'd say we'll make friends." He grinned wickedly, then went on.
"Five hundred druids from the mage tribes. Who knew Scosglen had such hidden strength? The Barbarians sent a hundred warriors—many barely grown, some girls. After that catastrophe, only about a thousand of their children survived. Brave folk." His voice swelled with respect.
"Then two hundred fifty Assassins. Creepy lot. Hard to get along with. And finally, a hundred fifty Necromancers. Damn, just thinking of them makes my bones rattle. I'll never team with one."
With Bastion's 1,200, the expedition force totaled 3,200. Nothing beyond that, but at least Leo felt sure—the Alliance wouldn't deliberately destroy humanity's hope.
No choice but to go along. He'd see his sister again. That expectation steadied him.
"Hart, what's this?" Leo pulled a half-opened bottle from under the bed, yanking off the seal. He sniffed. "Good stuff. Cheers!" He gulped.
"You bastard! Stop!" Reinhardt panicked, lunging for the bottle.
"Easy. If we fight, this fragile thing won't last." Leo blocked him with one arm, smirking. "Half for me. Friends share, right?"
Helpless, Reinhardt watched him chug.
"Here, catch." Leo tossed the bottle high and bolted for the door—only to trip and crash flat. "Damn, Hart… did you spike this?"
Reinhardt dove, clutching the bottle with triumph. "Got you, shameless dog. That wasn't ordinary wine—it's brewed for warriors of the Hero rank. I only sip it. You're still just at Soldier rank. Drink that much, you won't get out of bed for three days."
"Reinhardt… treacherous… bastard…" Leo muttered, then collapsed.
Three days flew by.
Splash! A bucket of ice water shocked him awake. Shivering, he roared:
"Damn it! Trying to kill me? What time is it? Don't tell me I missed muster. My sister's waiting!"
Even now, flaunting his sister. Reinhardt regretted waking him.
"Get up, drunkard. One hour left. Want to team up with me or not?"
"Hart, you know my family comes first. I'll find my sister, then decide."
Truth was, he couldn't fit in with groups. More people meant less say, more exposure. He'd wait and see.
Reeking, he grabbed fresh clothes and ran for the baths. "I'll wash up first!"
Clean and chewing bread, he jogged to assembly.
Just in time. He followed the crowd down into Bastion's restricted zone, through three layers of dim barracks. Ahead lay a colossal teleport circle, the size of a football field, glowing with steady light.
Twelve hundred men and women took their positions. White brilliance surged. Leo shut his eyes.
The world spun. His hangover churned his guts as if he were in a washing machine. At last, his feet hit solid ground.
Opening his eyes—chaos. Recruits sprawled everywhere, especially mages and necromancers, retching so badly they covered themselves in vomit.
The place was a rough camp. A palisade of sharpened logs and stones, patched often, told of constant attacks. The central tower rose thirty meters, seamless as if grown from the earth, a strange bell hanging from it.
Everywhere else: tents, weeds poking through dirt. Capacity maybe eight thousand. Hastily built, undermanned.
Opposite them stood a group of commanding women. Two were most prominent.
One wore a purple low-cut robe, voluptuous, her smile warm and welcoming. Her presence invited trust.
The other was tall, armored in mail, a red scarf over her head, long athletic legs bare, radiating martial vigor. A rose with thorns.
Akara and Kashya. This was the Rogue Encampment. Had they really been dropped at the start of Diablo II's story? Akara was scandalous, showing off so brazenly. And Kashya—those legs gleamed brighter than silk stockings.
Akara nodded at the few who remained calm, smiling in approval.
Leo, caught staring, quickly looked away. Foolish—under a full bone helm, no one could even see his face.
The recruits regrouped.
"Warriors, welcome to the defense of Sanctuary. This is the Rogue Encampment.
I am Akara, high priestess of the Sightless Eye, temporary leader here. Beside me is Kashya, commander of our forces.
Soon you'll register with the quartermaster, claim your funds and supplies, and receive a small gift from me.
The camp is rough—unfinished. You'll stay in tents. Meals are served in the mess hall or, if you can afford it, at the tavern. Food here is precious, not free.
I'll also provide magical items. Charsi is our finest blacksmith. Gheed's caravan offers many goods. And Deckard Cain himself will guide you. Welcome, all of you."
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