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Rowan was sure, Cora had become much more assertive. Now, she was bossing everyone in the restaurant. “This steak is medium rare, I wanted it rare. You do understand what rare means? Make me another one.” She was a mini Karen in action, plus the fangs and claws.
“Anything else?” the Orc waiter asked. In a little less than a month, the Goblinoid shanty town had transformed into a posh Medieval city, a typical tourist attraction, with stone and wood buildings, and excellent taverns.
“We’re good,” the Shaman flickered his fingers, signaling the waiter to leave and allow them some space for having a discussion.
“OK, guys, let’s talk,” Rowan said when they finished their lunch, including the dessert. “There’s been a development. Cora will do the presentation. Baby?”
“Ahum!” The Nekojin cleared her voice and tried to appear calm, despite her tail betraying some nervousness. “Let’s take it from the beginning. The Traipenent crashes, and ejects one hundred dungeon cores around the Earth. Now, the mini-dungeons have activated and are easy to track, but the real dungeons are dormant and hard to detect. We’re talking about an object the size of a crystal ball. Once reclaimed, a core can be transformed into a Town Core, or fed into a pre-existing Town Core, which offers Levels and Perks. Of course, I was talking about mini-dungeon cores. Feeding true dungeon cores to a town would be im—”
“I assure you, it’s possible,” Viscardi said. “You can feed any kind of core to any type of core.”
“I was going to say immoral because it would kill the prisoners kept inside. Right?”
“Rest in peace,” Viscardi leaned his glass, letting a few drops hit the floor.
“H-how many?”
“Prisoners? No idea. Cores? One. Level fifty-five, like this one.”
“They were hardened criminals,” his daughter, Victoria, rushed to add. “Road rage, speeding on intergalactic lanes. They had it coming.”
“What is done, is done,” Rowan rolled his eyes. “Never mind, we digressed. Cora?”
“I have detected leyline stress between the Awakened Towns and the rest of the world. There’s too big a difference between Mana-rich areas and low-mana ones. My computer models show that Earth can support about thirty Town Cores or a high-density Mana area of under ten million square miles. Any higher, and Earth could break apart.
“There’s a silver lining though. If it comes to that, but a few Town Cores are over level fifty, instead of an asteroid cloud, we’ll have an Island Cluster.”
“What’s that?” Rowan asked.
“Large chunks of the planet float together, and you fly in between with blimps or whatever airship.”
“Why isn’t the System issuing quests, alarms, stuff?” Rowan asked.
“My best guess is it doesn’t care so much. The Awakened Towns will survive no matter what, the outside world to some extent, and also, it’s not sure it will happen. By far, it’s more plausible the existing Towns will claim and consume most cores. Also, in six months or so, Earth’s overall Mana field will increase by itself and the danger will pass.”
“We better hurry to get more cores, just in case,” Rowan interjected. “Sorry, baby, go on.”
“For now, we have eight Town cores active: Elkins, Rome, Doghae, Hagi, Vladivostok, Goblin Town, and an unknown, right? That must be the Neeks. Between us, we managed to get back thirty-six mini-dungeon cores, including the ones Vegas assimilated. That leaves only seven mini-dungeons unaccounted for. There are four real dungeons checked: Vegas, Goblin Town, The Warlord—location unknown—and… the one you consumed, Lord Blackswarm.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“True,” the Vampire nodded. “So, if my poor math is right, we have seven mini-dungeons, and forty-six dungeons roaming around. We have to get our hands on at least twenty-something more cores, to be on the safe side.”
“The more, the better,” Cora emphasized. “All towns but Vladivostok have agreed to consume their cores for XP and energy. The Russians are stubborn, they’ll use their cores to build faraway bases and subdue the territory in between. And the mercenaries are in play too. Speaking of the devil, any idea why they want the cores for?”
“Maybe they want to build themselves a base or buy a ticket out of the planet,” Viscardi said.
“You still want to go on with the plan and make Vegas a Town Core?” Rowan asked?
“I do,” the Vampire nodded. “A Town Core is easier to defend.”
“Then let’s do it. We’ll be able to move around faster. Teleport and stuff.”
“To claim a core, you have to challenge the dungeon. Goblin Town was going to be slaughtered by the Mercenaries, your group saved the day, and that allowed the Shaman to surrender to you. Allowing the Mercs to reach my lair and counting on you to help at the last minute is out of the question.”
“So what do you have in mind?”
“You train hard and level up, then I invite you into my lair for a drink, and we pretend to argue about… whatever, take your pick. I say Bourbon is shit, and you challenge me to a duel, which I’ll pretend to lose… hey, what’s up with you?”
All of a sudden, Rowan had leaned forward over the table, snarling at Viscardi with his upper lip raised, grabbing him by the lapels. One could think Rowan was the Vampire, and the other the prey waiting to be bitten.
“You want a piece of me, old man? Take it back, now!” Rowan felt a passenger in his own body, and the notification embarrassed him to the moon and back.
Your subconsciousness took over in a fit of rage, acting upon your previous involvement in Bar Fights. Having yet an unbalanced build, and struggling all the time to keep control of your emotions means you are prone to emotional discharges once in a blue moon. Raising your INT to the third Threshold will help solve this problem.
Trying to get his reason back failed. He was staring into Viscardi’s eyes, yelling: “Bourbon is life. Bourbon is everything. Don’t you dare to insult Bourbon, you ketchup replacement drinker!”
His arms were twisted with superhuman strength, and Rowan was pulled back and restrained skillfully—and he knew that for having been arrested a couple of times after bar brawls—by Fenrri, the Shaman’s wife.
“He does love Bourbon,” Cora said. “But this is a little extreme. Darling, are you all right?”
“How much did he drink?” Fenrri asked.
Very little, he struggled to say, but instead, his body tried to fight against the restraint.
“Of course!” Snemc jumped up. “A man has to defend their honor. Bourbon is sacrosanct. And so is the liquor of life: blood. This calls for a duel. In the ARENA!” he yelled the last word, and everybody stopped.
“You have an arena?” Viscardi asked, wiping his face with an elegant handkerchief.
“We do!”
“This is perfect… I’m insulted, right? Very well… I choose… Hm… Pistols… No… Let’s have fun. Three rounds, each different. Swords, pistols, and no holds barred. Perfect,” he put the handkerchief back in his breast pocket, rubbing his hands. “Give me an hour, I’ll contact the press.”
“Me too,” the Shaman blurted and started texting in a frenzy.
What’s going on? Rowan tried to say but threw an elbow in Fenrri’s ribs instead, and got a slap on the head as payment. That succeeded in getting him out of the trance. Viscardi and Victoria had left the room, and he was alone with the rest.
“You can let me down now,” he said. To his surprise, Fenrri freed him. A true policeperson would have laughed and beat him. She needs better training, I’ll have a word with Isla, Rowan though.
“A genius’s plan,” Snemc said. “Arranging a meeting here, where we have an Arena? Brilliant.”
It was for the boar steak, honestly.
“Cores can be bet in the arena, and the dampeners ensure the match is balanced. The System won’t see a thing. This is perfect,” the Shaman repeated Viscardi's words. “And when they see you beat a Vampire Lord, those Mercs or whoever has a beef with us will shit their pants and stay away. Love, take care of our guest, I’m being called by a sports channel.”
What the fuck, he has a British accent now?
The Shaman ran out, bumping into the Orc waiter, twice, as neither wanted to let the other go first. Entering the private room, the waiter started to gather the dishes, but not before saying a solemn: “I’ll bet on you.” That meant the staff had eavesdropped at the door.
“Fuck…” Rowan exhaled. “Baby… I need your help.”
“Anything you want,” she blurted.
“I’ll ask the patrons to leave, to give you some space,” Fenrri said.
After the Ogresse left, Cora sat in Rowan’s lap, covering his face with kisses. “How can I help you relax?” she sussured in his ear.
He dismissed the thought and fought against temptation. “Not like that, I’ll be tired for the match. I’m not sure I can face a scolding now. Contact Grace and Isla and tell them what happened, And that it was a… judgment call.”
“Sure, my love. I’ll leave you to relax. By the way, I changed shifts with Isla, and you’re all mine for three days. Iiii!” Clapping happily, Cora bolted to the exit.