"Thanks, Creville. Come on, Flat, I’m going to call you Flat, let’s go find a quiet corner and work all this out,” I said, nodding to the barlord and carrying our drink to a quiet corner. We sat down, peered at each other through the smoky air, and I tried a warm smile.

  “Your teeth are pointy,” muttered Lieutenant Flatulence. I closed my lips.

  “Look, kid, I just need you to acknowledge my authority over the town, and then I’ll let everyone go right back to doing what they were doing. Except for the slavery thing, that’s a no-no.”

  “My Lord, I can’t make that kind of decision. Only the mayor or the Captain has that kind of authority!”

  “They’re both dead, and so is Baron Hateskale. You’re it, Flat. So just say ‘you’re the boss, Bob’ out loud or whatever it is you need to do to trigger the stupi–wonderful system into acknowledging I’ve won and we’re golden. I’ve got grand plans for this town. Links to the portal network, for a suitable fee, of course. Moderately low taxation and an army of cyber-bunnies to protect Longbottom. Plus me, an actual dragon. What more could you want?”

  “I’d like to resign my commission, sir.”

  “Fine, hand over the town and quit.”

  “I want to resign before I hand over the town, please.”

  I gave Flat a flat look. My tongue flicked out, but all I could taste was the smoke from the patron's pipes and the thin clouds that spilt out of the fireplace due to a partially blocked chimney. I took a swig of ale and nodded in appreciation. Creville was definitely keeping the right to pick the beers on offer at the Empressesses Head.

  “I didn’t start the war,” I lied, “but war has come to the town of Longbottom. Longbottom has become a stain, a skidmark if you like, on the moral authority of the Empire.” I took a breath. I had no idea where I was going with this, but the words felt right. “That stain has spread all across the land, and it has seeped into every crevice of our society. The nobles are foppish perverts, and the guilds strangle innovation and development. The common folk are left to suffer and struggle, never having a chance to rise and live out their dreams. That is what I will do for you, for all your people! Give you a chance to be who you want to be, what you want to be, and I’m willing to fight to make that dream come true. Won’t you fight with me?” My voice had risen as I gave my impassioned speech. I smiled, closed-lipped, at the end. Damn, I was good.

  “I’ve never heard so much shit in Longbottom!” chimed in a miner, greasy and dirty from his shift at the quarry. “Do you eat by shoving food up your arse? It’s the only way to explain the crap spewing from your mouth.” He slammed his mug down on the table and glared at me.

  “No one asked you, pal,” I snapped, annoyed that the stirring and optimistic tone of my speech had been spoiled.

  “Well, you fucking should have done, dumbass.” He picked up his drink and strode over, looming above us as he put his tankard down on our table and pulled over a chair. “No one wants all that hopey-changey cack, boy.”

  “You look like a man with a solid grasp of what the average bottom-dweller wants,” I said with a slight sneer. “And I didn’t invite you to my table.” My toothy grin elicited a snort of dismissal, which took me aback.

  “We want less taxes and better working hours. We want the guard–” he glared at Flat, “–to stop robbing us, and the damn traders. Prices are up ‘cos the peddlers pass on the costs his lot squeezes from them.”

  “That’s all fine!” I exclaimed. “Except the taxes. I’d need to have my pixie look over the outgoings and the cost of protection, the garrison, essential services, that kind of thing. But they should come down. A bit.”

  “A bit,” he sneered. “Just like all the other weak-chinned, toffee-nosed, silver-spoon up their arse from birth nobles. Only reason we’ve put up with these bastards as long as we have is them as speak out get disappeared. Never seen or heard from again. The dungeons under the mayor's house must be piled high with rotting bodies.”

  “Not anymore. I killed the slavers. There’ll be some bands out there in the wilds, but when they get back, they’re going on the menu,” I said.

  “Cannibal, eh? That’ll go down well with the yeoman of the Bottom,” he said sarcastically, leaning back slightly, as though my breath had suddenly started to stink. “Seen cannibal nobles before, lad. You don’t do… other stuff to the bodies as well, do you?”

  “Jesus! No! What the fuck is wrong with the people in this shitty world!” I said, shocked at the implications.

  “Well, that’s ok then, I suppose,” said the miner.

  “It seems like you chaps are getting along swimmingly, so I’ll just–” Flat tried to rise, but we each put a hand on his shoulders and shoved him back into his chair.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Shut up and stay still!” the miner and I barked simultaneously. Flat sat down, closed his mouth and stayed very still.

  “You’re right about the nobles, boy. Some of them are right shits, but why should my boys think you’re any different? You’re a bleeding cannibal.”

  “I’m not a cannibal. I just eat people sometimes. Mostly I eat monsters and animals, though.”

  “If you eat people sometimes, yer a cannibal,” he said with a shrug.

  “Look, what’s your name, anyway? I’m not a human. I’m a dragon. Big, scaly, flappy thing in the sky. Breathes fire,” I said.

  He blinked owlishly. “Names Killjoy. Shift Superintendent Killjoy. I run that bloody quarry. You’re an actual…” he mimed flapping his arms like wings.

  “Yes.”

  “Not something anyone would be fool enough to lie about. What about the herds? You going to steal animals?”

  “Nope. I haven’t been cattle rustling in a long time.” It was a few months, but I had no intention of doing it again. The agricultural floor had been overrun by uni-bunnies, and while they were tasty, the plains to the north of Fidler’s Mill offered a cornucopia of ambulatory dinners.

  “How do you feel about virgins?” he asked with narrowed eyes.

  “I’m flattered, Killjoy, but I’m spoken for, and you’re not my type.”

  “You don’t eat them?” he clarified with a glare.

  “No, but they do smell delicious. It’s no biggie, I practice abstinence. Can’t miss what you’ve never tried. Look, it won’t even be me running the place, I’ll be very claws-off. I’ve got a bloke from around here, Harald Hardprick. Or I think he’s from around here. The system spawned him in my dungeon, and I’ve never quite worked out if it just made him up out of whole cloth with a backstory, kidnapped him, reincarnated him, or what, but I’ve got him, and he says–”

  “There’s always been a Hardprick in the Longbottom. You're pulling my plonker, lad. Ain’t no Hardpricks anymore. Used to rule this place, way back, then the Gallowbranches took over and made ‘em vassals. Then the Hateskales. The line of the Kings of the Bottom has been dead for centuries,” Killjoy muttered.

  “Want me to get him? He might be on a mission, but I can have him here in a couple of days at most,” I offered. The old man's eyes shone, glistening with tears.

  I opened a portal next to my table, the other ending moving to next to Kat’s desk.

  “What do you want, Bob?” she said wearily, glancing up before going back to her paperwork. What was her last costume? The panda onesie, or the slutty teacher? I couldn’t recall, but now she was sporting a sequinned red swimsuit, and her sword had become one of those floaty things from Baywatch.

  “Is Harold about? I’ve acciden– deliberately initiated a conquest of Longbottom. And started the civil war,” I said the last part very quietly, but she looked up and glared at me. She had swimming goggles on; they were sitting in her hair like she might need them at any moment. I flinched as she cracked her knuckles. “It’s fine! I’m just working out the terms of surrender to the locals. There’s some ridiculous myth about erections in this town, and I need Harold to come and be my… satrap? Governor? Whatever, he’s still going to be a minion, just a high-ranked one.”

  Kat leaned down and yelled incoherently into a tiny speaking tube by her desk, then resumed glaring at me.

  “We should get you some orbs, shouldn’t we? Make life a lot easier. Next time I'm in the city I’ll–”

  “Do not go back to the city. It always causes trouble, Bob,” she sighed. “He and Salnia were in the canteen. They’ll be here in a minute. Anything else?”

  “I need a few squads of bunnyborgs as well. Need to keep the peace while we weed out the bad eggs in the guard.”

  She leaned down, exposing far too much cleavage and causing Flat to cough uncomfortably. Then she came up with a pair of control crystals and tossed them across the portal to me. I snatched them up, and a double squad of bunnies came under my control.

  They were lined up against the far wall of the portal room like men waiting for a firing squad, but they moved instantly and rushed through to fill up the pub, eliciting shocked gasps from the rest of the clientele.

  “It’s fine! They won’t harm anyone who isn’t breaking the law!” I called out to the miners and farmers staring at the machines with shock and fear on their faces.

  “Come on, Sal, you heard the announcement! Bob’s taken back my ancestral home! He needs me for something other than punching monsters as we clear new floors!” Harold's voice approached from the portal room and carried over the boundary and into the bar. Killjoy and Flat both listened intently, a focus and seriousness on their faces I’d not seen on anyone on Helstat. “I can finally… There’s something I’ve been wanting to do.”

  “Harold, Salnia. Go on through,” called Kat, going back to her paperwork. The pair stepped through, both wearing their dungeon-diving gear. Harold wore heavy plate armour but had no gauntlets, leaving his fists bare. The knuckles were scarred, and the backs of his hands looked like a river network of old wounds.

  “Smell that, Sal! That’s the smell of the Bottom!” I glanced at Flatulence as he sniffed carefully around himself.

  “It smells like a shitty hick town, worse than the bloody Mill!” Salnia said harshly. She leaned on her mace and brushed at her gleaming scalemail with the other hand. “Look at these podunk peasants!”

  “It’s true. The likeness is remarkable. Are you truly a Hardprick?” asked Killjoy, rising to his feet and stepping around the table.

  “Hard as they come. Level forty-three Battletoad,” Harold said proudly.

  “He is one of them, our ancient lords, brought back from beyond the grave!” muttered a young miner, still clean-faced, so he probably shouldn’t be drinking on his way to work.

  “There’s always been a–” Harold began.

  “I get it. So this is your ancient homeland. Harold, meet Killjoy and Flatulence. Now, gentlemen, I present your once and future king. How about we settle these negotiations with a nice, easy surrender, and I can leave you lot to get reacquainted?” I asked.

  “There is one question I must ask before I accept this honour, Bob.” He turned to Salnia and dropped to one knee. He took her hand in his and stared deeply into her widening eyes. “Salnia Saint-Slayer, we’ve fought side by side for so long. We’ve shed blood and bled together, you blocked the Slavering Scangnasher on level sixteen from ripping out my spleen. I took a blow from a Barglenarn that would have taken your leg on level thirteen. We move as one, fight as one, live as one. Will you marry me?” he asked earnestly.

  Salnia punched him in the nose and stormed back through the portal.

  “Told you that was going to happen, Harold,” called Kat, not looking up from her paperwork.