“So we’ve got a deal?” I asked wearily. Three long, boring hours of Harold explaining his life and adventures to the miners had been excruciating. He really liked punching things, and he was also a big fan of explaining in detail which types of punches he used to defeat which kinds of monsters. I felt a brief pang of sympathy for Kat. Having to deal with my minions every day would have driven me insane.

  The pub had gradually filled up. Quarrymen coming off shift had stopped for longer than they’d intended. The first few had taken one look at the pair of cyber-bunnies I’d kept inside and spun on their heels, but gradually more and more had stayed awhile to listen.

  As the crowd grew, I’d started to see things in Harold that had been hidden by his obsession with levelling up and hitting things. He held their attention like it was in his blood, and his voice dipped and swelled at just the right parts to make his endless recitation of uppercuts, hooks and haymakers almost… interesting.

  Not for me, naturally. But the peons seemed to love it.

  I glared at Flat and Killjoy and mimed tapping at a watch on my wrist, a gesture that was wasted on the native-Helstatians. They shared a look, the old miner and the young guard seeming to communicate silently for a moment.

  They nodded, the old man decisively and the young one with a jerky, uncertain movement. Killjoy turned to me, then shoved his colleague in the side. Flat opened his mouth and paused yet again. I was going to send him back to the dungeon for some training, and hopefully it would beat the indecisiveness out of him.

  “Lieutenant Defiant Flatulence, acting in place of the appropriate authorities who are now dead and being digested by the dragon that is not forcing me to act under duress, reluctantly cedes control of Longbottom to the House of Bob. He is now in control of the town and has claimed control of it by right of conquest and the murder of everyone of higher rank than myself, who again, is definitely not saying this under threat of being eaten!” he announced to the air in a shaky voice. He flinched and closed his eyes as the system notification popped up.

  The first battle of the Civil War has been resolved.

  The town of Longbottom is no longer contested.

  The survivors of Lord Hateskale’s guard and “irregular” forces have surrendered.

  The House of Bob has emerged victorious.

  Baronet Bob has taken control of Longbottom and the surrounding area to be ruled from his capital of The Unnamed Dungeon.

  The current tax rate is 48%. Tax will be paid directly to the dragon's hoard.

  Even I winced at a flat tax rate of forty-eight per cent. Whatever his other flaws, I couldn’t help but respect Hateskale's greed. He was almost draconic in that regard.

  “Thanks for the lovely speech,” I muttered, glowering at Flat, who shook slightly and glanced away. “You covered your ass admirably. Now how the hell do I…” I flicked through options and menus for a moment, then gave up. “I name Harold Hardprick as lord of Longbottom!”

  Harold’s endless listing of which punch was superior in particular situations stuttered to a stop. “I’m, I’m in charge? First things first, that tax rate has got to-”

  I’m not sure if I actually teleported, or if it was just my enhanced physical characteristics, even while pretending to be a mammal. “A word, please!” I snatched him up by his collar and carried him to the quietest corner of the bar with the big man dangling like a kitten from my right hand.

  “I think we should talk about this before you do anything rash, and I have to ask Kat to ‘intervene,’” I whispered fiercely. Every eye in the room, bar the bunnyborgs' glowing red ones, had turned to follow me, and a hush had fallen over the locals. I set him down gently and winced at the dents my fingers had left in his armour.

  “Bob, my liege. Command me!” he said, dropping to one knee. Ok. Compliant minion. Sometimes I thanked my lucky stars to have had Kat with me when I arrived in this world. I couldn’t help but notice how both his hands had moved to cover his groin.

  “Look, I know that’s a steep tax rate, but we can’t just take it away all at once. I’m pretty sure it’ll disrupt the funding of local services, schools, hospitals, firemen, that kind of stuff. We need to think of ongoing institutions that are funded by that money, and I should probably have Kat do an analysis of where we can cut preexisting organisations to make a saving and justify reducing the tax burden,” I muttered, throwing a broad grin at the watching crowd and speaking to Harold out of the corner of my mouth. “Get up and act natural!”

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

  “But Bob, it’s incredibly harsh! A show of good faith on our part might help win over my people's support.”

  “Or it might make me look weak, and inspire a rebellion,” I countered.

  “No one can doubt your strength. You’re a bloody dragon, for Karen’s sake!”

  I glanced around nervously at his invocation of the god of admin. “I really think we need to do a thorough check over the town's accounts before we do anything rash. If we get Kat on it right now, it will only take, what, say three months?” My greed-goblin was rubbing its hands together and nodding along happily with my line of thinking.

  “Bob, I think I know what Kat would say in this situation. And so do you.”

  Dammit. He was right. The overworked pixie would take one look at the rate and start smacking me on the snout with her life preserver. Greed-goblin scowled and prepared to throw an epic fit in my mind. Sorry, little guy. I’ll try and keep it as high as possible.

  “How about five per cent?” I offered.

  “That’s a bit too far the other way. Fifteen to twenty would be fair, but your generosity would be clear to all if you did go so low,” Harold said thoughtfully, rubbing the scars on the knuckles of his right hand with his thumb.

  “I meant–I mean, we need to factor in the costs of the coming war. Whoever the new Hateskale is, he’s got to be preparing a counterattack, right? Armies aren’t cheap, and I’ll need one to defend the town.”

  “The Bonkers will come, and you don’t actually pay us at all. And you’ve got the Fighting Dolphins. And you’ve got the bunnies plus other assorted combat minions. Didn’t you say you’d signed an alliance with the dwarves? Plus Geeku and his horde. All backed up by a dragon-mage. The only costs you’ve got are feeding the Bonkers, paying the Dophins, and making the cyborgs, Bob.”

  “Which is insanely expensive!” I snapped. How much of my finances had Kat been chatting about in the canteen?

  “Rumour has it your hoard is like a hillock now, Bob.”

  God damn it. I was getting a lock put on the hatch to my hoard when I got back. I’d do my own dusting from now on. “Which we will need for the war,” I said firmly. I fully planned to make a profit off the war, but I’d have to survive it with my lands intact first.

  “I think twenty per cent is fair,” Harold nodded decisively.

  “Thirty.”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Fine, twenty!”

  Harold smiled and did something on his status screen, and the room erupted in gasps. The bastards had all been looking at their own screens, waiting to see the result of our not-so-subtle argument. “You did the right thing, Bob. A ruler must be firm and take what is needed, but also fair and try to make life better for the smallfolk. The inhabitants of Longbottom may seem dirty and smelly now, but with time and a lighter hand on the yoke, they’ll blossom. My grandfather, Jared Hardprick, was well known not only for his left jab, but–”

  “Fine, fine. Look, go take Flatulence and Killjoy and speak to the people in the town who aren’t pissheads and in a bar at eleven o’clock in the morning. Be seen. Tell some more charming stories about the ancestral Hardprick method of wrapping your knuckles for a boxing match. I’m finally going to do what I came here for.” I turned to the bar as I gently pushed Harold towards his people and smiled at Creville.

  “So, how much do you want for a fifty per cent stake in the Head?” I asked.

  Creville continued polishing his glass and looked up at me. “I’m not sure I want to do business with the lord of the town.”

  “Look, don’t play fucking hardball with me, Creville. After dealing with that–” I waved a hand to Harold as he led most of the mob out into the streets laughing boisterously with people he’d never met before, “–I just want it done. Portals to the Mill, access to the dungeon and the products of my minions, easy access to supplies from the city. A talented pastry chef and a supervisor who will spend most of his time asleep or ogling the barmaids. Please just give me a number.”

  He put the glass down on the bar and draped his polishing cloth over his shoulder. “Two and a half.”

  “Done.” Greed-goblin started battering at my sanity, but I focused on the image of my hoard and its millions of gold to try and calm him down. “I’ll need you to have a chat with Kat and sort out the paperwork, but that can wait till tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

  I brought in a portal to my lair and stepped through. I noticed Creville’s eyes widen at his brief glimpse of my treasure before the portal snapped closed behind me. I carefully removed my clothes, no point damaging them even though they were only the cheap stuff, and transformed, shaking from snout to tail as I dropped the human masquerade.

  I’d been spending too much time as a human. I had to transform to use the portals. I made a mental note to see if Inedible-Reg could make me a big one, but I had a perfectly viable alternative. I looked at the scattered clouds drifting through the sky outside my lair and spread my wings.

  A tail reached down and picked up a jar of pickles, another using a sucker to twist off the lid, and tipped the contents down my throat. My stomach rumbled unhappily. Maybe I had eaten something that disagreed with me this morning.

  I slithered over to my hoard, scaled the mighty north face, and then burrowed in at the top. My eyes drooped closed as the comfort of my shinies surrounded me.

  The hatch had a squeak. Not having it oiled had been a deliberate choice. It wasn’t quite as effective as clanking some of my coins together as an alarm, but my natural protectiveness of my shinies left me ever alert to the small sound.

  Without opening an eye, I told whoever it was to sod off.

  “Ah, Lord, Lady Kat suggested I come speak to you regarding the matter of–”

  A jet of orange-green fire flew from one nostril in the hatch's general direction. It slammed shut with a scream, a squeak and a thud.

  I’d won the opening battle of the war without breaking a sweat. It boded well for whatever was to come.