To Rowan’s amazement, in just a few days, Cora had become much more assertive, bossing everyone in the restaurant. “This steak is medium rare; I wanted it rare. Do you 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 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 to discuss.

  “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.”

  Cora frowned. “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-six, like this one.”

  “They were hardened criminals,” Viscardi’s 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 at most thirty Town Cores or a total of high-density Mana areas of under ten million square miles.”

  “So, no more magic over that?” Rowan asked.

  Cora pursed her lips. “Worse. Earth could break apart.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a silver lining, though. If it comes to that, but the Town Cores are over level fifty, the planet will become an Island Cluster.”

  “What’s that?” Rowan asked.

  “Large chunks float together, and you fly in between with blimps or whatever airship.”

  “Why isn’t the System issuing quests, alarms, stuff?”

  “My best guess is it doesn’t care so much. The Awakened Towns will survive no matter what, and if the existing towns claim and consume the rest of the core, the problem is solved. Also, Earth’s overall Mana field will increase by itself gradually, and the danger will pass.”

  “We better hurry to get more cores, just in case,” Rowan interjected. “Sorry, baby, go on.”

  “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.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “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 want to use their cores to build more bases and subdue the territory in between. And the mercenaries are in play too.”

  “A core would allow the mercs 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.”

  “To claim a core, you have to challenge the dungeon, remember? In Goblin Town, your group saved the day, allowing 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 Scotch rules, and you challenge me to a duel, which I’ll pretend to lose… hey, what’s up with you?”

  Suddenly, 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 was the prey waiting to be bitten.

  “You want a piece of me, old man? Take it back, now!” Rowan felt a passenger in his body, and the notification embarrassed him to the moon and back. “Scotch wouldn’t even exist if not for our barrels!”

  Your subconsciousness took over in a fit of rage, acting upon your previous frequent involvement in Bar Fights. Having an unbalanced build yet and struggling all the time to keep control of your emotions means you are prone to emotional discharges. Raising your INT to the third Threshold will help solve this problem.

  Trying to get his reason back failed. Rowan stared 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?” Victoria asked.

  Rowan struggled to say very little, 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 have an Arena!”

  “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,” Viscardi pushed the handkerchief back into 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 on. She needs better training, I’ll have a word with Isla.

  “A genius’s plan,” Snemc said. “Arranging a meeting here, where we have an Arena? Brilliant.”

  Honestly, we met here for the boar steak.

  “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 Rowan 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 solemnly: “I’ll bet on you.” That meant the staff had eavesdropped at the door.

  “I have to feed the spawn,” Fenrri said, exiting as well.

  “Goodness… What have I done?” Rowan exhaled. “Baby… I need your help.”

  “Anything you want!” Cora rushed to sit 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. “That’s not what I have in mind, I’ll be tired for the match. It’s about the girls… I’m not sure I can face a scolding now. Could you call Grace and Isla and tell them what happened And that it was a… masterful cunning plan of my part?”

  “Sure, my love. By the way, I changed shifts with Isla, and you’re all mine for three days. Iiii!” Clapping happily, Cora bolted to the exit.