Nathan entered through the portal. A split-second later, someone slammed into him with the force of a very small freight train. Nathan staggered, looked up, and locked eyes with the werewolf who’d nearly killed him once before. This time, however, the werewolf held a pack of pamphlets in one hand and wore a red scarf with a strange symbol stitched on it.

  The werewolf froze.

  “Lord Nathan,” he said, his voice tight.

  Nathan squinted. “What are you doing?”

  Before the werewolf could answer, Zayen bumped into Nathan from behind. Nathan turned to steady him, only for Zayen to glance around, his eyes wide with wonder.

  “This is a soulbound town?” Zayen said. “How fascinating.”

  Nathan sighed and refocused on the werewolf. “Well? Can you answer my question?”

  The werewolf coughed into his hand, his ears flattening in embarrassment.

  “Of course, my lord.” He gestured at the pamphlets. “I am a member of the Reformer Party. We’re attempting to drum up support before the election.”

  Nathan’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  I don’t know how to feel about a dude who tried to kill me participating in the political process—but then again, I did ask for this.

  “Yes, an election!” Zayen said. “You mentioned this earlier. You’re attempting to use a democratic system, yes?”

  Nathan reached out for one of the pamphlets. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

  The werewolf handed over a pamphlet with great care. Nathan scanned its contents and blinked.

  EMBRACE THE FUTURE: JOIN THE REFORMER PARTY!

  Below the headline, a crude illustration depicted wolves and mushroom people holding hands, dancing in a perfect circle under a rainbow.

  Are you tired of signing a contract just to borrow a cup of sugar? Do you dream of a world where you can spontaneously high-five someone without legal documentation? The Reformer Party fights for YOU!

  Nathan could get behind some of the message. He read on.

  We envision a town where all beings, fungal or furry, soar together on wings of mutual understanding, peace, and occasionally interpretive dance. WITHOUT CONTRACTS!

  Nathan sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Interpretive dance? And are you proposing eliminating contracts entirely?”

  “Yes!” The werewolf’s chest puffed up proudly. “We dream of a town where agreements are made through mutual understanding and goodwill, rather than—”

  “Rather than contracts?” Nathan said. “What’s your alternative? Blood oaths? Pinky promises?”

  Zayen hummed thoughtfully. “The idea is interesting, but it poses a number of practical concerns.”

  “Our manifesto addresses every conceivable scenario!” the werewolf said, flipping his pamphlet to a section labeled The Thousand-Year Community Plan. “For instance, in the absence of contracts, we propose the implementation of a Universal Consensus Accord. This involves daily town meetings where all decisions are made by collective agreement!”

  Nathan’s jaw dropped. “Daily meetings? You want everyone in town to sit down and hash out every decision together? Every day?”

  “Precisely!” the werewolf said, wagging his tail. “Transparency! Unity! Efficiency!”

  It’s hard enough getting people to agree on the council, and there are only a handful of people there. How are you going to make good decisions involving EVERYONE?!

  Before Nathan could articulate his incredulity, a voice cut through the conversation. “What madness!” it said. “Without every contract signed in triplicate, do we even have a society anymore?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Nathan groaned. He recognized that voice anywhere. “Burrau, what are you doing here?”

  Burrau adjusted his glasses and crossed his arms. “I’ll have you know I was elected to a high position within the Contractist Party. As part of my duties, I was invited to give a speech in the town square. Of course, we couldn’t proceed because the Reformers blocked the event with their protests.”

  The werewolf growled. “Were we supposed to just let you speak and spread your pernicious lies?”

  “Yes!” Burrau said. “If you wanted to protest our protest, you needed to sign the necessary forms!”

  Nathan raised an eyebrow.

  Not exactly the part I would’ve objected to, but then again, I’m the foreigner here. Well, technically, so is the werewolf.

  Is this my fault?

  Before Nathan could intervene, Burrau marched up to the werewolf. “I have no problem with your kind or your particular culture. But when you came here, you came to a mushroom town. You must respect our beliefs and our long and storied tradition.”

  “Your tradition involves signing forty-seven pages of paperwork to buy a tomato!” the werewolf shot back. “This is madness!”

  Nathan felt a droplet of sweat trail down his neck.

  Am I going to have to step in again?

  Meanwhile, Zayen seemed to be having the time of his life. He wore a massive grin and waved two flags, one in each hand. One bore the sigil of the Contractists—a low-quality PNG-like photo of a signed contract—while the other depicted a sickle and moon, the symbol of the Reformers.

  “Whose side are you on?” Nathan asked.

  “Neither!” Zayen grinned. “I just think it’s all very interesting.”

  Before Burrau and the werewolf could escalate their argument, a figure strode toward them. A mushroom man, dressed in a sleek, militaristic uniform, approached with an air of authority. A ribbon adorned his chest, and his posture was sharp and precise.

  “I see the Reformers and Contractists are once again engaged in petty, meaningless debates,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “You fail to understand that the TPP will sweep this election. And when we do, it will be the end of life as you know it.”

  Nathan’s hair stood on end.

  What kind of radical policies does this guy have in mind?

  The Reformers were extreme enough, and the Contractists equally so. But this man was claiming to be worse?

  Nathan's plant arm twitched. He tensed it and it stopped moving.

  “What are you planning?” Nathan said.

  The mushroom man turned his nose up. “Our first act will be to implement a fifteen percent reduction in contract size.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  Nathan rubbed his eyes. “What?”

  Burrau and the werewolf reacted instantly.

  “You monster!” the werewolf barked. “A fifteen percent reduction? Are you out of your mind?”

  “And I thought some in my own faction were extreme,” Burrau muttered. “Clearly, you’ve outdone them all.”

  Nathan stared at the uniformed man. “Who exactly are you people? And who’s leading you?”

  “We are managed by our great and glorious leader—“ He clasped his hands behind his back. “—Sticks!”

  Nathan’s stomach dropped.

  How in the hell did Sticks get involved in this? Maybe Gius was right about Sticks being some kind of madman, a devious mastermind? But how is a fifteen percent reduction in paperwork supposed to be radical?

  “You actually seem pretty reasonable,” Zayen said.

  “Reasonable?” The TPP representative gasped. “This is pure chaos! Controlled, carefully measured chaos! The future is now! Slightly! In small, manageable increments!”

  “I still don’t know what this party is called,” Nathan said.

  “We are the TPP. The Party of People Who Just Want to Hang Out and Stuff!”

  Nathan groaned, rubbing his face.

  I am deeply regretting telling Gius to prepare an election. This may have been the worst idea I’ve ever had.

  Zayen tilted his head, watching Nathan. Though his hands still waved the two flags with playful enthusiasm, there was a flicker of something sharper in his eyes—calculation, maybe? He tapped the flagpole against his chin, as if considering how Nathan was managing the chaos unfolding around him.

  Before Nathan’s brain could melt further, a commanding voice cut through the racket. Fuge marched forward, shoving people aside, and snapped a crisp salute.

  “Lord Nathan,” she said. “Apologies for the delay. The military is stretched thin with patrols around the city. As you can expect, it’s been a turbulent time.”

  “I see,” Nathan said.

  “Shall we head to the town hall, then?” Fuge asked.

  Nathan nodded. “Let’s go.”

  The werewolf glanced over. “Have we persuaded you?”

  The representatives from all three factions stared at Nathan with anticipation.

  “I’m not going to talk about that right now,” Nathan said.

  The werewolf frowned and took a step forward, but a large figure blocked his path. Kason, the orc Nathan had helped a while back, loomed in front of him. He wore armor similar to Fuge’s but adapted for his larger frame.

  “You will not take a single step forward,” Kason growled.

  The werewolf hesitated but eventually backed down.

  “Kason,” Nathan said. “I… kind of forgot about you. I thought you got ripped away with Bjorn.”

  “No,” Kason replied. “The soulbound town probably shielded me. I wasn’t in the circle. Perhaps the system has limited control over the town itself?”

  “Or perhaps it has something to do with the divine seed?” Fuge suggested. “Whatever the case, we need to get moving. Gius is waiting for you.”

  Nathan nodded. “Let’s go.”