In the end, they renounced activating a core in Philly. Still, Rowan did trigger the one they claimed from the Eldritch Dungeon in Louisville. Being able to teleport between Elkins and Kentucky offered a faster way to scout for dungeons, and it also meant protecting two important things: Bourbon and his friends.

  The System-assisted voting and tracing boundaries took all day because Rowan wanted to incorporate as many and as good Bourbon distilleries as he could. When it was done, it was night, so they stayed with Jim and Gwen, ensuring there were orcs and Italian military patrols all over the town for security.

  Nevertheless, instead of being able to leave early in the morning, the new polity's Council had scheduled a meeting to debate their future, and basic politeness demanded they stay. So, their sojourn prolonged into the early afternoon of the next day, with interminable debates and arguments in a conference room rented in an old but elegant hotel.

  For what Rowan cared, it was a waste of time. At first, he wanted to appoint his friend as his representative and be rid of it. After all, if he was smart enough to run a distillery, Jim could run a small country, right? What could go wrong? But Jim had refused, settling for an advisory job in the Council. Rowan had understood. Running a distillery was a dream job; running a bloody polity meant dealing with boring problems.

  “They're ready,” Cora elbowed him.

  “Uh?” he jerked, stirred from his half-slumber.

  "The debate is finished. They're ready to present you with the new Constitution."

  "Oh, my God… is it long?" Rowan's shoulders sagged.

  "Just the basics," Cora reassured him.

  “Purrfect…” Rowan yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry for the pun, babe. I cat help myself. Aouch!” he yelped as Cora pulled his ear between her nails.

  “Cut it. This is important!” she frowned.

  Cat it, impurrtant, Rowan took a mental note. In truth, he was bored out of his mind and was flirting with the idea to add a stand-up comedy moment to his performance with Grace.

  “If you allow me to summarize, your Highness,” the assembly president rose, bowing toward Rowan, "we propose the name of our new country should be Bourbon Borough and your title Prince. After all, Bourbon and princes are related.”

  “Mind not losing your head,” Isla joked, swinging her chair back and forth on the rear legs.

  “I agree with your proposition," Rowan nodded his head. It was a good name and title, so he could start by showing magnanimity and accepting the suggestion.

  Rowan Allinder, you are now Count of Cora County, Suzerain of Rome, Warchief of Goblin Town, Honorary Godfather of Calveor, Thane of The Swarthy Elves, and Prince of Bourbon Borough.

  "We all want to thank you for choosing us. The situation was desperate. Bands of renegade military extorted us every other day, and… sorry, I will not burden us with our past problems. Does Your Highness have any suggestions for how we proceed with governance?” the woman continued talking, keeping her respectful posture.

  Rowan waved his hand, imagining he was executing a magnanimous gesture, proper with his titles. “Look, I’m a big fan of delegating and the sworn enemy of micro-management. Do what you think is best except for the most important thing. Hear me out, people," Rowan raised his voice, getting on his feet. "This is a blessed place, hosting one of the masterpieces of humankind: Bourbon. As such, we should rise to the occasion and defend this legacy. Things cannot go on like before. Bourbon Borough will confiscate all multinationals' property and transform them into independent producers…”

  [Cora to Rowan]: Viscardi and Lepatrina took many multinationals.

  "Err… except if they’re based in Rome or Vegas, 'cause those are good multinationals… never mind. The rules will be tight. Any proof below eighty-six is to be illegal. No, make it ninety-two. No… it's too harsh… eighty-six it is, but that's it. We'll offer subsidies for non-chill filtering, barrel strength, and niche stuff. It goes without saying that sourcing should be prohibited.”

  "For goodness sake, Rowan, you're turning Stalin on us," his friend, Jim, erupted, slapping the table. "Half my production is MGP sourced from Indiana. There's nothing wrong with it as long it's aged well here."

  "I'm sorry…" Rowan sighed, "I got ahead of myself… I don't want to be a tyrant. Very well," he energized again. "Sourcing will not be prohibited but has to be mentioned on the label. And throw them in prison anyone who doesn't."

  “Why don’t we allow Jim and the local people to sort it out?” Cora insisted, gently touching his arm to interrupt Rowan's dreams of Bourbon greatness. “We have to give the news to Viscardi, eventually.”

  “True, true… well, sort it out, but give me a report in a week. This is important. Ah… one more thing. Where’s Isla?” he turned his head around.

  “I’m here,” the blonde snorted, five feet apart. “I just talked to you a moment ago.”

  “Oh, you’re here… true… but you changed so much since you’re an artist… for a moment, I thought you’re a fairy descended from heaven," Rowan awkwardly tried to dress up his mistake. "Listen, people, I would appreciate it if Bourbon Borough's Council finds a central spot in town for my talented, classy wife here to build a work of art, a sculpture or something. She's new at her job but can't do worse than that modern stuff, right?"

  “S-sure, your Highness.”

  "Young man, can I say something?" an elderly gentleman interjected. "I'll be candid. Maybe I don't look my age, but I could be your grandfather and have been married for sixty years. If you want to give your wife a gift, choose it yourself. You know the town well, right?"

  "That's genius!" Rowan exclaimed. "Thank you so much, sir! I'll ask one of my friends to bestow you a class; such wisdom should live on and spread to the next generations. Town Core, make a note and remind me of this. Cora!"

  "Sorry, can you repeat what you just said?" the Nekojin said."I was texting with Viscardi and told him we'll visit."

  "They have a lot of modern ugly buildings here. Why don't you and Isla work together to build some nice castles instead, sculptures and all?"

  "I can?" The Nekojin clasped her hands in a prayer-like gesture, her hair all fluffy and her tail up to the sky.

  "It will be gorgeous," Isla promised. "I'll ask Dmitri for advice. And your father. And Lepastrina."

  "Your Highness, but… err… we have commissioned those buildings to renowned architects, and—"

  "That trash was made by renowned architects? Nonsense. Core, launch a System plebiscite in Bourbon Borough. Do you agree to replace all the ugly modernist shit in town with castles and nice pretty buildings? Offer a choice between Art Nouveau style, Romantic German, and… err…"

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  "Georgian colonial," Isla interjected.

  "Brilliant. And Georgian colonial. My cute wife Cora will take care of the design and construction. My talented wife Grace and I will sing at the inauguration, and the sculptures will be made by my wonderful wife Isla Culloden, The Artist."

  Isla and Cora were beaming, and he kissed them on the cheek.

  [Bourbon Borrough AI to all]: I'm pleased to announce His Highness has won the vote with an impressive margin.

  "See, guys, we have everything under control," an enthused Rowan said to the Council, who, for whatever reason, was unanimously slack-jawed. "You're safe under our protection, and we'll build you the most exquisite center town you can dream of. Art Nouveau is the new art again. We must go now, but I can't wait to be back… Prince of Bourbon Borough… I'm so happy!" he rubbed his hands.

  Half an hour later, they entered a luxurious private lounge in Viscardi’s Casino-Castle. The Vampire Lord was playing poker with Victoria and her younger sister, Vera, plus a few men that couldn’t be anything else than Italian Mobsters, Rowan decided. One of them, in his thirties, had a weird, empty stare. Like a dead fish, only menacing.

  “Nice to see you, join us,” Viscardi offered. "Meet my friends and Vito, my son-in-law, Vera's husband," he gestured at the blank-eyed mobster, who sketched a short nod barely half an inch deep.

  Rowan and his two wives took seats around the table, but the newly appointed prince shook his head, refusing the offer for a poker hand. “Sorry. Took a vow never to play poker again after losing a bet and running naked around the factory…”

  “You have to tell us more of your stories at some point," the Vampire smiled, leaning back on the sofa. "Nice job, awakening Louisville. I have a feeling we'll do a lot of business together. Booze and the Cosa Nostra work hand in hand."

  "As long you respect our new purity and proof law," Rowan said amiably but with firmness and crisp, clear wording. Bourbon was not to be messed with.

  "A snack, a drink?” the Vampire said, gesturing to the plates on a nearby table and the bar.

  “We're OK. Viscardi. I have bad news. Somebody stole the Detector.” Rowan said directly, and his mood plunged, losing all the enthusiasm he had gained over becoming a Bourbon Prince.

  “Tell me more,” the Vampire Lord said.

  “We were clearing a mini-dungeon and got dragged into an ambush. The Neeks kidnapped a couple of my friends to blackmail us, so we were a little… sloppy. The scouts who discovered the dungeon vanished after replacing the Sensor with a real sparkplug.”

  “Human scouts or Elves?” The Vampire asked, frowning slightly.

  “Humans, low level. We sent the police and checked their homes, but they were nowhere. We asked the families questions and analyzed their social media and emails. They didn't act strange or have contact with third parties we know about.”

  “Hm… Do you still have it?”

  “Yes, it’s in my inventory,” Cora said.

  “Give it to me,” Viscardi forwarded his hand. The Vampire took the object, examining it with attention. He sniffed it twice, with each nostril, then took a cigarette lighter and held the object under the flame, inhaling the smoke. “As I thought. The scent is unmistakable.”

  “What scent?” Cora asked.

  “You see, my dear Engineer, human scouts would not have been able to pickpocket someone with Nekojin perception and dexterity. I assume you’re ninety-nine in DEX, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “By the way, baby, you never showed me your stats,” Rowan said.

  “I—”

  “She didn’t show you her stats because they're pretty standard,” Viscardi interjected. “She’s one hundred in her main stat, INT, and ninety-nine in the rest. That’s how youngsters role these days, farming APs in places like the Traipenent."

  "It's true," Cora nodded. "Nevertheless, I worked hard to farm points not only in the Dungeons but from crafting quests too. This is how I developed my Interfacer subclass and, in the end, linked myself to Elkins's core.”

  Rowan fondled her hand. "I'm lucky to have you, baby… I love you so much."

  She melted, gluing herself to his shoulder. “I fell in love with you from the first day… It was destiny.”

  “I applaud your acumen in finding a perfect husband, Lady Shemeows," the Vampire said after clearing his throat to get their attention to the matters at hand. "Now, let’s return to our predicament. There was foul play. There’s a whiff of decay on that object, and the smoke’s scent is waxy… Those guys who stole the Sensor—”

  “An old lady and a young man,” Rowan said.

  “They were dead.”

  “What?” Rowan gasped.

  “The wax is a Necromancer's signature. Undead rot is easy to detect. But a freshly revived corpse, if coated in a special wax, can go on for years, and most of it, those who raised them can use the dead as an extension of their own body. That leads to another question. Necromancy is a forbidden lore specific to wild Systems.”

  “We had an Undead dungeon on the Traipenent,” Cora leaned her head, looking up like she was trying to remember something. “I don't know much about it. Never run it; my mother didn’t allow me.”

  “She was wise. Dealing with the undead is emotionally challenging. We have to assume a Necromancer escaped from that dungeon.”

  “And what now?” Rowan asked. “Any way to track the Detector, baby?" he looked at Cora."

  "Not so far I know...” she lowered her eyes.

  “I'm confident you'll figure something out," Viscardi said. "Unfortunately," he sighed, "we have some bad news of our own. Victoria, why don't you tell them?”

  The blonde Vampire grimaced, leaning back on her armchair and crossing her legs. “I went to Vladivostok, as ordered," she glanced at Rowan. "They planned to activate as many cores as possible and make themselves a new empire. I followed the Artifact User for a few days until she left town on an expedition, which I joined under a fake name… Long story, but I will not bother you with it.

  "The thing is, in Russia—don’t laugh, it’s hilarious, but it is what it is—people would rather trust their central government, so they had to activate cores someplace where they could win the vote. The plan was to Awaken Irkutsk and then go to Kazakhstan and the Caucasus. So, we left toward Irkutsk, intending to cut through Inner Mongolia.

  “One night, after checking into the hotel, we had a drink in the bar. I spiced the woman’s vodka. She falls unconscious; I pretend she’s drunk and carry her back to her room. The plan was to kidnap her after securing the cores.

  As long as someone's unconscious, one can access their inventory using Rogue skills, which I have. I pulled up maybe six… or eight cores, but I forgot. Many. Then she wakes up and activates all of them in one go and puts a bullet in her brain… I suppose she had a Rezz and was ported back to Vladivostok.”

  “Russian women are tough,” one of the mobsters nodded.

  “The new Awakened Town warped me out of the area because it considered me hostile. I found myself deep in a jungle… don’t laugh, face to face with a giant crocodile.”

  “You’re kidding me! How did you survive?” Rowan asked.

  “I ran. It came after me… and they're not as slow as you might imagine. I was about to light up a cigarette when somebody shot the beast. By happenstance, I met a hunting party. We talked, and I found out I was near the Great Lakes, in a small country in Africa, and the guy who saved me was none other than the local dictator. A charming person, otherwise. He wants to… do business together; maybe we can give him a core once things are settled and Earth doesn’t explode. He flew me here on a private jet.”

  “One sec. He came with you?” Rowan asked.

  “Yes, he wants to speak to you and Father in person. He's touring the Casinos for now.”

  “I’d say to hear him out, but make time for Harbin too,” Cora said.

  “What’s Harbin?” Rowan asked.

  “It’s the new polity,” Cora said. “Quite big. The activated cores must have fused together and Awakened the area in default settings. They sent a message a few hours ago, but it went into the Spam folder. Here it is: 'Hi, we’re the newest Town Core in Town. We hope we can be friends. Sincerely, the Harbin Republic.' Want me to tell them something?”

  “Yeah, tell them: Dear Harbin Republic, I look forward to doing business together. Let’s have a Zoom at a time of your convenience. I’m sorry for not replying sooner; I was in a dungeon. Best regards, Count bla bla bla.”

  “Count bla bla…”

  “Err…”

  “Joking. Yours, Count Rowan Allinder,” Cora texted. “Oh, they replied already. Thumbs up and a heart emoji.”

  "Great," Viscardi said. "Let's recap. Bad thing: the Detector was stolen, and Vladivostok's Artifact user is probably Rezzed. Good things: Awakening Harbin consumed more than one core, so our count is still good. Now, if only we'd have a method to detect dungeons—"

  "What the fuck?" Rowan blurted all of a sudden, almost falling from the couch.

  "What's wrong?" Viscardi asked.

  “I just received a weird quest…”

  Leadership Quest.

  A leader has to maintain a circle of trusted friends and allies. Speak with the following individuals and gain their sympathy:

  Mobsters’ Group (Vito and his friends)

  African Dictator

  Inglotal, the Swarthy Elves tribe’s war chief

  Spend time with each of them and increase your reputation by at least a tier. Gain as much knowledge from them as you can.

  Reward:

  1 Level and 1 free AP for each successful subquest.

  +3 AP if all three subquests are successful.

  ???