The discovery of the hidden hero in the town hall basement was a complication.
A very interesting, and probably very dangerous, complication.
But it was a problem for future Ragnar.
Present Ragnar had a more pressing issue: a looming, full-scale mutiny in his own command staff over the quality of the snacks.
My throne room, a place of imposing crystal and strategic importance, was now filled with the low, rumbling snores of my victorious but exhausted army.
And the faint, but unmistakable, smell of unwashed Orc.
The looting operation had been a resounding success. We now owned a fleet of slightly dented pickup trucks, several dozen computers that were probably running on Windows 95, and enough toasters to equip a small nation with a mediocre breakfast.
But with victory came the inevitable, soul-crushing reality of human resources.
I had summoned the instigators of the recent... disciplinary issue... to my throne room.
Chloe, my beautiful, fanatical shadow.
Layla, my sultry, manipulative Lilim.
And Izayoi, my impossibly expensive and perpetually bored Vampire Baron.
They knelt before me, their heads bowed, a perfect picture of remorseful loyalty.
They had, during the Reign operation, taken my order to "neutralize all hostiles" a bit too literally. They had, in fact, vaporized an entire squad of local militia who had been in the process of surrendering.
It was a minor diplomatic incident, but it was the principle of the thing.
"You disobeyed a direct order," I began, my voice a low, dangerous purr. "You allowed your zeal to override your tactical judgment. This is unacceptable."
Chloe looked up, her amethyst eyes filled with a terrifying, unwavering devotion.
"They were a threat to you, my Lord," she said, her voice a quiet whisper of absolute conviction. "And any threat to you must be... erased. We offer our lives as penance for our failure to adhere to the letter of your command."
Layla and Izayoi nodded in solemn agreement.
They were ready to die. For me. Because they had been too enthusiastic in their murdering.
I ran a hand over my face.
This was my life now.
Managing a death cult that worshiped my magnificent, demonic dick.
"Your lives are too valuable to be thrown away on a matter of paperwork," I said, my voice laced with a weary resignation. "But your actions must have consequences. A punishment is required. One that fits the crime."
I looked at them, at their readiness to accept any brutal, violent fate I could devise.
And then, Takaharu, who had been quietly trying to figure out how to work a toaster, spoke up.
"IF THEY HAD NOT KILLED THE HUMANS," he roared, his voice shaking the entire Spire, "THE HUMANS COULD HAVE COOKED US DINNER. I AM VERY HUNGRY."
A terrible, beautiful, and utterly hilarious idea bloomed in my mind.
"That," I said, a slow, wicked smile spreading across my face, "is a brilliant idea."
I looked at my three kneeling fanatics.
"Your punishment is this," I declared, my voice ringing with the authority of a king who had just come up with a truly masterful, passive-aggressive solution. "You will be excluded from the victory feast. And, for the next month, you three will be on dish duty. For the entire army."
The look of pure, unadulterated horror on their faces was more satisfying than any execution.
With the disciplinary meeting concluded, the far more important meeting could begin.
"We require a feast worthy of our station!" Saburo declared, striking a pose. "A banquet of champions!"
"I REQUIRE MEAT," Grak roared. "RAW. AND BLOODY."
"You are an uncivilized brute," Sarah sniffed, examining her nails. "I require something... delicate. Perhaps a nice coq au vin. With a truffle reduction."
The argument raged for ten minutes.
"ENOUGH!" I roared, my voice cutting through the culinary chaos. "I will decide."
I thought for a moment. What did I want?
I didn’t need to eat. My vampiric nature sustained me.
But then, a word, a memory, a ghost of a taste from a life I could no longer remember, flickered in my mind.
"We will have," I announced, the word feeling strange on my tongue, "curry and rice."
The feast was held by a riverside on the outskirts of our new territory.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of blood and fire. It was still uncomfortably bright.
I sat on a hastily conjured throne of black stone, watching my dysfunctional family of monsters and legends eat.
Yori, my wise and cunning old strategist, sat beside me.
"You should join them, my Lord," he said, his voice a quiet, reedy sound. "It is good for a king to share a meal with his people. It builds... camaraderie."
"Camaraderie is for people who aren’t planning on backstabbing each other for a promotion," I muttered, but I knew he was right.
With a sigh, I accepted a bowl of curry.
The smell was... familiar. A complex, fragrant cloud of spice and warmth.
And the world seemed to stop.
The taste exploded on my tongue. It was rich, savory, with a hint of sweetness and a slow, creeping heat.
And with the taste came a flicker of something else.
A warm kitchen. The sound of a woman humming a tune I couldn’t quite place. A feeling of... safety. Of home.
The memory was gone as quickly as it came, leaving only a strange, hollow ache in my chest.
At the laughing, bickering, beautiful, chaotic mess of them.
This was my life now.
And I was, for the first time in a long time, content.
The quiet, peaceful moment was, of course, too good to last.
A sudden, frantic flapping of leathery wings cut through the air.
A Giant Bat, one of my most trusted scouts, swooped down from the twilight sky.
It landed on the table in front of me, a small, sealed message capsule tied to its leg.
Pixia, ever the efficient aide, took the capsule and opened it.
She read the small, rolled-up piece of parchment.
Her tiny, academic face went pale.
"My Lord," she whispered, her voice trembling with a fear I had never heard from her before.
"It is a report from our northern scouts."
"It is about the human city."