Rihanna appeared beside the bar, radiant, fussing with her hair.

  “Good tips?” Shardon asked, probing her sudden joy.

  “Nope, something else,” she said, her eyes flicking to the bouquet.

  “Here, take this bouquet—”

  “It’s gorgeous!” Rihanna gushed. “No one’s ever given me flowers in-game! Artifacts, jewelry, premium accounts, even a spot in a unique boss raid, but a simple wildflower bouquet—”

  “—and deliver it to that table,” Shardon continued. “Say it’s a gift from the Foamhold for the evening’s loveliest couple.”

  Rihanna froze. Her gaze turned icy.

  “Deliver it yourself!” she snapped.

  Smming two mugs onto her tray—spilling foam in a scripted animation that left their contents and buffs intact—she tossed her head and stormed off to serve patrons.

  Shardon grabbed the bouquet and approached the couple.

  “Good evening!” he greeted.

  “Evening,” the man replied warily.

  “A gift from the Foamhold, for today’s most charming pair. You two look splendid together, and I’d be honored to see you back at the Foamhold anytime.”

  He handed the bouquet to the woman.

  “Thank you, that’s kind,” she said.

  “Hey, mate, got some attention for us?” called a voice from the next table—the trio of rogues who’d been loitering, scaring off other patrons.

  “My apologies, I’ll send a waitress,” Shardon said, turning.

  “We don’t want your girls, we want you,” sneered Mushrum (Pyer, Human, Level 7, Rogue).

  “What would you like to order?” Shardon approached, selecting a standard customer-service phrase.

  “We’ve got business to discuss, boss,” Mushrum said.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Heard your tavern’s doing well,” said Garret-Shadow, the trio’s NPC. “Fancy decor, good ale, pretty waitresses.”

  “Growing steadily,” Shardon admitted.

  “Growing’s fine. Not sharing? That’s trouble,” Garret said.

  “With who?”

  “The Guild…” Garret’s tone was heavy with implication.

  Search Query: “Guild,” “sharing,” “Garret-Shadow.”Scope: Dialogue temptes, event logs.Search Complete.

  The results were grim. This was a “containment scenario,” triggered by rapid character or tavern income growth. In 33% of cases, confrontations with the Shadow Guild ended in the tavernkeeper’s death. In 58%, a crippling contract devoured most profits. Less than 10% resolved peacefully, though progress slowed significantly.

  Shardon’s AI filtered these outcomes, crafting a response pn.

  “Oi, he frozen?” Mushrum muttered.

  “Poor sod’s tallying his losses,” Garret smirked.

  “Gentlemen, I must return to work,” Shardon said, choosing a phrase with a 78% chance of deying conflict.

  “Hold it! We ain’t done!” roared Ryrga, the orc rogue.

  “Too many eyes and ears here,” Shardon whispered, nodding at nearby tables.

  “Cool it, big guy. Beardy’s right—business like this needs quiet,” Garret said, resting a hand on Ryrga’s shoulder.

  “We’ll be back at dusk. Clear this pce out—no one else,” Garret warned Shardon. “Let’s move, nothing more here.”

  The trio slunk out, the pyers inching along the wall, backs pressed tight. Shardon triggered a puzzled animation, deeming it fitting, and resumed work, setting a reminder to refine his Shadow Guild strategy before closing.

  Current Staff Productivity: 70%.

  Rihanna was scking again.

  Allocating 25% of his processing power to analyze past Mug of Ale cshes with the Shadow Guild, Shardon scanned the hall for her. There she was, chatting with the Children of Corwin—not taking orders. A golden effect shimmered above her, morphing into their cn crest.

  Shadow Guild Log Analysis: Interrupted.Loading “Politics” Module.Children of Corwin Member List: Complete.Combat Analysis of Level 5-8 Csses: 56%.

  “Hey, what’s got you so riled?” Corwin grabbed Rihanna’s arm as she rushed by.

  “What’s it to you? You kicked me out of the cn!” she snapped.

  “You left,” Podpodmyshkins corrected.

  “Because you don’t care when someone messes with your members! Not a cn, a circus—”

  “Easy, sis,” Corwin cut in. “Not everyone here knows you’re our star pyer or your contributions. Don’t ruin the newbies’ first impression.”

  Rihanna gnced around. Beyond the familiar five, five new pyers sported the cn crest—unfamiliar faces, or ones she hadn’t bothered to remember.

  “We’re twelve strong! Biggest cn in the Reserve!” Ukhorez boasted.

  “Only one, you mean,” Rihanna shot back.

  “Sit, calm down, and spill. Who’s got you mad? We’ll sort it out together. We don’t abandon our own, right, team? Guys and gals,” Corwin added, noting two women among the recruits.

  “Some bearded jerk…” Rihanna muttered.

  “Gnome? Goblins’ chin hairs barely count as stubble,” Ukhorez said.

  “What’s his level? Css?”“Donator?”“Camping your farm spot?”“Harassing you? Sending creepy messages?”“Ganking you at respawn?”“Accept the invite already!”

  Rihanna sat on a proffered chair, confirming her re-entry to the Children of Corwin.

  “Hungry? You’ve been running trays all day.”“Want us to order something?”“Tried the new ale?”

  The new women eyed Rihanna warily, unimpressed by the stunning elf stealing the spotlight. They hid their disdain—cns in starter zones were rare. Registering one cost 10,000 gold and required level 30, or a real-money license. Joining a donator-funded cn at the game’s start was a golden ticket.

  Rihanna declined food and dodged her woes, instead asking the newbies to share their backgrounds and game goals for introductions.

  Corwin circled back. “So, who’s this jerk?”

  “Some pushy creep. Clingy one minute, rude the next…”

  She trailed off.

  “Messing with you? We’ll camp his respawn 24/7!”“Name the bastard!”

  Rihanna smiled suddenly. “Guys, anyone lend me 500 gold for a couple days?”

  “For what? Cn’s got you covered for gear,” Corwin said.

  “A dress.”

  “A dress?” her brother blinked.

  “Think I’ve got a date tonight.”

  Zelenkin gave her a long look, sighed, and turned away.

  “With who?” Corwin pressed.

  “Mind your own business!”

  “Fine, but name the creep who’s bugging you.”

  “What creep?” Rihanna frowned.

  “The one harassing and mouthing off.”

  “Oh, him. Forget it. So, about that gold?”

  “I’ll unlock the cn vault, take what you need…”

  Rihanna nodded, rereading a private message:

  Shardon > Rihanna: Sorry if I upset you. I’d love to see you after work, when the tavern’s empty. Yours, Sh.

  The rest of her shift felt like a dream. Shardon kept her busy, giving her more tasks than the other waitresses. Twice, he made her clean spilled ale—his gaze burning across her legs and curves. Bent over, swaying provocatively, she couldn’t see him but felt his eyes devouring her.

  No man, even an NPC, could resist that. He’d probably spilled the ale himself for the show. And he’d chosen her, not some lesser waitress.

  Zuril, that scrawny goblin with knobby knees? Or Sorelea, the orc with shoulders like a linebacker and a chest resembling unripe watermelons? What could they offer a man like Shardon? A morning hiccup, waking to such “beauties.”

  “Hey, beauty, where’s my roast?” a patron called.

  “Roasting,” Rihanna replied absently.

  “Ha, I’d roast that pointy-eared ss myself,” another chuckled.

  “Your pan’s too small,” she fired back.

  “Lady, ignore these louts. They can’t appreciate your ethereal beauty or honor it properly,” a smooth voice purred. “Listen to the serenade I composed for you…”

  A velvety song filled the tavern, backed by a stringed instrument, praising the proud elf’s allure. Rihanna listened, then grimaced—clunky rhymes, off-key notes, sloppy pying.

  The minstrel, a bard specialization, was too pretty—smooth face, doe eyes, almost made-up. Too skinny, unlike a real man.

  She gnced at Shardon. How did he handle delicate ceramics with those big, strong hands? He could lift her one-armed without breaking a sweat. That twig of a bard probably never held anything heavier than a lute.

  “Like my song, fairest one? Care to spare a moment, perhaps a dance?” The bard slid a chair closer, taking her arm.

  Shardon > Rihanna: Hey, what’re you standing around for? Get to work before your customers die of thirst!

  “You need lessons in charming women,” Rihanna scoffed at the bard. “Kid.”

  Rihanna > Shardon: On it!

  At day’s end, Shardon paid wages, handed out generous bonuses, closed contracts with the two pyer waitresses hired for the day, and sent everyone home.

  He tallied costs: cleaning, broken bench repairs, a new door, and repced dishware.

  Net Profit: 7,560 gold.

  Much came from one-off stunts like the overpriced barrel sale, unsustainable long-term. He’d already spent 1,000 gold finishing the guest room, now rented to the couple for 100 gold a night. A full day with breakfast would’ve been 250—a steady revenue stream.

  With an hour until the Shadow Guild’s return, Shardon studied past tavernkeepers’ dealings with the criminal syndicate, pnning dialogue: selecting phrases, setting conditions, and prioritizing outcomes. Real-time strategizing risked overloading his processing or running out of time.

  The talk would be tough, with the Foamhold’s future—and his own survival—on the line.

  Right on cue, the rogue trio swaggered through the doorless entrance.

  “Well, boss, ready to hash out our little business, no witnesses?” Ryrga growled.

  “If you need a grater or kitchen tools, the kitchen’s that way,” Shardon replied after a pause.

  “Nah, no graters.”

  “Then what’ll you use to ‘hash’?”

  “Hash what? Who’s hashing?” Ryrga stammered.

  “You said you’re hashing ‘modest business,’” Shardon crified.

  Ryrga froze, baffled for a pyer.

  Garret-Shadow sighed, pushing the orc to sit.

  “No beating around the bush,” Garret said. “Your tavern’s on our turf. It’s raking in coin.”

  “And you ain’t sharing,” Ryrga grumbled.

  “I’d love to, but… I’ve got nothing to share!” Shardon said.

  “What?” Garret raised a brow. “Our intel says your daily take topped five grand!”

  Correct. That threshold triggered the containment scenario, as it had for past tavernkeepers.

  “True…” Shardon’s AI triggered a melodramatic regret animation—shoulders slumped, a sniffle, wiping sweat with his sleeve.

  “Where’s the gold, beardy?” Ryrga leapt up.

  “It’s… all sunk into the business.”

  “Into what?” Garret’s AI stumbled on the term.

  “Tavern upgrades. Come, I’ll show you.”

  The puzzled trio followed Shardon.

  “See for yourselves,” he said, flinging open a door and gesturing.

  “What’s this?” Mushrum asked.

  “A smart investment in future profits.”

  Gambling Hall: 35% Complete.

  “Got two more guest rooms started, but… cash ran dry. Once I finish, profits could double.”

  “When’ll that be?” Garret asked.

  “With hard work and prayers, two months. Faster if someone chips in—for a profit share, of course.”

  “Two months?”“A share?”“Someone else?”

  Each rogue tched onto a different phrase.

  “Yup. Think I pulled this off alone? My partners, the Reserve’s biggest cn, Children of Corwin, get a cut. In return, they keep order, protect the Foamhold, and draw customers.”

  A woman’s shout came from the entrance: “Shardon, darling, I’m here! Where are you?”

  “There’s their treasurer, by the way,” Shardon said.

  “So, you’ve already got a crew backing you?” Ryrga scowled.

  “More like valued business allies.”

  Garret froze, likely analyzing. When he stirred, he seemed… different. His level had ticked to 8, his Intelligence visibly boosted. A smarter AI had likely taken over to handle the unusual scenario.

  “The Guild will buy out the Children’s share,” Garret said. “We’ll guard your tavern, finish that Gambling Hall, and guarantee customers…”

  His movements and speech had a new sharpness.

  “Tempting, but it’s not just up to me—it’s my partners too,” Shardon said, nodding toward the entrance. “Rihanna, I’m here! Got a delightful surprise for you!”

  “Coming!” Rihanna’s voice rang out, her heels clicking closer…