“Count Itzel is going there.” She pressed her hand to her tablet’s screen, pulling up a holo-vid up. “I think he aims to take the world fragment from us.”

  I knew it! That bastard!” I scrambled up and started pacing the room, my bare feet thudding lightly on the plush carpet. “He probably took his army and is building a path there. An imperial road. Stupid, bad—”

  I stopped and pressed both hands over my face, groaning into my palms.

  “Okay, we need countermeasures.” I dropped my hands and turned sharply toward Lola. I charged forward, fired up on adrenaline, but she hiccuped and took a half-sitting-step back, hands tightening around her tablet.

  I skidded to a halt. “Oh—sorry! This got me so riled up. I hate him so much, and he stole my prince!”

  “Prince?” Lola blinked, head tilted, confusion softening her features.

  “Yeah, I manifested him. He stole the ring the prince was connected to. That bastard.” I stomped the side of the bed with the flat of my foot, just enough to let out some steam. “Okay, okay.” I forced in a deep breath, puffing my cheeks. “I’m a Queen.”

  Lola gave me a small smile. She adjusted her posture, folding her hands neatly in her lap like she didn’t know what to do with them, but her eyes sparkled with support.

  “Okay Lola, we turn this into an opportunity.”

  “I… don’t follow?” She sounded hesitant, her fingers now fiddling with the corner of her tablet.

  “Easy!” I put one foot on the bed and struck a pose Lucy would be proud of. One arm extended like a swashbuckling captain about to declare mutiny. “Our pirate crew sail to me as planned. But!” I spun on my heel and walked in a dramatic arc, arms now behind my back like I was giving a royal address. “We have Dmitry. Let him join Count Itzel’s side. Let him be our spy. And I’ll force Cloudy to make it a war. Us against the Empire!”

  “Like your mother?” Lola asked, quieter now.

  I shook my head, dropping the act. “No. Players need to help us, and I have thousands of ideas, but… no need to do anything now, not until we know how Cloudy feels when I ask for a war. We’ll see.”

  I sat down beside her. She straightened slightly, still holding that tablet like a shield, but didn’t move away.

  “First - Dmitry. Next - liberating the city. That is the most important. Let’s not get sidetracked. I can escape alone, but as a queen, I have the power, so I can’t let this slide.”

  “I love my queen,” Lola blurted, and the words hung there like a summoned spell that couldn’t be unsaid. Her cheeks lit up like warning flares. “I—I mean, lady, I love how you look and think like a queen!”

  I turned to her with a slow smirk, smug enough to melt walls. “I’m your Queen. And I… almost killed a woman because I didn’t like her…” The smirk faded. The memory came rushing back, like a slap of cold water. The shame lingered in the corners of my mouth, pulling it down.

  She helped me by changing the mood. “Isn’t Dmitry on Irwen’s side? Now ours, even after we created a kingdom?” Lola’s voice was quiet, but her eyes flicked toward mine.

  Clever woman.

  “He’ll be seen as a mercenary, chasing the highest profit.” I waved a hand vaguely. “Ideal and his guild can be trusted, remember what he told us? He’ll be our villain.”

  “I’ll get in touch—” Lola started, fingers already curling around her tablet, but Jerry interrupted her with a digital puff of smugness.

  “I’ve already submitted a message asking Katherine to propose that to Dmitry. Girls, you forgot who pulls the strings. Not that man,” Jerry announced, positively glowing through the watch speaker like he was draped in smug velvet.

  “But!” Lola almost shouted. Lola. Almost shouting. “That is my job! I’m Lady’s assis—”

  “So am I. And better than you can ever be,” Jerry cut her off. “I can even be her emotional support. And I act as stand-in psychotherapist.”

  “No, you don’t,” I just said plainly.

  Lola clenched her fists so tightly the tablet creaked. Her lips pressed into a firm pout as she turned slowly toward the watch. “Can you do this?” she growled, and then launched into a fierce hug. Her arms wrapped around me like armor. Protective. Possessive.

  “Stop, both of you,” I giggled, buried against her shoulder, but my arms went around her too. Damn, I really was becoming a hugger.

  “Let me at least find our new home,” she huffed, glaring daggers at the speaker Jerry was coming from. “I think we can look tomorrow.”

  I pulled back from the hug and caught her expression, tight-lipped but determined. “Do we have to? What’s wrong with…” I waved at the room, the messy blankets, the empty coffee cups. “This?”

  “With your new status as a business owner,” Lola replied, instantly shifting into business mode, “we need to work on your Earth-side appearance. You should have a representative place. And be closer to our workers.”

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “We have workers?” I blinked. “Since when?”

  “Hundreds. Well, with the new security company, thousands.” She tapped something into her tablet like she was sending armies to war. “I even hired a CEO for our media company.”

  “I… oh yeah, I remember. I have a media company!” I almost shouted, flopping dramatically back onto the bed. “Oh. Okay. Tomorrow, we go house hunting. And Jerry?” I turned toward the watch. “Let Lola do it.”

  “But I could have found a location based—”

  “Jerry.”

  “Yes, Miss Charlie. I understand. It is about the human experience, not the efficiency. Not the algorithmic—”

  “Jerry.”

  “I… I may have dreamed too much.”

  I softened. “Wanna talk about it?”

  “I’m not ready yet.”

  That made two of us.

  “Okay Lola, prepare for pillow battle!” I grinned.

  When I woke up in Rimelion, I felt oddly fantastic. Inviting Lola to crash with me was the best call I’d made in ages. Sure, it was a pretty huge favor to ask, but holy godly crow, did I need it.

  One quick pulse of healing magic eased the lingering soreness out of my muscles, replacing it with a soft, comforting warmth. Sitting up, I scanned the barn’s interior and had to shake my head, reality slamming into my good mood like a bad whiskey hangover.

  I could escape.

  Yesterday’s little chase sequence revealed just how lax security around here really was… or at least how slow they reacted. Changing clothes wasn’t permitted for slaves, obviously, but if I swapped outfits fast enough, maybe nobody would even notice. What a shocker.

  I could exploit their system. Not literally, Cloudy, calm down. Just… creatively exploit… okay, bend the social rules.

  And as I’d told Lola, liberation was the goal here, not just random destruction or my escape. Of course, demons would inevitably pop out, things would burn, screams, chaos… they would pay for their slavery likes.

  But who said we couldn’t steer that chaos toward something constructive?

  Players might still be on the lower level side, sure, but demons will be great distractions. Just toss enough players at the slaveholders until we had none left standing.

  Problem solved!

  Maybe.

  These comforting daydreams swirled through my head while I chewed mechanically on the morning meal; another surprisingly decent bowl of barley porridge, hot and slightly sweet, with a texture just shy of glue.

  The barn atmosphere was as maddeningly calm and purposeful as always, like clockwork automatons quietly grinding through their assigned tasks.

  Thankfully, some slaves engaged in idle chatter, so I gave it a shot too. It took a bit of effort, but eventually, I managed to squeeze out a few juicy tidbits from a particularly bored-looking elf. Like the existence of an underground slave network; literal tunnels beneath the streets designed to keep slaves out of sight unless absolutely necessary.

  Deliveries, errands, garbage runs, all conveniently hidden from view.

  Apparently, they’d briefed us on day one, but I’d completely zoned out. Oopsie? In my defense, the whole property situation was seriously not my vibe. But hey, now those dirty looks I got wandering topside made sense. Citizens didn’t appreciate me wandering freely, but blamed the master who sent me out in plain sight. Gotta love plausible deniability.

  Ugh.

  But underground… now that was interesting. According to my new elf friend, these tunnels ran along sewers. So… basically sewers, but not called that way. I shivered, recalling yesterday’s wind mage standing smugly by the fountain entrance.

  Had he thought I’d dash underground so he could flush me out?

  Jerk.

  Speaking of, there I was again, standing near the same fountain, its cool spray occasionally misting my skin, leaving tiny beads of moisture along my arms. Across from me was a squat, black-stone building having a sign of two crossed bars, probably a symbol for sewers.

  A wicked grin spread slowly across my face. If tunnels ran beneath the city, what about beneath the binding stone? Could I get close enough for a little peaceful sabotage?

  My heart raced with excitement, a delightful adrenaline spike kicking through me as I pushed open the sewer door. Immediately, cool, dank air rushed out to meet me, heavy with the scent of damp stone, mold, and things better left unnamed.

  “This better work,” I whispered, stepping into the shadowed tunnels, my heels clicking softly against slick stone as the darkness swallowed me whole.

  It wasn’t that bad. But damn, if I thought the city had a lot of slaves topside? That was the appetizer. Down here in the underworld of Altandai, the main course was being served, and it was triple the portion.

  Narrow tunnels pressed in from both sides, humid, thick with the reek of mold and rust.

  Crowds of slaves hustled along the cramped passages, brushing shoulders in that silent, instinctual rhythm of people with places to be and no time to complain. Every few meters, a grated cutout to the street above poured down a weak shaft of light, casting long, hazy beams through the swirling dust.

  Nah, it didn’t help much.

  It stank.

  Like wet stone, sweat, and things that should’ve stayed buried. No wonder most slaves just walked straight under the community shower without even bothering to strip. Being soaked in cold water was an upgrade compared to breathing in this constant miasma of sewer-scented misery.

  Then I joined the main tunnel… and immediately regretted it.

  It was huge. Vaulted ceiling, arched supports, wide enough for five carts side-by-side, and down the center roared a genuine river of filth. The trickle I’d seen earlier? Baby stream.

  This was the big leagues. A surging, foamy torrent of waste and runoff, charging down its stone chute like it had somewhere better to be. On either side of the channel, hundreds of slaves trudged in grim parades, hugging the walls, eyes low.

  I tried not to gag. I failed a little.

  Finding the binding stone from down here? Yeah, that was a hilarious joke.

  After the tenth twist, three low arches, and one suspiciously squelchy floor segment, I had no clue which way was north. No minimap. No compass. No friendly UI pinging my target. Just endless tunnels and the vague sense that I might be heading directly into the earth’s intestines.

  I took the nearest ladder and climbed out into the sunlight. Glorious, normal, stinky Altandai air. Looked around. Too far east.

  Next exit? Tried again. Ended up south this time. Great. Closer, but not close enough. The damn stone was playing hard to get.

  Each hour added another layer of frustration, stacking inside me like heat under armor. But with each wrong turn, I was circling it. Closer. Closer.

  Until I found it.

  The main tunnel bent hard west, avoiding where the stone should be. Logical, so I followed it, hope flaring… and there it was: a barred passage, tucked into a shaded nook like some forbidden secret. The tunnel beyond curled downward, disappearing into darkness like it was hiding something.

  Something important.

  I stepped closer. The bars were thick, dark metal, cold to the touch, damp with condensation. I gave them a good, hopeful jiggle.

  Nothing.

  I kicked them.

  Still nothing. The clang echoed like laughter.

  Well, that wouldn’t stop me. I dropped to one knee and started inspecting the edges. Maybe I could freeze the hinges? Or squeeze through if I melted one bar?

  Before I could decide, a voice barked from the main tunnel.

  “Hey! What are you doing?!”

  I winced and turned. A slave with a longsword was jogging toward me, eyes not blinking. “Step away from that! Identify yourself!”