A couple of hours later, Chad looked up from the sobbing man in front of him.

“Let’s get moving. I think we learned everything that we needed to know.”

“What about this pathetic piece of trash?” Bree-Ann asked, letting sparks of electricity run along her arms.

“Just leave him be,” Chad responded. “If he keeps on smoking this weed stuff, he will end up dead sooner or later from the monsters around here… and if he gets serious about survival, well, we can always use more people.”

“Hmpf, fine,” Bree-Ann reluctantly said, before turning around and stomping out of the house.

Moving toward the village, Lake Placid the man had called it, Chad considered the information he had obtained. Apparently, the villagers were still in a kind of shock, but there was peace, as the guy had insisted many times. And things were chill, whatever that was supposed to mean.

“So what is the plan, boss?” Golgiat asked while watching with a bemused smile how the short-tempered Bree-Ann shot sparks of lightning at random animals around them.

“Since the villagers have started organizing already, even if loosely, we should establish dominance over the strongest faction,” Chad said. “I believe that the bikers are our target for that, especially because their control is based on suppression and violence.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Jak’lo asked, grinning eagerly.

“Well, the easiest would be to somehow challenge them,” Chad slowly said. “Ideally, they should come to us, and we just give them a bloody nose. That should settle that.”

“More than a bloody nose, I hope…,” Bree-Ann immediately groused.

“You’ll get your action, don’t worry,” Chad laughed. “If this John was right, they are quite the violent type.”

“I wouldn’t mind some peaceful solution, for once,” Deklajan softly stated from further ahead. “Keep in mind that we need these people to form our fighting forces. We only have a few days, before the areas will join, and other nations may then challenge our grounds.”

“Or the dungeon attacks…,” Golgiat added.

“What do you mean, the dungeon attacks?” Bree-Ann snorted. “Are you telling me the dungeon is sentient?”

“Well, there are different theories out there... Sage Yalond wrote a treatise in GW 923 that postulates that Dungeons must be sentient because the rewards that adventurers get for completing a dungeon level are unusually well matched to the needs and wants of the group for it to be random. This was further supported by an experiment conducted by the Magi Society in, I think, GW 944. Yet others, argue that the dungeon does not adjust the threat to the adventurers and hence cannot reasonably be assumed to be intelligent.”

Bree-Ann, Jak’lo, Chad, and Deklajan, stared at Golgiat, slack-jawed.

“How do you know about all that dungeon stuff, Golgiat?” Bree-Ann asked, her voice breaking in disbelief. “You are supposed to be a fighter!”

“Just because I’m strong, does not mean I’m stupid, lass,” Golgiat replied calmly.

“Hah, you got me there, big man. But I’m not your lass. Say that again, and I’m going to shoot lightning up your arse, understood?”

With a smile, Golgiat nodded and kept on walking.

“This guy is starting to get on my nerves,” Bree-Ann muttered to herself.

Chad chuckled. “What is the matter, Bree-Ann? Can’t handle someone that is not as volatile as you?”

“It is not that. I mean, he is huge. Look at his biceps… it is as big as my upper thigh. He should be thinking about stomping heads, and that is it! Or use his freaking claymore. Who fights with something like that, anyway?”

As the group moved further into the town, they started seeing additional locals, most of them with similar clothing to the guy they had interrogated. The style of clothing was less interesting than the ridiculous quality of it, though. At home, some of the wealthy merchants, politicians, or, perhaps, successful adventurers could afford soft fabric like that, but here everyone seemed to have a similar quality, even though there was an enormous variety of colors and cuts.

“This is a rich world,” Deklajan muttered. “I see plenty of potential for the I’tisch League of Cities to benefit greatly from this expedition...”

“I care more about us benefiting greatly,” Bree-Ann snapped.

“I’m sure everyone will get some benefit,” Chad said calmly. “But first we have to actually manage to claim this dungeon for our nation, which will be hard enough.”

“You think so?” Golgiat asked in a curious tone. “You know that our group is vastly more powerful, level-wise, than the typical team, right?”

“I do...,” Chad admitted reluctantly. “But I have a bad feeling about this one, and I have learned to trust my gut feeling.”

“Hmpf, gut feeling. I see,” Bree-Ann chuckled. “I thought you are an ice mage and rational and all that. Aren’t you supposed to only use facts in your decision making?”

“True, and the fact is that my gut is telling me to worry,” Chad responded deadpan.

Bree-Ann rolled her eyes. “So what el-”

“Shush now,” Chad interrupted. “Focus on the task. We are getting to the center of the village.”

And indeed, the houses had gotten closer to each other, and everywhere along the road they could see those strange carriages – John had called them cars. People were walking around everywhere, shooting them curious looks, but not approaching.

“Why are they staring at us?” Bree-Ann whispered loudly, which immediately caused most of the people to look away, obviously embarrassed.

“I think it is because of our clothing and the weapons,” Deklajan responded much more quietly. “Have you noticed that few of the locals have weapons? And if so, it is mostly some sort of club?”

Chad looked around. “Yes, it is quite primitive, which is striking given how advanced some of their things are. I have not seen a single sword so far...”

“So how do you want to play this?” Bree-Ann asked.

Chad nodded toward a group of people loitering in front of a sign that said ‘Best Western.’ “Based on the description by John, that should be them. Just follow my lead.”

With quick, and now that the action was on, self-assured steps, Chad approached the group of men dressed in dark leather clothes. As he got closer, he noticed that some of them had fabric tied around their head, others wearing glittering earrings or necklaces, and almost all of them with some kinds of tattoos.

“Greetings,” Chad shouted. “You are just the group I have been looking for.”

“Watcha fuckers want?” A brute of a man asked in a disinterested voice while spitting a huge glob of phlegm at their feet.

Chad’s face distorted in obvious distaste as he stepped around the wet glistening goop on the street. “You, my friend, need some manners.”

The huge man burst out laughing. “Manners? What the fuck do you want, weirdo? Piss off, or I will piss on ya!”

“Shit, Manny, that was awesome!” A fat man with thin, oily hair hanging down all the way to his shoulders shouted while slapping his thighs. “Piss off, or I will piss on ya,” he repeated to himself, chuckling.

“I would like to see you try,” Chad calmly responded.

Immediately, the group of rough-looking men in leathers got serious expressions and, grabbing an assortment of clubs, chains, and even an ax, stood up straight, trying to look intimidating.

“What did you just say?” Manny asked incredulously.

“Are you dumb as well as rude?” Chad asked mockingly. “I said that I would like to see you try.”

With a flicker of uncertainty, Manny looked at his fellow bikers for reassurance, before turning back toward Chad. “Look, just fuck off. This is our place.”

“Are you perhaps afraid?” Chad said in a voice that was much louder than necessary.

For a moment, it seemed as if Manny considered his options, unsure in the face of such a blatant challenge, but then he noticed all the people from Lake Placid that had been drawn in by the commotion, watching with apparent interest how things were going to play out.

“You have it coming for yourself. I’m gonna make you my little bitch,” Manny growled, slapping the metal baseball bat into his meaty hands. With a flick of his wrist, he motioned the rest of his group to fan out.

Bree-Ann meanwhile lost her scowl for the first time since coming through the portal and grinned in eager anticipation. Similarly, Jak’lo seemed oddly giddy at the prospect of a violent encounter, cackling softly while watching the inept movements of the so-called bikers. Golgiat and Deklajan, on the other hand, looked entirely disinterested in the looming scuffle and were quietly discussing something about weapons. And Chad.... well, Chad was carefully observing every movement, every detail, storing everything away for future analysis – the type of weapons, the tactics employed, the degree of weapons training displayed, the confidence or lack thereof, and more.

Perturbed by the complete lack of worry by the group they were facing, the bikers hesitated for a moment. But then, Manny yelled furiously and, almost as one, the bikers advanced at the group of five individuals.

What followed was not much of a fight.

Before the bikers had taken more than a step, a blast of lightning shot into Manny, dropping him to the ground like a weirdly animated sack of potatoes – mostly limb, but twitching violently every few split-seconds. Meanwhile, a swirling sphere of red energy appeared between Jak’lo’s hands and, within a second or two, shot out toward the shocked bikers. Intense heat rolled off the sphere, and, almost instinctively, the bikers tried to get out of its way.

Before they could disperse, the fireball burst into an inferno of flames that set five of the ten remaining bikers on fire. Screaming, they rolled around on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames, only to be stomped savagely by Golgiat, each kick cracking skulls, or caving in ribcages.

Chad calmly drew his longsword, a beautiful blade with shimmering runes that attracted the eyes of all the people watching the spectacle unfold. And then the blade got doused in a bath of blood, as Chad slowly, and methodically waded through the bikers still in fighting shape and killed one after another with contemptuous ease. It was not so much that Chad had overwhelming power, or that he was lighting quick. He was fast, but not that fast. It was more that his movements were economical and calculating. Every little opening was used ruthlessly and efficiently. And soon, all the formerly proud bikers were either dead or laying on the ground moaning, clutching feebly at broken bones or wounds gushing blood.

Dispassionately, Chad walked up to the three surviving bikers and said: “Tell Big Pete that I’m the new boss in town.”

Writhing in pain, none of the bikers responded, but Chad was sure the message would get back to the leader of the bikers.

“Now,” Chad said loudly, turning to the horrified crowd that had watched the fight, or rather the slaughter, unfold. “We are envoys from the I’tish League of Cities, your new overlords. I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about, but it will become clear in time.”

After a moment to let the first part of his message sink in, Chad continued. “Our task is to explore the local dungeon and earn soul energy for the I’tisch League of Cities. And by ‘our’ I mean your task as well as the task of my team and me. And before you start thinking that you owe us nothing... I have to tell you that you are, in fact, in our debt. You have received your cores due to the investment of the I’tish League of Cities, and the League expects to achieve a good return on its investment.”

A murmur spread through the crowd, with most people looking uneasy or even scared, and some obviously hostile.

“The details of how we are going to achieve our objective will be shared during the coming days after we will have assessed what we are working with. This building,” Chad pointed at the Best Western, “will serve as our headquarters.”