While money wasn’t everything, it was close enough. Vincent could buy robot bodyguards with Arnold’s AI built in, advanced power armor, and something called a god pill. Unfortunately, the price tags had too many zeroes for him. Some sponsors funded up-and-coming gamers if they made the right splash in the public eye. 6 days after his first Livestream, he found an abandoned tree house on the poor side of the city and started fixing it up. Vincent wanted to prime the anticipation for his next Livestream.

Comments weren’t all great streams, and this is the best.

Many comments like, ‘You’re an evil prick’ or ‘If I were in your world, you would be in a world of hurt’ were the softest he received. Message showed him reports of hacking attempts forcing him to cut the connection to the streaming platform. Vincent invested in some identity protection for 5000 Stylish Points a month. The next livestream needed to be big, or he would be in the red soon. 

Out the window of the rundown treehouse hideout, he picked out long winding limbs connected between trees, acting like roads. Elves drove goats between them, often leaving them to graze on patches of grass grown high for that purpose. There were less than savory types on the street walking into two-story tree houses filled with young elven women. Occasionally, he saw a human or a goblin wandering through the entwined tree-limb streets. An old toothless elf ate a moldy loaf of bread, glaring at the occasional foreigner. It was good to see that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Elf and human waste fell from the limbs above on the houses below. Long bronze pipes from the mountain delivered water to the city from the mountain’s melting snow.

Little Oaks was the name of the poor side of the mountain town. Most elves in Little Oaks survived by selling drugs, their bodies, or other services. The population was on the smaller side and perfect for its purposes.

Elves were terrible at security. Most bodyguards congregated on the lower floors of most mansion-sized tree houses. Despite his words over a Livestream, he wasn’t planning on taking over the overtly. It seemed like more trouble than it was worth. He would have to be a hard ass and start executing people, but not the ones he didn’t need. Vincent needed an elf on the inside loyal to him, but where would he find one of those. Being alone sucked.

Windy was only loyal at the time because they were alone in the woods. He needed a partner with legitimacy.

He opened a stolen historical scroll. Vincent went over the burning of the heroic rebel forces in the battle of Sour River. Most of the scrolls were filled with detailed atrocities committed by the royal forces. The poor nobles were attacked first after arming a fort on the border to royal lands. From that point, the royals fought defensively, losing land with generals dying by the score. There were references to heroic goblin envoys who tragically lost their lives in the battles. To stop the nobles from gaining support from the goblin King, the royals were forced to surrender to keep the goblins out of the civil war.

“Do you think we can find a royal who wants revenge?” Vincent said.

“After 300 years of the noble regime, good luck.” Message said.

Vincent felt the same way. Bronze City alone had a house of lords, merchants, and commons. There were judges appointed by the chief for life. Economically it was dire, by the naked children in the street with bloated stomachs; there was a food shortage. It might not have been caused by mismanagement. After all, the elves paid tribute to the goblin nation to avoid war, and the poor were unproductive. From what he understood, elves could manipulate plant life to some extent, but even they had limits. Vincent had a hypothesis that the food shortage was a feature instead of a flaw of the system. The lords in charge of the city wanted to eliminate the unproductive members of society. It bothered him how close that seemed to the politicians of his world.

There were herds of cows near the city; why not herd them near the village. A steady supply of meat would help the city.  

He wasn’t sure if it was the tribute or mismanagement. The barbarian’s uncertainty made him retreat. Vincent sat in a comfy leather recliner he bought from the shop and looked out at the city. His home needed some fixing up, so he couldn’t afford to wait long. Elves weren’t his responsibility, but that didn’t mean Vincent couldn’t make them his. Vincent couldn’t look away, so what would he do about the problems he saw? He sipped some watered-down sweet tea and tore apart a steak smothered in butter seasoning, yum.

If he was going to take responsibility, he would have to pair that with power over the elves. Since the elves couldn’t care for their own people, he would step in like Americans always dreamed their country did. Less CIA election manipulation and more support of population, and the execution of corrupt politicians.  

Challenge 6 Timelimit 20 days

Complete: Rustle cattle to Bronze Mountain City.

Reward

1 x UC Red Pill

Complete: Locate the people who decide where the donated food goes.

Reward

1 x UC Blue Pill

Complete: Ensure the people know who brought them food.

Reward

1 x UC Green Pill

Vincent tossed his empty plate in his bag of holding and reclined in his chair. Then he looked up a few videos of cattle rustling and understood he couldn’t do it alone. It was actually his dream job; he loved cows and horses. He had his sweet unicorn mare that needed to be put in her paces languishing in his mount card like the Ferrari in a billionaire’s car collection. Unfortunately, Elves had a problem with riding horses. That meant he needed to gather some of the humans in the city and teach them to ride or find some elf rebels.

“Do you think I can do it?” Vincent asked.

“Where do humans think you should ride at this time?” Message asked.

He closed his eyes, breathed, and remembered some old paintings from a documentary about ancient people. They didn’t quite know where to ride on a horse. Most saddled them on the ass.

“People can be taught,” Vincent repeated like a mantra until he believed it.

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