Chapter 22: The Meat is Life (2/2)
“Charlene is never in a good mood when she sees me,” Manling Victor said. “Also, while I am all for chasing princesses, we have a much more urgent matter to deal with. Namely, the food.”
“Have you not already started solving this problem?” Vainqueur climbed out of the lava, peeking over the crater’s edge with his head. “Look at how greener it is!”
While the lands right next to the volcano were somewhat fertile, the region was too dry to feed Vainqueur’s guests for Bragging Day. So Minion Victor, ever the perfect Doer of the Thing, organized a great greening project with the added minion workforce. Gnolls dug canals from the sea and towards Murmurin, while kobolds gathered trees which provided shade for grass; Rolo the steel golem had taught them how to use devices called spades, which could also be used to mine gold.
Vainqueur almost regretted firing him.
“Rolo and Allison plant trees, while the minions build irrigation canals or pits to draw water from the mountain’s underground sources,” Manling Victor said. “According to Rolo, we need magical plants which thrive on sandy soil and will remove the salt from saltwater. We also experimented with seawater greenhouses for agriculture—”
“Minion,” Vainqueur interrupted him. “Twenty-five is not fifty. Try to make shorter sentences.”
The manling blinked. “How did you count them? Anyway, what I mean to say is, based on Your Majesty’s average diet, and accounting for excesses, we need at least two hundred and fifty tons of meat for Bragging Day, and that is a conservative estimation.”
Corpseling Jules counted in his head. “So, roughly two thousand and five hundred well-fed sheep, or four hundred cows, per day.”
“Sheeps, with a s,” Vainqueur corrected him.
The corpseling didn’t understand Vainqueur, which reminded the dragon why he needed a translator with animals. “Your Majesty, the plural of sheep is sheep.”
“Of course not,” Vainqueur replied, educating the minion. “How else could you tell one sheep from many? This would be confusing.”
“Your Majesty, I insist—”
“I am a dragon. You will say sheeps, or you will be sheep.”
Jules said nothing, with Manling Victor putting a hand on his back and shaking his head. “Still, Your Majesty,” the chief of staff said. “We don’t have the means to feed our own minion population, let alone so many dragons.”
“Minions, you fail to notice the perfectly good rations building my castle,” Vainqueur said, eying the gnolls and the werewolves. Only the kobolds, he couldn’t bear to sacrifice and would have to hide from his kindred. “Also, that way, it means less mouths to feed.”
“I would rather not,” Manling Victor said.
“Then summon fiends. They are plentiful if rancid and bitter.”
“At this rate, I think we will depopulate Hell faster than Heaven ever did. Your Majesty, we need more resources, more food, than we can provide right now. I’m using everything we have, even having Jules scour the countryside to revive decades old corpses as undead labor, and two moons is still too short a time window.”
“Well, Victor, since you use seawater greenhousing, you must accumulate a lot of salt, do you not?” corpseling Jules said, “It is highly sought after, especially to slow down zombie degradation. I can use my contacts with Gardemagne to exchange them for fresh meat.”
“And you shall be granted a one one-tenth commission,” Vainqueur encouraged the corpseling.
“I’ve also been toying with other activities to build funds,” Manling Victor crossed his arms, “Since Your Majesty forbids taxes, and keeps the underground vaults, they could keep deposits safe from thieves for a cut.”
Vainqueur glanced at his minion with a knowing look. “No manling in their right mind would try to steal from a dragon, is that what you imply?”
“I didn’t know Your Majesty was alive!” the minion protested.
Vainqueur considered the proposition. Protecting the hoards of the world appealed to him, but on the other hand, it went against his dragon instinct to keep those of others without seizing them as his own. It sounded a lot like being a banker, which was a manling absurdity. “Are we that desperate for meat?” he asked his chief of staff.
“Yes. Yes, we are.”
Vainqueur didn’t believe it. They were desperate for meat to feed both his guests and the minions. If they sacrificed the latter, they would satisfy the former.
However, he could see that Manling Victor was desperate to save as many of them as possible; and Vainqueur had grown attached to a few of them, especially the Kobold Rangers.
After the torture he suffered from Furibon and his hard work, Vainqueur decided to indulge his chief of staff. He would make a sacrifice for Bragging Day. “Then no hoard shall be left defenseless in my empire. Minions and hoarders may send me their treasures if they fear for their safety, and I shall protect them from the Furibons of the world.”
Congratulations! For showing a sliver of true nobility and understanding a true leader often puts his minions’ well-being first, you have gained a level in [Kaiser].
+30 HP, +10 SP, +1 STR, +1 SKI, +1 VIT, +1 INT, +1 CHA!
“Well, now we are officially dragon Switzerland,” Manling Victor said, although Vainqueur didn’t understand the last word.
“I also declare that all creatures dying within my service will be reanimated to work as sentient undead, as were the Kobold Rangers,” Vainqueur decided. “No need for death to end their fulfilling jobs. They shall serve me in death, as well as in life.”
“I do not raise thinking undead for ethical reasons, and Your Majesty will need size—”
“I will take care of that,” Manling Victor said, putting a hand on Jules’ shoulder. “But can I get an exception, Your Majesty?”
“Minion, you will not die on my watch unless we run out of other minions and I starve,” Vainqueur said, before remembering the fragile manlings could die of old age.
“While I will not do the deed, I can ask a less ethical colleague to bring you back as a thinking undead, Victor,” corpseling Jules proposed, although his chief of staff didn’t seem so keen on the idea, “A vampire, or a ghoul? Perhaps even a lich, if you are ready to make a live sacrifice to Camil—”
“No lich!” Vainqueur snarled, making the crater tremble. “Minion, I forbid you from becoming a lich!”
“I would rather live longer as a living creature, than forever as an undead,” said Victor.
But come to think of it, Manling Victor was indeed mortal and fragile. Vainqueur had already almost lost him to Furibon. They would need to solve that problem as soon as possible before he suffered a tragic minion death. “Manling Victor, how long do Manlings live?”
“I dunno, eighty years?” Vainqueur laughed at the paltry number, the minion frowning. “Some of us reach one hundred!”
“You can calculate your longevity with your Health Point, Victor,” said Jules, “Take your maximum Health Points, then divide it by six; if you have aging resistance, you can double it, as you age two times slower. Other elements increase longevity or outright grant immunity to aging, such as the ‘Claimed by Sablar’ perk or the Undead Type.”
The minion did the calculation, as did Vainqueur. “Two hundred forty-five?” was the number his chief of staff came up with. “I can live up to two hundred forty-five?”
“And I shall live to two thousand years,” Vainqueur boasted, before realizing the problem. “A dragon can die of old age?”
“There is little chance for anyone to die of old age,” said the corpseling. “According to my research, you have a fifty to sixty percent chance of dying by violence in Outremonde, either in battle or from depredation, and twenty percent to sickness.”
“That will not be a problem for us,” Vainqueur replied with confidence, but he found the number worrying. Two hundred and a half was very short. “Minion.”
“Yes?”
“Find a way to become immortal. You still have too much work to do.”