There truly was no rest for the wicked. Not that I considered me or my family to be wicked. Ok, maybe Veris, but that would still be loosely related to the word and for an all too different reason.

  The elves were still gathered where the portal had once stood, but they had made a small camp with tents and were also in the process of resting themselves. It must have been a long journey from wherever they came from because they looked just as exhausted as we did and they were only here for the last ten minutes of the fight or so.

  Eduine, the elf that had warned us about the King's approach, was with them. Not that Aldus' first army posed a threat to us, but if he had caught us unprepared it could have been so much worse than it had been. The losses on our side totalled a few hundred dead Assassins. It was a steep cost, but the DP Farm had played no part in it.

  Eduine was explaining what had happened to his village and how he ended up in Varona. It turns out his village had sent a message to the elven capital and this was all the troops they had decided to send. 300 elves in total. They wouldn't have even made a dent in the demons, not that we managed to do much different other than to hold them back. There were just so many of them.

  I was more than grateful for the Space Mages in the elves rank, not as grateful as Marie was, though. The oldest member of my family has quite a high level, but the job she was tasked with wasn't the easiest. It was kind of overwhelming for someone to do it all alone, but she still performed amazingly. None of the Assassins had been able to offer any assistance other than that of protection so when the elves turned up, every one happily accepted their offer of aid.

  On an even more positive note, the human soldiers stationed at the edge of Varona didn't see a single scrap of action. Not a blip. The occasional light display inside the forest after our Master Assassin had turned day to night with his grand skill was the highlight of their war. That said, the human guards were still raring to go, eager to get revenge on the king that had made them flee their previous home and ready to defend their new one. I bet they'd be thinking differently if they would have seen the demons firsthand.

  I suppose I should get someone to tell them it's over.

  Delegating that job to a nearby Assassin, I also send word of our victory to the Categorizers inside my mountain. They're with the rest of my citizens and I explain that they can leave the dungeon now or whenever they want to. I don't tell them about my idea to keep the King as a murder project, or just in case I need someone to vent my anger on. They didn't need to know those details.

  That will be mine and the triplets' little secret.

  A trickle of people, hesitant at first, swells into a steady stream as they emerge from the dungeon's maw. Whispers turn to murmurs, then to excited chatter as they spill into the city streets, a wave of weary but relieved faces. The forest, once a battleground, now hums with a renewed, if cautious, energy. Monsters, those who endured, return to their designated floors, their steps lighter, their eyes gleaming with a newfound confidence.

  I consider the elves, their delicate features etched with exhaustion. The Sentry Tower, a potential refuge, looms with its stark, doorless frame. Its magic-repelling properties, a shield against the Space Mage, also render it a sealed vault, accessible only through my dungeon's teleportation. Tents, however, feel inadequate after their crucial aid in sealing the portal.

  A decision crystallizes. I tap into my pool of points, replenished by the vanquished demons. The cat, as they say, is already out of the bag. And frankly, the opinion of a few elves regarding my architectural abilities holds little weight. With a surge of will, the air shimmers, and a structure materializes – an outpost, a haven crafted from raw DP. It rises from the earth, solid and functional, a reward for their aid. The elves gasp, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief, as the outpost settles, a beacon of my generosity in the heart of the recovering forest.

  Did I care that a few elves saw me spawn a building out of thin air?

  Not in the slightest.

  They already bloody knew anyway and I had just killed the King of Tira. What else can anyone possibly bring to the table to stop us living life the way we want? Plus, the King was a gigantic dick. If someone is going to be praised, or scorned, for ending that scumbag, then it's definitely going to be me. I actually deserve the credit. That was the first fight I've been a part of in ages and... Yeah, I died a few times, but I still fucking won. Actually, I think I deserve something nice for winning.

  As I contemplate what to buy myself from the catalog, a very hungry tummy rumbles loudly beside me. The sweets obviously not enough to satiate her hunger.

  "Are you hungry again, Amber?" I ask, already knowing the answer. Amber nods with the fervor of a bobblehead in a hurricane, her eyes wide and pleading. It's a rhetorical question, really. Amber's perpetual state of hunger is less a condition and more a lifestyle choice. We port outside Ali's, the warm, fragrant air hitting us like a comforting, spicy hug.

  Inside is a chaotic symphony of sizzling pans and boisterous chatter. The kitchen, a gleaming, stainless-steel battleground, is a blur of motion. Ali herself, a culinary maestro with a sweat-drenched brow and a grin as wide as a watermelon slice, orchestrates the chaos. She's got the stoves cranked up to inferno levels, pumping out plates like a food-slinging ninja to satisfy the ravenous hordes. A veritable army of citizens, a delightful mix of weary yet gleeful locals, have descended upon the eatery.

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  Apparently, my dungeon's culinary offerings, or lack thereof, weren't exactly five-star.

  Violet, clutching her miniature bear cub, Bear, by the scruff of his neck, pipes up. "She's always hungry, but so is Bear, so it's ok. I don't mind this time." It's practically a soliloquy from her, a veritable verbal marathon. I think that's the most words she's ever said. Bear, a furry, pint-sized tank, looks utterly unconcerned, probably contemplating his next nap or wrestling match with Violet's surprisingly powerful grip. He's now a tiny powerhouse, a walking, purring contradiction, capable of surviving Violet's death squeeze.

  "I never mind visiting Ali's. The food is always amazing," Blondie declares, her eyes already scanning the menu boards like a hawk eyeing its prey. I wrap my arms around the girls, attempting a group hug, but Violet, ever the stoic one, tries to slip out of my grasp like a greased eel.

  "Don't be like that, Violet. You know you love me really. Why else would you protect me?" I tease, giving her a gentle squeeze.

  "I-I... I was protecting Bear. Yes, that's right," she stammers, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of crimson. It's like watching a grumpy kitten try to explain why it accidentally knocked over a vase.

  "That was cold, girl. And after I brought Bear back for you too." I channel my inner dramatic actress, summoning a single, perfectly formed tear with a flourish of water magic. A theatrical sniffle adds the perfect touch.

  "Well... That was cool, I guess. Thank you, Master. I er... Don't love you or nothing though," she mumbles, burying her face in Bear's fur.

  "That's ok because I love you wholeheartedly and nothing you ever say will change that," I declare, feeling a blush creep up my own neck. It's a ridiculous statement, but sincerity is my newest superpower.

  "I love you too, Abi. You're the best." Blondie chimes in, her eyes sparkling with genuine affection. Not a hint of embarrassment.

  "I love Master the most when she gives me food," Amber adds, her voice thick with anticipation. She’s practically drooling, her focus entirely on the tantalizing aromas wafting from Ali’s kitchen. We’ve barely crossed the threshold and she is already planning her next meal.

  Ali, spotting us, gives a booming laugh and waves us over, a mountain of steaming dumplings balanced precariously on her arm. "Welcome, welcome! Hungry, I see!" She says, her eyes twinkling. The Chef knows us too well.

  "Dinner time!" Amber shouts and rushes off inside. We follow leisurely behind and find her already sitting at a table, menu in hand. I can't help but smile and remind myself how lucky I am to still have the triplets. When I saw them lying on the ground I kind of lost my shit for a moment, but it doesn't even matter now.

  Soul Guide, the skill I thought to be one job on top of another, turned out to be the saving grace I needed. Without the ability to see souls, I wouldn't have been able to bring back the triplets. Hell, I probably wouldn't have been able to separate my own soul from Me's way back then, now that I think about it. The skill itself has been much more useful than I ever give it credit for. Yeah, I've gotta regulate society and help them advance, blah, blah, blah, but that doesn't mean I'm against it anymore.

  When the System first dumped the skill on me, it was safe to say I was pretty pissed off. I am a delegator, not a delegatee. I hated the thought of Sis palming her work off onto me because she was too lazy to do it herself, but I didn't see the hidden benefits at the time. Combined with my two Divinity skills, I may as well be a God. I can bring people back from the dead for... The Core's sake.

  I'm trying really hard not to let my ego have its way with myself. But I deserve it, right? I should boast and shout and sing from the top of my tower. I'm not going to, but I wouldn't prevent anyone else from doing it.

  "What are you having, Amber?" After a lengthy debate with herself, the hungry Dragon finally settled on two starters, three mains and four desserts. It's a good job that the meals are on the house and we don't have to pay, otherwise she'd cost me a fortune in food.

  The clatter of emptied plates and the lingering scent of roasted meats fill the air as I rise from my seat. Outside, the restless energy that had briefly gripped Varona has subsided, a calming wave settling over the city. The sight of the dragons, their dark forms circling high above, is a silent, powerful reassurance, a constant reminder of the peace they enforce.

  Even though the city hums with a newfound tranquility, a knot of unease remains within me. The day’s battle, though victorious, has underscored the fragility of our safety. There are still shadows to chase, vulnerabilities to address, and those tasks will become my future Abi's focus, right after the DP factory delivers its daily output. For now, however, a brief celebration is in order.

  Talia's Tavern, "One For The Rogues," bursts with raucous energy as I step inside. The air is thick with the mingled scents of ale, sweat, and the faint, metallic tang of recent combat. It's a scene of organized chaos, a vibrant tapestry of Varona’s inhabitants letting loose. I know bringing the triplets, with their deceptively mature appearances, into the tavern is a bit off, but the sheer number of human-posing assassins, barely a year old themselves, makes the point moot.

  Light, perched precariously on the bar, holds court, his voice booming as he exaggerates his combat prowess. Talia, her patience wearing thin, glares at him, a hand hovering dangerously close to a heavy tankard. Noir, leaning against the bar beside Light, rolls his eyes and calls him out on his inflated kill count, their playful banter a familiar soundtrack to the tavern’s atmosphere. Both hold mugs of frothy ale, their faces flushed with the combined effects of alcohol and exhilaration. Their respective partners sit at a nearby table, engaged in animated conversation with Peaches and the Sweets, their voices a low murmur against the general din. They’re dissecting the day’s battle, analyzing every move and strategy.

  My gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the scene. Every face reflects the shared experience of the day’s conflict, a collective release of tension. Even Me and Sis, usually so reserved, are deep in conversation, their heads bent together as they discuss the intricacies of the demon realm’s system. Apparently, Sis’s influence isn’t as all-encompassing as I’d assumed, a revelation that piques my curiosity.

  Dum, his face radiating health, is attempting to placate Talia, who seems on the verge of erupting at Light. Dee beams at his partner, his joy palpable at his friend’s restored vitality. He peppers Dum with questions about his miraculous recovery, but the Assassin deftly evades them, his eyes darting away.

  Anya’s voice cuts through the noise, beckoning us to her table. "Come join us!" she calls, her smile warm and inviting. I nod, guiding the triplets through the throng of patrons. As we navigate the crowded space, my eyes catch Veris, lurking in a dimly lit corner. She’s leaning close to several human patrons, her voice a low, sibilant whisper. A prickle of unease settles in my stomach. What could she be saying?

  My thoughts abruptly halt.

  Wait a minute.

  In the midst of all this revelry, a critical detail has slipped my mind.

  Who's watching the King?