The salt-thick air of Tune claws at my throat, a constant, gritty reminder of the city's primary trade: fish. Mountains of it, rotting and fresh, line the docks, a reeking testament to its status as the region's seafood king. The stench is a cloying perfume, masking the other, more insidious rot that festers here. Two other exporters exist, whispers in comparison to Tune’s thunderous roar, their meager catches a drop in the ocean compared to the city’s vast nets. And that, I think, is the root of it. Power, concentrated and unchecked, breeds corruption like maggots on a dead whale.

  I navigate the slick, cobblestone streets, each step a battle against the grime that clings to my boots. Seedy deals hang heavy in the air, the whispers of clandestine meetings and backroom payoffs a constant, low hum. I see it in the eyes of the dockworkers, their gazes darting, their hands quick and nervous. I see it in the gaudy, hastily constructed buildings that line the waterfront, their paint peeling, their foundations sinking into the muddy ground, built on the backs of exploited labor and ill-gotten gains.

  The mayor, a bloated figure I’ve glimpsed only in passing, is a key player, I’m certain. His soul, a smoldering orange, pulses with the heat of avarice and hidden agendas. I wouldn't be surprised if he orchestrated half the crooked deals himself, his fingers deep in every murky pie. The city feels diseased, a festering wound on the coastline. Each alleyway holds a new problem, a new thread to unravel. My notebook is overflowing with observations, each entry a testament to the city's decay.

  Ishda’s capital, a beacon of order and justice, seems impossibly distant from this squalor. Each step I take through Tune's labyrinthine streets feels like a step further away from my goal, a slow, agonizing crawl through a swamp of moral decay.

  Screw this.

  The city exhales with me, a silent, grateful sigh, as absorption kicks in. My skill devours anything devoid of life. Crumpled corpses, the detritus of chaos, the grime that clings to cobblestones – all vanish into thin air, leaving the streets startlingly clean. It's a surreal kind of housekeeping, a ballet of consumption. Shattered facades remain, gaping wounds in the urban landscape, but those are tomorrow's concern. Today, I'm a living vacuum, a purger of the dead and the dirty.

  Councilman Raff, a nervous knot of an Assassin, stands in the town square, a beacon of officialdom amidst the newly cleansed expanse. I glide towards him, the residual energy of mass absorption tingling in my Core. He's gathered his chosen candidates, a motley crew arranged in a haphazard line. A kaleidoscope of Tune's inhabitants: wide-eyed children, weathered fishermen, stern-faced guards, and even a couple of reckless adventurers, their eyes still holding the glint of distant perils. He's clearly gone for a "representative sample" approach.

  "A little bit of everything," Raff stammers, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his brow. His forced chuckle vibrates with anxiety. I offer a curt nod, the weight of unspoken opinions pressing against my lips. I could dissect his choices, offer my "expert" insight, but I've already decided to delegate. It's not laziness, it's efficient leadership. Besides, I'm the only one who can truly see the colour of souls.

  Activating Soul Guide, the world around me blurs slightly as my perception shifts. A spectral overlay descends, revealing the shimmering auras of the lined-up individuals. Shadows obscure their eyes, a chilling reminder of the unseen depths within each soul. But the colors, the vibrant hues of their inner selves, speak volumes. A sea of yellows, the color of potential and adaptability, with a few startling oranges, hinting at a fiery core, a capacity for leadership. Raff's selections are surprisingly astute. How he managed to discern their nature, I don't know, but he's proven his worth. A wave of relief washes over me. He can handle this. I can trust him.

  Thank you, Sacha.

  The task of reforming Tune is daunting, a tangled web of personalities and problems. But with Raff at the helm, and my Soul Guide as a silent compass, perhaps we can bring order to this chaotic city. Each absorbed corpse, each cleansed street, brings the city closer to a clean slate, a chance for something new.

  The concept of a Soul Guide keeps surfacing, proving more versatile than I initially grasped. It feels like a key, unlocking compartments of myself I've kept locked away. Primarily, I'm grappling with a fundamental disconnect: a lack of clarity regarding my own capabilities. A relentless tide of events, a ceaseless current of urgency continuously sweeping me along, leaving no room for introspection. Even the briefest lulls, those precious slivers of potential downtime, are immediately consumed by my next crisis, the next problem demanding immediate attention.

  A strange thought flickers: the Coliseum. Perhaps a direct confrontation, a trial by fire, would force me to confront my limitations. But the idea falters, deflating like a punctured balloon. My offensive arsenal is painfully limited. Destruction through DP, that raw, volatile power, is my only real weapon. My powers would tear the Coliseum apart.

  I've also recently discovered a frustrating truth about my Dungeon Mist: it strengthened my family during the fight, a blessing for them, but a useless tool for myself. I saw it swirl and coalesce around them, a tangible manifestation of my support, while I remained untouched, exposed let's say.

  It's a stark realization. I stand here, vulnerable, with no honed skills, no practiced techniques to defend myself. A hollow space yawns where a warrior's repertoire should be. I feel like a sculptor with only a sledgehammer, capable of brutal creation, but lacking the finesse for anything more intricate. I miss the sharp edge of a practiced blade, the subtle control of a well-aimed spell, anything beyond the raw, untamed force I currently wield. I need to find a way to refine, to expand, to understand what I am truly capable of.

  Where I'll find the time though...

  After leaving Raff, I find myself traveling to my next destination alone. I know, right? Where are the triplets? They're still in the Coliseum, and, I have a sneaking suspicion that Bear will be ready to evolve when I get there. That and the girls will still be level 1.

  Maybe I should order them to transform? For the greater good? I don't want to be mean, but is it okay to be cruel to be kind? I doubt it so let's ignore that for now. The main point is that they're trying and you never know, they could get lucky.

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  That said, I'm about to hold a meeting with Tune's Mayor and could probably use some luck myself. If not, I have another trick up my sleeve that's guaranteed to work. One that has changed many a mind over the last few centuries.

  I don't bother myself with the guards stationed outside. Nor do I concern myself with those inside, pretending to look busy. Instead, I port straight into the Mayor's office just as he's counting a large pile of gold. Almost like a certain Categoriser, I know.

  The Mayor is not the most composed of men, as evidenced by his fall backward off his seat at my sudden intrusion. A quick smile is all he gets before I port him back to his chair as though the awkward event never happened. The only difference is that the Mayor is now trying to catch flies in his mouth.

  "Yeah, I know. How did I do that? Amazing, right? Here's the deal," I pause for a second to let his mind catch up and catch on to the fact that I'm offering him a proposition. "I have a shit load of gold that I'm willing to give you. What do you think about that?"

  The Mayor's scoff is a physical thing, a puff of derision that wrinkles his jowls. My words hang in the air, pathetic and flimsy, as his disbelief solidifies into a sneer. I can almost taste the metallic tang of his wealth. He's a walking depository, a caricature of prosperity. Gold, thick and heavy, chokes his fingers, each ring a miniature monument to his self-importance. Bracelets, like gilded manacles, jangle with every dismissive twitch of his wrist. A thick chain, a golden serpent, coils around his neck, its jeweled eyes glittering with reflected light. Even the stitching in his opulent coat gleams with a thread of pure gold, each tiny strand a testament to his gaudy excess.

  "Normally, I wouldn't give someone like you the time of the day. Nobody gives away gold for free. There's obviously some sort of catch so get to it. I'm very busy as you can see." Stubby fingers go back to counting coins. Almost as though I haven't just offered him a shit load more. Seeing how he's covered in the stuff, I thought he'd jump at my offer. It threw me off a little, but what I want isn't anything he can deliver.

  "Honestly, Mayor, there's just one small thing I need. You've probably already figured it out, knowing you." I let a hint of admiration color my voice, hoping he'll bite.

  "There always is. I should know. Continue." I hate him already and don't know why we haven't thrown him in a cell yet. Maybe I put too much trust in Raff? Although it's probably not a good idea to be kidnapping Mayors while I'm coming out as a Dungeon Core.

  Probably.

  Either way, I don't like him. He's nothing like Orad's Mayor, Baldur.

  "I'm going to give you an abundance of food. So much that you'll be able to feed every single resident of this city twelve times a day, if you wanted to. However, that's exactly what I want you to do. Feed them."

  The chair grumbles as the Mayor leans back, considering my offer. It shouldn't be that hard to understand. I'm going to pay him to do the job he's already supposed to be doing. Only, I'm offering a ridiculous amount of food, and the same in gold on top.

  "It's not like I'm asking you to feed them personally, but I need you to be the guy who sets it up. Look like the Mayor for once," hell it might even drop you a colour.

  If this goes well, he might not need to spend any time in rehab. He probably will, though, and I wouldn't count my Mimics just yet.

  "Okay?" He's giving me that 'what's the catch?' look. Guess I should just explain.

  "And I'm a Dungeon Core, by the way." I let the words hang in the air, watching the information process. The man's carefully constructed facade of bureaucratic authority crumbled. His eyes flickered, a primal fear taking root. The clumsy clatter of his spilled coins was almost comical as he launched himself backwards, a desperate, futile attempt to escape the inevitable.

  "Yep. Dungeon Core. Not a Space Mage, even though I can teleport freely. Short story is that I own this city now. Purchased legally and everything. Due to that, I'm able to see everything that happens anywhere in Tune. It doesn't matter whether it's the guard downstairs picking his nose or the dagger your holding behind your back. I can see it all. If you don't start feeding everyone -and I mean every-fucking-one, I'll know about it and our next meeting will not be as pleasant."

  The Mayor turns so pale that it looks like he's just made a deal with the devil. Instead, it's just me, your friendly-neighbourhood core.

  "Before I leave for the day, I'll be setting up food production sites around and outside the city. They should be ready to slaughter as early as tomorrow, but I'll spare you the details for now. I'm sure you have some people who know their stuff."

  The Mayor's mouth is moving, but no words come out and I take the opportunity to continue. It's nice having the room. "They take about three hours to replenish once upgraded. Your guys need to know that, so make sure you tell them. Yeah?" The Mayor nods. "Other than that, I suppose you can keep doing what you have been doing for now. Well, maybe change your behavior before you become a bigger problem on my list. I don't wanna have to throw you in my dungeon," I frown, he wets himself, and there's a knock at the door.

  "Anyway, I'll be back in about a week. Make sure you feed your citizens or you'll be seeing me a lot sooner and remember, it won't be a friendly chat like this one if I'm back early." Someone's need for food is at the top of my list right now and I turn around to find no one. Amber isn't with me and it was in fact my own stomach that interrupted my monologue. Turning red, I bid the Mayor a prompt goodbye before disappearing.

  Hopefully, he won't mess it up. Not that what I asked of him is hard. I don't really have high expectations, but what will be will be. Right now, I'm too embarrassed with myself to care and port to the Coliseum. If I'm hungry, Amber must be starving.

  On arrival, I find the girls being lectured by Randy rather than fighting Golems and it's no surprise to see their level unchanged whereas Bear is ready for that evolution. The Ringmaster shakes his head when he sees me and the triplets look disappointed.

  Is it that bad? Can they just not fight or what?

  "Don't worry, girls," I offer them words of encouragement, "I'm sure we can find something else for you to fight." What that is, I have no idea, but I'll think of something.

  "Until then, let's go get some dinner." Amber is the first to her feet and is full of excitement. Motivating her sisters to do the same, we move out of the Coliseum and head straight to Ali's.

  The air inside is thick with the comforting aroma of spices and sizzling meats. I slide into a booth, the familiar creak a welcome sound. My gaze drifts to the bustling kitchen, the rhythmic clang of pots and pans a soothing backdrop to the low hum of conversation.

  While we wait for our food, the idea of purchasing land gnaws at me. I trace patterns on the rough tabletop, the decision a weighty one. Should I? Shouldn't I? The thought bounces around my head like a trapped bird.

  By the time we've finished, the warm glow of the setting sun casts long shadows and a wave of exhaustion washes over me. The day's events, the weight of responsibility, it all settles in. "Tomorrow," I murmur, pushing away the remnants of my meal. "Tomorrow is a new day."

  I don't have any city visits planned now for another week and nothing needs my immediate attention, neither do I have to go anywhere. There are still a few people left to reward for their service and efforts in the battle, but that's nothing major like the clean up Tune.

  It would be great if the domino effect kicked in, that's what I'm hoping for. Once the majority of souls have reverted to neutral, hopefully, the rest will follow.

  Hopefully.

  I mean, being good can be infectious in its own way after all.