Returning to the Safe Zone with a floating orb of concentrated acid as a new pet did not go unnoticed. Whispers turned to stares, then to outright fear as people scrambled to clear a path. Lucas, covered in acid burns and concrete dust, with Mem's cracked porcelain and Scribbles peeking from his pack, looked less like a conquering hero and more like a walking disaster zone. But the effect was the same. He had gone out to face the impossible and come back changed, stronger.
Kai met him at the Sector 2 boundary, his sharp eyes taking in Vir with professional interest. "So that's how you solved the slime problem. You adopted it. Efficient, if deeply unsettling."
"Where's the council?" Lucas's voice was hoarse from the fumes.
"Waiting. At the Obelisk. Word of your… new companion… beat you here by five minutes. Rourke is not pleased. Finch looks like he swallowed a lemon. Amir is fascinated." Kai fell into step beside him. "Walk slowly. Let them watch you approach."
Lucas did. He didn't hurry. He let the weight of his exhaustion, his injuries, and his silent, deadly new Thrall speak for him. The crowd that had gathered parted like a sea before a toxin.
The council was assembled on their crates. Rourke's expression was stone. Finch had stopped whittling, his knife held loosely, his body coiled. Amir, the Surgeon, leaned forward, his clinical gaze fixed on Vir, mentally dissecting it.
Lucas stopped before them. He didn't sit on the offered stool.
"The corrosion slimes at the water treatment plant have been neutralized," Lucas announced, his voice carrying in the hushed space. "The source is bound. The acid mist will dissipate within days. The threat to the dome's integrity is over."
Finch spoke first, his voice a low rasp. "You bound it. You didn't destroy it. You brought the problem inside our walls."
"I *controlled* the problem," Lucas corrected. "It's not a threat. It's a tool. One that can now be used *for* this Safe Zone." He looked at Rourke. "You wanted a demonstration of utility. There it is. I don't just kill monsters. I turn them into assets."
Amir interjected, his tone curious. "Can it replicate? Can you control its corrosive output?"
"Yes to control. No to replication. It's unique," Lucas said, which was mostly true. He didn't know if Vir could replicate, but he wasn't about to admit it.
Rourke finally stirred. "You've proven your capability. And your… unique methodology. You've also proven you're a greater variable than we anticipated." He paused, the weight of leadership in his hesitation. "The council recognizes your contribution. Your standing request for a formal seat is acknowledged. But a chair, as you demanded, implies equal voice. And you are not an equal. You are one man with dangerous pets."
Lucas had expected this. Power wasn't given; it was taken. But sometimes, you had to make them think they were giving it.
"I'm not asking for an equal voice in everything," Lucas said, shifting tactics. "I'm asking for a voice in matters that concern external threats, resource acquisition from infested zones, and the use of integrated entities. I'm the expert you don't have. Treat me like one. Give me an advisory seat. My own vote on relevant issues. Autonomy for my team. In return, the Safe Zone gets first call on my services at a fair rate, and the security of knowing I'm not working against it."
He was bargaining, not demanding. It was a more palatable poison.
Rourke glanced at Finch, who gave a minute, grudging nod. Amir shrugged, as if the politics were beneath him.
"An advisory seat," Rourke said slowly. "With a single vote on designated issues. You report your major activities to the council. You abide by Safe Zone laws. And your… entities… are subject to inspection if they pose a suspected threat."
It was a compromise. It was a victory.
"Agreed," Lucas said.
"Then welcome, Overlord-Apparent, to the council of Greenhaven," Rourke said, without warmth. He gestured to the stool. "Take your seat."
Lucas sat. The crate was hard, uncomfortable. It was the most powerful chair he'd ever owned.
The meeting moved on to ration distributions and patrol schedules. Lucas listened, saying little. He was inside now. He could hear the real problems: food stores were lower than publicly known. The [Scavenger's Union] was hoarding useful trash. There was talk of another, larger Safe Zone to the north, but contact was sporadic.
As the council broke up, Amir approached him. "That Thrall," he said, pointing a bony finger at Vir, which hovered impassively. "Its corrosive properties are enzymatic, not purely chemical. Fascinating. I may have a… proposition. A joint research effort. Your unique assets and my [Diagnostic Eye] could yield new protective salves. Or weapons."
"We can talk," Lucas said, noncommittal.
Finch brushed past him, pausing to mutter, "A leash can be made of silk, boy. It's still a leash. Watch your step."
Lucas just nodded.
He returned to his plot. Eleanor had set up a makeshift canopy. Mark was trying to clean Mem's porcelain with a damp rag. They looked up as he arrived.
"Well?" Eleanor asked.
"We're official," Lucas said, sinking down beside their small, smokeless fire. "Council advisors. With all the privileges and target signs that come with it."
He summoned Vir closer. The green orb floated over, its interior pulse gentle. "This is Vir. It won't hurt you."
Mark stared, wide-eyed. "It's… kinda beautiful. In a 'will-dissolve-your-face' way."
For the first time in days, Lucas laughed. It was a short, tired sound, but it was real.
He had a seat at the table. He had four Thralls, each a testament to a battle won. He had a small, fragile team that depended on him.
He pulled up his status, the blue light reflecting in his eyes.
[USER: Lucas Rowan]
[CLASS: Overlord-Apparent (Legendary)]
[LEVEL: 3]
[HEALTH: 22/40] [Regenerating]
[MANA: 5/15] [Regenerating]
[THRALLS: 4/5]
[CREDITS: 0]
One slot left. The chains within him hummed, eager for the next link.
The game was no longer just about survival. It was about power. And Lucas was finally learning how to play.