The discovery of the hidden hero in the town hall basement was a complication.
A very interesting, and probably very dangerous, complication.
But it was a problem for future Ragnar.
Present Ragnar had a more pressing issue: a looming, full-scale mutiny in his own command staff over the quality of the snacks.
My throne room, a place of imposing crystal and strategic importance, was now filled with the low, rumbling snores of my victorious but exhausted army.
And the faint, but unmistakable, smell of unwashed Orc.
The looting operation had been a resounding success. We now owned a fleet of slightly dented pickup trucks, several dozen computers that were probably running on Windows 95, and enough toasters to equip a small nation with a mediocre breakfast.
It was glorious.
But with victory came the inevitable, soul-crushing reality of human resources.
I had summoned the instigators of the recent… disciplinary issue… to my throne room.
Chloe, my beautiful, fanatical shadow.
