Sharath's territory's naming ceremony was not a banner-and-trumpet affair with teary speeches. No way. It was just Sharath at dinner, waving around a notebook like a kid who had done homework five minutes before the bell rang.
"Fine," he declared, dramatically clearing his throat as though making a royal decree. "My domain will be called… Unnatirajya!"
The name came off his tongue like he was used to receiving applause.
Princess Thermo blinked. "That's… actually pretty good."
Lady Ishivari nodded in approval, her pregnancy sheen giving her the appearance of being ever-backlit by divine sunshine.
Lord Darsha cocked his head. "Means?"
"Progress Kingdom," Sharath said, puffing out his chest. "A kingdom of progress, wealth, and—"
The AI in his brain interrupted, laced with sarcasm: And a kingdom where the monarch has the occasional habit of firing machine guns at gelatinous cubes for fun.
Sharath tuned it out. "—growth."
Lord Bassana proposed a toast. "To Unnatirajya!"
The rest of the table repeated, "To Unnatirajya!"
The First Problem: Politics Arrives Uninvited
Sharath never thought that declaring a territory would immediately invite the political vultures. The following morning, messenger birds came with elegant scrolls, wax seals, and pompous handwriting from surrounding lords.
Half of them sounded like formal congratulations.The other half were thinly veiled probes: "So how large is your army?" and "Could we perhaps talk tariffs over wine?"
Lord Darsha flipped through them as he drank tea. "Well done, young master. You've been officially acknowledged… and now every minor noble within a 100-mile radius will attempt to either befriend you or pilfer from you."
Lord Bassana chimed in, "Primarily pilfer."
The AI grumbled, You should mass-produce T-shirts that read: 'Yes, I possess loot. No, you may not have it.'
Sharath sighed. "So essentially, my issues just increased in difficulty."
The Second Problem: Territory Management is Dull… But Lethal
Two days after, Sharath finally went to Unnatirajya proper. It wasn't so much a beacon of prosperity yet — more of a work-in-progress building site where farmers, blacksmiths, and merchants were making do with what they had.
But the issues came at him like steroids-fueled dungeon slimes.
The farmers grumbled about crops being eaten by wild beasts.
The blacksmiths complained about needing more ore.
The merchants demanded safer roads.
Someone was monopolizing potatoes.
And some miscellaneous goat had somehow commandeered the village well and was collecting "admission fees" in carrots.
Sharath sat in his brand-new "Governor's Office" (which was actually just a solid table under a big tent) and massaged his temples.
"This is more difficult than cleaning out a dungeon," he grumbled.
Lord Darsha, who had followed him along, chuckled. "Welcome to actual leadership.
Lord Bassana took a sip of tea next to him. "You require a resources flow system, a defensive strategy, and a trade and dungeon booty logistics crew."
Sharath glanced at them both. "Translation?"
Darsha smiled. "Translation: Get good people on the payroll before you're buried under forms."
The AI contributed helpfully: Or simply place a giant turret bot above the town hall. Violence is such a great bargaining chip, I'm told.
The Third Problem: Preparing for the Next Dungeon Run
While political and economic nightmares were brewing, Sharath hadn't forgotten the true fun — dungeon plundering.
With the region officially christened, rumors were already spreading about "The Gun-Wielding Young Master of Unnatirajya." Merchants talked about how he could kill dungeon bosses in a matter of seconds. Adventurers talked about how they wanted to be part of his "mysterious elite team."
But Sharath cared more about… storage.
His previous dungeon excursion culminated in 100+ barrels of slime sludge, ice boar carcasses, and a bursting inventory. He was not going to relive that terror.
That evening, over dinner, he raised it.
"I require an auto transport system for loot. And by that, I do not mean two tricycles and a battalion of exhausted soldiers."
Lord Darsha relaxed into his chair. "Have you thought this through?
Sharath grinned. "Mobile loot convoys. Four teams: one fighting, two transporting, one stationed outside the dungeon. They'll rotate in shifts so no one collapses from exhaustion."
Lord Bassana nodded. "Feasible. But you'll need to train the transport teams for dungeon hazards."
Sharath shrugged. "Easy. I'll just give them the 'run faster than the monster' training."
The AI piped in: Pro tip: Always make sure the slowest guy isn't you.
The Fourth Problem: Money
Even with an operational transport system, Sharath knew he'd require additional coin to continue dungeon farming and territory growth.
That's when Lord Bassana mentioned the plushie monopoly once more.
"You've got a gold mine with those slime plushies. We mass-produce them, sell them in every main city, and you'll have enough funding to build Unnatirajya twice over."
Sharath scowled. "But… those were for my little brother or sister."
Lord Darsha chuckled. "And now they'll also be for every spoiled noble child in the kingdom."
Lady Ishivari, sitting at the head of the table, smirked. "Think of it as… spreading joy. And making lots of money while doing it."
The AI chimed in: And nothing says 'progress' like selling cute, squishy versions of the monsters you've slaughtered by the thousands.
Preparations for the Dive
During the subsequent week, Sharath's estate became a hybrid of military training camp and toy factory.
Blacksmiths added monster alloy to his gun frames to endure dungeon life.
Tailors began stitching waterproof loot pouches from slime-repellent fabric.
The initial prototype "Loot Convoy" came together — essentially tricycles with armored fronts and gigantic side carts.
The plushie factory's initial stock sold out in two days.
And Sharath? He tested his upgraded M16 by blowing the lids off water barrels at 200 meters, then complained it "still wasn't perfect."
The AI rolled its metaphorical eyes: You're not upgrading a gun, you're trying to invent the first personal anti-dungeon cannon.
The Comedy of Diplomacy
Just when things were smoothing out, the political letters returned — this time with "polite" demands.
One lord wanted a tour of Unnatirajya's dungeon farming operation. Another wanted to "borrow" a few barrels of slime sludge "for research purposes."
Sharath sent polite declines to all of them.
The AI approved: Good call. Step one of ruling — never let strangers near your loot piles.
Lord Darsha, however, warned him. "Careful, young master. They'll keep pushing. Eventually, you'll have to host them, if only to keep up appearances."
Sharath grumbled. "Fine. But if they try to steal anything, I'm ejecting them personally. Preferably out a window."
Bassana smirked. "I'll open the window for you."
Setting the Stage for Chaos
By the end of the month, Unnatirajya was looking sharper:
Farms were better defended with patrols.
Blacksmiths had new monster alloys to work with.
Trade caravans were running smoothly with new road guards.
The plushie monopoly was making more gold quicker than Sharath could count it.
And the dungeon preparation? Oh boy.
The Loot Convoy system was in place. Gun upgrades were finished. All soldiers had slime-proof uniforms. Sharath even had a spare M16 "in case the first one got bored."
Lady Ishivari cautioned him to be cautious. Lord Darsha urged him to slow down. Lord Bassana simply told him to bring back enough monster bits to occupy the blacksmiths for months.
Sharath simply smiled, the AI in his brain chuckling menacingly.
Second-floor dive, and here we go. Let's crank that loot counter up to eleven.