God of Trash

He spent some time explaining to the Water Syndicate the basics of what he expected from them. The general mood in the camp went from tense, to confused, to totally lost. He hadn’t expected them to get it right away, so he wasn’t too bothered, though he was a little worried that they wouldn’t be able to understand his vision for a long time yet, given how long it would take for profits to filter down. Still, at this level of parallelization, he could—no, he had to spread to the next city, which he immediately delegated to his new underlings. Several of the criminals were more familiar with three of the other nearer cities, and those were put in charge of expanding the snack shack outward.

The pill-making mages were the ones who took to his vision the fastest. He barely had to finish explaining what soda and chips were before they started up fresh batches of the drinks and snacks, eager to experiment with new flavors. “You can keep working on whatever you want, too, as long as you make chips and soda,” Rhys promised.

The mages nodded, already lost in their work.

He shrugged. Compared to making drugs, making chips and soda must take a miniscule fraction of their time. He’d basically just given them the freedom to do whatever they wanted, and spend more time on it. There was no downside to his new proposition. From what he understood, they were mostly the few who had managed to wiggle their way to magehood without the Empire’s help; mages who were smart enough to become mages even without the assistance of any tomes or teachers. Their progression was slow as a result, but they had a unique culture of cooperation and sharing that he didn’t see often among mages. They had to claw their way to every advancement using every scrap of their brains, and they had all grown up in a setting of restricted information, where all of them had experienced the pain of not knowing what to do next. Instead of hiding all their knowledge away, they had instead decided to share, and so, though they didn’t all share the same path, they shared the same foundational techniques.

It was an interesting solution to their predicament, and one Rhys wanted to encourage and see where it went, though right now, that just meant letting them do their own thing. All in all, the scientisty, pill-minded mages were easy to handle.

He spent the first night resting, and woke up in good enough condition to keep going.

The criminals took longer to get on board with his plan. They weren’t super psyched about their new futures as farmers versus criminals. Those who were involved in distribution and setting up storefronts in the new cities flaunted it in the faces of those who had to farm. Rhys went from store to store, making sure they were properly set up, then installed one of his original rebels in the store to make sure the criminals weren’t skimming the money. Once money started flowing, he made sure the farmers were paid just as well as the criminals involved in logistics and distribution, which quieted everyone down some. The ones who were doing store work still looked down on the others, but the others didn’t care when they were all making the same money.

It took a little while for the smaller shops to start making money, but before long, several cities were addicted to ‘coffee,’ soda, chips, and fries. Rhys stuck around long enough to make sure everything was on board and working properly, then retreated back to his stronghold to ponder his future, and what shape it took.

He’d been right and wrong about the Water Syndicate. Yes, it was part of a bigger crime group; no, that larger crime group was not also the Water Syndicate. This was just a branch of the Empire’s organized crime network, but much like the scientisty mages, criminals had to work together to survive in the Empire. Oh, sure, there were spats, fights, the occasional disembodied horse head in the bed, he was sure, but they all cooperated in a big, semicoordinated network to make sure they didn’t all get schwacked by the Empire. No one ratted on anyone else, that was a big part of their code, not even if they were deadly enemies. Those who did were considered worse than dead, and were subject to the kind of punishment Leonard had expected his family to subject him to. When he discovered that, he made a special visit to Leonard, now quietly on his farm, to find out why he had.

Leonard had simply given him a look like it was obvious. “There are things worse than being decored or a painful death. Curses are one of those things.”

“Are they really that bad?” Rhys asked, as a man carrying around two curses semi-successfully. Mostly successfully. That one backlash barely counted.

“Are you asking me that?”