Prohibition (Part 1)

The front lines of the Adrian Empire.

With more than two-thirds of the imperial territory already overrun by demonic beasts, morale among the defenders had plummeted straight into the dirt. They lived in a grim reality where bleeding out or being ripped limb from limb at any given second surprised no one. Those who had once lived and died by the bottle had been forced into agonizing sobriety ever since the Great War laid waste to every last brewery and distillery.

Perhaps that was why the people of the Adrian Empire displayed an almost unnerving, unconditional reverence toward Judddak.

While they might not have been dwarves, their devotion to liquor ran deep in their blood. At one point, virtual drinking rooms popped up across the forum as guards sought drinking companions to drown their sorrows, granting Judddak monumental sway within imperial borders.

And that was precisely where disaster struck.

The unlucky sentry had run straight into the Crown Prince during his digital inspection rounds.

The abruptly declared ban on alcohol sent a collective wave of vertigo washing through the Adrian Empire. Food rationing was already so pathetic that folks staked their survival on Judddak's marketplace listings, and now the Crown Prince was stripping away their only remaining solace?

The atmosphere throughout the Empire turned poisonous. Sedition and whispers of mutiny were no longer confined to dark corners; they were being aired out in broad daylight.

Up to that point, however, the crisis had remained an internal imperial headache.

The real trouble started when Frederick decided to point his spear at me.

"Wait, these guys have a Location Tracking Magic Tool too?"

A throbbing migraine flared behind my temples the moment I digested the text. It hadn't been that long since the elven elders used the exact same card to intimidate me, and now the Empire was waving one around as well. Since it was single-use, it clearly wasn't something they could churn out like cheap trinkets, but the sheer fact that they possessed one in their arsenal was an immediate hazard.

"Is that their idea of a nuclear deterrent? The moment things go sideways, they instantly threaten to doxx me."

Wasn't there any artifact that blocked dimensional tracking? I frantically combed through the administrative store, but everything stocked on the shelves originated from Earth. There was no instant, magic-based firewall available to shield my bunker.

A chorus of alarm rippled through the gallery users. Much like the previous elven crisis, their worst fears materialized without delay. I had zero intention of putting my life on the line over a couple cases of canned beer.

"I’m not caving. I’m prioritizing operational security."

With a single click of my mouse, I wiped alcohol off the map of the entire fantasy continent.

The blowback was instantaneous.

The initial blast erupted within the imperial heartland itself.

Mutiny broke out almost instantly. Frontline garrisons threw down their pikes, abandoned the ramparts, and retreated behind the inner city walls. Commoners went on a total labor strike, slumping onto the streets in sullen apathy, instantly paralyzing the Empire's already fragile food supply.

"Grrr...?"

"Kieeeek...?"

The demonic beasts that had charged the walls expecting arrows and enchanted oil were left completely disoriented. Memes showing ferocious hellhounds scratching their snouts atop completely unmanned parapets spread like wildfire across the gallery boards.

And the fury was hardly limited to the human territories.

Public opinion was overwhelmingly on my side. Even so, I had no intentions of recklessly restocking alcohol just because the gallery was cheering me on.

"He needs to think this through. Whether I sell it or not makes no difference to my survival."

Even if the Crown Prince buckled under the backlash and begged me to restock, I wouldn't relent easily. Though judging by his haughty imperial ego, that seemed unlikely to happen anytime soon.

Duke Isaac—the only commander who had successfully defended Adrian's northern borders intact—was mobilizing.

No matter how many isolated revolts broke out along the walls, the southern deployment of Isaac's battle-hardened host changed the board entirely.

The forum had devolved into absolute bedlam.

Just as the feverish meltdown showed no signs of cooling down, a new post surfaced on the board.

"Whoa."

None other than the forum's most beloved fixed nickname, WholesomeModest.

Without a shred of sarcasm, she was an authentic beacon of radiant light across this desolate post-apocalyptic forum. Every morning like clockwork, WholesomeModest blessed the gallery with suggestive, jaw-dropping selfies. To top it off, her true racial heritage belonged to that exceedingly rare species: the succubi.

True to a race that thrived on pleasure as their staple nourishment, WholesomeModest sustained herself by feeding on the raw desire and passionate engagement of the community.

"Prohibition crisis or not, a man cannot scroll past this."

The moment her handle registered in my vision, my hand clicked the thread on pure instinct.

Unsurprisingly, there was not a single downvote. Under normal circumstances, naming the Head Moderator to fish for attention or build personal rapport was an offense worthy of a ban, but an exception had to be granted here.

I had no idea what her motive was, but I left a polite reply anyway. That was when two new notifications popped up in rapid succession.