The unintended consequence of their pretty public lovemaking was that the amount of respect these ruthless people had skyrocketed. They still laughed when John lost his balance and tumbled about the place like a drunk bumblebee, but in general they became nicer towards them after having seen or heard about that. Unintended, but not unexpected, John could easily understand that the people who were all about ruthless competition would like a leader who had the balls to nail his girlfriend in front of the entire island.

That he was really good at it more than likely helped, especially with the female half of the crowd.

John used his newfound political capital to convince everyone to ship out the rest of their individual population to have a look at Savage Island as well. Most followed that advice, causing Saturday and even Sunday morning to have a few more tours. Eventually, everyone had seen everything they wanted, though, and were just hanging around in or directly around the mansion. There were a couple of brawls, which either John or one of his elementals quickly broke up whenever they found one.

Funnily enough, once it was clear that violence was prohibited, people decided to take up after their new de-facto leader and began something the Gamer would describe as ‘competitive orgies’. He didn’t intervene in those. As a matter of fact, he was almost tempted to join.

Before he had come to a conclusion, however, the first journalists arrived.

It caused a bit of confusion at first. The Gamer pretty quickly explained that they were here on his invitation. Of course, the reporters that didn’t like John’s physical excesses immediately began filming the actions of his de-facto subordinates. Most other people just snapped a few photos. The headline that the Gamer was a pervert just didn’t sell that well anymore, since it was such public knowledge.

Well, there was one program that really liked John and also extensively reported on the orgies, especially once they continued with very few people caring about the eyes of the world. “Harilia here, from CPDI on-site reporting!” a catgirl started up the livestream. She was pretty cute, about as tall as Eliza (or as short, one should say) with small breasts and a nice ass, black hair growing down to her chin. Filming her was a camerawoman of the same haircolour, although she wore it longer, with a more balanced figure and a head taller. Both of them wore tight catsuits, of the shining black variety, with a large V-cut out on the backside, ending at the base of their tail, just above the ass.

John simply looked at them through the replacement sphere, which he had flown about the place while he remained in the mansion. The second he went out there, he would be swarmed with cameras and microphones. Instead, he had Aclysia and the other maid show them where they should prepare to film later and then had them receive the same tour as the members of the Small Lake Pact.

Observe had the two as quite interesting girls.

Of course, interesting meant: highly fuckable and ready for it. Which John planned to do. Although he was honestly surprised Cindy wasn’t here. He would have to ask about that, should he get a private moment with them. Which, again, he very much planned to. “I wonder if there’re more programs like the CPDI,” John said out loud when he pulled his attention away from the sight of the replacement sphere and back to his current walking exercise. “You know, 60% porn, 40% actual journalism.”

“Do you wish me to investigate this, Master?” Aclysia asked, accompanying his every step, just to be there should he fall. For now, he was doing pretty good with one hand on the wall. Even when one of the eyes desynced, the vertigo was somewhat bearable. Bumbling about like a fool in public actually did wonders to accelerate his recovery, since he wasn’t losing all those hours to looking good.

“Actually, yes, do tell me if you find some programs, however small,” John confirmed and he could actually feel how Aclysia made a high-priority mental note. “As much as I like the people at CPDI I know, can’t let myself be monopolized by one broadcast… I should also appear on non-porn programs sometimes, otherwise the ‘prim and proper’ crowd will dislike me even more.”

“Well, ya know, they can keep their stick up their bum while ya buttfuck the queen of Germany,” Rave stated, then looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Wonder if Lydia would appear on a livestream. You know, doing porn and all that.”

“I am… actually not sure.” John had to think about that himself. “I would say she would be initially reluctant but we could talk her into it if we really tried. Although it could also happen that she just stonewalls and says she doesn’t want the PR fallout.”

Humming, Rave agreed, “Ja, that sounds about accurate.”

“Do you wish me to write her a text message and ask?” Aclysia offered, as Lydia was much more patient with the maid. Basically, Aclysia writing that message would prevent an immediate rant from occurring. That was, at least, in theory.

“She would know the question comes from me,” John laughed and waved it off, a gesture that caused him to dangerously tilt forwards on his next step. “Alright, keep taking it slowly,” he mumbled to himself, then looked at the clock. The day was already half over. In more simple terms, it was noon. “Ah, guess we should go and make the announcement, shouldn’t we?”

“The start of the conference is scheduled for 12:30. Moving now is not strictly necessary,” Aclysia commented.

“But it would be wise if we arrived there, just in case some more technical work needs fixing,” John remarked and so the three of them moved out. What he had thought would happen did immediately, with every last reporter remotely close to the mansion descending on the entrance like a swarm of ants on a piece of cake in the park.

Right up until Aclysia stepped out of the frame behind him and closed the door with an audible ‘Thud!’, at which point they all slowed down and walked elsewhere as if they had never attempted to catch him on his way to the arena. Indeed, as the best place for gatherings on the island, John had designated the fighting pit as the place for the press conference. It also made for a nice background. John liked his impressive settings, no matter how boring an announcement was.

Not that boring was the word John would have chosen for the announcements made today.

Following him, over the next half hour, people streamed into the area. Reporters scurried around in the actual fighting pit at the centre, checking that their microphones were in position on the conjured stone podium. The two very different crowds, being those who had grown up in the Small Lake Pact and those from the outside, contrasted quite heavily when John took his position behind that podium.

Everyone of the latter category was listening, while the former was busy chatting and continuing their orgies. They had gotten a bit too relaxed now. Since he didn’t feel like delivering his speech like a presentation to an uncaring classroom, John decided to take measures. ‘Sylph, can I borrow you really quick?’

‘Sure, sir, Master, guy, Johnny Long-John, beeeeeee right there!’ she mentally announced, and John counted down from fifteen. The barely humanoid shape of lightning that Sylph transformed into whenever she reached top speeds arrived by the end of the countdown, stopping shortly before her summoner. “The joke is that I was hanging out with the bees!” she explained while twirling around as the small fairy she was most of the time. “The beeeeees, John! Those beeeeeees have kneeeeees! BEEEEEEEES!”

“Always nice of you to keep people company,” John encouraged her and stretched his arm out. “Now, could we?” They had actually spoken all of this into the microphones, but that hadn’t made the crowd pay any more attention.

“Sure, sure, sure, lemme just do dis and dat and I think I got it!” at the last word, Sylph changed again, this time into a streak of pale green energy that landed in John’s open palm. Quickly, it took the shape of an elegant rapier of the same colour, the metal singing at a high frequency when John raised it to the sky.

A ferocious lightning bolt cut straight upwards. Pale blue electricity raged on for several seconds, searing all its rapidly shifting paths into the retinas of the onlookers. When it suddenly ceased, it did so with the typical roar of lighting. Save to say, John had his attention now.

“Thank you, Sylph,” he said, and the air spirit turned back, quickly darting away again to go chat it up with Salamander and Gnome, sitting with Aclysia on a nearby bench that the soil elemental had created. “Alright, everyone listening now?” People had indeed stopped fucking around, chats and verbal fights were put on ice, dicks back into pants, people’s attention lay with the guy at the centre of the arena now. “Fantastic.”

John went through his mental notes again, checked what he had to say today, how to best present it and why it was necessary. He listened to the silence, only hearing a waiting cough, and took one last breath.

“So, the Small Lake Pact is under my rule,” he declared the big news right out of the gate. Reporters had already guessed as much, it was hard not to, but the cameras nevertheless clicked in mass when a great deal of photos was taken. “During a diplomatic mission, my beloved servant Aclysia was witness to a number of crimes, effective slavery inside a mana factory highest of all. It was unacceptable by the values Fusion represents and, as such, she took the opportunity to challenge the former leader. As local tradition apparently has it, I didn’t know about this, her victory in that duel made her the new leader. Which, in turn, makes me the de-facto head of operations around here.”

He let that settle in, just so everyone watching had an opportunity to think through all of that. Personally, John thought that he had to mention his own ignorance about local traditions, just out of honesty. If he always portrayed himself as a flawless guy, that would have some serious ramifications when he inevitably screwed up. Screwed up again, rather, given past incidents.

“All of that said, the Small Lake Pact will NOT be immediately annexed by Fusion,” he followed all of that up. Several people went from yawningly listening to the expected news to sitting upright and intrigued. “As a mixture of local traditions and my own principles on the way life is best lived, I hereby announce a tournament for my position as leader. However, that won’t be the only thing at stake here, for all of those that think they won’t even bother trying to fight me. All of Lake Champlain’s island of moderate size, so all excluding the insignificantly small and the giant central ones, are hereby seized by my authority!”

That caused a massive uproar, especially amongst the leadership crowd, as they were all suddenly robbed of their anarchically acquired land. John let them scream their lungs out for a bit, hearing out Zensie quite clearly as the former second strongest protest extensively.

“Those islands will serve as prizes for the tournament,” John explained calmly and things immediately quieted down again. “Sorted by size, with the smallest at the bottom and the largest on top, the 25 islands I deemed big enough to fall into the earlier categorization will be given to the 25 performers in the tournament. The one exception being this one,” he knocked on the stone podium. “Savage Island, with all its renewed infrastructure, will go to the absolute winner, regardless of relative size.”

This was the best idea John had for reforming the competitive structure of the Small Lake Pact into something that would work within Fusion’s framework. A place where numerous fighters competed for the best living conditions, continuously training to maintain what they had won or even rise higher up in the next tournament. It was somewhat in line with the local traditions and served as an outlet for all the violent types that doubtlessly existed within any sizable country.

“The tournament will be happening right here, in this arena. You will fight one on one with all abilities you naturally possess. All items and equipment you bring into the fight must be with you from the start, not necessarily visible, however. In the case that somebody is adept at creating items DURING a fight, these fall under the first rule. Murder is prohibited, as is doing anything to your opponent before or after your fight. You can pull whatever cheap tactics you want in the confrontation, outside of it I want to see a fair mindset.”

The Small Lake Pact people accepted that begrudgingly. John could hear their grumbles through Siena’s ears, who was stalking around in the shadows to spy on any outspoken dissent. Not to remove them later on or anything, the Gamer just wanted to know who to keep an eye on.

“If you don’t like what I am doing here, then you’re welcome to try and beat me. The Small Lake Pact will be integrated into Fusion should I be the victor of the tournament. I will reform things further from there. Like, installing a central government on the Grand Isle, making it so the owner of the islands have positions of economic privilege, not ruling power. Repeated tournaments in the future that all members of Fusion are invited to. Making military service mandatory for all island owners. Having everyone who competes state in advance who their direct supporters are, be it lovers, family or something else, and giving them some lesser benefits as well.”

He stopped there, waiting for a reaction. There was none. Apparently, people didn’t quite realize what that last point would mean. If supporters were receiving their optimal rewards by binding themselves to a fighter in advance, then that would hopefully put a dent into the current paradigm of gold-diggers attaching themselves to the strongest person they could whenever they wanted.

Of course, it wouldn’t prevent that outright, but John was pretty sure that was even possible. More powerful, able people would always attract more attention than anyone else. It just made it so that the opportunists had to make a choice and stick to it, as opposed to the free flopping around right now.

Taking really effective measures against it was tricky, at least without becoming so tyrannical that his reign was worse than the social situation. Maybe this incentive would be enough, but only time would tell. If he won the tournament, of course.

“Now, aside from myself and the people of the Small Lake Pact, I invite the surrounding guilds to participate as well. You can all feel free to send one representative. If that person wins, good on you, you now own the Small Lake Pact. Even if you come in at a lower rank, I will still give you the island. Although you may lose it in the future fights, of course.”

John reached into his inventory, retrieved a bottle of water, and took a huge gulp. Speaking for extended periods did parch the throat something fierce.

“As for when the tournament will be happening,” he continued afterwards, “that would be the next two days. I hope you’re all looking forwards to it. This will be the time for many of you to rise through the ranks. At the very least, this I can guarantee you, the future under me will be more interesting than continuously sleeping in shacks and ruined houses,” he raised his hand in goodbye. “I’ll be in my garden in an hour, feel free to come ask me questions, reporter or not, then.”