George Knows Best [Mud Wizard LitRPG]

There's a blessed freedom in being unknown, unimportant and unappreciated. You get to put your legs up on the couch and read into the wee-hours of the night. Nobody cares enough to bother you, or tell you to go to bed, or worry you about an uncertain and unfriendly future. Bob hated to admit it, but he missed being the junior QA engineer at the reptilian startup, The Slackback Turtle. You could hardly be more unimportant than that.

Yes, Bob admitted to himself, he missed it dearly, and never more so than now, as Ali marched him to a make-shift dueling circle at the top of his city. When had he approved a dueling circle? This was a clear violation of the zoning laws. Bob's grimace only deepened when he saw the monster that confronted him. A seven-foot tower of muscle, with an unnaturally large meat-cleaver and a not-so-white apron.

Bob tried an approachable smile and stretched out a hand. The butcher grunted something and waved his cleaver menacingly. Yes that's right, Bob had always been a terrible salesman. But he ought to try some way of ameliorating the situation. Magical duels were never just "best man wins." Luck, guts and the element of surprise were just as important as skill or power. Who knew what kind of nonsense power this man might possess?

"Evening. Welcome to the fair city of Uruk. What do you think of our walls? Some of my best work, don't you agree? We've plenty of space here. Friendly people. Reasonable governance. You'll fit in just perfect. Why don't you have a cup of tea and relax?"

The butcher grunted something.

"Pardon. Didn't quite catch that."

The butcher grunted again.

"Are you chewing on something? Can anyone else understand him?"

The butcher spat out a wad of something wet and grainy. He had been chewing on something.

"Uruk is a terrible name."

Bob saw red. "Did Sophie put you up to this? Sophie, I'd rather be flayed alive than call my city, New Paris. I'll duel any man who dares besmirch the good name of Uruk."

A system message pinged.

Standard Dueling Contract

Party A: Bob the Brown

Party B: Bob the Butcher

Arena: dueling circle

Terms: to the death

"What? Your name's actually Bob?" From somewhere in the crowd there may or may not have been a little voice that shouted out "Bob the Builder." Odds on Bob was just hearing things.

"There can only be one Bob in this city." Bob the Butcher announced.

"I'm not sure why. There are two Georges after all. That puts a real cap on our city's growth potential."

"One Bob. One Bob." The butcher started to chant. And for some maddening reason, the assembled citizens took up the cry. "One Bob! One Bob! One Bob!" Whose side were these people on?

Bob stood there, in the middle of the dueling circle, as the crowd chanted around him. The night rain started to fall down. Yes, good. The rain. Bob could do terrible things in the rain. He had done terrible things in the rain. Was everyone against him? He'd been working so hard for everyone's sake and they were all against him? He clenched his fist and glared at the spectators.

Bob knew what they were thinking. People hadn't taken him seriously his whole life. They thought he was weak. They'd never seen him fight proper. Any idiot could pull a pistol trigger. In this world of chaos and war, who needs a builder as your leader? Strength isn't in the walls, but in the men who stand upon them. They wanted the strongest leader they could have. The biggest, baddest motherfucker. Someone so evil, his very name kept you safe. And in their hearts, they doubted the mud cloaked 24 year old who hummed theme songs from children's television.

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"You all doubt me," he whispered, and then he shouted the words, "you all doubt me!"

He drew his white dagger with its cruel point. Harry floated up about him. And the rain pounded down, intensifying into a storm, into beating, throbbing drums. The rain, always the rain. Always cursed to fight in the darkness, in the cold wet.

"Don't you know me? Don't you know me already? I am the Mud Monster. I am the thing of nightmares. The sleeping darkness that lies beneath you all. I need out only stretch out my hand and..." His fist snapped closed.

The butcher scoffed. He looked arrogantly around, as though to emphasise that nothing had happened to him. "I challenge you."

"We humans. Must I write a thing in blood before you'll remember it? To the death? Not to submission. Not to first blood. He challenges me to the death. And all of you are witness."

George whined from the sidelines. George alone protested. George alone the sole of reason. I'm sorry George, Bob thought to himself, but this is the face of the world.

"No one objects? To the strongest? Then I wash my hands of this sin." Bob knelt down and washed his hands in the mud. He stood up again. His hands dark and black with mud. "I accept."

Contract accepted.

The meat cleaver swung up. The butcher's sharp teeth twisting into a smile. The man knew it was over. He could slice through the air itself. The imposter would fall down in ribbons. Blood and meat and guts. The medium of the butcher.

"Mudfall."

The mud whooshed away. A black mouth had opened up under him. The butcher was falling. The mud magician's fist clamped shut and mud piled on top of him. But the butcher was strong. He was tough. He was wading up, forcing aside great sheets of mud, as he battled for the surface. His head broke through. He gulped down air. He was grinning. He was laughing.

"Is that all? Is that all? A spot of mud. I'll cut off your legs and smash your bones. I'm coming for you. I'm coming for you."

"Hard mud."

The soft, pliable mud suddenly froze in place. Excess water spilling out and away. The butcher was paralyzed. He couldn't move a muscle. His great body pumped but couldn't shift the mountain of hard mud. He was entombed there. Helpless. With nobody to save him. Awaiting only the contract of death.

"I surrender. I surrender."

"Mud dart."

The white dagger spiraled through the butcher's head. His brain exploded. He collapsed instantly. Dead dead. The crowd gasped and suddenly looked at Bob with a strange fear.

Duel Concluded - Victor: Bob the Brown

Bob turned on them. "Are you appeased? Have you drunk your fill? Are you blood-sated enough? Must I kill again?"

There were all silent. Little George had been watching. The scene seemed to bring back some bad memory, because he had crumbled into his father's arms and was sobbing soundlessly. He couldn't even look at Bob. At Bob the Builder turned Butcher. Bob had done that. He had made the little boy cry. They had made him do it.

"If you wish to stay here, I will have your oath. Any that wishes may leave. Go, now!"

No one stirred. No one breathed. Bob made out Sophie in the darkness. She was nodding her head. This is what she wanted. Rule by strength. Rule by fear. Slaves, not freemen. Is that what Bob wanted? Is that what Uruk would become?

The stories say Gilgamesh was a tyrant in the beginning. So brutal and terrifying, so wild and strong that the citizens begged the gods to spare them from their hero. And the gods sent them Enkidu to be Gilgamesh's friend. George wagged his tail and wandered over to where Bob was standing. Bob smiled and stroked the dog's fur. He already had his Enkidu. Maybe he could do better.

"Repeat after me: I swear"

"I swear," the crowed echoed back

"Under the eyes of the all-seeing system and upon the name of Earl Brown of the Mud,"

"Under the eyes of the all-seeing system and upon the name of Earl Brown of the Mud"

"That I shall honor the laws of the city Uruk. That I shall not betray my city. Or seek harm against my fellow citizens."

"That I shall honor the laws of the city Uruk. That I shall not betray my city. Or seek harm against my fellow citizens."

"Lest I suffer the penalty outlined in the laws."

"Lest I suffer the penalty outlined in the laws."

They all swore and the system sanctified the oath. Tonight the city of Uruk was born. All great cities must stand on their foundation of blood. The people looked relieved. They looked hopeful even. Maybe this would be their haven in these dark times.

But Sophie was pushing through the crowd. "Robert, you idiot, change the oath. Make them swear again. Don't look at me like that. I can't believe I have to point this out to you. They all only swore allegiance to the city and not to you? They could still betray you. You have gained nothing."

"I know, Sophie. I don't want a bunch of slaves."

"You oaf, you simpleton. They'll murder you in your sleep."

"Then I'm glad I have such a trusty guard dog, eh, Sir George?"

George barked and licked Bob's hand.

"That dog sleeps more than you do. I would rather trust my life to a pigeon."

"Sophie, I have something I know will console you."

"Oh?"

"Now, was there ever a more perfect time to start taxing our citizens?"

"You sly fox."