George Knows Best [Mud Wizard LitRPG]

City governance was boring, especially when you were doing your best not to be a one-man tyrant. Town meetings, construction projects, migrant processing, arbitrating duties—the list went on and on. And of course, everybody wants a decision from the top.

The lazy man would have delegated away all his responsibility. Bob wanted to do just that. But fundamentally he didn't trust people. He'd remember the little body of the girl hiding behind her mother, half her face marred and blackened by dark magic. He'd remember and he'd think the heart of man was cruel and evil, and couldn't, shouldn't be trusted.

Just setting everything up took days and days. Bob's only got through it by cultivating a reputation for a weak stomach. That became his get-out-of-meeting-free card, a convenient excuse for locking himself in the bathroom and enjoying some quality time with Jonny the Man.

In the end, they had hashed out a standard set of laws: No murder. No rape. No stealing. A 500 credit per kg shipping tax. A public service duty, etc... Bob erred on the lenient side for punishment. Automatic system-enforced fines for low-level offenses and for more grievous crimes, a notify and report approach.

Bob was a bit proud of this idea. Basically the penalty was threefold: first, you were required to report yourself to a government building as quickly as possible (within reason); second, the details of your crime would be broadcast to all citizens; and third, you would submit to stand a fair trial and endure any verdict pronounced.

Get it? The penalty was enforced by the system. Which is to say the system itself would provide a factual summary of the crime's details to all citizens. Not only was that a major deterrent, but it saved Bob from having to do any investigation, while not surrendering any actual judgement to the system itself. Bob suspected the system's oath enforcement method might be brutally mechanistic.

When Bob wasn't codifying laws, he was at the construction yard, earning his title "The Builder." Together George and Bob had designed a standard house arrangement: four walls, a slanted roof, a low table, two chairs and a mud bed. They'd industrialized, erecting an enormous kiln outside the city walls. Bob would shape the mud inside the kiln and George would superheat the interior. This new process bumped both quality and efficiency.

The mud bed was Bob's special invention. Nobody wants to sleep on fired brick. Bob's new control let him firm up the exterior of the mud while leaving the interior squishy. This gave you a dry, but springy texture. Just pile some freshly-cut grass on top and it might as well be a feather bed. Of course residents were free to customize and remodel, but at their own expense. State-provided accommodation ended there.

Sophie too had not been idle. That woman had a business mind. Bob was a little afraid of her. She'd bullied him into prioritizing construction of a giant pen (sometimes it's easier to be defeated). And then she rounded up a herd of siren-cows with her fragrances. Yes, Betsy was not forgotten.

It was a booming success. When appropriately gagged, the cows were relatively harmless despite their high levels. Fodder was free and plentiful, and the milk and meat produced were the familiar staples. Sophie even managed to profit off slaughtering duty, auctioning away the experience.

Uruk was turning into the economic powerhouse of the region. It was all kickstarted by the minimal shipping costs. People could buy tools, equipment, health patches. And people could sell into the larger interverse economy. Because it turned out monster corpses were more than just unpleasant reminders of your sins, they were valuable sources of ingredients.

Raupenflieger was a powerful organic acid. It could be processed down into a soap and fragranced with sweet-smelling herbs. Erntemantik (reaper insect) blades were highly prized by weapon-smiths. They were light, sharp and durable. Their human feet were a particular delicacy on certain planets, each toe having a subtly different flavor profile. They were an absolute favorite sampling for blind-tasting parties. Nobody had yet run across a Kriegskäfer (thankfully), though not for lack of trying, since their horns were supposedly to be a premier material. Maybe there just hadn't been any survivors...

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The most valuable commodity of all, however, was, naturally, Spinnenhüpfer moustache hair. Xenophon had dutifully explained to Bob that Spinnenhüpfer were a classic low-level example of the moustache-hunter predator type. A group of predators whose moustaches had sedative and psychedelic properties. Their hunting strategy was to launch themselves into moustache range and then murder their entranced victims. As a rare E-rank example of the class, the Spinnenhüpfer were a real cash-cow for the community.

Combat-oriented individuals, "bashers" as they started calling themselves, would head out each morning to hunt and level. They tended to operate in small parties, both as insurance against sudden bandit attacks and to face off against D-rank monsters.

Yes, D-rankers now wandered freely across the plains. Bob, Sophie and George's mass culling had not crippled the grassland ecosystem. Thankfully, however, these D-rankers tended to be much weaker than the boss variants Bob had faced down. The churn of daily combat was gradually leveling up the community and already they were starting to get their first evolutions.

Non-combat-oriented individuals ("bakers") gravitated towards crafting or public service positions. The city guaranteed salaried work for any man or woman who desired it. The salaries were paid out from the shipping tax. And there were plenty of jobs that needed doing: sentry duty, general cleaning, child care, working in the canteens, processing new settlers.

The last of these duties was especially urgent, because Uruk continued to grow. Every day saw a half-dozen people wander up to the city walls. These settlers had to be questioned—Bob couldn't be dueling crazy butchers every other day. Someone had to explain the city laws to them and confirm they were willing to swear the city oath. Each evening Bob would gather new residents into the city hall, repeat the oath to them and grant them all citizenship.

And every day, more and more people streamed into the city. The population had breached the hundreds; they were edging towards a thousand souls. A thousand souls! And with forgets-to-butter-his-toast-before-eating-it Bob Brown in charge. Settlement rank 3 was far behind them and rank 4 was clear on the horizon.

Truth be told, Bob was feeling overwhelmed. Things were all moving way too fast. There was so much to do and he was terribly afraid of missing something important. A part of him felt he'd lost control of the ship of state long ago and the whole enterprise was being swept along by the current. And to what end? Only the system could say.

It didn't help that Sophie continued to give forceful and unsolicited political advice. She wanted a top-down, no-bullshit society. "Security demands strength and strength demands ruthlessness" was a phrase she'd taken to repeating to him as a semi-greeting, hoping perhaps that she could subconsciously hypnotize him.

And then there was the Tower of Circles event to worry about.

System Event: The Tower of Circles

Everything must come around in the end

Complete the circle - if you dare

When: T-16 Days

Requirements:

Rank D+

Five-Person Squad

Rewards:

Exclusive Titles

Artifacts of imaginable power

[world avatar participation required]

Bob would have to scramble together an official Uruk, Tower of Circles squad. The core was obviously going to be George, Sophie and himself. Ali, as an infighter with a volcanic berserker class, made a promising fourth. But they would need a fifth. Bob would have to organize tryouts in the near future. That is if he ever found time, given the unceasing stream of new migrates.

"Ali, where the hell are all these people coming from? And how are they finding this place?"

"Those are not exactly subtle," Ali pointed at the giant mud walls, towering over the landscape.

"No, but seriously Ali, what about you guys? You found this hilltop when there was nothing here and the pylon was invisible."

Ali gave Bob a confused look. "Bob, I can't always tell when you're joking. You have tried opening the system map, right?"

"Er... yeah, of course... You caught me. It was a joke."

Ali didn't buy Bob's stellar denial. "Bob, you're a riot. Strongest I've ever seen by a mile. Got to give you that. But just as dumb as a hammer. Do you get that a lot?"

"More and more", Bob grumbled to himself, "and mostly from Sophie."

Bob dutifully opened the system map. The system had implemented a lovely map interface. Maps really are a beautiful way to represent space. 2d, 3d, satellite, geometric, abstract. And upon said map, bang on Bob's position, was a big, labelled spot: Uruk (lvl 3).

Bob groaned. Hidden villages are less effective when the omnipotent system sets up a giant they're-over-here sign in every sentient's interface. So much for our Village Hidden in the Mud.

And what's this? They weren't alone any more.