George Knows Best [Mud Wizard LitRPG]

"Ali did you know about this?"

"Er... Bob I can't see what you are seeing. The system interface is private."

"This city on our doorstep, Kas, Kas, Kasu-uga, how the hell do you pronounce that?"

"Ah, Ka-su-ga, yeah that's Kenshin Mushin's city. It popped up three days ago. You really need to get out more. You spend way too much locked up in the bathroom. We all know what you're doing in there Bob."

Bob blushed. "Wait, I don't think it's what you're thinking."

"Bob, everybody needs a way to take a load off. No one blames you. There's a lot of pressure on you."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"They've started calling you, fallen star Bob. That must hurt."

"Have they? Why?"

"You've fallen off the leaderboard, Bob. You're still only level ten. By the way, Kenshin is number 5. He's already level 18. You know some of our stronger bashers have already overtaken you. You're really falling behind. I'm going to overtake you one of these days. I'm on the very cusp. I just got to down me one of those D-rankers."

"I've been so busy."

"Yeah in the bathroom. We know."

Bob swiped up the leaderboard:

System Leaderboard (simple)

Paul of the Spear (level 21)

King Cock (level 20)

The Blossom Princess (level 20)

Cassandra Blade (level 19)

Kenshin Mushin (level 18)

Black Eye (level 16)

The Hungry Hippo (level 16)

Serpent Sky (level 16)

The Bandit King (level 15)

Trix Mix (level 15)

"Ali, even the Bandit King is on here."

"I know Bob. Folks have started worrying. You really didn't know? People are whispering about it everywhere. Talk of the town: can fallen star Bob handle the Bandit king?"

"And? Can he?"

"Well, you know I like you Bob," Ali slapped him on the shoulder.

"That's not an answer."

"Read between the lines."

"Well why are they staying then?"

"That's an easy one: King George."

"But he's fallen off the leaderboard too."

"Yeah but he's a dog. Responsibility for training a dog falls on its owner."

"So it's my fault?"

"Look I'm just reporting what people say."

"Do they really think George can take the bandit king?"

"I don't know. But there's something about that dog. Ever since I laid eyes on him. Something inspiring and reassuring. You must have felt it. And while you've been locked up in your bathroom, George has been roaming around the city. Playing with the children. Helping people. Delivering food. He's a real guardian angel that dog. People love him."

"Now that you mention it, he does seem to have made a lot of new friends. Sometimes he not even home when I come back."

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"They think he's wasted on you. You don't appreciate him enough."

"Ouch."

"Speaking frankly though, I think some citizens might have gotten a tad carried away. Well there's a cultish aspect to it all, ain't there?

"Ali, I need you to spell these things out for me."

"Well, you must've seen the amulets."

"What amulets?"

Ali pulled out a small figurine he wore under his shirt and showed it to Bob. It was a stamped metal figure of a dog curled up to sleep. Its head resting in the soft brush of its tail, its eyes gently closed. On the figure's back was a familiar satchel. It was old George and no mistake.

"Is everybody wearing one of these?"

"Well define everybody. But everybody I know."

"What's it supposed to do?"

"Yeah know, the usual, protect one from danger."

Bob shook his head and muttered, "cultish" to himself. That didn't stop him badly wanting an amulet for himself. The metalwork was superb; you almost felt you could see George breathing. What was happening to this city while Bob read about Jonny the Man in his bathroom?

George was universally adored. Of course, that wasn't really surprising. You didn't have to be a genius to figure out who was more popular: Bob with his complaining air, general unsociability and aura of fear, or the darling retriever, with his kindly smile and timely bark. But the gap hardly seemed credible.

When Bob walked around the city alone, he got a few nods, a few whispers and a few people crossing to the other side of the street. When Bob walked around the city with George, everyone was all smiles. Citizens stopped what they were doing and came over. Everybody wanted to put a hand on the dog and say, "Good old George" and offer him a little treat. George loved the attention and had never once refused a proffered morsel.

Hell, when (by unanimous consent) the construction of a tavern was green-lighted and fast-tracked, the citizenry forcefully declined Bob's magnanimous offer to name the new pub. Instead, they had (by unanimous consent) settled on the name: "The Golden Paw."

It was a good name and a fine pub and they even kept a special dog bowl out at all times. The moment George wandered through the front door, everyone would start cheering. The barkeep would ring the bell and announce a round on the house for the sake of good old Georgie-boy. Bob had never had to pay for a drink yet.

But it didn't stop there. Naming pubs after animals was in keeping with a long and excellent tradition. However, when serious people started to suggest that the city erect a statue of George over the main gateway, a statue in solid gold, that was something else. And it wasn't just talk, a few wealthier bashers had approached Bob privately, offering to fund the enterprise.

Bob had fudged them off, partly from jealousy and partly just because the whole thing sounded like a bad joke. George was a grand fellow, but he was a dog, not some mythical lion. Bob had cleaned up enough dog poop to have a definitive opinion on the matter.

It didn't matter what Bob said though, every city needs a symbol. And Bob's citizens had already chosen theirs. Bob really didn't like to remember this. And everybody took special care always to call the city, "Uruk," in Bob's presence. But once or twice, with his D-ranked hearing, he had caught the citizens referring to the city by a more familiar address. Yes, that's right, you guessed it: Georgetown.

Bob had given them a grand name in the city of Gilgamesh himself. A name that signaled the city's new beginnings, high future and muddy walls. And what did they do? They started calling the city after a dog. Frustratingly enough, Bob kinda liked the name Georgetown. It was probably because he liked the dog, George.

"I'm going to want that back," Ali rudely interrupted into Bob's reflections.

Bob glared at Ali and grudgingly handed back the amulet. "Out of curiosity, whereabouts did you acquire the amulet?"

"Bob, you want one for yourself, eh?"

"No, forget it. I was asking out of academic interest. You take everything the wrong way."

Bob seriously wanted a George amulet. But he didn't want to be seen buying one, because that would condone the practice. Maybe he could get Sophie to buy him one. No, that wouldn't work. Sophie was the last person he wanted to know he was carrying around "a George amulet."

It was good that people believed in George. George was as tough as nails and soft as butter. His fire breath was a force-of-nature. But that dog was not invincible. Bob knew that better than anyone. And Bob seriously questioned George's ability to face down the bandit king on his lonesome.

So falling off the leaderboard worried Bob. That said, level decay was a real thing. The system didn't appreciate part-time levelers. You had to commit. You had to throw away your responsibilities in the pursuit of being stronger. Was Bob ready to do that? Was he ready to run the gauntlet and race towards C Rank?

It wasn't a question of yes or no. It was a question of when. Because Bob had made his decision. The only security in a world of chaos is personal strength. Bob knew that. Bob had learned that lesson again and again. He was not going back to be weak and helpless.

Yes, he would have to depart on a hero's quest to level himself and his dog, but not yet. Not until he had his city, Uruk, as secure and stable as it could be. And certainly not today, because today was a special day. Today Bob was going on a date. Was it a date? You be the judge.

Bob had nonchalantly inquired whether Sophie wouldn't want to catch dinner sometime. Sophie had accepted, stipulating only that the "dirty mongrel" not accompany Bob. There was somebody who didn't have an overinflated opinion on the golden retriever. And hey, Bob could appreciate the desire for some alone time, just the two of them. George would last one night without his master.