George Knows Best [Mud Wizard LitRPG]

The judge was not amused at Bob's attempted battery. Nor was the judge particularly softened when he heard the heartbreaking story of two emoji and a bug ticket. No, the judge frowned at Bob from his high mud bench. The judge frowned down, shook his head and remarked solemnly that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely (look who's talking).

Bob was, in the judge's humble opinion, a menace and a danger; he had the character of a petty tyrant and the ability of a degenerate savage. He deserved, by all rights, to be thrown into a deep, dark hole and forgotten about. And the judge would personally accept full responsibility for accomplishing this outcome.

Lucky for Bob, he had Ali. Ali's respect for the justice system was minimal to none. He loudly berated the judge throughout the whole proceedings, shouting out that they were in the middle of a crisis, that Bob's presence was absolutely necessary, that Bob should have been there ten minutes ago, that the judge was a stuck-up, old man who couldn't see three feet in the "real" world, and to lock Bob up for a friendly, bloodless bar scuffle would be a monumental, jacked up power-trip.

In the end, the judge, with great regret, much sighing, and many reservations, compromised. He settled on slapping Bob with a one hundred thousand credit fine. Bob gaped in disbelief and disagreement. Bob ground his teeth as the judge meanly congratulated him on his lucky escape and warned him of the future dangers should he repeat offend.

One hundred thousand credits! Bob's fist hadn't even made contact with Conor's face. That turtle-spoofing bastard was walking around scot-free. For one hundred thousand credits, yes, for that kingly sum, Bob wanted the bastard's nose. But he was a reasonable man; he could be convinced to settle for the judge's nose at a pinch.

Lucky for Bob, Ali was already dragging him off towards the city gates at top speed.

"Ali, let me get at him. I appointed that damn judge. How dare he treat me like this?"

"No time."

"What's happening Ali?"

"Drink this," Ali handed over a white pill, a system gem, the sober-up-stupid. Bob swallowed it down, his head immediately starting to clear.

"Look Bob. He's here."

"Who is?"

"Little George spotted him from the walls. That tyke has got a pair of eyes on him. Best spotter I've ever seen."

They had reached the gateway. The walls were crowded with citizens. Some seventy percent of the city must have been gathered up there. Everyone was gaping out into the darkness beyond the walls.

Bob made out companies of adventurers, grim-faced soldiers armed to the teeth. Was there going to be a battle? Some nodded at him. Some shook their heads. Some closed their eyes, clasped dog-shaped amulets to their chests and looked to the heavens.

"Ali, you want tell me what's happening?"

"He wants to see you Bob."

"Who does?"

Ali signaled to the guards at the gate and they levered the gateway open a crack. Bob stepped forward, trying to peer outside and see what was going on. Ali didn't wait for a better chance. He gave Bob a rough shove, pushing him right through the gateway and out in front of the walls.

"Good luck!"

Bob tripped out into the open, his arms winging out as he recovered his balance. He was angry now. Bob spun around, equipped with some highly inappropriate language for his second-in-command—the gate had been slammed closed. Bob heard the distinctive sound of them barring it. The bastards.

"Ali, a little context?"

Ali couldn't hear him. Ali was safe on the other side of the massive gateway. Bob looked up and saw his assembled citizenry gazing down him. He recognized those harried, hopeful expressions.

"You know, I don't think this governor gig is for me," Bob muttered to himself, "I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but it's just not turning out like I hoped."

The gateway blazed with the light of two enormous, magical bonfires. The orange fires flickered and crackled, two small boats on the great, dark sea of the night.

Bob sighed out, letting the meditative calm reach up and lap around him. Harry's hood came up, blocking his peripheral vision, masking those worried faces on the wall. He was alone out here, beyond the walls. Nobody would come to his aid. But he was strong and he had seen worse.

Bob wrapped a handful of cloth around the hilt of his white dagger. He strode warily forward until he stood between the two fires. He could make out shapes in the darkness. The mud showed him a company of men, eager and ready, twenty, thirty strong. They were waiting just inside the lip of the night.

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A silhouette stepped forward and the fire shaped him. A face, a man, a suit. A fine suit. Very fine. Bob didn't have an eye for these things, but you don't have to with a very good suit. You can just tell from the way it hugs the body. The tailored fit. The crisp lines and the sharp colors.

The man with the suit walked up to Bob. His eyes had that pointed, hard cast. He looked at things like he was judging and weighing them. He had a weary, graceful aspect to the way he moved, like everything was familiar and expected. He wore a tight smile and a neat beard. The firelight danced off the golden crown on his head and glinted against the double-headed war axe on his shoulder.

"Greetings, Bob the Brown."

"Evening, King of the Bandits."

The Bandit King had asked for him. What business brought the king to the walls of Uruk? Not for peace and friendship and solidarity. Yes, the king had a strong company about him, but it was more honor guard than army. Bob doubted they could take Uruk with those numbers. Not while he and George stood on the opposing side.

"Welcome to Uruk, first city of the new world."

"And I suppose that makes you, Gilgamesh, the Wild Bull of Uruk?"

Bob's mouth dropped open. "Did you, did you," Bob stuttered, "did you actually just get the reference?"

"Yeah, of course," the bandit king looked a little non-plussed, "it's from the Epic of Gilgamesh. Isn't it?"

"Yes, exactly, good man! Someone who gets it."

Bob stepped forward and took the bandit's king hand. He shook it vigorously with both of his own.

"I'm telling you, mate; these guys," Bob thumbed back at the wall, "bunch of ignoramuses. They asked me whether the name came from a comic book. Can you believe it?"

The bandit king was at a bit of loss. He'd frozen momentarily at Bob's sudden approach, almost swiping down with that monster axe of his. In the end though, he'd decided Bob was in earnest and just smiled bemusedly along.

"Don't you think it's a great name? You see the mud walls. Gilgamesh, the builder of walls. It's prefect no?"

"Bob, this is what I'm here to talk to you about. You, you and I, we are different from them. We are meant for things. Every storybook is filled with no-name, no-purpose characters, whose only meaning comes from how close they can stand to someone like you or me."

Bob nodded along, still very much basking in the glow of finding someone who actually understood how great a name Uruk was. Georgetown be damned.

"Bob, you are the Lord of Earth. You were the first sentient to evolve. You were top of the leaderboard."

Bob blushed. If only that crazy judge could hear this, maybe he'd have been a bit more respectful.

"And now look at you. Trapped at level 10. Fallen from the leaderboard. Bogged down by bureaucratic nonsense. I know what it's like in that city. They are leeching off your strength, smothering your destiny. Throw them away Bob."

Bob frowned. He'd be lying if he said he'd never thought of it. He'd never wanted a city. He hadn't wanted to govern. He'd just felt that people needed him. It was selfish maybe. But he didn't want to have to stand over another Anastasia and think "I could have saved her".

"This isn't the before, Bob. In the before, a man's strength was in others. Money, influence, position. A common peasant could murder a general with his bare hands. A general was only as strong as the thousands of soldiers who'd die on his command. But now, now, we live in the age of personal greatness. Where one man can tower over his fellows."

The bandit king clasped Bob on both shoulders and fixed him with a resolved expression.

"If you or I wished it, we could ravage that city. Either of us could tear it to the ground and massacre every man, woman or child inside. You know what I'm saying is true."

Bob did know. Bob remembered all too well the emerald city of the beetles. Blood and smoke and death. Bob nodded grudgingly.

"You're wasting your time with them. It's ruining you, Bob the Brown."

"What about your company of bandits?"

He chuckled and gestured to his hidden troops. "They serve me. Not the other way around. They only want to be near me. To share in my warmth and glory. To feast on the scraps of my table. They are my tools."

He pointed to the rows of the citizens watching their exchange.

"They are your chains."

"Why are you doing this? Why does matter to you?"

"Don't you see, Bob? You and I spawned within a few miles of each other. On this vast earth. It's not a coincidence. You think the system did it by accident. Heaven chooses its heroes, Bob."

"That's mighty good-natured of you, Bandit King. But forgive me if I question your motives. I know you've been waylaying travelers and cutting them down. I've seen corpses with your mark beside them. Not soldiers, but families and children. In the end, we both know there can only be one sun in the sky. One king over the earth."

"Bob, do you know what the most dangerous thing is in this new world of ours? People like me? No. The world evolution quest? No. The monsters? Not even close. It's that right there," The king pointed at the walls, at the city, at Bob's city, "it's the illusion of security. There is nowhere safe anymore, Bob. You can pretend. You can build those giant walls. But it's all an illusion. And when people feel safe, they don't grow; they don't strive; they waste away. And when the illusion crumbles down, they die."

"I can protect them."

"Today, sure, maybe. But in a week? In two weeks? You're level ten, Bob. I've already overtaken you and I'm not even at the top of the leaderboard. You'll be cut down like everyone else."

"What does it matter to you?"

"Now don't misunderstand me, Bob. I am not a charitable person. The system is judging us, Bob. When you evolved you must have seen it, that ominous line: 'calculating potential value.'"

"So what?"

"Everybody isn't allowed to reach the pinnacle. Only the worthy. And you, you, I think were set here to be my mountain. Of course we will fight. You and I. It is written in the heavens. We will fight and one of us will die. But it will be a battle for the ages. A song for all time. And it shall propel the other forward to immortality."

The bandit king stepped back. Bob looked at him again and saw that he was not a friendly, wise and well-read middle aged man in a nice suit. He was a demon in the skin of a man.

"I could hold your city hostage and murder you right here, right now. But I won't. Not yet. I expect more from you, Bob the Brown."

"You came here just to warn me?"

"Not exactly. I am coming for your city. I want the pylon. Prepare yourself."

On his signal, a spotlight flashed on. Bob retched. A great mound of bloody cow parts, a rotting mass of death blazed into view. And beside it, three stakes hammered into the ground. Three stakes with three heads driven into them. Sophie's night duty adventures. They had massacred everyone outside the walls.

"Bob, we aren't living in an age of farming." The bandit king turned and walked away. "We are living in an age of death."

"Prepare yourself."