George Knows Best [Mud Wizard LitRPG]

"Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake! Awake!" The alarm bells pounded out. The city was awash in firelight and torches. A meteor in the dark sky of the world after the world has ended. The city of Uruk on the night as long as years.

The walls were manned. Rough looking veterans, conscript civilians. In the end war calls everyone's name. "Open the gates." The command was picked up, passed down and the gates started to groan open, one inch at a time. And through them walked a dark hooded man carrying a little boy in his arms. At his feet, a golden retriever who whined and moaned and wouldn't be consoled.

On the plains outside the gates were five more corpses. Another crop of tribute in the name of defending their city. Adventurers. Bold, brave men and women. Cut down without cause, in the name of... Bob scanned the people. No, No, No. Bob strode forward, pushing his way deeper. People fell back before him. They knew. They knew what he was doing, where he was going.

Bob wandered through the city streets. He was in a trance. A bad dream. The worst dream. Nothing had worked out like he had planned. And somehow he knew the path to take, like his fate was guiding him there. Doom is not a thing one escapes from. It is a thing one goes towards, sometimes blind and unknowing, sometimes trembling and unwilling, and sometimes with the resignation of necessity.

Bob turned the corner. It was this street. A simple, mud brick house with no light on. Bob didn't knock. He just shouldered through the door and walked inside. He was there. He was there. Sitting on the bed in the dark. Like he had known all along that this is what would happen. He said nothing. He stood up and gestured to the bed. And Bob's heart broke a little in his chest.

Bob knelt and laid the little boy down. The boy he'd sent to war. The good-natured, happy little boy. The innocent. And here was his father, sitting awake, waiting for the grim-faced messenger to tell him what he already knew.

Bob started to cry, but no, no, it was not his place to cry. Not in front of this man, this childless father. He bit his lip. He told himself to stop. To man up. And then his eyes happened on the little boy and the tears kept falling. He couldn't stop them. We don't rule our hearts. Our hearts rule us.

Bob looked at the father. The father's face was empty and grey. Bob started to speak. But he couldn't find the words. George nuzzled up to the old man, but the father didn't look down; he wasn't comforted. He wouldn't be comforted. He pulled up a chair and sat beside his boy. He didn't say anything. He didn't reach out and stroke back the boy's hair. He didn't whisper nothings in the boy's unhearing ears. He didn't even cry. No, he could only sit there and gaze down.

"I, I..." Bob starts and stops. What was he supposed to say? Words can't capture a heart. "I should've been there. I came as fast as I could. I killed them all. But it was too late. And he didn't come back..."

The father didn't nod. He didn't answer. Maybe he couldn't hear. What did it matter after all? What did anything matter any more? The end had come. It was lying on the bed deathly still; everything else was just words.

Bob had to do something. Beg for forgiveness? No, he didn't want to be forgiven. There was no forgiveness. Not unless Bob could bring little George back. Breathe life into those cold lips and summer eyes. But there are no happy stories of wrestling back a soul from the hands of Hades. Death is the great truth. And there is no escaping it.

Stolen story; please report.

"I vow," Bob stood up. His tears drying out. His aura of despair flaring up and making the crowd step back. Purpose makes the man.

"I vow, life or death, I will avenge your son. Blood for blood. Let me not rest. Let me not shut my eyes and sleep until I have cut off the head of the bandit king and laid him on your son's tomb. All of you bear witness. The Mud Magician has sworn himself."

Ability Activated - Oath

Oath - Blood for Blood

Bob the Brown vows not to sleep until he has avenged the death of George Small on the head of The Bandit King

Penalty - Death

"What have you done?" Sophie had arrived just in time to hear the words. She pushed her way inside, her eyes wide and terrified. "What have you done?"

"I can't make things right. But I'll do what I can. And this, this is the least I can do."

"Robert, can't you see? You've doomed us. Your oath is a madness. Tell me there's a way to cancel it."

"There's not a soul on this world who could relieve me of it."

"Robert, you're wounded. You can barely stand. Their base will be a fortress. You'll die a hundred times before you can ever lay hands on him. And he'll know of this oath within the hour."

"I'm going. I'm going now. I'll get there first."

Bob stood up. There on the table was a little George-amulet. The father had been clutching it, hoping it might protect his son. George had not protected his son. But then, that had been Bob's responsibility, hadn't it. Bob snatched up the amulet and strode out of the room.

The father didn't speak. He didn't acknowledge the vow. Or the amulet. Or the exit. The father had died there too. The moment he saw his last son cold and broken by war.

Bob was marching towards the gate. Every second step he limbed as the weight shivered through his injured thigh. Pain was nothing. Suffering is of the mind. Sophie rushed up after him, pleading.

"Don't go, Robert. I'm sorry for the boy. But you are damning the whole city. I don't like to say it. But we need you here, Robert. We need you. I need you. Don't go!"

"It's too late, Sophie. I swore already. I have to go."

"Why aren't your wounds healing?"

"Magic."

She didn't smile. It was no time for smiling. Bob stopped and turned to her.

"Sophie, will you come with me?"

"You are going to your death, Robert."

"So be it."

Bob looked at the dog who was trailing after him. Old faithful George. He'd follow Bob into the dragon's den and out again. But not this time...

"I'm sorry George," Bob mumbled as he held up a finger. "Sit!"

George obeyed, but with a questioning, disagreeing look in his eyes.

Bob went through the steps, "shake," "lie down," "roll over," and then finally, "wait!" George understood. He understood what Bob was asking of him. He moaned and resisted, but he was a good dog and he obeyed his master.

"George, stay here. Protect the city. I will go alone."

"What? You need the dog. He is stronger than you are. You can't be serious. Robert, think. The two of you together. Perhaps. I don't know. But perhaps. There would at least be hope."

"Sophie," Bob barked, "I'm going out there to murder as many of them as I can find. You want me to take along George? Good, old George? This lump of good feeling and kindness. No. I won't do it. I won't do it."

Bob was crying again. Sophie's voice was breaking.

"Robert, why are you doing this? I thought I could count on you. You saved me. And now, now you'll murder us all. For what? Because you can't stomach the grief of seeing a little boy dead on your orders? That's what it means to lead, Robert. To stand at the top."

"Then I don't want to lead."

"Don't go, Robert. I need you.

"I need you here with me. I don't feel safe without you.

"Please, Robert."

George chorused his agreement. He whined and tilted his head. He begged with those big eyes of his. Don't go! Don't go!

But Bob didn't look back. Why couldn't they understand? He had to do this. Even if it was mad and stupid and would probably get him killed. How can you ask a man to go on living without redemption? There are things worse than death in this world.

A hooded man walked out of the gates into the night.

He was quite alone.