Bob was standing on the hillside, bracing himself to open the string of six notifications that had bombarded his inbox upon unleashing the black monstrosity that towered overhead, the so-called "system pylon". George too looked to have received his fair share of messages, for the dog had fallen into a sit position and was staring into blank space.
Bob swallowed nervously. It was going to be bad news, wasn’t it? It had to be. Maybe he could just ignore the messages. Things don’t exist until you look at them, right? Was there any inbox functionality here? It might be psychologically beneficial if he just marked all system correspondence as spam and lived peaceably as a hermit in some mountain cave. Bob clicked the first message:
> World Event: First System Pylon Claimed
>
>
> The dark ages are over. The age of the civilization begins. Cities rise up from the plains. The banners of empire flutter against the winds of war. There is one sun in the heavens, let there be one lord to the earth.
>
>
> Conquer or submit.
"Nice, a nice, benign message, really just a system announcement, a PA over the system radio network. Hadn’t Civilizations IV had an event like this? Classic video-game nonsense. And a little bit over the top at that, if you ask me. I might have phrased it differently." One down, five to go.
> Title: Baron
>
> The lowest noble title.
>
>
> Effects:
>
> * a token bonus to base stats
> * a token bonus to will
> * settlement tab unlocked
"A baron, not bad," Bob stroked the small patch of stubble above his lip that was all the beard he’d managed to grow since civilization broke down. "Baron Bob, Bob the Baron."
Good news, this was good news right? Bob had joined the ranks of the nobility. Or better put, his inherent nobility had finally been acknowledged by the system and he had been afforded a position suitable to his character.
"Thank you very much, system. I won’t even hold the inexcusable delay against you. Call it nobility of spirit."
And look at those effects. Token was a little disappointing, but the title provided benefits to everything but luck. No wonder nobody wanted to play a damn peasant. Two down, four left.
> Achievement: First Aristocrat
>
>
> "Somebody has to be in charge. It might as well be me."
>
> —last words before several millennium of class conflict
>
>
> Effects:
>
> * promotion in noble rank
> * a medium bonus to intelligence
> * a minor decrease in wisdom
No, Bob grimaced, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t meant to claim aristocracy. It had just happened. Hell the system had set him up from the start.
Bob’s quick mind hadn’t missed the single, salient point in the text: “minor decrease in wisdom.” Bob couldn’t afford any more blows to his wisdom. It already stood on feeble. Could a man sink below feeble? What stood below feeble on the system scale? Lacking, inept, maybe it would just write N/A (Not Applicable).
Bob shook his fist at the heavens. "You planned this. Don’t tell me you didn’t plan this?"
Bob also wasn’t a fan of the implication: an increase in intelligence matched with a decrease in wisdom. Why did that make him think the achievement communicated a distinct lack of long-term thinking? Almost as though the system was telling him he was going to regret achieving it.
But at least the notification clued Bob into the contents of the next message. As expected:
> Title Upgraded: Baron - > Viscount
>
>
> Title: Viscount
>
> A noble title. Above baron, below earl.
>
>
> Effects:
>
> * a minor bonus to base stats
> * a minor bonus to will
> * settlement tab unlocked
> * ability - oath
> * ability - retinue (one knight)
Who wanted to be a baron anyway? Barons were the lowest rung in the long aristocratic ladder. Bob was made of finer stuff. He was a rarified, intellectual individual.
The title even came with abilities. Bob would have to check those out later. But right now he was running the gauntlet, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Three down, three left.
> Title: Lord of Earth (provisional)
>
>
> All hail Bob Brown, Lord of Earth (for now)
>
>
> Effects:
>
> * a significant bonus to will
> * a significant bonus to luck
Had Bob ever thought as he sat at his desk and typed out lonely bug tickets on his laptop that he would one day be called, even provisionally, lord of earth. Lord of Earth. Heaven's Chosen Emperor. King of Kings. Mountain among Men. No, never, never in his wildest imaginations, in his most absurd day-dreams.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Bob had been the lowest ranking member of his developer team. The led. The subordinate. The follower. And now... But what do they say, the best leaders don’t choose to lead, circumstances force them to take up the mantle. With any luck, that rule would apply universally and in reverse, and Bob would turn out to be a smashing lord after all.
Still Bob was a man, wasn’t he? He had had his share of boyish dreams. He’d seen himself with a crown on his head, sitting on a charger at the front of a battle line of mail-clad knights, giving the kind of rousing speech legends are made of. Bob, Lord of Earth. Had a ring to it didn’t it? Wasn’t there a yellow emperor in Chinese mythology? And now: the Brown Emperor.
It’d didn’t quite work, did it? Bob frowned. Brown wasn’t the most flattering of colors. The Brown Dynasty. No, it sounded like something vulgar. If only... Aha! George. George, was the dog for job. The Golden Emperor. Now that was a title. Could Bob somehow bestow the title on the dog? Something to research. He moved through to the next message:
> Quest: Conquer the World (Personal)
>
>
> Gain control of at least 50% of the world's surface.
>
>
> Reward: Lord of Earth
The king’s way. The trial by conquest. For a few moments, Bob imagined himself battling for mastery, taking the world by storm, painting a new legend for all time, and then he came back to himself.
Talk about a pipe dream. Bob was many things, but blindly ambition to the point of suicidal was not one of them and a person would have to be at least that to think conquering the world was a good idea for a rainy afternoon.
Bob didn’t want the responsibility. He didn’t want the danger. He didn’t even really want the outcome. Hell what could you do with absolute mastery anyway? It sounded like a right pain. He’d rather remain anonymous and hunker down in his living room to read fantasy novels. There was a life!
Right. All of these titles, quests and achievements were very flattering, but Bob wasn’t about to get shanghaied into some absurd world conquest scenario. He figured he’d just potter around until someone else conquered the world. No point trying too hard at anything.
Bob was feeling almost cheerful, he’d largely weathered the storm. Nothing’s as bad as we imagine it will be. Five messages down, one to go. Probably some benign explanation of the system pylon. An admin notification maybe. He tapped through to the final message:
> Quest: Sword of Damocles (World)
>
>
> Kill Viscount Bob, Lord of Earth
>
>
> Reward:
>
> * Lord of Earth (provisional) (title)
> * Viscount (title)
> * 1,000,000 credits
Bob caught his right hand in an iron grip, held it up before his face and shook it fiercely.
"What have you done? What have you done to me? Betrayer. Betrayer. I always loved you."
His fateful, right hand said nothing. But somewhere, from far away, Bob was sure he heard laughter.
"No, they can’t mean me right?" Bob jumped straight into denial. "No way, it’s somebody else. There’s some other Bob. Ah yes, Other Bob. Other Bob, you have my utmost sympathy. It’s a hard world. Settle your affairs, put everything in order. Make peace with your enemies. Let go of old grudges. Spend quality time with loved ones. Share your stories with the world. For death approaches."
"It can’t be me. It can't be me. It’s definitely me. It’s totally, 100% me isn’t it? For fuck’s sake. I did nothing more than what any half-curious monkey would have done. And to literally have an 1,000,000 credit bounty stuck on my head. It’s not done. It’s not gentlemanly. Come on system, it’s a joke right? Please make the bad thing go away. "
Somehow it had taken Bob one short walk with his dog on the first full day of the apocalypse to generate a world-wide, “let’s kill Bob quest.” It was staggeringly unlucky. Wasn’t Bob supposed to be lucky? Wasn’t he supposed to have godly luck? What in this scenario was lucky?
Bob's worst fears were all but confirmed. There was a simple explanation: Bob was lucky in the system's eyes. The system considered all of this to be good and positive. The system felt it had given him a pat on the back and a gold sticker.
"For crying out loud. Does anybody know how you can lower your luck?" If only George had been a black cat or something.
Bob crumbled down onto the muddy grass. He was defeated spirt and soul. He was burnt toast. "Toast, toast, toast," Bob repeated the word to himself. George was sitting beside him. The dog was looking intensely at him, strangely intensely, worryingly intensely.
George must have gotten the world quest too. 1,000,000 credits. That was a lifetime supply of dog treats. Enough to tempt even the most honorable of companions. George continued to stare. Sweat trickled down the back of Bob's neck.
No, Bob couldn’t believe it, he wouldn't. Not George. Not George at least. Bob looked into those brown eyes: “et tu George?”
George barked, bounced over to Bob and rubbed his face against Bob’s cheek. The dog looked to have thoroughly enjoyed their walk. Bob sighed and gave a quiet thank you to the heavens.
“I knew you’d never betray me George. You and me, this,” he pointed between them, “this is forever.” He stroked the dog’s head as George puddled down onto his lap.
Bob sat there silently, chewing over events. There were hard and gristly and tasted bad. He'd have liked to spit them out on the ground and washed his mouth out. But nothing for it. Ok, Bob, you know how to ask the hard questions: what are you going to do?
What was Bob going to do? Quite the conundrum. With great power comes great enemies. Now the Sword of Damocles quest probably wasn't a pure kill-Bob quest. It was probably a kill-the-lord-of-earth quest. The system wanted to keep any potential lords of earth on their toes. Didn't want them getting complacent and forgetting their responsibilities.
In other words, all Bob had to do was get rid of his lord of earth title. Easy. Except how can you give up a title? Bob played around with his interface, his character page, his titles tab. There was no convenient: "give up title" button. No, it wouldn't be the system we all know and love if that kind of easy exit was tolerated. Any solution would have to be more involved.
What if someone else managed to conquer fifty percent of the world's surface? They'd probably be awarded the Lord of Earth Title. And they'd have earned it (unlike Bob). Fat chance of that happening anytime soon. The world was a big place and, in case you hadn't noticed, it has just suffered its worst disaster since the extinction of the dinosaurs. Nobody was about to stand up and say: "Guys I know what we should do this weekend. Let's conquer the world."
What about if someone managed to reach a higher noble rank than Bob? How long would that take? A very, very long time and it would probably cost a dragon's hoard of credits. Nope, Bob was not getting rid of this title any time soon. Bob was just supposed to faff around with a target on his head to the tune of a million credits.
Bob had really stepped in it this time. Bob had wanted to study magic in peace and quiet. He'd dreamed of becoming a respected ivory tower magician. The kind that only engages weak enemies with overwhelming and unnecessary force. Now he'd have his hands full just surviving out the week.
If three's company (Rad, Chad and Lad) weren't coming after him before, they were coming after him now. He'd even gone and told them his name. But forget Rad and co, they were pocket change at this point; every survivor within a hundred miles was probably headed this way and they all shared the same unsettling ambition: to put Bob's head on a stake.
Bob gazed up at the giant pylon thingy, towering into the blue sky, like some giant "Bob lives here" sign. Now if Bob could just do something about that ugly tower, maybe he's still have a shot. He had to act fast.