"That can't be right," Bob muttered. He refreshed his browser, but the number didn't change.
"Eh, it's half a million higher than it was yesterday," Dave replied, sipping his coffee. "This is really good coffee," he mused.
"The President sent it over a while ago," Bob said absently. "There aren't that many people in the country."
"You're operating on an international scale," Dave took another sip. "Where do you keep this stuff, I'd like to know what brand it is."
"Far right cupboard, top shelf, I've never posted anything on Facebook, I only had one because the university insisted on having all our social media accounts on file, and they refused to believe that I didn't have one, so I had to make one for them," Bob shook his head, "how can I have three hundred and seventy-six million friend requests?"
"Believe it or not, you're not that hard to find," Dave had returned to the table with the bag of coffee beans. "Of course, no label," he muttered.
"I blame you and Amanda," Bob grumbled, scrolling past the candid snapshots that had been posted, most featuring his antics with Monroe.
"I deny everything," Amanda replied, then paused to yawn sleepily before giving a delicate sniff. "I smell coffee. Good coffee, even."
"Apparently, it's some sort of proprietary presidential blend," Dave shook his head, "I'll fix you a cup. Is Jessi up?"
"She's getting dressed," Amanda confirmed, then smirked at Bob. "You know, she could have bunked with you, and Dave and I could have had your sunroom to ourselves," she suggested.
"How does Monroe have four hundred and ninety-six million friends on Facebook?" Bob asked. "As amazing as he is, I know that he can't type, nor does he have the wherewithal to create an account or post pictures."
"Mmmhmmm, he's picked up another two million in the past day," Amanda said delightedly, pulling her chair next to Bob's and tugging the laptop over.
"Oh, over three hundred million likes on the new profile picture!" Amanda smiled broadly as she logged into Monroe's account.
"They really liked the shot of Monroe in his full armor," she said, scrolling down the feed. "Someone posted up the video of you threatening the people who abducted us, and that's gotten four hundred million likes." She cocked her head to the side and glared at him. "It appears that most of them noted that your priority was your cat over your friends, and they all approve."
Bob hunched his shoulders. "Monroe can't necessarily defend himself, you guys can," he replied defensively.
"That would be the general consensus," Amanda replied, "although anyone who thinks Monroe is helpless is in for a surprise," she shuddered.
There hadn't been any discussion of Monroe's brutal and effective response to their captors.
"Maybe I should post up some of that footage of your first wave, the bit where you stagger back to your feet after being overwhelmed in order to defend Monroe," she mused.
"Why?" Bob asked, slightly exasperated.
"Most of Monroe's followers end up following you as well and seeing you two defending each other," she grinned. "What's that old quote? If you want to judge the true character of a man, watch how he treats animals when no one is looking?"
"There were apparently a lot of people looking," Bob shook his head, "But that wasn't what I meant, what I meant was why have you gone to all this effort to make Monroe a Facebook page?"
Amanda shrugged her shoulders. "Fun? I mean, he's just so big and floofy, and you two are so goofy together, so I decided to share some of the photos we took, and some people were interested, so I made a page for him, and it just kind of took off from there."
Bob opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head and walked over to the stove.
As he started whipping eggs, he considered that Monroe being a well-recognized figure, while being detrimental to his original plans, with the recent decisions he'd been forced to make, it wasn't a bad thing at all. The more people who recognized Monroe, the more likely they were to recognize Bob and hopefully associate the pair with the threats he'd issued and the destruction he'd caused.
"Shouldn't have gotten up," Jessica said as she swayed into the room, "maybe I could have scored breakfast in bed."
Bob snorted. "I like cooking, but as I've explained to Monroe many, many, many times, we don't eat in bed."
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"You could have recalled me, Madam President," Ed said stiffly.
"The abduction was over before Bob initiated his orbital bombardment," The President replied. "We had no idea that he was the source of it until he came into the oval office and dropped two bodies on the carpet," she complained.
"Have we identified them yet?" Ed asked.
"No," Elania shook her head. "Chances are we never will."
"I didn't know he had it in him," Ed mused. "I know he's become a bit inured to violence, what with the millions of monsters he's killed."
"We're pretty sure it was either Monroe or his dinosaur," Elania replied, "given that they were smart enough to drain his mana, we're leaning toward Monroe."
Ed nodded. "He made a rather pointed statement, both with the video he put out, as well as the press conference."
"He asked for a service detail to help him understand his personal security arrangements," Elania said. "They're supposed to be meeting him this evening."
"I'm glad to hear it," Ed snorted, "I'd offered him a security detail before, but he turned me down twice. Ultimately, this is probably a win. He's discovered that he needs to address his security issues without paying for it in blood, or least, not his own or his friends."
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"Mr. Whitman, I'm agent Harris, I'll be acting as the head of your detail while we evaluate your personal security."
Bob accepted the proferred handshake. Harris was about his height but had the appearance of someone who put in serious time at the gym.
"First lesson, don't do that," Harris said after shaking his hand. "You'd be surprised to learn just how many toxins or sedatives can be delivered by skin contact, so avoid shaking hands with people, especially in an environment like this."
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Bob looked around the tavern, quickly realizing that it was almost completely empty.
"While the cameras were disabled in the restaurant, the ones watching the ATM next door weren't, and from what we've been able to piece together, your group was alone in that restaurant." Harris motioned for Bob to sit. "That's something that should ring a warning bell; either the place has been deliberately emptied, or the food is so bad the locals don't eat there, either should be cause for concern."
"Ok," Bob replied slowly.
The next four hours crawled by as Bob was introduced to the wonderful world of personal security, until finally, Harris handed him a folder, instructing him to review the contents.
"You might want to consider checking with the locals," Harris finished. "I understand you're on solid terms with the King of Greenwold as well as House Wallenstair. They likely have security protocols of their own, which, to be frank, might be more applicable in your situation," Harris grimaced. "We're still working up protocols that address superhuman strength, magic, and teleportation."
Bob nodded. He had a sneaking suspicion that the King maintained his personal security by being the most powerful being on the continent, but Nora's father might be helpful.
"I appreciate you, and your team, taking the time to help me," Bob said, then hesitated. "I'm going into my own personal Dungeon to gather crystals," he began, "no one else can get in there without my casting the spell to let them in, so I'm safe there." He grinned crookedly, "Except for the tier seven, level fifty-four monsters constantly trying to kill and eat me, but those I can handle."
Harris shook his head, "Based on the data from the tide, I don't think that there is much we could do to help you there. Where do you enter and exit, and how long will you be inside?"
Bob took a moment before answering. He wasn't quite ready to trust the government with the knowledge of his Arcane Depths. As long as someone didn't know about it, they wouldn't think to counter it. "My home, Murmuring Falls, and I'll have to do a short day, call it fourteen hours."
"Short day, eh? You would have fit right in with the service," he snorted. "Let's get you home, and we'll secure the building."
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Summon, Kill, Kill, repeat. He'd killed enough monsters that he'd whittled down the variance on the coalescence ratio, which in conjunction with his killing speed, showed that the rate at which he was accumulating crystals was very, very close to the same rate he'd have on the fortieth floor. The upside was the possibility of obtaining another Attribute Affinity Crystal.
The Karcerian Empire offered Affinity Crystals for school and skills, and Bob intended to ask Yorrick for a catalog, if one existed, detailing what was available as well as the prices. He was also going to ask about Attribute Affinity Crystals. There was no way that the Empire was unaware of them, so the question was if they were available for purchase, and if so, at what price.
A set of Intelligence, Wisdom and Endurance crystals would be one hell of a base.
"Trebor," Bob began as he accepted a mana crystal from one of his persistent effect UtahRaptors, "during my recent abduction, what measures could I have taken to have avoided it?"
'A persistent effect Regeneration spell would have worked to counteract the sedative, as well as consistently pushing the needle out of your skin,' Trebor replied.
Bob nodded. Regeneration was a spell he normally only cast as a ritual. Under normal circumstances, healing was more effective and efficient with an Anima Blast.
'Also, you could maintain a persistent effect barrage of summoned monsters. While they aren't of particular use in battling foes with strength equal to, or greater than, your own, they would be devasting against low-level individuals. Further, a persistent effect shield just above your skin could be made unobtrusive, but would serve as an additional layer of defense,' Trebor continued.
"So basically sacrifice my mana pool for persistent effects," Bob mused. He had two hundred and forty-one mana, when fully equipped. That number went down substantially when he wasn't wearing his gear, and due to being unable to refill his mana on Earth, placing him at one hundred and forty-one. A persistent effect regeneration or eldritch shield would reserve thirty mana, while a pack of six barraged, persistent effect UtahRaptors reserved eighty. In short, those three spells alone would leave him with one mana to work with.
So, drop the pack down to four. In fact, switch the UtahRaptors out for something else entirely. Bob grimaced. Insects would be the most effective option. Ticks could easily be mistaken as moles, and four level eight ticks, once his spellcasting power was taken into consideration, would be more than sufficient to eliminate an assailant.
That would leave him with twenty-one mana, which should be more than enough to defend himself, or more accurately, to drop a portal at his feet and dive into his inventory.
He shook his head. He ought to have considered all of this before, but worrying about his personal safety wasn't something he'd had to deal with in the past, not really. Both Thidwell and the King had warned him that there might be some blowback from the Noble Houses, but he'd taken a security through obscurity approach.
The secret service was giving him a crash, but Harris was right. He'd also need to address threats from those who had leveled up. Fortunately, he had Trebor to bounce ideas off of.
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Yorrick watched the video play again. He'd seen it a dozen times already, but the Pillars had been called by the Emperor, and not everyone had seen it as of yet.
"I will burn your world to ashes." The video ended, the final image of Bob glaring at the camera frozen in place.
"I like him," General Argus Crimson rumbled, a smile on his scarred face.
"Of course you do," High Priestess Cascadia said, shaking her head.
"I don't see why this man is any concern of ours," First Council Tavarious sniffed. "We've already established our own contacts on this world, and from what I've been given to understand, he holds no rank, no office, and wields no power there."
"Yorrick has spent quite a bit of time on their world and has become fairly well acquainted with Mr. Whitman," The Emperor said. "As he was the one to bring this before us, I'll rely on him to explain."
Yorrick grinned as he stood up and bowed to the Emperor before addressing the other Pillars. "As the Emperor is aware, and I believe some of you as well, despite their truly massive population, the people of Earth are more connected to one another than those living in the Empire. They are kept up to date, in real-time, about the events and occasions in the lives of their friends, family, and acquaintances. This has led to a phenomenon where an individual can become incredibly well known, recognized by millions of people, despite never having met any of them. These people are referred to as 'influencers' and, despite holding no rank or office, are often able to direct the people who stay abreast of their activities. They chime in on politicians, legislation, and other matters, while also either endorsing or discrediting certain goods or services." Yorrick shook his head. "It's incredible. To the point, through no desire of his own, Mr. Whitman, and his cat, Monroe, have been thrust into the spotlight. For some reason, the various societies on Earth have an obsession with video recordings of cats, and Monroe, as the peak of a tier four feline, has captured the attention of hundreds of millions of people. At the same time, Mr. Whitman, who stands at the peak of tier six, has endeared himself through his interactions with Monroe, as well as his humble, everyman persona. In short, people like them. Hundreds of millions of people. These same people are outraged at the attack on the pair, which presents us with an opportunity."
The Emperor nodded for him to continue. Yorrick knew he had the attention of Cascadia and Argus, while Tavarius looked bored.
"My efforts to recruit people from Earth, steering them to the Empire and hopefully away from Greenwold, has proven to be successful," Yorrick continued. "While my campaign reached billions of people, the fact of the matter is that the citizens of Earth are often happy, safe, and sheltered. If we could leverage Mr. Whitman and Monroe to encourage their adherents to head to the Empire, we might end up having to turn people away when this is all said and done, rather than begging them to stay."
"Those Earthers were awfully soft," Argus mused, "but they toughened up quickly enough. I wouldn't mind having more of them."
"Their lack of faith is regrettable," Cascadia said sadly, "but better to have them practicing their agnosticism here than in Greenwold."
"How would you leverage your relationship with Mr. Whitman?" The Emperor asked.
"First, by offering him security," Yorrick said. "It's embarrassing for a tier six to be taken captive by a level zero tier five, even given the issue of mana regeneration on Earth. It could have been easily avoided if he'd taken a few simple precautions. Second, by offering to retrieve him should something like this happen again. Finally, we offer him sanctuary here in the Empire. Most importantly, we ensure that our offers are highly visible for the rest of their world to see. I'm not sure if Bob will accept, but his reply will certainly be polite, and hopefully friendly. That conversation, in a public forum, will drive millions of people toward the Empire, where a quick review of our offer to them will certainly lead to results. Further, I've been putting together a series of videos showcasing life in the Empire, which I'll release at the same time."
Yorrick's grin widened as he took in the thoughtful nod from the Emperor. Cascadia and Argus also nodded, while Tavarius shrugged.
"I'll leave it to you to draft the documents," The Emperor said, "you can initiate your plan tomorrow."