Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-six. 713 and counting down.

Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-six. 713 and counting down.

Monroe watched as his human-servant slept. He'd awoken earlier and enjoyed a drink from the ever-flowing water box that his servant had provided for him.

He'd made a few rounds of the den his human had arranged for him and even taken a few nibbles of the plants that had been growing in boxes in the sunroom.

Monroe loved the sunroom. The long ledge that ran along the base of the clear-wall allowed him to find a sunbeam at nearly any time of day.

But now he was hungry.

Monroe knew that his human-servant had fish for him.

Carefully, claws sheathed, he reached out and gently batted at his human's face.

Bob woke up to a huge paw, complete with toe-tufts booped him on the nose.

"Buddy," he grumbled as he sat up, knowing that if he didn't, Monroe would just keep batting at his face.

hunger-play-run

Bob nodded sleepily as he read the emotions projected by his feline overlord.

"Breakfast first, then we'll see about having some fun," he told his fluffy alarm cat, then stood stretching carefully.

Getting to the kitchen proved to be an adventure, as Monroe had decided that he wanted to wind his way between Bob's legs.

While this had been a bit inconvenient before the big floofers growth spurt, it was now downright hazardous, as Monroe bulldozed his leg aside with a powerful nudge, causing Bob to stumble and catch himself on the doorframe.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Bob pushed mana into the pattern for an effect over time Flight spell, allowing him to glide to the kitchen, with minor course corrections as Monroe continued his affectionate winding.

Bob opened his stasis box and considered his options.

With a shrug, he pulled out a bear steak and an iridescent trout, showing both to Monroe.

The big Maine-Coone batted at the trout, but Bob was able to keep hold of it. He knew that Monroe could probably handle eating the tiny bones, but it only took him a minute to clean it.

After attending to his overlord's breakfast and scrambling some eggs for himself, Bob retired to the sunroom, kicking back in his favorite chair as he watched the sky being to lighten.

Monroe sauntered over and hopped up on his lap, sprawling out to cover the arms of the oversized easy chair.

"Good morning to you too," Bob murmured as he pulled a slicker brush out of his inventory and started running it through Monroe's long silky coat.

He'd discovered that if he didn't brush Monroe every other day, his fur tended to bunch and tangle, requiring him to comb it out, which took a lot longer.

Fortunately, Monroe was almost always up for a good brushing if the ever-increasing volume of his purrs served as any indication.

Bob's morning ritual was interrupted as a System notification filled his vision.

Time until System Integration : 713 Days, 15 Hours, 59 Minutes, 28 seconds.

"Shit," he whispered, "Trebor is that..."

'Yes,' Trebor responded quietly, 'that is the countdown until the System integrates your universe.'

Bob recognized that he was, and had been, panicking.

Time until System Integration : 713 Days, 15 Hours, 17 Minutes, 9 seconds.

Apparently, for a bit over half an hour.

"Trebor, would you please remove the countdown timer until I ask for it again?"

As the notification disappeared, Bob took several slow, deep breaths, forcing himself to keep his eyes open.

Ellen took a drink from her canteen, as Bob bellowed... something.

She'd stopped paying attention earlier.

She was resting in a chair under a pavilion while concentrating on her spell, dropping it every other monster to ensure her summons were at full health.

Her initial trepidation had disappeared as her path's true potential become clear.

Ellen was going to keep this path, thank you very much. She'd have plenty of skills available for healing or even curating if she wanted to.

She'd pick up Melee and Dodge, Matrix Manipulation, Armor, and then Scale Armor. That would take her to level ten, at which point she'd have fifteen levels of skills to fill at her whim.

Shaking her head, she picked up the mana crystal her mana-infused creature had retrieved for her.

Just one more week, and then Bob would declare them ready to stand on their own.

Thidwell grinned sharply at Rogard as the man looked at the ledger dumbfounded.

"How can you be making so little?" Rogard asked slowly as he read through the entries for the week.

Thidwell shrugged unrepentantly and replied, "A crystal for a meal, a crystal for a room, a crystal per level, per month, for dues."

Rogard frowned.

"Don't you charge for access to your Dungeon?" He asked.

"No," Thidwell replied gleefully, "quite a few people donate crystals every few months to help me drive it deeper, but I've never required anyone to pay in order to delve the Dungeon."

"How can you possibly turn a profit like this?"

Thidwell snorted, "I'm not trying to turn a profit; as long as we're breaking even and no one is losing money, I can focus on the things that really matter."

Rogard shook his head.

"I'd expected to be sending significantly more back from the Guild," he lamented.

"I'm happy to disappoint you," Thidwell rumbled.

Rogard glared at him, then took a deep breath before replying. "You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that I am your enemy," he began, "I can assure you that I am not. The King expects a certain level of revenue from Holmstead, and believe me, you'd much rather deal with me than him."

"You were raised in Harbordeep," Rogard leaned forward and lowered his voice, "You bloody well know what the King is and how his kind responds to disobedience or rebellion."

Thidwell's smile was sharp as he responded, "It's too late; the rebellion has already started." He shook his head, "The King made a smart play, sending out higher tier nobles to help, and demanding only five percent," he shrugged, "it's just enough aid, and only a little tax, that even I will accept it."

"But," Thidwell was almost gleeful, "make no mistake, if he shows up and throws his weight around, everyone with an Affinity Crystal and a Path is going to see him for the Tyrant he is and head further inland, maybe even further north, far enough away that they can establish a city outside his control."

Rogard stared at the huge man, shock written across his features.

"I don't think the common man would be quite so willing to leave, risking his life in such an uncertain venture," he replied.

Thidwell laughed darkly, "Oh, I'm sure you don't think so," he spat, "but I know that the 'common man' as you refer to the people who make up the majority of the citizenry are fucking sick of being used and abused by the Nobility and if the King decides to attack a town because he decided he wasn't receiving enough revenue from it?"

"Oh, they'll leave," he chortled, "they'll leave in droves, and those left behind will be the dregs, the least useful."

Thidwell stood and leaned over his desk, staring down at Rogard.

"So you tell your King that if he wants to keep his Kingdom, he ought to stay in that pretty little citadel of his because the moment that Dragon flies over a town or city other than Harbordeep is the moment it all starts to fall apart," Thidwell growled.

"You have your ill-gotten gains," he gestured to the bag of mana crystals and the ledger, "as well as the ledger showing the accuracy of the amount."

Thidwell pointed at the door and bellowed, "Now get the fuck out of my office!"