The reddish cliffs and boulders, dotted with dull green scrub brush, was a drastic change from the evergreens and granite of Thayland. It was also significantly warmer, ninety-one degrees as opposed to the sixty-eight it had been when they'd departed Thayland that morning.

Bob reached up a hand to shade his eyes as he looked around the campsite. They'd gone down a side road at the entrance to the park, and after twenty miles, that had changed to dirt, or more accurately, sand and gravel, road. Five miles after that, they'd turned off onto a two-track, and two miles later, they'd reached a plateau with six campsites, designated by fire pits and metal picnic benches. Two trails were leading away from the campsite, both rather steep. A hot breeze blew across from the southwest, bringing only slight relief from the heat.

None of the campsites had been in use, so they'd claimed the one furthest from the outhouse. Monroe was padding around the outskirts, investigating a whole range of interesting smells.

"Looks a bit like the outback, yeah?" Jessica said as she stood next to him.

"Never even seen a photograph," Bob admitted.

"Parts of it," she assured him.

"Give us a hand with the swags, will you?" Dave's voice called out from behind, and Bob turned to see Dave dumping half a dozen rolled-up swags.

Bob had never heard of a swag before, but the concept was both simple and brilliant. Less a tent and more a sleeping bag with a pole down the middle and hoops at the end, they had thin foam mattresses covering the bottom, and you rolled them up with your blanket, pillow, spare clothes, etc., all inside. Apparently, the 'real' swags were even simpler, but Jessica had procured these. The whole thing rolled up and was three feet wide, and about a foot in diameter. She'd assured them that these weren't really meant to be carried into the outback but deployed from a vehicle, as the whole ensemble weighed about thirty pounds.

Bob picked up the swag Jessica had given him and rolled it out in place, forming part of the circle around the fire pit. Two flexible poles, one at each end and another extending pole across the top, and he was done.

He opened the side flaps, rolling them up, exposing the mesh, allowing him to feel the breeze passing through it. He unzipped the side closest to the firepit and crawled in, zipping it behind him. He could feel the breeze flowing through, and the fine mesh provided a bit of protection from the sun. It was cooler than being in direct sunlight, at least.

Dave and Amanda had enchanted most of the swags, but Bob had opted to have his unadulterated. If he wanted all the conveniences of home, he had his inventory. He wanted to try actual camping.

The swag was one meter wide by two meters long. He'd done the conversion to inches, but in this instance, it was just easier to cave to the metric system. There was room for Bob, and Monroe, assuming the dread beast slept at the foot of the swag, a prospect Bob didn't hold a lot of hope for. Monroe tended to sleep where he wanted and didn't normally take Bob's comfort into consideration.

Speaking of the feline of mass destruction, a saucer-sized paw batted at the mesh, followed by a disconsolate "mreow," as Monroe tried to find a way in.

Unzipping the mesh, Bob let the supersize floofer into the swag. Monroe stepped in, pawed at the mattress for a few seconds, circled twice, then slumped against Bob's legs, forcing him to move them over to the far side lest they be covered by kitty.

"What do you think, buddy?" Bob asked, reaching down to scratch between Monroe's ears. "Comfy enough, right?"

Monroe began to purr, a deep rumbling sound of contentment, which Bob chose to interpret as agreement. They'd managed to follow the timetable for the day pretty closely. It was almost one in the afternoon, and they'd planned to go for a short hike around six or so, once the day started to cool down. Right now, it was time for a siesta.

Kellan was enjoying himself.

Bob's world had so much to offer, and he was taking his time to explore it, piece by piece.

"What is this called again?" He asked, reaching for his glass of 'soda,' feeling the sweat on his brow beading up.

"Curry, sir," one of the young men assigned to attend to his needs replied.

Kellan nodded, and pulled out a tablet, which was another marvelous bit of technology, and made a note to obtain the base ingredients, including the seeds needed to grow them, for curry. He paused, then added a note in another column indicating that he was going to obtain a chef as well.

"Marvelous," he sighed happily. While he wasn't above snacking on the occasional animal while in his true form, the truth was that raw meat didn't taste that great. One of the few downsides to his true form was that it took a truly monumental effort on the part of his people to prepare a meal for him properly. In a show of benevolence, he took his meals in his humanoid form.

Pushing his empty plate to the side, he tapped his tablet a few more times, bringing up a guidebook.

"The Statue of Liberty," he decided, "that'll be our next stop."

"Of course, Your Majesty," the other young man nodded and lifted his wrist to his mouth, quietly advising the chauffer, another brilliant concept, of their destination.

Kellan had been pleasantly surprised to discover just how many specialized servants were available on Earth, and he was determined to bring some of them back home with him.

The President was trying to soften him up or distract him, from his purpose. To that end, she'd suggested that he take in a bit of the culture here on Earth and had directed him to New York, claiming that it was a 'melting pot,' representing dozens of different cultures from around the globe. He hadn't minded. The books he'd read and movies and television shows he'd watched didn't paint the whole picture.

He stood, stretching, and noted once again just how well the clothing fit him. A tailor had taken this 'suit' off the rack and adjusted it to fit him perfectly. The man had objected to doing so, claiming that his physique couldn't be done justice without a bespoke suit, and Kellan had agreed to purchase three of those but had needed suitable clothing for the day and so had left in what the man had called a travesty.

He left the small restaurant, nodding to the short, swarthy man who bowed to him as he left, showing a degree of decorum that was refreshing. These people practically worshipped money. Thayland differed in that while crystals were king, ultimately, tiers and levels were where respect truly lay.

Kellan slid into the sumptuous leather seat in the back of the limousine while his attendants sat across from him, allowing him plenty of space.

"The President would like to see you this evening," the one he'd decided he would mentally refer to as 'blonde attendant' said.

"Very well," he acceded, "tell her that I'll join her for dinner," he checked his watch, "at seven o'clock."

He had heard a few mutters at the punctual timekeeping being employed in Holmstead, where everyone had a device that told them exactly what time it was, and all the devices showed the same time. This was another bit of Earth he didn't mine exporting back to Thayland, and to that end, he'd purchased a self-winding watch. Something about the movement of his wrist as he went about his day being enough to power the device.

Kellan could hear the man grind his teeth slightly before he responded. "I'll relay that to the President, your Majesty," he replied.

He restrained the urge to smile. It had quickly become clear that no one on Earth was used to the President being secondary in importance to anyone, and it pleased him to upset their misguided perceptions. While he didn't find the woman particularly offensive on a personal level, he was the King of Greenwold, Sovereign of the Skies, and she had barely tasted mana. His draconic nature wouldn't allow him to bend his neck to a creature that was so very, very weak.

He also expected, given the difference and occasional reverence shown the woman, or her office, the two seemed both separate and integrated all at once, that the food served at her table would be of the absolute highest quality.

Kellan paused for a moment. Maybe he should suggest the menu for the meal. He swiped over the restaurant suggestions in the travel guide and scrolled down. "Advise her to instruct her chefs to prepare 'Bar-B-Que,' he told blonde attendant.

"So, how is your grinding going?" Bailli asked as they settled down around the picnic table and started unpacking the gaming supplies.

"Pretty well," Bob replied, "I think I can finish in another nine months or so, assuming I can keep this pace up."

Bailli shook her head. "It amazes me how willing everyone from Earth is to just delve, for hours a day, every day. When you brought Amber over, I started to believe that maybe you were an anomaly, with her reluctance to delve at all. But it seems like everyone from Earth, except for her, are perfectly happy to be in the Dungeon all day, every day."

"Eh, we're a particular subset," Dave said, unrolling the hexboard.

"Figure the people we've brought over, all of us have dreamed of being adventurers for pretty much our whole lives," Amanda added, "heck, we play D&D to simulate it."

"I've heard that some of the soldiers are tired of delving and want to go back home for a while," Nora volunteered.

"I can see that," Bob replied. He was pretty sure that soldiers were rotated in and out of combat, and delving was pretty much exactly that.

"Most people who aren't dedicated adventurers only delve once a week for a few hours," Erick said, "it keeps any enchantments they have fed and lets them tuck away a few crystals towards their next level. The mad dash for levels happening in Holmstead and Glacier Valley isn't normal."

"The average person isn't going to be that interested in fighting monsters, or at least I don't think so," Dave said thoughtfully. "Honestly, I think that the idea of putting them in stasis to wait it out is a solid plan. Hell," he continued, "you might even want to leave them there until after cities and towns have been secured once we come back."

"Too right," Jessica agreed, "lots of folks won't even go outback, let alone delve a Dungeon."

"People are people," Bob added, "the numbers will probably shake out pretty close to what's been going on in Thayland, eventually."

"You're pushing to tier seven, right?" Erick asked Bob.

"Yep," Bob nodded.

"Normally, the highest tier and level person is, by default, a leader, if not the leader of any group of community," Erick smiled, "but something tells me you're not interested in that position."

Bob snorted.

"The Queen of England is going to hit tier six any day now," Erick said, "I've heard she's a terror, riding into combat on a giant dog, with a whole pack of them running behind her."

"Battle Corgi's," Dave grinned, "fear the cuteness!"

"With the King coming to Earth, I'm not sure the plan of having the government spin some sort of coverup is going to work," Bob mused, laying out his character sheet.

"Yeah, there are countries attending the U.N. that aren't going to keep it quiet," Jessica agreed.

"But who is going to believe them?" Dave asked, "They'll get carted off to the asylum."

"Honestly, I think enough people are going to want to believe, that one of our D&D recruits is going to spill, and provide some extraordinary evidence," she finished with a smile toward Bob.

Dave frowned for a moment. "You're right," he agreed, "I've heard a few people asking each other why we were bothering with secrecy, and if word starts leaking out from the U.N., they'll stop playing along."

"Repeat after me," Bob's voice was serious. "This. Is. Not. My. Problem." He shook his head. "That's a mantra I've had to adopt. We've put the information into the hands of the governments of our world. At this point, the upcoming apocalypse is their problem. We're only responsible for ourselves and our friends."

"Also, the King is going to save as many of your people as he can," Erick interjected.

"In order to entice them to stay on Thayland and increase his tax base," Amanda rebutted. "Not that I have a problem with that," she continued, "the whole ten percent thing works out to be a great deal."

"That's the King's tax, though," Erick replied. "I know you're all from Holmstead, and Thidwell has a very light hand, but most places have some sort of additional tax. Some of it goes to municipal expenses, some to the Noble house assigned to it, but there's almost always more taxes than just the king's."

"Even so, it's less of a nightmare than our system," Dave said wryly. "When I file my taxes, I have to pay someone who understands the laws involved and agrees to take responsibility if they make a mistake, and then they spend twenty hours or so working on them, or at least that's what they bill me for."

"The bureaucracy involved in having three hundred and thirty million people in the country is massive," Bob agreed. "There are businesses that employ more people than the entire population of Greenwold."

"I don't know how you can stand it," Bailli shook her head, "don't get me wrong, I like these cellular phones and having millions of books at my fingertips with a tablet, but just seeing some of the cities we've driven through, I know I wouldn't want to live shoulder to shoulder with that many people."

"A lot of it had to do with arable land," Amanda said, "although that's become less of an issue in the past century or so."

"With mana crystals, people will be able to grow food anywhere," Bob added. "I figure it'll take about ten tier capped people to build a self-sufficient town, pretty much anywhere on the planet. A Curator, a Druid, a Dimensionalist, a Priest, a couple of Summoners, and three or four people who are at least partially dedicated to crafting. You could build a guild right here," he pointed down, "and with spatial expansion, it wouldn't be any larger than this campsite."

"The world is going to change, that's for sure," Jessica said.