Blessed Time: A LitRPG Adventure

by Cale Plamann

  “Micah.” Brenden whirled on him, a flash of annoyance in his eyes that he quickly buried under a cake-sweet smile. “This is how all of the nobles do it. You learn skills until you earn a good enough class. Then you gain experience until you level up enough to have the mana to train your martial arts and spells. It might not be how the stories talk about it, but trust me. This is how everyone serious does it.”

  Ahead of them, the Onkert tackled another shadow ogre; the hulking creature’s ability to hide their presence was entirely useless before the daemon’s acute noses. One of the Onkert wrestled the crude greatsword from the ogre’s hands while the other twisted its arms behind its back. By the time Brenden and Micah came into the room, one of the daemons had kicked its knees from behind, bringing the almost ten-foot-tall monster to its knees. The other drew its head back, exposing its throat to Micah.

  “Now,” Brenden continued with the air of someone explaining advanced mana theory to a goat, “use Paralytic Sting to disable it and then finish it off with a Sonic Bolt.”

  Micah cast Paralytic Sting, coating his right hand in a glowing green sheen of mana. He stiffened his fingers and jabbed the hand into the side of the struggling ogre’s neck. The spell discharged into the monster, causing its eyes to cloud and its motions to quiet. The spell didn’t do any damage, but even at a fairly low skill level, it could utterly paralyze a monster below level 25 for almost a minute.

  It had better, Micah thought as he gritted his teeth. Paralytic Sting was a third-tier spell and used a good portion of his mana to cast. Seconds later, after a nod from Brenden, Micah unleashed a Sonic Bolt at close range into the ogre’s skull. Blood began to flow from its nose and ears, but it continued breathing.

  “Again,” Brenden said impassively, motioning with his hand. The Onkert holding onto the ogre’s head gripped it by the hair and lifted it up, closer to Micah.

  “This doesn’t feel right, Mr. Thrakos.” Micah looked down at the paralyzed helpless ogre, bleeding and immobile before him.

  “I believe my hearing must have been scrambled by your use of a sonic spell in an enclosed space,” Brenden replied, his voice dangerously calm. “I told you to use the spell again, and I thought I heard you questioning me.”

  Gritting his teeth, he cast the spell again, killing the creature and emptying himself of Moon mana. Checking his reserves grimly, Micah noted that he still had a little bit of Night mana left.

  Whatever he’d thought the Golden Drakes were, his training had been something else. As soon as his abilities were verified, they’d given him a lavish suite and luxuries he’d only dreamed of while working for the Lancers. A couple days later, they’d brought in Brenden Thrakos, a talented wizard and martial artist with affinities in Wood and Air.

  Training under Brenden was completely different than his time with the Lancers. He hadn’t been assigned to a team or sent on any missions where he might ever be in danger. Instead, the guild “power leveled” him. Brenden had taught him a couple additional spells and a martial art, the Wind Spear, but after that, it was just a matter of sending him through the same level 15 dungeon over and over again.

  It had done wonders for Micah’s experience and levels, but it was a remarkably hollow endeavor. He didn’t really have any friends at the Golden Drakes guild, instead spending almost all of his time with Brenden. There wasn’t any camaraderie or risk, just the day-to-day chore of landing the finishing blow on a monster he would ordinarily struggle with. Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the knowledge of his previous life, Micah suspected that he wouldn’t even know how to fight right now.

  Even Wind Spear was a bottom-tier martial art that he practically had to beg out of the Drakes. It was evident from their dismissive response to his requests that they just didn’t see much value in him learning combat abilities. The handful of skills and spells they’d taught him seemed more like an attempt to placate and humor him than actually make Micah a more powerful spellcaster. As long as he kept gaining skill levels in Spellcasting and levels in Magi, none of the supervisors really cared what he did.

  The entire system was cold and impersonal, but as he’d been informed at least a half-dozen times in the last six months, the Golden Drakes were a big business. They only treated him well because he had the potential to be a high-level Magi in a rare affinity. Beyond Micah’s Time magic, decent Wind and Wood mages were a dime a dozen to a guild like the Drakes. They still likely would have hired him, but he would have spent the first five years of his training protecting miners seeking ore in the Great Depths to prove his worth, a thankless and dangerous task.

  Only then would they have bothered to put him in a combat team and send him to the dungeons to earn money and gain proper levels. The higher echelons of the guild could compete with the lower tiers of the Royal Knights, but pretty much everyone else was a foot soldier or support staff, and that hierarchy had been made clear to Micah from day one.

  “Good.” Brenden nodded at the dead ogre. “We have two more before the boss fight and I want to make sure you’ve recovered what mana you can just in case we need you for an emergency heal. Take a five-minute break; we’ll be working on your spear form from here on out.”

  Micah grunted back at his instructor, more than anything wishing to return to his days on the Lancers when it was just Drekt, Jo, Sarah, Will, and him. They’d never managed anything worthy of a bard’s song, but he still had plenty of fond memories.

  Sometimes they’d been victorious, sharing a toast as they looted the junk-filled packs of a clan of kobolds. Others, they’d ended up running for their lives, puffing for breath as they fled a cave or ruin they’d been exploring. Surprisingly, some of his most cherished memories were of them fleeing, Jo and Drekt cackling like madmen while they were pursued by monsters well over their level.

  All of their adventures hadn’t mattered all that much in the long run, but they’d certainly made Micah feel alive, like he was part of something greater and that his daily efforts mattered in some small way. Even if he didn’t accomplish all that much, there was something to knowing that each level and point of mana was something that he’d struggled and bled to earn.

  Still, as dissatisfied as he was, at least the Golden Drakes listened to his prophecy. Almost immediately, they’d dispatched scouts to the Great Depths outside Westmarch to verify his prediction. If it would save his friends and family, Micah was more than willing to put up with the Drakes leeching all excitement and joy out of being an adventurer.

  “Your five minutes are up, Mr. Silver.” Brenden began walking ahead. “Try to avoid overextending yourself this time.”

  Clenching his jaw, Micah stood up and followed the man to the next room. If he was lucky, they would finish early and he’d have some time at the guild hall to himself before his afternoon exercises. He was almost never lucky.

  That night, a knock on Micah’s door dislodged him from his study of ritual magic. Brenden had insisted that the rituals would eventually become a key part of his Time magic repertoire once he leveled up enough to use fifth-tier spells. Micah hadn’t complained. The topic was interesting; certainly more fun than spearing restrained monsters, and it reminded him of happier days working with Keeper Ansom.

  “Come in,” he called, slipping a felt bookmark into the grimoire before closing it and turning in his seat to face the door.

  Brenden stepped in, stiff and formal. He glanced over Micah’s room, taking in its neat state and the stack of books by his reading desk. The gaze dissected every imperfection, looking for a reason to scold him. Finally, after finding none, Brenden grudgingly nodded his approval.

  “I’ve come to check up on your studies, Mr. Silver,” he stated, his tone clipped under the weight of his accent. “I see that you’re reading Taraken’s Intermediate Mutations. How are you progressing on your transference rituals?”

  “Fairly well.” Micah nodded, summoning the Folio from his wrist. “I’ve been more interested in the summoning and translocation rituals. I kee
p running into references of using an inert metal like lead to offset the energy spikes caused by a recent meteor shower, but I haven’t been able to figure out how the lead would interact with Akh, Tel, and Bo runes.”

  “Immaterial.” Brenden shook his head, annoyance flashing through his eyes. “You were told to focus on transference rituals, specifically energy transference, as it is a key component of Time magic. Tel and Bo runes aren’t used in transference rituals, so learning them is a waste of your time.”

  “But I’ve hit a bit of a wall on transference,” Micah answered, trying to hide the hint of a whine from his voice. “Both translocation and summoning use transference to fuel their rituals. I figured a practical application of transference might help it all make sense to me.”

  “Mr. Silver.” Brenden crossed his arms, clicking his tongue at the younger man. “I’ve had people with the Deceit skill try much better excuses than that on me. It’s not going to work. Get back to studying what I’ve told you to study. It’ll be for the best in the long run.”

  “Sure,” Micah replied with a sigh, flipping the pages in the Folio until he was looking at his notes on transference. “It’s not that hard, just exacting and time consuming. I really think that I’d be better motivated if I had a more practical discipline to apply the transference to.”

  “You will soon,” Brenden said, his face a mask of boredom and vague annoyance. “The guild leadership has verified the prophecy you revealed when you joined the guild. The Durgh are massing. Already the call has gone out for the Royal Knights. Together, the Knights and the Golden Drakes are going to crush the nearby Durgh outposts to put them on the defensive and head off any attack.”

  “You mean I’ll finally get to battle with the rest of the guild?” Micah jumped up from his chair, barely noticing the pile of expensive tomes tumbling off the table from the force of his movement.

  “No,” Brenden replied, the faintest hint of a sneer curling his lip. “You will be going to the capital for further training now that the extent of your gift has been revealed. A seer is far too valuable to risk in the front line.”

  20

  Goodbyes

  The market bustled around Micah as he followed Brenden. The older man strode imperiously through the crowds, forcing them to part around him. A few people shot disgruntled glares in his direction, only to look away upon noticing the sigil of the Golden Drakes on his lapel.

  The insignia might protect the two of them from any overt reactions to Brenden’s imperious behavior, but it did nothing to silence the angry muttering. No one said anything definite, but for every face that turned away after realizing the forces Micah and Brenden represented, there was another voice grumbling indeterminately just behind their backs.

  Finally, Brenden stopped in front of an upscale boutique specializing in high-end adventuring gear. Looking the well-decorated, midsized building up and down, Brenden clicked his tongue and sighed.

  “Quit dawdling, Mr. Silver,” Brenden called over his shoulder, annoyance on his face. “This store is barely adequate, but it’ll have to do. There’s hardly anything better in this hamlet.”

  “Basil’s Cove is a city,” Micah corrected halfheartedly. He knew that Brenden didn’t actually care, but it still rankled him that the older man would try to denigrate his home in such a petty way. “There are over thirty thousand people living here, and we handle almost all of the trade up and down the Horn Coast.”

  “Thirty thousand?” Brenden sneered back at him, stopping in the doorway to turn around and face Micah. “The capital has over a million. The Kingdom itself has almost ten million citizens. Maybe thirty thousand is more than a hamlet, but I don’t know why it even matters. It’s little more than a rounding error. The difference between Basil’s Cove and a real city is infinitely larger than the distance separating this provincial ‘city’ from a hamlet.”

  “Why are we shopping anyway?” Micah asked, trying to change the subject and deflect Brenden’s temper. “I never get to leave the compound, and then suddenly out of nowhere, you tell me we’re going to the market.”

  “Simple.” Brenden turned back to the shop and walked in, finally letting the pair of people that had been waiting to leave while he ranted at Micah slip out. “The Sixteen have heard my prayers, and in their mercy decided to deliver me from this rural hellscape. You are being transferred to the Golden Drakes’ home office in the capital, which means that I am free to return to a city with actual restaurants, bards that know how to tune their lutes, and theaters that will run performances with more sophistication than constant pratfalls and fart jokes.”

  “No one said anything about this.” Micah’s forehead furrowed as he followed his irritable mentor into the store.

  “I just said it now.” Brenden didn’t even bother to look back as he swept through the store before stopping in front of a display of robes and travel packs. “Consider yourself both in the loop and informed. Now get over here so we can get you fitted for your travel apparel. I don’t want anyone to accuse me of breaching my contract with the Golden Drakes because you showed up to the capital without appropriate equipment.”

  Brenden snapped his fingers above his head, drawing a series of frowns from other shoppers, but summoning an attendant that hurried over. She was young, pretty, athletic, and wearing a skirt that was cut mere inches from immodesty. Obviously, her employer had hoped that adventurers would spend more time looking at her than the prices of the wares they were purchasing.

  Loneliness washed over Micah as his memory flashed back to his previous life with Jo. She’d been a little too wild for him, prone to dragging him away at midnight to sneak into a temple for a tryst or an active dungeon for a date. Jo was a consummate adrenaline junkie, but in that timeline, only near the end did he grow out of being a shy librarian’s assistant.

  Things never would have worked between them. She wanted more excitement and adventure than the Micah of that timeline could provide, but when things were good, they’d been almost perfect. There was just something pure about fighting monsters all day before returning to camp and giggling at dumb inside jokes while the moon filled the sky.

  Even after Jo had suggested that they break up, he’d held those memories close. She was right—once the infatuation of the early relationship had worn off, it became harder and harder to keep up with her. Micah had liked spending time with Jo, but the idea of climbing a cliff at midnight just to dangle their feet off the edge started to seem less “romantic” and more like a dangerous chore that would leave him exhausted the next day.

  After the breakup they’d remained friends. At first, Micah had been hurt and remained fairly quiet to avoid starting drama in the party, but eventually, he’d realized that it was for the best. Although there was an unmistakable chemistry between Jo and him, they’d just met at the wrong time. He had neither the energy nor the maturity to keep up with the woman. Then again, neither did the slew of men she’d dated after him.

  His stomach dropped. Knowing it was for the best didn’t change how he felt. The fact that Jo could date who she wanted didn’t make it any easier to see her laughing with someone else.

  He took a deep breath, the air shuddering in his throat. Brenden glanced at him and promptly dismissed Micah’s concerns as beneath his notice.

  By the time he’d reset the timeline, they’d settled back into being friends once again. Their relationship never became physical after the breakup, but Jo had become a confidante. They’d shared their fears, concerns, and plans under the starlight, and things between them had been almost like before. There’d been no one on the team that he trusted more than Jo. He knew that if need be, they’d have died for each other.

  Micah sighed, forcing his hands to unclench. She had. A lot of people had.

  Brenden sniffed at the attendant dismissively, drawing Micah’s attention back to reality.

  She blushed before speaking hesitantly. “Welcome to Haarvash’s Emporium, kind sirs.” Her voice trembled slightly a
s her gaze fixed itself to the Golden Drakes badge on Brenden’s collar. “My name is Miranda. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to be of assistance.”

  “My ward”—Brenden nodded toward Micah, not even bothering to look at him—“needs travel clothing. I don’t know the first thing about fashion or attire in this area, but he can’t be an embarrassment to me. Outfit him with travel apparel and a pack full of clothing and bring him back to me.”

  “You do know that my father is a tailor, Mr. Thrakos?” Micah asked, not really expecting Brenden to acknowledge him. “If all we needed was to get me fitted for clothing, we could have just visited him.”

  “Enough, Mr. Silver,” Brenden said, cutting him off. “It’s unacceptable for my ward to be clad in provincial hand-me-downs. If we’re forced to acquire your attire here, I’ll be damned if you’re clothed in anything less than the best that Basil’s Cove has to offer.”

  “Silver?” Miranda’s eyes brightened as she looked at Micah once again. “As in Jon Silver? We carry his work here. His embroidery is to die for.”

  “Whatever.” Brenden rolled his eyes and turned away from the both of them. “So long as he doesn’t end up looking like a farmer in an ill-fitting suit. I know I’m not giving you that much to work with, but do your best.”

  The door chimed, causing Micah to look up. His breath seized in his throat as he saw Sarah and Jo Redflower walk into the shop. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, laughing at some joke from her sister as she brushed some hair from her face.

  “Cute, aren’t they?” Miranda chuckled as she approached Micah with a tape measure. “Both of them come in here shopping at least once a week. I can introduce you, if you’d like.”

  “I just feel like I know them.” Micah smiled weakly. “But it can’t be real. Like they’re from a dream or something.”