Blessed Time: A LitRPG Adventure

by Cale Plamann

  Closing his eyes, he focused on measuring his breathing. He counted his breaths in and out as he worked on stilling his racing heart. As his body calmed and his thoughts slowed, Micah smiled slightly, his eyes still closed. He couldn’t help but reflect on how this all began, insomnia keeping him from sleep at his parents’ house. Once again, his future was out of his hands, and all that was left was to wait for sleep to take him.

  The next morning, he ate a full breakfast and performed some basic calisthenics in the privacy of his shag-carpeted bedroom. He briefly reviewed the textbooks and star charts, making a handful of last-minute notes and adjustments to the ritual’s formula. Finally, Martin knocked on his door, opening it a second later.

  “It’s time, Silver.” The older man tossed Micah his spear before shifting the bag containing the ritual’s components over his shoulder. “This time, I’ll clear all of the monsters until we get to the boss room. He’ll be the sacrifice to power the ritual. I don’t want you wasting any of your mana. You’ll need to be in peak condition if this is to have any chance of success.”

  Micah nodded, not bothering with a verbal reply. He had any number of witty and biting responses, but ultimately, what would they do for him? Martin was over twice his level and could cast sixth-tier combat spells. Escape was an impossibility. His only chance at survival was success, and antagonizing his bodyguard cum executioner didn’t seem like a wise course of action.

  They walked in silence through the halls of the Academy toward the basement’s dungeon entrance, Micah’s eyes burning a hole into Martin’s back the entire time. Finally, they stood before the double iron doors that marked the beginning of the dungeon, and Martin turned back to Micah.

  “I know you hate me, Silver.” His tone didn’t contain any sympathy, just a dry recitation of facts. “You know that I was Common-born, right? Years and years ago, I stood exactly where you are now. A talented kid, full of arrogance and vinegar. I hated my batman when he put me through my tests. This is just how things are done. A candidate can’t grow properly without stress, without a threat forcing them beyond their limits. Don’t expect any mercy from me. If you fail, you die. I just want you to understand that you are walking a path that hundreds of great men and women walked before you, and it is a large part of what made them into the Knights that they eventually became.”

  Martin shrugged indolently. “I don’t have anything like confidence that you’ll succeed. I actually expect you to fail, to be frank, but you will be given your chance. Each of the tests are a necessary gateway, separating those that have a powerful blessing from actual warriors.”

  “Each of the tests?” Micah asked incredulously, frustration dripping from his voice. “How many more times will you have to threaten my life?”

  “I don’t know.” Martin opened the gate to the dungeon, motioning for Micah to follow. “Did you think that I was the one that planned all of this? No, the Academy isn’t anywhere near that haphazard. Each scholarship student’s tests are personally handed down by the Master of Curriculum. If you make it past this, I’m sure she’ll tell me what the next step is. If.”

  The journey through the dungeon was almost unbearable. Floor after floor, the tension just kept building. Micah didn’t even have a meaningful battle to release the stress knotting up his shoulders and back. Martin simply batted aside monsters Micah had struggled against last week, summoning giant pillars of water to crush them into dust against the dungeon’s walls. They didn’t even slow their advance until, finally, Martin and Micah stood before the large stone archway that signified the door to the boss’s lair.

  Martin only paused for a second, ensuring that Micah was still behind him, before the old man walked into the chamber. The boss, an eight-foot-long salamander that clung to the ceiling and spit streams of fire that could melt a metal shield to slag, didn’t stand a chance.

  Martin raised both of his hands above his head, shouting an eldritch incantation. Eight tentacles of water reached out from Martin, pulling the surprised creature from the ceiling with an audible pop before binding its legs, tail, and snout. Martin strolled leisurely into the lair to admire his handiwork before dumping the sack full of materials into the center of the room and tossing a wickedly curved knife to Micah.

  “The moment of truth is upon us, Silver.” Martin stepped back, finding a pillar to lean against as he observed the entire chamber. “Use the ritual to cast the spell. It’s too late to run and you know the price of failure. There’s only one path for you, boy, and that’s forward.”

  Micah bit his lower lip, jogging into the room. Quickly, he began scratching the runes into the dungeon’s stone floor, periodically checking his notes to ensure that the inflections were correct. Next came the reagents, dusts made from gemstones, and the ground-up bones of powerful monsters. Each rune flared briefly as the correct mixture filled it. Finally, he placed the symbolic catalysts at their positions, embedded in the runic circle that would channel the spell.

  Almost twenty minutes to set up the circle, slower than expected. Micah’s heart began pounding in his chest as he looked at the dagger in his hand. He began reciting the words of the ritual, enunciating each word as he motioned with the dagger, trying his hardest to maintain his sweat-soaked grip while he engaged in the frenetic hand motions required by the ritual.

  The power built slowly, taking the form of a sense of dread growing like a tumor in the back of his mind. Finally, Micah stepped forward, the knife flashing briefly, opening a cut on the salamander’s throat. Blood poured into his cupped hands.

  He brought them to his mouth, struggling to avoid gagging at the heavy, salty taste. After drinking the required mouthful, he cupped his hands once more beneath its neck, collecting another handful.

  Quickly, Micah scrambled back into the center of the circle, letting the blood dribble from his hands onto the circle’s runes. One by one, they began glowing with a green light, clearly visible in the dim chamber.

  The salamander struggled against its bonds, croaking in distress. Its eyes snapped open and revealed the same green glow as the circle. Visibly, it shrank, shriveling before Micah’s eyes as power poured into him in great, unrelenting waves.

  Frantically, he pulled out the Folio and recited the words to Foresight as the mana caused his reservoirs to swell like balloons. On an instinctive level, Micah knew that if he didn’t act soon, his mana pools would overextend and pop. He didn’t know exactly what would happen, but from the warnings in the ritual’s description, he’d be luckiest if it simply erased from creation.

  The spell formula grew in his mind, each nonsense word and arcane motion adding definition to its misty shape. Mana began to pour from him into the spell, relieving the bloating that threatened his very existence.

  With each second, he enunciated the words with more force, and Micah’s hand motions became more defined. Vague rainbow shadows began to extend from everything around him, showing him hints as to where they might be in the next moment.

  Then he misspoke. The syllable Harr came out Hark. The magic shuddered around him. Micah stumbled slightly, his left hand barely out of position as he tried to recover from his mistake.

  The soap-film images of the future faded into nothing as the spell fizzled into the smoky air of the dungeon. Micah fell to his knees, gasping. The spell didn’t even have the dignity to explode or spray a shower of sparks when failing. It just worked one second, and then the next, it was gone.

  He looked up at Martin in fear. For the first time since changing timelines, Micah realized that it wasn’t going to work out. That small part of him that “knew” he was going to be a great hero had lied to him once again. He’d gambled everything, but now it was all over.

  He closed his eyes. It wasn’t a complete loss. Images popped up unbidden of Trevor, Esther, his parents, Drekt, and Jo. Even if he were to die here and now, he’d done something good in saving Basil’s Cove. A tear hissed as it splattered against the dungeon’s overheated floor.

&nb
sp; “As expected.” Martin clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Luckily, there’s a contingency. Don’t ever say that I’ve done nothing for you, boy.”

  Micah looked up from the rough rocks of the dungeon’s floor, confusion on his face. Brenden strode into the room with a cocky smile and a wriggling sack over his shoulder. Micah’s old mentor nodded at Martin before walking up to him and dumping the sack next to the ritual circle.

  “Good to see you again, Thrakos.” Martin smiled slightly. “Now, Silver, Mr. Thrakos has so graciously provided you with a second chance to complete the ritual and cast Foresight. You won’t get a third.”

  “But it won’t be enough,” Micah spoke questioningly, barely daring to hope. “The ritual requires an incredible amount of energy to operate. Nothing that size will have enough power to actually fuel the spell.”

  “That’s certainly true for non-sapients,” Martin agreed, grinning at Micah. “You haven’t inspected the gift that Mr. Thrakos brought you. Don’t be so quick to dismiss it out of hand.”

  Horror burning in Micah’s chest, he reached down and pulled the burlap sack off of the wriggling form. Staring up at him in terror was Bart. The man silently screamed at him, muffled by the gag wrapped around his face.

  “Your friend there already failed his test.” Martin motioned mockingly at Bart. “But here at the Royal Academy, we don’t believe in waste. His failure is your second and final chance.”

  26

  Graduation?

  “Do you mean—?” Micah glanced up at Brenden and Martin and motioned at the sacrificial knife. Bart shook, trying to free himself from his bonds, his eyes fixed on the bloodstained knife.

  “You could always just sit there pissing yourself like a scared puppy,” Brenden sneered back. “Being an adult means making tough choices. Even if you hadn’t failed today, it was just a matter of time. Let me tell you a secret, Silver. Everyone fails a test. If you pass? We just keep giving you another until you do. Eventually, you’d be where you are today.”

  Brenden spat on the ground next to Bart’s struggling form. “No one gets knighted without getting their hands dirty. The Royal Knights aren’t an organization for idealists; that sort of emotional weakness will get people killed on the battlefield. We do good work. Necessary work. But for every job the bards sing about, there are three more performed in the dark. Assassinations, poisonings, and diplomatic deals that would turn a man’s stomach, but they keep people safe. Without us, the common people of the Kingdom would’ve been killed ten times over.”

  “But I thought you were with the Golden Drakes?” Micah’s eyes widened. “Why were you my mentor there if you’re a Knight?”

  “He’s not a Knight yet, boy,” Martin interjected. “Brenden is a squire. Once the Drakes sold you to us, I sent him over to handle your early education. He let me know when it was time to accelerate your training and sent you to the capital. Now, are you going to sit there mewling about how the world has wronged you, or are you going to actually try to make something of yourself?”

  “The Drakes sold me?” Micah cocked his head to the side, blinking rapidly as the room spun around him.

  “As soon as you revealed you had the power of prophecy.” Martin chuckled. “That’s the sort of blessing that’s very useful to a ruler but relatively useless to a guild. The Golden Drakes have some connections to the Second Prince, and they know better than to hold on to recruits that might be strategic assets. We paid a baron’s ransom in attunement for you, boy. I still think it was a waste, but who knows. You might prove me wrong yet.

  “Now”—Martin pointed at the knife in Micah’s hand—“no more dawdling. Get on with the ritual. Either you’ll succeed or you won’t. Either way, I want a resolution so I can get out of this armpit and take a shower.”

  “Was Brenden telling the truth?” Micah asked, stalling for time as his thoughts raced, trying and failing to find a way out of his dilemma. “Is this really necessary? Is going through with the ritual actually going to teach me something that will help me protect my family?”

  “Aye.” Martin’s voice took on a contemplative tone. “I still don’t think you’re fit to be a Knight, boy, but the one thing I will say about you is that your heart is in the right place. The Knights need to be ready to do things under the cover of darkness that we aren’t terribly proud of, but it’s all for a purpose. We protect people like your family and that port city you’re from. We make the sacrifices that they’re too timid to consider in order to keep this land civilized.

  “Enough dawdling, boy.” Martin’s eyes snapped back to Micah. “Perform the ritual or die next to your friend. It really doesn’t matter to me.”

  Micah looked down at Bart shivering against the bonds. They’d never been close, but Bart was what passed for Micah’s best friend at the Academy. He stared up at Micah, pleading with his eyes.

  Micah gritted his teeth, trying to will his weakness away. Martin wasn’t lying. He could see the glee in the older man’s eyes when he talked about murdering Micah. If this didn’t work, Martin would use a water tendril to smash him against the wall with enough force to break every bone in his body.

  He closed his eyes, the dagger weighing heavily in his palm. It all wouldn’t matter soon. This timeline wasn’t nearly as bad as his first, but there was no way Micah was going to live out his life under the Knights’ thumbs. If they were going to make him kill another student just to “show his loyalty,” it was only a matter of time before they escalated the atrocities expected of him.

  Maybe he didn’t have the makings of a Royal Knight, but after hearing the nonsense spewed by Brenden and Martin, that sounded like it was for the best.

  Really, when he thought about it, Bart was barely even a person. This entire timeline was doomed to fade away the minute he reverted. In a couple of months, Bart would cease to exist, even if he survived today. Micah wouldn’t feel good killing him, but at this point, his choice was stark and clear.

  The justifications rang hollow even as Micah repeated them to himself. Every word felt like ash in his throat as he inwardly mumbled the excuses. He knew right from wrong, but survival was survival.

  Micah began reciting the words to the ritual. Brenden and Martin’s visible approval damned him almost as much as Bart’s frantic struggling. Once again, the incantation went off without a hitch. The only moment of doubt came when Micah struggled to choke down the ritual mouthful of Bart’s blood. The salt and iron burned his mouth, and Micah felt the bile begin to rise in the back of his throat.

  With an act of will, Micah ground the nails of his right hand into his palm, using the pain to distract himself from his barbaric actions. He scattered the second handful of blood into the circle, activating the runes once more.

  Mana surged into him, more than he ever thought possible. Bart’s life gave him easily two to three times as much as the dungeon boss, quickly swelling his reserves to the breaking point. Without breaking his focus, Micah began casting Foresight.

  This time, the spell was almost perversely easy. Maybe it was the advantage of having attempted it once before, or maybe it had something to do with Bart’s sacrifice, but each word and motion came like he’d rehearsed them a hundred times. Almost in a trance, Micah finished the final incantation and rainbow smears—aura-like projections of the potential future actions of everything around him—snapped into place.

  With perfect clarity, he watched Brenden slouch over to Bart’s desiccated body to dump him in a flaming brazier almost a second before the actions actually occurred. Some aspect of the spell allowed his focus to split perfectly, tracking every discrete moment between the present and a second in the future simultaneously. The rainbow blur of motion should have distracted Micah, but instead, he was oddly fascinated by it.

  “Well,” Martin spoke a second in the future, “that was a pleasant surprise.”

  “It surprised me too,” Micah replied, too enthralled with the multicolored blur of future possibilities laid out before him
to notice that Martin had just opened his mouth.

  “Maybe we should wait to continue this conversation.” Martin smiled slightly. “You seem a bit overwhelmed by your cosmic significance at the moment.”

  Micah nodded absently, staring around the room. All too soon, the spell came to an end, the probability arcs shortening until they disappeared entirely. Suddenly, Micah was fully grounded in the present once more. Brenden looked vaguely nonplussed over not being allowed to murder Micah, but Martin was strangely happy.

  “Good.” Martin smiled, his eyes roaming over Micah like he was a prime cut of meat. “You’ve proven yourself worth the investment the Royal Knights have made in you. Now we just need to get you leveled up to 20 so you can claim a class specialty. Then we can begin on your advanced studies and transform you from a confused young man into a proper warrior.”

  With a hiss, Bart’s body began to burn in the brazier. Micah’s gaze snapped back to it, watching the acrid black smoke begin to fill the room. Almost immediately, everything began to smell of charred meat. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Even if this timeline was a dead end, he wouldn’t forget what he’d been forced to do today. Next time, he’d know better than to trust the Royal Family and their knights.

  “Oh, stop moping,” Brenden said, wiping Bart’s blood from his hands onto the dungeon boss’s corpse. “He was dead anyway. He needed to make a breakthrough as an Enchanter and he was given three chances. Even if you took some sort of moral stand and refused to perform the ritual, he’d have joined you in the fire anyway. The Knights will make you wealthy, powerful, and famous so long as you’re useful. If you aren’t useful? Well. No use wasting resources.”