Blessed Time: A LitRPG Adventure

by Cale Plamann

  “Summoning isn’t really a class thing.” Micah scratched the back of his neck. “It’s more a matter of studying and research. My class is more of a healing and support caster. Usually, I just go into a dungeon with one or two daemons and let them do the hard work while I keep them in fighting shape.”

  Micah shrugged. “As for my attributes, there are rituals that let you fortify them. They’re hard to pull off, but you know me. I always have my nose in one book or another. If you put in enough work, it’s not that crazy to augment yourself. As far as I can tell, most nobles have the rituals cast on them just after they receive their blessings.”

  “Leave it to you to find a way to end up in better shape than me just from reading some books.” Trevor burst out laughing. “I knew I should have tried to get an apprenticeship with Keeper Ansom.”

  “Did you say that you’ve been hitting dungeons on your own?” Drekt asked, dropping the monster corpse he’d been struggling with. “That sounds fairly dangerous, even with the strength of that daemon you’ve displayed for us. If you get outnumbered badly enough, something could slip past your summon and an accident could still happen.”

  “I’ve had to heal myself a couple of times,” Micah replied, chuckling. There was some truth to that. Admittedly, it’d only happened in very high-level dungeons, but an area-of-effect attack that would just scratch a Brensen might cripple him.

  Had crippled him. His conversation with Will about healing a torn throat wasn’t a matter of speculation. He vividly remembered the moment. A monster had shattered a nearby boulder and he’d taken a face full of shrapnel. He still had nightmares about having to hold his throat together, the blood pumping out of him, as he struggled to push enough oxygen past his vocal cords to croak out the words to Augmented Mending.

  “That sounds traumatic,” Drekt rumbled, wiping some of the viscera from his cleaver. “It also sounds needlessly lonely and dangerous. Why not join a guild? You’re clearly powerful enough to warrant special treatment.”

  “There’s special treatment”—Micah smiled halfheartedly—“and then there’s too special of treatment. I don’t want to be treated with kid gloves. It would make me soft and prone to mistakes.” Micah’s eye settled on Will as the large man whined animatedly to Sarah.

  “Plus,” Micah continued, “if you reveal a blessing past a certain level, people take notice. Sometimes it makes them want to be your friend, and sometimes it makes powerful people think that you’ll grow into a threat. The nobility aren’t dumb. They won’t let a potential problem turn into an actual problem. Potential problems have a tendency to die of fortuitous accidents.”

  “Wait.” Trevor’s eyes widened. “Is that why you’re always so cagey about your blessing and level?”

  “Maybe I just like being a man of mystery,” Micah said, winking back at Trevor. “Didn’t you tell me that the ladies were into men who kept them guessing?”

  “How is that working for you?” Jo asked, her voice barely concealing a smirk. “As far as I can tell, Trevor’s idea of being mysterious is to keep a girl guessing as to whether he’s cheating on her with her best friend or her neighbor.”

  “You wound me to the quick, madame,” Trevor gasped and grabbed his chest. “To hear my honor so openly impugned, I don’t know if I will ever recover fully.”

  “I’m pretty sure the answer is both,” Micah snorted. “I don’t remember how many times he forced his ‘cute brother and sister’ to run interference with a jilted lover while he escaped out his bedroom window.”

  Jo burst into laughter, a clear tinkling of bells that filled the dungeon. A second later, both Trevor and Micah joined her. Drekt even managed to crack a smile.

  This was what he’d been missing. The camaraderie, the mutual aid, a cure for the loneliness. As great as Telivern was, it couldn’t fill the emptiness that Micah had carried around with him since he’d joined the Golden Drakes in his last life.

  “But seriously,” Jo said, intruding upon his thoughts. Micah’s breath caught in his throat as he realized how close to him she was standing. Maybe it was her stealth skills, maybe it was her blessing, or maybe it was just good old-fashioned inattentiveness on his part, but at some point, she’d approached within a hair's breadth of him. “How is that man of mystery thing working out for you? You’re attractive, powerful, and not attached to any of the guilds. It sounds to me like you should be beating off the ladies with a stick.”

  “That’s our Jo.” Drekt chuckled. “If she sees something she wants, she just goes ahead and takes it.”

  “Could you at least try to avoid picking up my brother in front of me?” Trevor groaned. “Or, I don’t know, at least wait until we’re out of the dungeon? It just seems so wrong to try and pick up boys in a dungeon.”

  Micah opened his mouth to reply, but just blushed instead.

  40

  Legion

  The five Brensens flitted about the Decrepit Behemoth, digging their skeletal claws into dark red armor and ripping it off piece by piece. The gigantic monster tried to swipe at its assailants, but they easily hopped out of the clumsy monster’s way with a series of angry squawks.

  The flames powering the beast stoked higher, bringing the temperature in the room to a sweltering level. The daemons didn’t seem to notice as yet another plate of armor clanged to the ground, hints of the Behemoth’s blood visible where the plate had been bolted to the creature’s bone.

  It screamed, more out of frustration than pain. Surely the Behemoth was in pain, but more than anything, the humiliation angered it. It was supposed to be the master of the Cavern of Rust, apex predator and feared by everything it saw. Even if something were capable of defeating it, the battle would be dangerous and the victor wouldn’t emerge unscathed.

  Instead, the daemons were toying with it. Piece by piece, they ripped off its armor, taking chunks of bone and flesh with it. Periodically, they would pause their torment to swoop at the Behemoth and rip another furrow in its comparatively thin flesh, but it was clear to everyone in the room that they were enjoying themselves.

  Micah knew that he should be troubled by the Brensens’ bloodthirsty nature, but truth be told, it barely bothered him. He could feel their excitement as they inflicted pain on the creature. He could almost taste the rich copper of its blood wetting his beak.

  He shook his head briefly. Ever since his excursion to Elsewhere, he’d found himself becoming more and more in tune with the daemons. They were far from being able to converse with each other, but Micah found their alien emotions and senses bleeding over into his own more often.

  Strangely, when he picked up feedback from the daemons, it wasn’t anywhere near as disruptive as it should be. Seeing flashes of an object from five different directions simultaneously, festooned in purples and reds that shouldn’t be visible to the human, should’ve turned him into a gibbering wreck. At a minimum, he should be suffering from migraines.

  Instead, his feelings were more paternal. He disapproved of the Brensens’ actions. There wasn’t really any reason to torment the Behemoth like this. That said, the daemons and he walked a very solitary path. Blowing off steam every now and again wasn’t the worst thing on Karell.

  Telivern grunted worriedly, pushing its head against Micah’s shoulder.

  Discontent. Wrongness.

  “Okay,” Micah responded, not looking away from the battle. “I get it, buddy. I’ll tell them to hurry it up so we can get back to the grove.”

  Micah took a deep breath and centered himself before casting Haste on his daemons. Even after selecting Chronomancer as his level 20 class specialty, the fifth-tier spell drained almost a third of his reserves.

  Even so, it was worth it. A smile blossomed onto Micah’s face as the daemons blurred into motion. Their strikes came faster and harder, ripping great gouts of flesh and ichor from the Behemoth as it tried to defend itself by spitting a stream of metal quills. The Brensens easily flapped and jumped aside, squawking and cackling at the boss while
their brethren continued to tear deeper and deeper.

  Finally, the Behemoth slumped to the ground, spilling its life into the dungeon floor. Almost immediately the Brensens began wetting their beaks as they ripped off and devoured strips of its flesh. Turning away from the grisly buffet, Micah tried to ignore the slimy taste of the dungeon boss in the back of his throat.

  Disgust. Repulsion.

  “I know, buddy,” Micah replied as he walked toward the dungeon’s altar, eager to see what he’d receive this time. For the past couple of weeks, they’d raided the Cavern of Rust every other day. Not every reward was useful to Micah, but he’d gained experience and a handful of higher-tier spells. He still wasn’t a Battlemage by any extent, but another third-tier spell and a pair of fourth-tier spells certainly helped round out his repertoire.

  Telivern snorted behind Micah. He looked back at the deer. It stood tall in the dirty chamber, pure white and glowing faintly, a halo of energy rippling around its horns. It cocked its head slightly, concern in its large black eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Micah replied, running a hand through his hair. “There’s just so much going on right now between the level-ups, the summoning, and dating Jo, I just haven’t had the same sort of free time as before. I swear we’ll have a chance to hang out soon. Just you and me, like the old days.”

  It snorted, pawing the dungeon floor with its hoof before it looked back up at Micah.

  “I don’t like the Brensens that much either.” Micah leaned against his spear, making eye contact with the deer. “It’s just that we need them. There’s a storm coming. Monsters by the hundreds, if not the thousands. If we don’t stop them, they’re going to overrun everything. What they don’t kill, they’ll warp and twist into mindless abominations of magic and fell alchemy.”

  He sighed. “I don’t have the power on my own to fight them. Even with the Brensens, it probably won’t be enough. I’m going to need more of them. Hells”—he shifted slightly—“I’m probably going to need to up the ante and summon a Luoca. Maybe two or three. I just don’t know if I have it in me to tackle the ritual. A couple more levels and my Mind attribute should be sufficient.”

  Telivern walked toward Micah. Its hooves clattered against the dungeon floor, the steady click-click of its measured pace the only sound audible over the wet tearing and cracking of the Brensens devouring the Decrepit Behemoth. Micah closed his eyes as Telivern approached.

  The five daemons shone like stars, orange and red with tethers of ephemeral fire connected to Micah himself. He willed his perception downward, to the small, swirling portal of energy and flame deep within his chest. The chains of power flowed directly into it and back into Elsewhere itself.

  The deer stepped into the range of his mind’s eye. Unlike the daemons, it shone a gentle green and blue. Slowly, it swam forward in the inky darkness until its snout was in his hand once more. Looking down, he winced. He glowed a dim orange. A smoldering coal next to the bonfire of the daemons, but it would be a lie and an excuse to deny his senses.

  There was no doubt that the ritual had changed him on a deep level. Something more than just the night terrors that interrupted his sleep as he felt the fingers of a great and unfathomable mind reach out to mark him. The taint of Elsewhere was upon him. Otherwise, Micah would be completely incapable of maintaining more than a handful of simultaneous summons.

  Concern. Discontent.

  “I’m worried too, Telivern,” he said quietly, running his free hand through his friend's fur. “I’m changing and I know it, but I can’t find any another way. The levels I’ve gained are beyond anything I could possibly earn on my own. This power I’m borrowing from Elsewhere isn’t without cost. I know it. You know it.”

  Tears began to flow down his face as his hand balled in Telivern’s fur.

  “I keep trying to tell myself that everything is normal.” He buried his face in the great buck’s fur. “I keep saying that I’ve faced down problems beyond mortal comprehension. That I’ve been broken down time and time again only to come out whole. But this is different. I can feel my humanity starting to slip away.”

  Comfort. Worry.

  “You don’t understand, Telivern.” He let out a shuddering breath as he tried to calm himself. “I can understand them. Their motives, their desires… it’s all beginning to make sense to me, and that shouldn’t be the case. I feel like… something human is fading away from me.”

  Comfort.

  “But I can’t stop.” He smiled weakly. “As much as this scares me, as much as I can feel myself taking steps down a path that I might not be able to come back from, I have to keep going. People like Jo and Esther deserve a chance to live and grow in peace. If I’m to be the sacrifice that earns them another decade or so of peace, that’s a sacrifice I am obligated to make.”

  Acceptance. Friendship.

  “Thank you.” Micah wiped the tears from his face as he took a step back from Telivern. “I’m not sure if any of my friends or family would understand, but you do. It kills me to not be able to talk about this with Jo. I’ve known her for years, and yet to her, it’s just been a couple of weeks.”

  He painted a faint smile onto his face. “Well, let’s see what today’s spoils are.”

  He turned back to the altar. There was a book sitting upon it, brown and made of twisted reeds. Micah rested his hand on the cover, running his fingers gently over its cool surface. Flipping the cover open, he found a spell formula. Poison Fog, a tier-four Wood spell that created a vast bank of toxic mist.

  Micah flipped through the book, consigning its writing to the Folio for future use. Quietly, he put the book into his satchel. Even if he wouldn’t be using it directly, it would be a valuable addition to his collection.

  He opened his status screen.

  Micah Silver

  Age 16 [ERROR] / 26

  Class/Level Thaumaturge 21

  XP 3,400/19,000

  HP 430/430

  Class Specialty

  Chronomancer

  Attributes

  Body 10, Agility 10, Mind 36, Spirit 36

  Attunement

  Moon 13, Sun 2, Night 11

  Mana

  Moon 350/971, Sun949/949, Night 967/967

  Affinities

  Time 10

  Tier V - Foresight 2, Time Echoes 1, Temporal Transfer 2, Haste 2

  Wood 6

  Tier I - Refresh 10, Mending 9, Plant Weave 9

  Tier II - Augmented Mending 10, Root Spears 11

  Tier III - Heal 6, Paralytic Sting 3

  Tier IV - Regeneration 2, Healing Wave 3

  Air 5

  Tier I - Gale 7, Air Knife 15, Air Supply 4

  Tier II - Wind Shield 6, Sonic Bolt 8

  Tier III - Updraft 2, Pressure Spear 2

  Tier IV - Flight 1

  Blessings

  Mythic Blessing of Mursa - Blessed Return, Ageless Folio

  Skills

  Anatomy 7

  Arcana 3

  Enchanting 11

  Fishing 1

  Herbalism 5

  Librarian 5

  Ritual Magic 19

  Spear 11

  -Wind Spear 8

  Spellcasting 24

  Two levels in two weeks, including one in the last ten minutes. More than anyone could reasonably expect, but still not enough. The new spells were useful, but not any sort of gamechanger. Flight allowed Micah or one of his summoned daemons to fly. Not terribly useful for a Brensen, but amusing to say the least when applied to an Onkert.

  Pressure Spear was little more than an upgraded version of Air Knife, a thin jet of ultra-pressurized air that could punch through all but the thickest of armor. Regeneration, on the other hand, was a powerful supportive spell. It lasted for almost an hour with each casting, and greatly improved the rate at which its recipients recovered from wounds, almost to the point that the injuries would visibly close during combat.

  The Arcana skill was a tougher addition to explain. He still didn’t know wh
at it did. None of the books he’d read in any of his three lifetimes even touched upon it. All he knew was that it had appeared on his status screen once he returned from Elsewhere.

  Micah sighed. The boosts to his Mind attribute from the new level would have to be enough. Even a dozen more levels wouldn’t be enough for him to stop the Durgh on his own. He needed more daemons. A Luoca or two would go a long way toward evening the odds.

  He walked toward the exit to the boss chamber, whistling to grab the Brensens’ attention. Their heads snapped up from the twisted wreckage of the Behemoth. Chirping back at him, they fell into step behind him. He needed to return to the grove. He had a lot of research to do.

  41

  A Night on the Town

  Jo’s laughter filled the night as she ran out of the bar with a crumpled hat in her hand. Micah pursued her, trying to keep a smile from his face. Behind the two of them, three burly men and a sunburnt woman sprinted down the dark street, livid expressions darkening their complexions.

  A pair of daggers coated in flame soared past Micah, lighting up the moonless night as they guttered out on the cobblestones of Basil’s Cove. Jo spun around in a graceful pirouette, then bowed and placed the crumpled hat on her head in one smooth motion before she resumed her flight.

  “All of this over a cap?” Micah puffed as he barely kept up with Jo. He’d used the free points from the Thaumaturge class to fortify his Body and Agility attribute, but at the end of the day, Jo had a speed-oriented physical class, and pacing her was a challenge.

  “You can’t wear a hat that ugly around me and get away with it,” Jo cackled. “It’s a sin against the senses of both god and man. I’m doing him a favor. Without my intervention, a god would likely strike him down for inflicting that fashion travesty on the masses.”