Guilds at War: The LitRPG Saga Continues

by C. J. Carella

  Quest Rewards: 7,500 Experience, 50 gold; +300 Reputation with the Triune Goddesses; +150 Reputation with the authorities of Akila, +25 Global Renown.

  Penalties for Failure: -300 Reputation with the Triune Goddesses.

  Accept? Y/N

  Hawke nodded and accepted the quest at the same time. The raid was on.

  Twenty-Nine

  You have been Deputized into the service of the City and People of Akila.

  Your effective level has been raised by 5.

  You have gained the following bonuses: +5% Resistance to all Elements and Forces, +10% Resistance to Demonic, Fae and Undead effects, +10% increased morale. Your Health, Mana and Endurance regeneration rates have increased by 20%.

  Duration of all effects: 5 hours.

  “Not bad at all,” Hawke said as he felt the city’s blessing flow through him.

  Many of those effects wouldn’t help him much, since he was already at the Common Realm’s level cap, but they would benefit his guild buddies a great deal. Unfortunately, the effects didn’t stack up with his Leadership bonuses. He had picked Generalship IV as his new Leadership ability, which gave his party a four-level boost, but only the highest level raise counted. His other party leader abilities still applied to his team, and he had included not only his fellow Earth and Realms Defenders into his party, but the entire Dwarven Hills contingent.

  The thirty-three members of his team comprised about a fourth of the expeditionary force going down into the sewer. There were three other groups of similar size gathered in the open market they were using as a staging area, since it was right next to the entrance the Nerf Herder sacrificial party had used to go into the sewers. The square was usually crowded with produce vendors who served the lower class inhabitants of the neighborhood, but all the civilians had quickly cleared out when they heard the rhythmic clanging that marching soldiers in metal armor made. People around those parts knew those sounds meant nothing good. In this case, they didn’t know just how right they were.

  Hawke wanted to warn them of the deadly threat right under their feet, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Even if the Troggs and the Revenant weren’t rushing their ritual, few of the hundreds of thousands of people living within fifty miles of Akila would get far enough to avoid being driven mad, killed, and then turned into Undead. He set aside the gloomy thoughts and examined the small army coming together.

  The Legion’s magical auxiliaries consisted of fourteen wizards and priests, all wearing blue cloaks with the Ninth Legion insignia. Besides their cloaks, their gear was personalized, although most of them wore crested helmets with the same set of enchantments. A quick look told Hawke the helmets and cloaks allowed the mages in the unit to cast tactical spells pooling all their Mana together without undergoing a ritual. Saturnyx had told him those mass spells could tear the heart out of entire battalions if caught in the open or without magical defenses, making them the equivalent of heavy artillery.

  Twenty-four grim-faced men in classical Roman helmets and segmented armor stood in neat lines next the spellcasters they were meant to protect. The regular soldiers were older than average and all belonged to the Warrior or Legionnaire classes. Legate General Nero was there as well, with a personal bodyguard of six men and two women, all of hybrid classes that let them combine magic with fighting.

  On the opposite side of the market, keeping their distance from the Legion’s force, were the members of the Special Cohort. They wore the red cloaks of the City Watch over a motley collection of armor and weapons. Hawke spotted the high-caliber Adventurers who had been sent to look for the ‘dragons’ who triggered the city’s wards. The difference between the two groups was stark. The Legion’s mages were clearly used to large scale combat, or at least trained for it, from the way they calmly went over their buffs and spell rotations. The city’s elite looked more nervous; Hawke had heard they worked in small groups and rarely had to do much fighting.

  Twelve high-ranking clerics of assorted pantheons were the core of the fourth subgroup, led by High Priest Secondo, who had exchanged his robes of office for a set of golden leather armor that glowed with almost painfully brightness. The gathering included the Hierophant of Vitara, an imposing woman who looked like a mature version of the goddess herself, a grim-faced Pontifex of Shining Father, a Hemet-Njer of Osiris, and an Elven Archdruid of Cerunnos. Twenty-five temple guards, all Adventurers sixth to tenth level, would act as their front line defense. A few of the gathered holy men and women gave Hawke worried glances. It bothered them to see a Paladin of Light wearing Death-attuned armor and, to those with the right senses, glowing with multiple conflicting energies: Light and Darkness, Life and Death, and Order and Chaos. A few minutes after the clerics started to stare, he got a new notification:

  You have gained +150 Global Renown.

  Congratulations! Your Global Renown (550) has reached Famed status (550-1,000). The followers of the Pantheons will soon hear of a strange Paladin who walks a fine line between good and evil. Many will admire you, while many others will fear you. As always, glory can be both a help and hindrance.

  I guess being an oddity makes you famous. Kind of like a sideshow freak, Hawke thought, a bit worried about what the consequences of his notoriety – or infamy – would turn out to be.

 

  Hawke shrugged and concentrated on looking after the people in his party.

  Korgam and an older Dwarf, a thirteenth-level Paladin-Priest of Gaon by the name of Lonn Stonefist, had the twenty-three Adventurers who had joined his team well in hand, dividing them into teams of four to six people, each with at least one tank, one healer and one ranged combatant. There were more Dwarves of the first kind than the other two, since their culture favored fighting with shield and axe, spear, or sword. The volunteers included twelve hand-to-hand combatants, five Priests, two Earth Sorcerers, and three Walking Fortresses, a unique Dwarven class armed with a weird shield-and-crossbow combination, too heavy and cumbersome for a normal human to lug around. The Dwarves seemed to handle them easily enough. They all were at least level ten before getting the City’s level boost. Most belonged to Clan Stern or to affiliated families, with a smattering from other clans.

  Hawke noticed that none of the Dwarven Eternals Korgam had brought to Akila were there. The Sterns probably wanted them to gain more experience before risking their near-depleted Identities. Grumpy Oakenshield was there, however. Hawke hadn’t gotten to talk with the former player for more than a few minutes, but from the calm way the High Paladin was acting, this wasn’t his first rodeo. You didn’t get to level fifteen by playing it safe.

  Grognard was inspecting the other Eternals’ gear and going over their tactics, speaking in an almost-bored tone that was somehow reassuring, as if invading a city of undead monsters was something they did every other day. The veteran had told Hawke that if you trained for action long enough, when it finally happened you let your reflexes take over and you found yourself too busy doing your job to be scared or even angry. Unfortunately, nobody was at that stage yet, but the former gamers looked steady enough. Angus the Warrior was sharpening his two-handed axe while Wizard Mandrako listened to Grognard and had his hands go through the casting motions for his spell rotation. Hoon the Druid wasn’t as powerful as Gosto but he’d learned the same spells and would help keep the party healed in the fighting to come.

  The odd man out was Desmond, of course. He stood apart from the group and stuck close to Hawke, doing his bodyguard duty. When he wasn’t glowering in annoyance, the Engraved Warrior had a thousand-yard stare. What had Leara done to him? Hawke shrugged. Maybe after things were over he would see if he could help Desmond somehow. Or maybe not; he had lots of other people to worry about, and none of them wanted him dead. At least, he hoped so.

  He had made sure everyone was amply supplied with potions and extra weapons and armor. When fights went too long, even
Enchanted Quality gear could lose enough Durability to become useless. Masterwork and Legendary items were so tough, on the other hand, that they would outlive their owners more often than not. Most of the Eternals didn’t have any of those, however. You rarely got that kind of loot at their level, unless someone conveniently placed it right where they could just pick it up, as had happened to Hawke. On the other hand, whoever was helping Hawke was going to eventually hand him the bill, and paying it was probably going to be hell.

  Tava walked up behind him. “Everyone is ready. They will not dishonor you, or the Guild.”

  “I just want them all to make it out alive. Their Identities are still in the low twenties. Even one death will take a big chunk of their memories away.”

  “While I and most of our allies only have to worry about losing everything, should we fall,” she said. Her tone was not bitter, though. It was more of a gentle reminder that the non-Eternals in the group had a lot more skin in the game, so to speak.

  “I don’t want anyone to die,” he told her. “Not even the bastards on the other side, at least if they weren’t already dead. I know that what I want doesn’t count much, but I’ll do what I can to keep everyone in one piece.”

  “I know you will. And remember that everyone includes you.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  ‘Jacobus’ Duchamp arrived at the small plaza in a flash of light, and he didn’t come alone. Six imposing figures in green robes – robes that were made of woven leaves, Hawke noticed after a moment – were with him. Heketa, led them, having traded her disguise for her Legendary Quality vestments; her disciples were seemingly middle-aged stern-eyed women who reminded Hawke of the no-nonsense nuns who’d run Sunday school back in the day, except with an extra serving of crazy eyes on the side. Like nuns on acid, maybe. Since they were going into a mad city, it seemed fitting somehow.

  “Is everyone ready?” Jake asked Legate Neron, who had assumed overall command.

  “Now that you are here, we are.”

  “Let us go, then. May the gods be with us.”

  Third sewer trip. Can I hope there won’t be more?

 

  Thirty

  Hawke realized something was terribly wrong within minutes of entering the sewer tunnels.

  The oppressive, madness-inducing atmosphere of the Trogg city had extended beyond its borders. Hawke could feel it like an itch inside his skull, trying to drive him insane. They were all under multiple layers of protection, but everyone’s nerves were on edge by the time they reached the collapsed wall leading to the hidden ruins. Only Legate Neron’s leadership powers kept them steady. The general’s abilities were impressive, granting everyone a whopping +75% bonus to morale and +60% bonus to resist morale debuffs. Combined with the multiple blessings of protection from the spellcasters in the small army, they should have been invulnerable to that sort of effect.

  And yet, I feel like someone is running a cattle drive over my grave. That’s some bad juju.

 

  We’ll just have to kill all those Troggs and their Revenant buddy before that happens, Hawke thought grimly.

  His group was near the front of the column that filled the sewer tunnel. Ninth Legion’s wizards had sent a dozen summoned pets ahead of them to scout and deal with any screening forces: Earth Elementals shaped like giant gorillas, Animated Shadows just like Hawke’s, and several batlike fliers that glowed with blue fire led the way. Behind them was Hawke’s party, led by him and the Dwarf frontline fighters. Jake, Heketa and her witches had joined their group, since there was little love lost between the Coven and the imperial authorities. The new additions would give his team as much firepower as any of the other three. Hopefully his tanks could keep the spell-slingers safe while they did their stuff.

  The problem was that the narrow sewer passageways didn’t allow for a proper deployment of a force of over a hundred and fifty soldiers and spellcasters, not counting dozens of summoned critters. They had to march in a narrow column, and the rear forces could do little to help. Neron had decided to send Hawke’s team ahead, right behind the scouts, either because he figured the bizarre Paladin in his Death-attuned gear could take care of himself, or to get rid of him early in the fight. Hawke hadn’t argued with the order. Someone had to be first, and he’d been there before.

  The sidewalks on the sides of the sewer canals were too narrow to fit a lot of people. Instead of having his pet stick to the wall, Hawke sent Digger into the canal itself; the lobster-scorpion monstrosity didn’t mind the stink and it didn’t need to breathe. Being denser than water, the Terakken sank out of sight. Its mental connection to Hawke allowed it to know the way to go. He had a bear-shaped Nature’s Guardian join his pet; between the two of them they would be able to guard the group’s flank.

  They were a hundred yards from the Trogg tunnel when the Undead struck.

  The summoned scouts were fifty feet ahead of Hawke’s group. Just as they were about to turn a corner, purple-green energy torrents reached out and tore into them. The Elementals exploded or simply vanished under the barrage. Hawke signaled the group to stop and prepared to receive the impending attack. Moments later, the screeching of the Exalted Risen filled the passageways. The Revenant’s troops came pouring out and rounded the corner, dozens of them, half of them jumping into the water and swimming or dragging themselves forward.

  Tava, target the swimmers. My pets will get the ones who get past you, he sent through Saturnyx even as he readied the sword.

  Hawke and the tanks on the front lines went down on one knee to give the rear ranks room to shoot.

  “Let them have it!” he shouted before firing off his own spells.

  The first wave consisted only of minions without any magical defenses, relying on sheer numbers, their inhuman speed and ability to soak up ungodly amounts of damage to overwhelm the defenders. Against Jake, the Witches of the Green Coven, and the other spellcasters in his party, that wasn’t enough.

  The zombies were met with a fusillade of exploding fireballs, arrows, crossbow bolts, and pulses of Life and Light magic, the bane of all the walking dead. The monsters might have over a thousand Health apiece, but the area-effect spells from the high-level practitioners one-shotted them by the dozen, and even the lower-level casters did enough to weaken or finish off the rest.

  The ragged figures running towards Hawke exploded in spectacular flashes that sent body parts everywhere, or were consumed to ashes in an instant. A few managed to step forward, often missing one or more limbs, only to be knocked back by iron-shod crossbow bolts or fire arrows. In a matter of seconds, over a hundred Risen died for the second and hopefully last time. Another hundred or so followed.

  Hawke went through his spell rotation a second time, dual-casting Celestial- and Order-enhanced spells even as the barrage from the rear ranks went right over his head. All the tanks in the front ranks were tough enough to survive friendly fire if someone aimed wrong, but it looked like everyone back there was being careful. Grognard would see to that.

  Down in the sewer canal, the Undead were met with Tava’s patented Arrowstorm, multiplying arrows that turned a single shot into several dozen, all imbued with multiple damage enhancers. Dozens stopped moving and sank under the dark water. Lady Pew-Pew and Boris fired off weaker versions of the same ability. The few monsters that lived through the deadly rain of steel found themselves dragged under by Digger, who tore them to pieces or used his stinger to deliver doses of Life-based poison that were as lethal to the Undead as they were to the living. The Nature Elemental wasn’t as powerful, but it kept the zombies busy until someone else finished them off. None survived to threaten the force on the walkway above the sluggis
h current.

  The second wave was wiped out in a matter of seconds. But two hundred more came behind them, and among them were Elite Leaders, using their howling Death spell and creating spheres of Death and Chaos that protected the minions around them. The third wave advanced through the withering fire of spells and missiles, taking losses but pushing on. Mana pools were depleted enough that the magical onslaught went down in intensity as casters stopped to drink potions.

  Hawke refreshed his Consecrated Ground just before several running zombies reached him. He braced himself and two Undead bounced off his shield, their inhuman strength no match for his. He stabbed one of the reeling critters in the face and delivered a 75-Mana elemental blast that exploded its head and tore a hole through the chest of another one behind it, followed by an Order-infused shield bash that smashed a third into flaming chunks of offal. The monsters had been down to their last hundred Health by the time they reached the front line. The Dwarves made short work of a couple that came clambering on the wall, hammers crushing the Undead like so many bugs. But more came behind them, grabbing at shields and weapons, and pummeling them with bone-breaking force.

  The Shield of Order’s Durability went down by dozens of points. Hawke didn’t need to see its stats to know that; the metal surface was getting dimpled by the zombies’ continual hammering. He kept sending out Waves of Healing that burned the monsters and restored his companions even as he cut off hands or arms with each swing of Saturnyx. The extra damage and hardiness he had gained from his Imbued Body were noticeable, and he needed every bit of both. His Mana dipped below thirty percent, so he used the Dispensary to send a refreshing jolt through his body, although it didn’t fully replace the energy he had lost. His Endurance would have dropped even more if he hadn’t used Transference to replenish it with Mana.

  A new attacker emerged from the haze of magical energies that filled the air front of Hawke. The monster was wreathed in a protective aura of its own, and wore a set of silver scale-mail. Its weapon was a glowing spear made of some kind of red metal. Hawke recognized the armor. It, and the body underneath, had belonged to Gorat, the Orc Nerf Herder. The Eternal’s soul had been consumed but his body had been put to work for the Revenant.