The Cursed Princedom (Realm of Arkon #2)

by G. Akella

  You've learned a mount ability: Charge 2/3.

  Before attacking, the razorback accelerates up to 50 mph for seven seconds, dealing 7 times more damage to the target.

  The impact all but guaranteed the death of at least one mob. Of course, that didn't mean much against a pack of ten-fifteen skeletons. I imagined a battle against such a pack out in the open, and even with this new element I just couldn't see it ending with anything but a crushing defeat for me. Say I used Gloom's Charge to one-shot the strongest mob in the pack, who, at level 150, should have around 100-120k HP. Say I then popped Fortification to buy some time and get away, then accelerated back to a gallop and knocked out a second mob. What then? How many others would I take down before the rest overwhelmed me from all sides? One? Two? My prospects seemed even gloomier for the fact that nearly all packs also had archers and mages... Wait! What if I Charged at one mob while striking another with a lance? And popped Frenzy before impact to boot? The razorback would hit three targets, dealing roughly 25k damage to each, and I would put down the fourth! Better, but still not a winning combination. About half the skeletons in a pack wore chainmail or better, which meant at least 35% damage absorption. That would reduce the boar's damage from 25k to 15-17k. Ordinary mobs around level 150 had 40-50k HP, and my attacks dealt slightly above 4k damage without accounting for the target's armor. I sighed despondently—there was no way to handle the local packs of undead on my own.

  I chuckled, recalling a conversation with Max from my past life. When I asked him how he was doing, he responded with: "Do you know what a sumo wrestler looks like, Roman?" After an affirmative nod from me, my friend continued: "Well, imagine that a bunch of sumo wrestlers decided to play a game of rugby. There's a term in rugby called 'scrum,' when the players of both teams pack closely together and wait for the ball to be thrown in." He sighed heavily. "I'm on the outside of the scrum, Roman. I want to get at the ball, but everywhere I look there's a big fat ass staring back at me, not letting me through."

  I seemed to be doing pretty good, at a glance. I'd gained favor with four gods of this world, I had a scalable epic, a mysterious ring that was probably pretty powerful, an absolutely fantastic mount, and a boatload of money. But then, I never asked for any of this stuff, and how does it help me against an ordinary pack of mobs? I spat angrily, and the razorback, sensing his owner's foul mood, gave an indignant snort. Or was that a comment on my manners?

  Screw it, we'll deal with all these problems as they arise, I took heart, guiding the boar toward the nearest trees, their branches heavy with large, seemingly ripened fruit. Surprisingly, the ride was even smoother than on a mare. The razorback's tall hump covered me from the front up to my chest, making it easy to use a shield. When executing a frontal attack, the enemies would have a hard time hitting me with their arrows. Turning the razorback toward open space, I activated Charge. "Goddamn!" I couldn't help exclaiming when the animal gunned forward without any skidding. It felt like a roller-coaster—if not for the saddle's high back, I would have flown out of it for sure. On the plus side, there was almost no shaking. All in all, very much manageable, especially after getting used to the super-fast jolting. Gloom was smart enough not to brake too quickly, bringing our little experiment to a satisfying ending. I turned the boar back to our makeshift meadow, letting him graze to his heart's content on all the fruit that had fallen from the trees when he'd made the earth shake with Charge. It was time now for my own stats and talents.

  First, the easy part—raise constitution to 142. As for talents... Well, no need to complicate things there either: 10 connecting plus one point into Shackles, and two more into physical attacks.

  You've learned the spell: Tongue of Flame IX.

  Instant cast.

  Energy cost: 46 points.

  Cooldown: 2 seconds.

  You attack the enemy with a blade burning with the power of fire, dealing 230% damage on top of the weapon's base damage and ignoring 9% physical defense.

  You've learned the spell: Ice Blade IX.

  Instant cast.

  Energy cost: 46 points.

  Cooldown: 2 seconds.

  You attack the enemy with a blade of ice, dealing 230% damage on top of the weapon's base damage, slowing the target by 40% for 10 seconds with an additional 9% chance to freeze the target for 9 seconds.

  You've learned the spell: Earth Shackles III.

  Instant cast.

  Duration: 10 seconds.

  Mana cost: 330 points.

  Cooldown: 30 seconds.

  You create an area of powerful terrestrial magnetism six yards in diameter within 40 yards of yourself. All creatures caught in or entering the area are shackled by the element of earth for the duration of the spell.

  And that was that. I'd need to save the next ten points for portals, which meant I didn't need to worry about talents through level 155. Everything is peachy, but what do I do now? How am I supposed to retrieve the truesilver case from a treasury inside a level 180 dungeon? How am I supposed to get there? Should I even bother? And I can't teleport out either due to this bloody continental event. Thinking these somber thoughts, I proceeded to gather up the fruits that my razorback seemed to have taken a liking to. They were massive, at least seven pounds each, and looked kind of like apricots. Might as well stock up, since I don't know what else to feed this beast. Thankfully, between his strength and mine, we can carry several ton without any issues.

  Having gathered around fifty fruits, I lowered my butt on the ground and opened the princedom's map. So, presently I was near the suburbs of Xantarra, a city that, in theory at least, still housed some of the princedom's residents. Xantarra itself was located on an estuary. Sitting at the center of the suburbs was some kind of fortification called Farot, clearly smaller than a castle, at which the road forked. One direction led south to Gilthor through some nameless castle, and the other to the actual city. Xantarra was maybe two-three days away traveling southwest. The zone levels ranged between 150-180, which meant my chances of making it in one piece were pretty good. Still, I had no idea what was happening in this satrapy—that was what the demons called a barony, if memory served me right. The map showed a village called Ballan five or so miles from here—perhaps it made sense to drop by? Yes! My reputation in these parts was unfriendly, so it would be prudent to move slowly, from village to village. I might even learn something useful thanks to my courier's badge, or pick up some quests.

  The sun was already high when the overcast sky began rupturing into long red wounds, white clouds skidding across, breaking up and merging back together, their contours shifting into peculiar shapes. Gathering up my resolve, I opened the options menu and made visible my lieutenant's title. Then I put away the map and rose to my feet. "To me, my trusty mount!" I shouted to my razorback who was still chewing away merrily on the droppings. "Quit stuffing your face. "Let's go find ourselves some trouble."

  Chapter 9

  Ballan was maybe half a mile away when I spotted billows of black smoke rising over the forest ahead. Soon thereafter I heard the characteristic thumping of metal on wood. I picked up speed, spurring the razorback with my heels. The village came into view as we rounded the nearest bend—tiny, maybe two dozen houses in all, and enclosed by a simple palisade.

  And here's trouble, I thought to myself, and swore with gusto. The village was being attacked. The attack was clumsy and uncoordinated, which was typical of NPCs, but with more than enough force to crush whatever defensive effort the villagers could put up.

  The two guard towers were ablaze, and the massive gate was in serious danger of giving in to the furious blows of two-handers wielded by a colossal death knight and four of his henchmen. Several broken ladders were scattered the length of the palisade, with heavily armored skeletons bashing away—stupidly, much like their leader—at the sharp-tipped pickets. Corpses of archers and mages lay piled up across the gate some fifty yards away, ostensibly killed by the defenders on the walls.

  The death kni
ght leading the attack was being barraged with rocks and chunks of wood, but to little apparent effect. And no wonder, what with his eight million HP and his own personal healer—I'd spotted one of the three surviving liches throwing up his hands periodically, shrouding the tank with miasmic mist, while the other two hurled crimson fireballs at the defenders on the walls. The walls' durability bar was in the yellow, and it seemed inevitable that before long some forty level 170 skeletons, led by a ten-foot-tall death knight, would burst into the the tiny village. With maybe fifty-sixty level 150 defenders, the outcome was as sad as it was certain. But what could I do?!

  You've accessed the quest: Saving Ballan.

  Quest type: unique.

  Help the residents of Ballan repel Daeron the Death Knight's raid party.

  Reward: experience, reputation increase with the Krajde Princedom, reputation increase with the residents of Ballan, Feator, Farot and Uriatta.

  Attention! Reputation gains are dependent entirely on your contribution to the defensive effort.

  The wind at my back had picked up, sweeping the smells of smoke and cinders beyond the village. The gate's groaning was getting almost lifelike. The skeletons had stopped bashing at the palisade and were now watching their leader. Everything was set for the Hero to appear in his shiny armor and save the day! I swore again—the governing AI was so eager to slip me another unique quest that it didn't matter if I were alone or in a raid of forty. What the hell could I do against a small army?! I felt rage surging inside me, and drank deep from its familiar cup. My rage was directed at all of Arkon with all its deities and AIs, at that scumbag Cheney, at the Cursed Princedom... What could I do?!

  "A hell of a lot!!!" I bellowed, breaking one of Ar-Iraz's vials and spurring Gloom to gallop in the direction of the three liches.

  The healer sported 60k HP. I decided to save Charge for now—I should manage without it. The mages were clustered together and hadn't yet noticed me. I raised the lance, aiming the tip at the bastard just as he threw up his arms. Would it have killed me to practice a little earlier? I scolded myself, but immediately channeled my anger at the enemy. Screw it, this isn't the real world. It'll work just fine. Having entered their aggro radius, the mages started to turn toward me. Bam! The healer's bones cracked and crumpled to the ground. The second lich got trampled by Gloom, and the third got knocked back a good ten feet on impact. Throwing Silence on the farther one, I whipped out my blade and started assisting the razorback. Before long the silenced lich came running up, swinging his gnarly staff. I switched and let the boar do his thing—following the game's laws, all attacks against a knocked-down target were crits. Easily blocking the lich's blow with my shield, I struck back with a vengeance, alternating Ice Blade with Tongue of Flame, each blow hitting for 7-8k HP thanks to the Essence of Light. The third Ice Blade froze the target; I landed several more blows before Gloom, having dispatched his opponent, thrust his tusks into the frozen target in an upward motion. The mangled lich shuddered one last time, then went limp.

  Adrenaline pumping, I turned the razorback toward the gate. Here it was, the moment of truth! My 7k damage at the speed of 50 mph... The ten-foot-tall figure in matte black plate, Daeron the death knight, eight million HP. This bastard stood before me and Karn! If not for his plate, I could end it with just one strike. But no...

  The people on the walls had seen me, and were shouting something while waving their arms. But I couldn't hear anything over the blood pounding in my ears. With only fifty yards separating me from the gate, I snatched the vial with Shaartakh's Venom from my belt, and hurled it at the death knight's broad back. I wasn't afraid of missing—this wasn't real life.

  "Come on, Gloom!" I touched the razorback's sides with my heels, and he began picking up speed. Daeron, having suddenly lost over seven million HP, began turning toward me as if in slow motion. Charge, Gloom! A great force pressed me into the saddle's back seat. The tip of my lance focused on the massive figure ahead, the wind whistling in my ears, the shocked faces peeking over the walls. Frenzy, Gloom! Ingvar heeelp meeeee!

  BAM!!! With a sickening crunch, my lance plunged into the death knight's lower back. A crit! Hell yeah!!! The number that flew out was too incredible to believe. I let go off the lance, unable to keep a grip on it. Two of Daeron's minions had been knocked back, and one of them wasn't getting up—my razorback could crit as well. More importantly, the death knight himself had slowly toppled over, wheezing in agony. I spun my boar around, pulling out my sword, and began hacking away at the swarm of mobs coming at me. Gloom assisted, growling ferociously. The people above were still shouting something. I managed to twist and snatch my lance from the corpse, glimpsing a dozen skeletons rushing right at us, and popped Fortification. The next several minutes I spent swinging and slicing at everything that moved, rage spilling out of me. I felt no physical pain, but noticing that my HP bar had dipped below half, I popped and drank a healing potion, then dove back into the brawl. Gloom was feeling the heat as well—we were still breathing only because our backs were literally against the wall, and the skeletons couldn't flank us. The defenders were firing at the undead with their bows, but to little effect. And then I realized that it was time! My vision blurry and the razorback barely shuffling his feet, overwhelmed by the swarming undead, with a potion already used and an agonizing pain shooting through my back, grasping at the fringes of my consciousness I Stepped through Darkness, and wound up behind the gate.

  A small square in front of the gate, the two closest houses ablaze. Several demons were running toward us. Carried by momentum another fifteen yards or so, Gloom stopped and slowly laid down on his belly. Fighting another bout of rending pain, I slipped out of the saddle and onto the ground...

  "Hey, light one, wake up!" My consciousness was gradually returning.

  The sky was cloudy, and the air thick with the smell of ash. I opened my eyes, seeing the wrinkled face of an elderly demoness holding a ladle. In an instant, the face was replaced by an enormous snout. Gloom breathed right into my face, forcing a grimace. Oh god, the stench! Do I need to brush his teeth or something? Or is this his way of giving me smelling salts? Shoving aside my four-legged friend's musky muzzle, I sat up sharply.

  "Some water, master," the withered woman handed me a ladle with water—ice-cold and incredibly delicious.

  "How long was I out?" I asked after taking two deep swigs.

  "A few minutes at the most. And your animal was back up almost right away."

  Returning the ladle to the demoness, I finally took a look around. Huddled up at a respectable distance of fifteen-twenty feet was a group of kids, their faces smudgy, their eyes watching Gloom, wide with wonder. The din of metal banging on wood was still coming from the other side of the gate. The defenders' corpses lined the walls and the parapet—Daeron's mages and archers had taken out nearly half of the village's combat-capable population. Of the survivors, there were sixteen hunters in leather armor, and four swordsmen in chainmail and leather caps. All the other villagers had, at best, only several random pieces of leather armor and crude, makeshift weapons. All in all, there were roughly sixty people ranging between levels 140-145. Only the archers had remained on the walls—the rest were gathering behind the gate, waiting for the undead to break through. If my calculations were correct, there should be around thirty level 170 skeletons left, most of them in plate. Oh, I was getting real sick of it all!

  "How are you doing, sir knight?"

  This must have been the elder—a large stocky demon clad head to toe in leather, wielding a long hunter's bow. His brown, vertical eyes radiated hope.

  "I'm all right, Gvert." Rising to my feet, I fed my razorback an apricot, then climbed back in the saddle with some difficulty. "Are there any healers in the village?"

  "Yes, sir knight. Two. But fairly weak."

  "Clear the area by the gate so I could accelerate. Tell the archers to focus fire on the same targets." I peered into the demon's brown eyes. "And tell the healers to heal. That's
it!" I nodded to the elder to go and relay my orders. Then I turned my razorback toward the gate, and backed up a bit.

  There was a distant crash of thunder, as large raindrops began pattering the ground. I removed the lance from my inventory and held it at my side, tip pointed upwards, watching the gate live out its final moments. It came suddenly, just as a bolt of lightning sundered the suffocating evening dusk. Thunder crashed, and the gate's wings fell. Plate-wearing skeletons began pouring through the ten-foot-wide breach. Spurring Gloom with my heels, I popped Charge!

  Nearly a ton of live weight rammed into the midst of unprepared crowd at top speed, sending the attackers flying like toy soldiers, and creating a congestion. Popping both Frenzy and Fortification, I proceeded to hammer away at the undead soldiers, still recovering from the shock. The people around me kept shouting something, but I couldn't hear them over the pealing thunder and the clanging of metal. Bones crunched under the razorback's hooves, and the saddle was getting slippery from the now full-on downpour. Ice Blade, Tongue of Flame, Ice Blade, change target to the mob knocked down by the boar, Tongue of Flame... Every so often I felt the cool wave of healing wash over my body. Good thing holding aggro for too long was impossible in mass battles like this; otherwise, were the skeletons to pounce on me all at once, nothing would have helped.

  Hearing strings of profanities coming from the walls, I glimpsed the elder in the corner of my eye releasing feathered death at the undead bastards at the shortest possible intervals. Some skeleton caught me in the leg with his sword. Ow! Parrying the next strike, I countered with a chopping blow from above—a crit! I Jumped back with the boar, then set him into a gallop, sending yet another soldier in plate crumbling to the ground on impact.