Hive Knight: A Dark Fantasy LitRPG (Trinity of the Hive Book 1)

by Grayson Sinclair

  Thrayl had even taken my suggestion to heart and accented the trim of the umbrae armor with a splash of purple to reflect our guild’s colors. The royal purple complemented the stark black nicely. As soon as I was sure there wasn't an issue with it, I exited the room in a rush, donning my sword as I left.

  I enjoyed the familiar weight on my hip as I strolled through the hall. Even more so than my armor, my sword was the most expensive item I owned by far. Crafted by a good friend in the noble district in the Central Kingdom, my sword was made of shiversteel, a lightweight and incredibly sharp metal that could cut through nearly anything but dulled quite easily.

  I wasn’t into ostentatious or flashy gear like most players; my sword was simple and unadorned. Forged out of a single piece of metal, the hilt was plain, and the only thing added was a simple leather wrap for the handle so it wouldn’t slip out of my grip.

  Passing several maids shuffling about cleaning, I made my way to the ramparts. Even when we were under attack, the duties of a maid never cease. I nearly ran into Phillip as he was making his way to the ramparts. He was carrying a dozen bows, and he had probably several hundred arrows strapped to his back.

  “Pardon me, Lord,” he said, his face flushed in embarrassment.

  I was more careful of myself as I hurried along so that I wouldn’t run into any of the other people bustling about with their preparations. I reached the outermost wall that looked over the Rolling Hills and out to the vast plains.

  Over half of our men-at-arms were standing by the gate. Our archers had received their bows from Phil and were waiting for me to give them orders, but I ignored the waiting expressions on their faces and concentrated on the field, taking stock of the situation. For all of two minutes, I just stared at the sea of troops currently marching towards our front gate.

  Hundreds of troops were approaching, marching in a disorganized formation toward the castle. We’d never repelled a force this large before. I couldn't believe the Alliance would send this many men just for us.

  Wilson walked up to me as I was gazing at the troops making their way towards us. He said nothing for a moment, just stared as I was doing before tilting his head toward me. “I stopped counting at four hundred. It’s a little excessive.”

  “This is ridiculous. I’d thought they’d have given up after the last two times,” I said.

  “Securing our castle will secure them the trade rights for Aldrust and Yllsaria, but I can’t see how it’s worth this level of response.”

  “Doesn’t matter, this is declaring war.”

  “What do you want to do, Duran?” Wilson asked.

  The numbers were concerning, but not unduly so. I smiled; it would be a good fight. We should be able to take the troops long before they breach the massive wooden gate. I hope. Staring down at the ever-closing army made my blood boil, so I made a snap decision and hopped onto the lip of the wall.

  “Cover me!" I yelled to our archers as I leapt over the ledge.

  I didn’t realize the soldiers had gotten as close as they had, so when I hopped down from the wall, I dropped onto the face of one of the invaders, who had the misfortune to be staring up at us when I jumped. He didn’t even have time to cry out when I used his body to cushion my fall.

  As I landed, I unsheathed my sword and plunged it into the man’s broken body, ignoring his pained groans as my sword pierced his heart. I stepped off the corpse and looked over the battlefield while planning my next move.

  Leaping down onto the grass had been a hasty decision but standing on the tower twiddling my thumbs was doing no good.

  Of course, Wilson would have wanted to discuss a plan of attack before I ran off. If we had it his way, we’d be up on the walls staring at the massing troops until Armageddon, deliberating on the correct course of action. Sitting still was never in the cards for me, so I ran forward into battle. Arrows rained over the walls to pepper the arriving army, but I ignored them and focused on the ones in front of me.

  The downside to this plan was that Wilson was going to bitch me out something fierce for being so reckless. I could already hear his lecture in my mind, his words droning on and on. “You’re the guild leader, we can’t afford to have you run off half-cocked, and getting yourself killed." His you-should-be-more-careful speech hadn’t changed in all these years.

  “Duran, you dumbass!” Wilson’s exasperated voice shouted down at me as he poked his head over the ramparts.

  I laughed. I am so getting my ass chewed today! Putting Wilson out of my mind, I charged into battle. A pair of soldiers rushed me, trying to claim glory ahead of the others, but their eagerness cost them.

  My blade cut them down mid-swing, their cries of war dying in their throats as my sword danced between them.

  I ran until I found a small portion of the army. A dozen or so men who’d broken off from the main force marching toward the front gate. They roared when they noticed me, but before they could reach me. I activated my auras.

  My battle fatigue jumped as they activated. Two faint shimmers edged along my skin, one red and the other gold, before they sank into my flesh. Aura of Speed was like an injection of caffeine into my veins as my speed and agility increased by an order of magnitude, while Aura of Might toughened my defense and boosted my damage.

  Using both in conjunction was a powerful move, and an incredibly risky one. As long as they were active, I was almost unbeatable, but as soon as they timed out, they’d max out my battle fatigue.

  I strolled through the mass of bodies, men and women who stood ready to murder me. It wasn't even fair.

  With my auras in play, they couldn't hold a candle to me, their movements slow to my eyes. Shields hefted and swords raised to cut me down—all fell short as I slaughtered scores of the invaders. They simply couldn't react fast enough to harm me. My blade slid across throats and pierced the hearts of dozens of men with the ease of a hot knife through butter.

  These soldiers would’ve been adequate for guarding the Compass Kingdom, but they were far too low level to pose a serious threat to us. I guessed them to be level thirty or so, impressive for an NPC, but unless they had an ability to throw at me, they wouldn't be a threat.

  A pang of guilt rose at killing them. They were following orders, most likely on behalf of the Alliance, who could never be bothered to get their hands dirty, preferring to hide behind their meat puppets. As distasteful as I found it, it wouldn't stop me. They chose to stand against us and would die for it.

  Fighting them was nothing short of a cakewalk, but as easy as I found it, I didn't need to get cocky. Wilson’s words echoed in my head, and I had to acknowledge that he was right. I needed to keep my guard up. There were over five hundred troops to contend with, more than we had ever faced at once before. Even if they were low leveled, I couldn’t take them by myself. They would drown me in sheer numbers alone.

  Guess I'll need help. I pulled up the guild chat in my interface. “Not saying I could use a hand down here, but where’s the fun in sitting in the castle where it’s safe?”

  Everyone would already be geared up and ready to go. They knew me as well as I knew them and were just waiting on me to admit defeat and call for backup. Besides that, the twins would hate sitting this out and would already be chomping at the bit to join in.

  ”Standard siege tactics, everyone.”

  A torrent of affirmatives resounded in my ear, and I fought back a smile. We may be the most raucous guild anytime else; however, when in battle, we have the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. The gate slammed open, hitting the ground and sending a tremor rolling through the grass.

  Within a minute after the gate came down, Gil’s War Cry echoed out onto the battlefield. The effects of the ability caused my health and damage to increase when the shout reached me. The other side effect of the cry is that the small amount of battle fatigue I’d begun to feel washed away in an instant.

  Having given the orders to the other members to the guild, I knew what my job was going to be.
I was going headhunting for the leader of this invasion force. There was, without a doubt, either a high noble leading the men or a general of some standing, though if this was the Alliance, I knew they wouldn’t risk losing one of the aristocrats or generals. They would contract out the job.

  The other, more likely option was using a high-leveled player. To command an army of more than a few hundred, you had to have high levels in the Military Commander skill. Commanding this large a force would put their skill level above sixty. Which meant the player should be around level seventy to eighty—either that or they were the best leader the Alliance had.

  I ran further from the castle and deeper into enemy lines. I spared no wasted effort, moved no more than necessary. Soldiers who were in my path fell beneath my blade, my sword stained crimson with the blood of many.

  Most of the troops I left to die from their injuries. Every thrust or slash struck a fatal, if not immediate, wound. Several men outside my reach turned to follow me as I passed. Fast as the wind, I flew through the troops, scanning the plains for any sign of a commander, but I only found more soldiers. I dropped several more as I started up the grassy hills.

  I rounded the hill and came upon a large white tent, surrounded by several guards. I surged forward, heedless of the soldiers in my path. Quite a few of the foolish men turned at my approach. I paid them little mind, and their heads rolled to the ground in my wake.

  The tent was within a stone’s throw of me, and the commander's bodyguards bolted up in alarm, moving to intercept me. Four of them advanced on me, while two others ran inside the tent to alert their master.

  I slowed my speed, letting my momentum carry me within a few yards of the men. A small cloud of dust kicked up into the air as I stopped and faced my newest opponents.

  They charged me together—a completely unfair and dishonorable tactic, which I immensely approved of. Two of the men were faster than the others and drew their swords as they closed the gap. One was a hand and a half longsword, not dissimilar to my own, while the other came at me with a heavy claymore.

  I ducked the swing of LongSwordsman to parry Claymore’s overhead cleave. Metal clashed as I angled his strike to let the overused momentum carry his blade into the dirt. With a dull thud, his sword sank deep into the earth, giving me a few seconds to focus on LongSwordsman while Claymore pulled his weapon free.

  Wind whistled as Longsword’s namesake sailed through the air towards me. I couldn’t bring my steel up in time, so I passed it to my off-hand and caught the base of his sword on my vambraces. Pain radiated through me as the blade struck. My armor held easily, though the vibrations from the impact completely numbed my arm. His sword fell off-center; taking advantage, I slugged Longsword in the face.

  His head snapped back as I shattered his prominent nose, delighting in the satisfying crunch of cartilage. He howled in pain and dropped his blade to clutch at his ruined face. My sword, awkward in my off-hand, cut deep into his neck. Blood poured as though a dam burst as I sliced through his artery, and he fell to the ground, grasping his spurting neck.

  I hadn’t paid enough attention to the rest of my opponents and allowed the other two members to catch up to us. Claymore retrieved his stuck sword and sauntered over to join his friends. His eyes held a gleam of superiority in them; he thought he had the upper hand here.

  This battle could have ended in an instant with Dance of the Immortal, but I held off using any of my abilities. These chumps were an appetizer compared to the main course I had to look forward to, and I didn’t need to waste my trump card.

  Claymore turned to look at Goon One and Goon Two, I expected, to signal a combined assault on me. Fool. As soon as his eyes left mine, I rushed them, closing the distance in under a second and shoving my sword through the gap in the metal plates across Claymore’s chest.

  His look of overconfidence shattered to one of pain and despair. He was dead; his brain just hadn’t registered it. Blood pooled out of his mouth as his lungs filled with blood. His death would not be a swift one. Claymore dropped his weapon and crumpled to the ground as I pulled my sword from his chest and turned to look at the goon squad.

  Both of their faces held a mixture of rage and disbelief. To give them credit, few could move as fast as me, and in their shoes, I wouldn’t have expected it either. Goon one bellowed in rage, pulling out a morningstar, while the only female goon took out a short sword and dagger.

  Morningstar came at me, abandoning all reason. He flailed wildly as if swinging at a horde of invisible bees. Duel-Wielder, however, came at me slow and cautious, not willing to let any more surprises catch her off guard.

  I dealt with Morningstar quickly. His unhinged swings left him vulnerable, and several wide swings later, his arms tired. I stepped forward, grabbed the handle of his weapon, and rammed the tip of my sword through his face.

  He didn’t react at all, dead instantly. Morningstar gurgled a death rattle as I pulled my blood and brain coated blade from his skull.

  Duel-Wielder took the death of her comrade in stride, using it as an opportunity to use Sneak Attack.

  She caught me off guard, but only for a moment. Color me surprised. An NPC with an ability, that’s rare. Must have been a member of the Thieves Guild, and a damn good one if they thought it a good investment to teach her Sneak Attack.

  I’d dueled against Wilson enough to know what the subtle rustle of wind behind me meant.

  I rolled forward as her blades struck the ground where I’d been a split second before. As I landed out of my roll, I turned to face her, rightfully cautious now.

  An NPC with an ability is rare. An NPC with two is unheard of. I doubt she has any more tricks up her sleeve.

  I ducked her agile swipes, grounded my stance, and swept my leg out. I dislocated her knee with a sickening pop, which was followed by an ear-splitting shriek of agony.

  Duel-wielder toppled to the ground, sobbing in pain and clutching her leg. Shards of her tibia stuck through her skin, and blood pooled beneath her fingers. I raised my sword to silence her and was mid-swing when a voice stopped me.

  “Halt!”

  I glanced at the person I assumed was the commander as they marched forward, with the remaining guards in tow. I got behind Duel-Wielder and placed the tip of my blade to her neck.

  From first glance at the leader, I could tell it was a player rather than an NPC. They were clad in gleaming white plate mail, with a full-faced helm obscuring their features. A flowing scarlet cape billowed in the wind behind them as they approached.

  Their armor was high tier and in exceptional condition. Least my guess at their level was right. I had no reason to believe this player was anything less than mid-seventies, and I would treat them with caution. A level seventy player who knew what they were doing could kill me if I was sloppy.

  The commander stopped ten feet from me. The two remaining bodyguards fanned out and drew their weapons—a bow for one and another longsword for the second. I ignored the peons and focused on the actual threat in front of me.

  “Who are you to give me orders?”

  Their helmet scraped against their gorget as they turned their head to speak to me, “Please, don’t mistake my words.” The commander spoke with a more reasoned tone. “I did not mean to command, merely to request you lower your weapon from my friend’s throat.”

  Like hell! They had me completely outnumbered, and the commander was bad news. My sword sliced into Duel-Wielder, drawing a thick heavy drip of blood down her neck.

  “I don’t think I’ll be doing a damn thing you request of me.”

  The commander realized I meant business, and that I wouldn't be so easily swayed. They took off their helm. Long, scarlet locks flowed out and cascaded down past their chest. A girl?

  She had stern, firmly set blue eyes that shimmered in the sunlight. Her face was thin with low cheekbones, and she had naturally red lips that were striking even from this distance.

  A shame, but woman or not, she came here to bring r
uin to myself and my family. I’ll destroy her for that. Neither she nor any one of her men would receive mercy from me.

  “Please,” she begged, her eyes softening. “There is no need to harm her further. This is all a misunderstanding. Let her go, and we can parley in peace.”

  Parley in peace?

  “You want to negotiate now!” I roared. “You march onto my lands and assault my family. You and your Alliance dogs tried to steal our home! And only once I’ve cut a bloody swath through your men and am staring you in the face, seconds away from slaughtering all of you, you decide to have peace talks!”

  I laughed at her, cold and dark. It was a twisted, vile sound that did nothing to cool the rage in my heart.

  “I don’t think so,” I said and slammed my sword through Duel-Wielder’s throat.

  Her scream drowned out the music my steel made as it sliced through her neck. Duel-Wielder gave one final rasp, as I pulled my sword free before toppling over and bleeding her life into the ground.

  Any chance of peace died with the girl on the ground.

  Bowman nocked an arrow, while Longsword Junior ran at me with his sword. I caught Bowman’s arrow in the shoulder, but it pinged off my armor. I parried Junior’s thrust and sliced a deep gash into his arm.

  Bowman had already nocked a second arrow and prepared to fire. I didn’t relish the idea of dodging arrows while simultaneously fighting off Junior. Prioritizing the archer, I ran at Bowman, trying to put some distance between Junior and me.

  Before I could reach Bowman, a burning sensation sliced along my cheek. The hot rush of blood down my face told me how close I’d come to death. Keep some battlefield awareness, idiot! Being level one hundred would do nothing for me if an arrow struck my unprotected face.

  I reached Bowman before he could nock another arrow and sliced through his bow. My sword cut through the wood and his leather armor, slicing a furrow across his chest. He fell backward, whimpering in pain as blood soaked the front of his armor. Bowman tried to back away, but I thrust my sword into his chest before he could move.