Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Epilogue
Gentleman’s Wars
Book 1: The Rules of Engagement
by Andrew Karevik
Gentleman’s Wars: Book 1
Copyright © 2021 LitRPG Freaks
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.
Chapter 1
The death of a single family member is a tragedy. The death of four within rapid succession, all via a series of strange and improbable accidents, is a sign that you too are not long for this world. The first to go was my beloved uncle, proprietor and manager of our estate. He fell down a flight of stairs, falling so far that by the time his body hit the ground level, nearly every bone in his body had shattered. Curiously, the apothecary physician who attended to my uncle mentioned that it wasn’t the fall that killed the man, but rather the stab wound in his back, aiming straight for his heart.
My cousin Thomas, heir to our humble estate, the Blake Manor, perished choking to death on his own soup. How one can choke to death on tomato soup is quite suspect, especially when the autopsy revealed that his throat had swollen completely shut. Shortly after Thomas met his grisly end, gasping and wheezing, Tabitha, his sister, committed suicide…by shooting herself in the back with six arrows while out on a hunting trip.
And now, as I stared at the latest victim, my older brother, the Knight-Errant who had only returned home for a few days to collect his inheritance, things were beginning to fall into place. Someone had their eye on our estate. On our territory. And they weren’t interested in just invading us. Oh no, rather than send an army of golems to capture our land, they decided to conquer through the oldest and most cruel of political means: assassination.
I was never especially close to Sir Eric, for he was many years my senior and had long entered the service to the Queen’s Regiment before I was even able to speak. But finding a noble knight, whose only crime was to be next in line to inherit Blake Manor, strangled and hanging from the ceiling filled me with both dread and rage. Rage that my brother had not died in service to his country or Queen, rage that some coward snuck up on him in the middle of the night (for that was surely the only way they could kill the mighty Eric.)
Dread from the fact that with my brother’s sudden passing…well, I was next in line to inherit the entire estate. And I’m not talking about a simple mansion, oh no. I’m talking about the entire estate. The mansion, the staff, the two vineyards which produced a significant annual income and of course…the real treasure, the crown jewel of the Blake family history and most likely the reason we were suddenly dying off like flies. The Fire Spice mines.
One of the rarest resources in the world, Fire Spice was the single most valuable component for any military force. The Fire Spice stones, when ground up and turned into red powder—hence the name Fire Spice—had the ability to immediately revitalize and repair anything powered by crystals. Karrack Rifles, the single shot weapons, powered by Mephian Crystals, could be recharged by a little sprinkle on the back of the gun. Golems, the backbone of Her Majesty’s regime and defensive guards for any estate, could be brought back to life with a bottle of the stuff. Fire Spice sold for thousands of silver and ensured my estate was always well funded.
“I’m afraid he is indeed dead,” my loyal manservant and butler, Sigmund, said as he performed the grisly task of cutting the man down and laying him out on the bed. “No signs of struggle. They must have taken him in his sleep.”
“How many more, Sigmund?” I asked, my heart in my throat. “How many more will die?”
“Do you wish for me to soothe you, like a babe who fears in the middle of the night?” the old man asked, looking at me with a stern and grim face. “Or do you wish the truth, Master Richard?”
“The truth,” I said. “Give me that bitter tonic, so that I may prepare for what is to come my way.”
Sigmund rose from my deceased brother’s side and turned to face me. He was an old man, well into his eighties at this point, but world-wise in many ways. The man might be a servant today, but long ago he was a soldier, in the Dark Times, when there were no laws governing how men could war with one another. He rarely spoke of what he saw back then, but…I could always see in his eyes just how grateful he was that those days were long past. That we were now in a new age, an age of civility.
“You will be next. Then your little sister, who has barely begun to even walk. After she is dead, they will come after your bastard niece, someone who has no claim to the estate, nor someone you even know about.”
Those words came as a surprise. Eric had a daughter? Out of wedlock? “But why would they kill someone who cannot inherit the estate?”
Sigmund sighed heavily. “For those are the types of people we are dealing with. They want your estate, Richard. They want everything you have. And the lives of a few children won’t stop them from taking what they believe to be theirs. They will take no risks, even killing a child who cannot inherit a title. With all members of your estate dead, the land goes into the hands of the Crown, until we are able to determine a claimant.”
“And then the assassin shows their face, either with a falsified claim, or a legitimate one,” I murmured. “Taking everything the Blakes have worked hundreds of years to achieve.”
“You understand the stakes. That is good,” the old man said as he covered my dead brother’s body with a sheet. I wish…well, I wished that I had more tears to shed for Eric. Though he was somewhat of a stranger to me, he was still kin. But after losing three people who were so close to me in less than a week…well, I had no more tears to spare. Now, all I felt was a burning anger. An anger that my great brother didn’t even get to meet his coward attackers head on. That he did not get to die with his boots on, as any noble knight desired.
“Sigmund…” I said after a moment of silence, looking at my brother and then back at the old man. “What must be done? I know who you were before you came into my family’s service. I…I will ask you, in service to my house and to my estate, to tell me what must be done.”
“You may flee, young man. Take your little sister and head to the Crown, where many a landowner resides, enjoying the Queen’s ho
spitality and perhaps gaining her sympathy over time. No assassin would dare strike you in her midst. Or…” he trailed off for a moment, causing me to instinctively lean in, to listen to what he had to say. “You can do what your uncle refused to do. You may right the great wrong that your family has committed, insulating yourself against further assassinations, and join the Great Game. That you take part in the Gentleman’s War and that, dear Richard, you play to win. Those are your only options.”
I blinked at those words. They must have had some significance to Sigmund, but to me, they meant nothing. Wars were not fought anymore. The age of civility had put an end to all war. Sir Malphius Masterson, with his great crystal marvels and wondrous creations, had created the perfect soldier: the Golem. Unfeeling, unafraid and immune to the traditional weapons of men, the Golem had become the preferred soldier for all but the Queen, who still relied upon her knights to keep the Golems in check.
Sir Masterson had distributed the plans for golem creation freely, to all nations and to all men, creating a gridlock, where golem ended up fighting against golem, reducing casualties and eventually exhausting just about all armed conflict. When a side ran out of golems, well, they were done with war, for knives, swords and even ballistae could not stop a nine foot stone and crystal monstrosity.
“Forgive me, sir, but I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “I remind you that I am an alchemist by trade. Up until…well this week, I had never even thought of running this estate.”
The old man sighed wearily at that. “It is better to see such things. Come, follow me. We must enter a place long neglected by your uncle. Long forgotten by the Blakes. And we must hurry. Who knows how long you have until the assassin strikes you next?”
Chapter 2
The maids shuffled out of our way as we walked through the East Wing. I could feel a chill run down my spine as Sigmund led me past the dozens of portraits of our family. Each portrait seemed to glare at me, urging me to survive no matter what. I could practically hear my father shouting about how my lineage could not end here. If only he and mother could be here to guide me. But alas, plague had struck them years ago. Though now, I wonder if it truly was an illness. The apothecary physician had always been somewhat hesitant to discuss their fate. As if there was more to their death.
We arrived at a large metal vault, its great wheel almost rusted from decades of being untouched. I had never been in the East Wing of the manor, for the house was far too great for me to ever know every nook and cranny. Forty rooms in this home, six gardens, four baths and eight parlors. Each family member basically took a section of the house and lived in it for days, sometimes weeks without running into another family member. We Blakes value our independence and alone time. Though now, I suppose I would give anything to spend a family dinner with my beloved uncle and my cousins.
“If you would be so kind?” the old man asked, pointing to the rusted wheel.
“Of course,” I said. I grabbed hold of the round lock and began to twist, slowly opening it up. The rusted metal was rough against my hands and I could feel the tension barely budge as I put all of my back into opening the damn thing up. A loud groan greeted us as the vault finally began to give way, opening up to reveal a dark chamber, filled with cobwebs and dust.
“You are an educated man, I know. Studied a great deal of world history,” Sigmund said as he led me into the chamber, raising a light crystal to illuminate the room. The darkened crystals in the area all responded to the energy from the light he held, sparking up at once and glowing with cool, white light. At once, I could see that this vault contained but only one treasure. A large glass case in the center of the otherwise empty room. What did it hold?
“You know that the golems brought unprecedented peace and prosperity to our land. That the Crown was able to establish rule and order upon the sixteen territories. But what you don’t know is that men will always be men. Lust will always dominate their hearts. Lust for conquest, power, gold and sometimes, simply domination,” Sigmund continued as he led me up to the glass case.
“The Crown understands that conflict will happen. Rather than foolishly try to stamp it out, they decided to instead regulate it.”
“Regulate what?”
“War,” he said, digging into his tunic and producing a necklace from underneath his shirt. I had never noticed that he wore a simple chain around his neck until now. How long had he worn this key? A few days? Or his entire service here? “War still happens. The Crown allows it, provided each participant follows a set series of rules. These are known as the Ten Rules to Gentlemanly War, often shortened to the Ten.”
I had never heard such a thing. Of course, my field of study was far more obsessed with alchemy, learning how golems worked, how to repair them and how to even build them. Crystals, Fire Spice and physics were more of my interest. The idea of ever even taking care of this estate was far outside my purview. At most, I was planning on presenting my uncle with a golem of my own creation someday, as a birthday gift, but that was really more of a way to show off my skills than to serve the needs of our land.
Sigmund placed the key into the base of the glass case, carefully twisting it. The case swung open and I stepped to the side to get a better look. Resting on a red pillow was a small, silvery locket. It was a charm of sorts, with the locket in the shape of our family symbol—a small, short bottle of Fire Spice. As I stared at the locket, it glinted green for a second, causing my eyes to widen.
“Is this starmetal?” I asked. For there was only one substance in this world that changed from silver to green at random. Well, one substance from outside of this world that is.
“You are observant. I see your studies have paid off,” he replied, taking the locket and holding it up in front of me. I could see the green light gently pulsing every so often, moving from the top of the chain to the bottom of the charm in a flash, like a shooting star. “When the Crown creates a title, they forge a charm out of starmetal. It is this item here that determines who is landed. The building beneath our feet and above your head means little without this charm. The Starmetal Signet grants control over your estate. Anyone who possesses such an item will have great power.”
I reached out instinctively to grab the signet, but he pulled it back. “Why, if it gives such power, is it here then? Why did my uncle not have it with him at all times?”
“Your uncle was…” Sigmund paused and sighed heavily. “I do not wish to speak ill of the dead. Arnison was a good man and a great father. While many men would resent bringing more children into their household, after your parents died, he was delighted to have you here. But…he was a family man. A man of appetites and of leisure. He did not want to play the game. And wrongly assumed that the game would never come to him.”
I narrowed my eyes at that. “What do you mean?”
Sigmund held the locket back up, causing it to shine even brighter now, the emerald hue turning his entire face green for a moment. “One of the ten rules outlaws assassination. But those who are not participating in the Gentleman’s War are open targets. Of course, it is unlawful to take land from a non-participant, and the Crown would come down with a righteous fury upon such a lawbreaker. But…those who are clever understand that they can sometimes take territory with a fabricated claim. They look to non-participants as easy targets.”
“So…my uncle was killed because he wasn’t participating in some foolish game?” I growled. “As if war were some kind…some kind of parlor activity?”
Sigmund’s face darkened. “War has indeed been reduced to a parlor game, boy. And you should thank the stars for that. The alternative is hordes of golems arriving at your doorstep one night, tearing the walls down, killing everyone inside, maid, servant or guest without any remorse. You and your little sister would be trampled down in the blink of an eye. You know not what the Dark Times were like. What true war can do to the world.”
“I didn’t mean to offend,” I said, putting my hands up in p
rotest of my butler’s dark words. “I’m just saying it seems unfair that my uncle would become a target because he wasn’t participating in this Gentleman’s War, as you call it.”
“Peace can be a curse. For when it goes on for too long, one makes the mistake of believing it will be forever. If your uncle knew that trouble was to come, he would have taken the locket, I’m sure. But he believed that no one cared about this little estate. There are far greater Fire Spice mines elsewhere. And any true gentleman would respect an estate owner’s wish to avoid participation and instead focus on taking land from others who play the Great Game.”
“But we are not facing a gentleman. We are not facing someone who plays by the rules,” I concluded. “Unless we force them to.”
“The Crown leaves us to our own devices. A barony might possibly get the Queen’s Men to investigate, but let’s be honest. We are a mere gentry. Our estate is but the size of a grain of rice in their eyes. There is no reason to find out who murdered our kin, not when there are thousands of other problems for them to solve. We have no influence, no power, no allies. By the time we can get the Crown involved, you will be dead.”
“Unless I take upon this charm?” I asked. “So if I join the Great Game, they cannot just assassinate me?”
“The wearer of the locket must voluntarily surrender it, for the estate to be transferred to another house,” Sigmund said. “Or a golem must take it from your house when they invade. Once you join the game, our territory becomes active on the grid. The Queen’s Men, the royal Judges of the game, will begin actively observing us, to ensure that we follow the rules and that our enemies follow the rules as well. If you are assassinated while playing, it will be a great scandal and the Crown will investigate with full force, bringing the murderer to justice with ruthless efficiency.”
“Of course. If they cannot punish those who violate these rules of warfare, then there is no reason for anyone to care or listen to what the Crown has to say,” I mused. I slowly reached out towards the locket. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I? My uncle did not raise me to be a coward, nor would my brother ever approve of us abandoning our family’s home.”
Gentleman's Wars: The Rules of Engagement: A Tower Defense LitRPG Series (The Great Game Book 1) Page 1