Return to Dungeon: A Monster MC LitRPG (Kobold's Quest Book 1)

by MJ Kaltenbrunner

  "What are you talking about? Master! Please, Hendrik!" Kek didn't remember ever calling the druid by his actual name. That was too disrespectful for a lowly kobold slave to do. "Don't die, please. You're my only family..."

  It was too late, however. Hendrik’s eyes were shut, and he had stopped convulsing; he had stopped moving entirely. Kek waited. And then he waited some more. His heart continued to thump with such force that he was sure he would faint. And as the light slowly dimmed, all he could do was think about how the only person who had ever cared about him was probably lying there dead, just feet away.

  Even though Kek felt more lost than he ever had, there was nothing left for him to do but wait. He didn't notice when the sun began to go down at the end of the afternoon. And then night gradually fell upon him, and it was practically dark inside the tent by the time he lifted his head up from watching over Hendrik and thought to make a fire. So, he rushed around to build up the fire, still feeling great fear that his master was dead and not in some sort of comatose state. Kobolds had superior nighttime vision, thanks to their natural sense of infravision. But that was only useful for detecting the warmth let off by living creatures or a raised temperature in their surroundings. "Or fire," mumbled Kek as he thought about the irony of the situation. He would have no problem picking up the warmth given off by a fire, but then he would be able to see anyway from its light and would not need his infravision to do so. It was funny. Yet, he felt like doing anything but laughing.

  He managed to locate the striking pad and flint and reignite the still warm embers from when he had cooked breakfast. Then, he settled back down onto his rickety stool, which he had made himself so that he would have somewhere to sit and think, and waited for his master to show some signs of life. That took far too long.

  Hendrik began to stir and then took in a deep breath without opening his eyes or moving in any other way. He just shifted slightly, as though he were having some dream that was disturbing him. Then, his eyes shot wide open like they had been before.

  “It worked! I can see all of the mechanics, the, the—the statistics behind the workings behind everything!" Then, he turned his head quickly, as though it were on some sort of mechanical swivel and fixed his eyes on Kek in a way that made the kobold feel uncomfortable. "My, you have more potential than I ever gave you credit for. Kek, my dearest and most loyal little friend, we simply must make another batch for you right now. And then we can finally escape this cursed band of thugs in this infernal fucking jungle." It was most unlike the druid to use such colorful foul language. He was much classier and often scolded some of the mercenaries when they spoke like that around him.

  "Are you sure? I have no idea what you're talking about," said Kek in response, the hairs all over the back of his neck starting to stand on end. It might have just been his natural sense of insecurity, so he decided to trust that his master was still capable of making the right decisions. "But if you think that's for the best." It was his only response that he could think of.

  They had nearly finished mixing up the potion. And this time, they were both doing it. Hendrik was almost shivering but was not cold. In body, he seemed completely fine but kept jittering around as though he had consumed way too much of the strong tea the camp’s cook brewed each morning before the men went about their business. That stuff was disgusting, for sure, but it made Kek feel so awake that work was almost bearable.

  "Okay, now you just have to finish mixing this together with this, and then place that in … Oh, wait. " Hendrik kept forgetting what he was doing. Kek knew that there was a serious chance he had already mixed the wrong things together. "Oh, shit. I think we’re going to have to start this batch again. There's just so much potential around me that I cannot focus on just one thing. You will have to forgive me my friend, but this is going to take some time to get used to do. But you will understand soon enough." He smiled widely as he said this as though he was about to tell a punchline to an incredibly enjoyable joke that he just couldn't wait to share. “I think I should just lie down on this bed for a bit though, don’t you? Yes, yes, that’s a good idea.” Henrik got comfortable again on his bed.

  All of that noise must have drawn the attention of someone, because footsteps approached outside of the tent. They were inaudible on the human spectrum of hearing, but Kek could easily make them out, even over the crackling of the fire and his thumping heartbeat that pulsed up and down his body and in between his ears.

  "You'll have to keep quiet, Master." Kek pulled the blanket up to cover the druid up to his chin. "Please. Someone is coming, and I don't want them to see you acting so strangely. They'll surely know something is wrong."

  Hendrik was wise enough that, even in his discombobulated state, he was still relatively with it. The druid seemed to agree with the plan to stay calm.

  The flaps on the tent fluttered open, and in came one of the guards who regularly patrolled the area at night. He seemed to become caught up in the opening of the tenant for just a moment, and when he finally untangled himself, he tried to compose himself and look like it hadn't happened. "What's all this noise? Are you all right, druid?" It was a younger guard, whose name Kek didn’t remember. Of the more than fifty men in the camp at any one time, and well over a hundred in total, names blended together too easily.

  "Shh," Kek urged the guard to be quiet. "Master is sleeping." He said this quietly and in a way he hoped was acquiescing. "You don't want him to make a mistake because you woke him up and ruined his good sleep, do you? Rufus would not be happy."

  At the mention of the mercenary leader’s name, the generic-looking guard took a step back toward the door of the tent. "Oh, no I don't want to upset the boss. And this doesn't mean I'm taking any sort of orders from a filthy dog-face like you. Got it?" And just as he was about to walk back out of the tent, the old man on the bed beneath the blanket started to murmur something incomprehensible.

  Hendrik was speaking, and he was doing so quite rapidly. It sounded like he wasn't speaking Aleon either. It didn't sound like he was saying words from any language Kek had ever heard of, but that wasn't surprising since the druid was a well-educated man who knew many different languages. But he had chosen the worst possible time to start doing something so seemingly insane.

  "Is he all right? He knows he's not allowed to drink ale or spirits. If I find out that he is—"

  "I know for a fact that your attributes are particularly low. To call them middling would be doing you a great service in exaggeration." The druid was now sitting up in the bed with his legs spread out before him. A bizarre kind of look had taken over his face. He was quiet and still, but everything about him was somehow exaggerated despite his lack of movement. "And I wager my find young friend here could best you in melee combat," he said with a little chuckle.

  "You had better watch your mouth, old man," the mercenary guard responded, a spike of hatred in his own inflection. "This filthy mutt of yours couldn't even fight another dog, let alone a warrior like me."

  Kek would not want to fight one of the dogs, but he had been attacked by one and had let himself be bitten rather than hurting the animal in self-defense. He didn't want to hurt the innocent creature.

  "Master is not feeling well. You should leave him alone." Kek didn't need to say anything, but he was starting to become annoyed; he was used to bowing down to humans, but his nerves were already shattered from the wasp attack, followed by the trial before the whole camp, and now this high-stakes turmoil. The guard turned around.

  "What the fuck did you just say to me, you fuzzy little runt?" He moved away from the tent’s opening and paced over toward Kek, who still remained on his stool.

  "Please…" was all the kobold managed to say before the guard lashed out and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. It hurt, but Kek knew far better than to try to defend himself, or retaliate in any way at all.

  Hendrik was sitting there staring with his eyes wide. Now, however, he didn't look quite is euphoric. On the contrary, he
looked more like he was about to attack the guard himself.

  "The only reason he's allowing this is because he doesn't want to spoil our grand plans. Oh, you are pathetic, aren't you?!" Hendrik was openly mocking the mercenary guard, and this could only spell disaster.

  Kek shook his head emphatically and made motions at Hendrik for him to be quiet. He wanted the old man to lie back down and pretend he was tending to a sick human. "You're not feeling right in the head, Master. You asked me to take care of you. Remember?" He struggled to get away from the guard’s hold, but it was too firm, and the painful pulling at the fur around his neck made him want to yelp. Still, Kek stifled the urge to retaliate and allowed the abuse to continue. It was clear that Hendrik was having some terrible side effects from the potion. Hopefully it had been made correctly and wasn't slowly poisoning him. It certainly seemed to be poisoning his mind, making him act like a lunatic in many ways.

  "No, no, this isn't right at all. I am getting the boss."

  "Rufus?" Kek asked. Surely this guy was not stupid enough to disturb the leader of the camp when he was in bed with one of his concubines.

  The guard spat out a dry laugh. "You really think I'm that stupid? No, I'm not going to get the big boss. Prate is who I’ll get." With that, he went out of the tent quickly and disappeared back into the night.

  Knowing they had very little time before the guard made good on his promise, Kek jumped over to the side of the bed and got really close to Hendrik’s face. "What are you thinking, Master? You can't act like this; they're sure to know something is wrong now." It seemed like the plan had already been condemned to failure. They were so very close.

  Possibly the worst part of all of this was that Hendrik seemed completely unaffected by the dire situation. He just sat there looking half pissed off and half quizzical, which was infuriating for Kek to behold. Kek did manage to get his master to lie back down on the bed. It might still be possible to convince the mercenaries that the old druid was just under the weather, and not in the grips of this strange potion he had consumed.

  6

  Just after he'd managed to get his master back into the bed, someone burst through the tent. It was Prate with his stupid bald head, entering with a borderline psychotic look on his face. He stank of liquor and smoke, not to mention the sickly scent of rutting that hung on him. "What in all of the world do you think you're doing having me be called out of my bed while I'm in there with a whore? You know the whole camp’s schedule has been cut back since we lost Lucy to snakebite! I'm down to just two fucks a week thanks to us being stuck in this godforsaken jungle—and you just cost me a nut!

  This was looking bad. At least the guard who had been in earlier was gone now. "There's nothing wrong," said Kek meekly, without making eye contact even once with Prate.

  Making a grunting sound and letting out a burst of hot air that stank like fetid ass, Prate replied, "If that's the case, then why did one of my guards—who I trust much more than you, dog-man—come and tell me that your precious druid master is in here growing up something he certainly shouldn’t be?" Letting his eyes slowly but steadily survey the room from left to right, Prate stopped his vision on all the appropriate suspects. It was clear to even the stupidest of laymen that someone had very recently been brewing up a potion or elixir. Kek cursed himself and cursed the gods that they had been so stupid as to leave it all out for anyone to see.

  Once again, and too his great dismay, Hendrik sprang upright in the bed. This time he looked at Prate with malicious intent. "Oh yes, I am sure you have enormous success with all the women indentured to the mercenary camp here. They must fawn over your whole three inches of manhood. And think, you only have to threaten them with whippings or perhaps death. You're a real ladies man, baldy!” Then, Hendrik got out of the bed and stood up.

  "Have you gone insane? I should knock you down right now. I'm just going to pretend you’ve been drinking too much of your own concoction and you don't know how close you are to a broken face. Plus, there's the fact that Rufus has given us strict orders not to harm you. And I know you're up to something old man. What have you been making in here? "

  "Don’t worry about it. It’s just the regular potions,” Kek said.

  "Are you telling me what to do?" It was amazing how such a small remark from the kobold could be taken worse than the incredibly insulting thing that the druid had just said. But he was somewhat of an untouchable figure in the camp because of his rare and valuable skills. "You, on the other hand, I have no problem skinning if you so much as speak to me again tonight."

  Kek somewhat believed the threat. Instead of replying, the little kobold simply lowered his head and backed away as far into the corner as he could get with all of the drawers and shelves full of artifacts and ingredients lined up against the tent’s walls.

  "How dare you speak to my friend in such a disrespectful manner, you prematurely balding oaf. It's true that you appear tough, but I can see everything about you with my own two eyes. You have no concept of what you really are, but I saw it all in an instant."

  Hopefully this new attitude of the druid’s would wear off by the morning, but now it looked like they had a serious situation to deal with. The bald mercenary lieutenant was edging closer to Hendrik, and it looked like he was about to break the rule of not harming him.

  He smiled as he said, "You know what? I've been waiting for a good excuse to teach you a lesson. You're just another snooty magic user walking around with his nose in the air and thinking he’s better than me, just because I’m willing to do what it takes to make a living in this shit hole of the world. You're not better than me, and I’m too pissed to give a shit about consequences anymore!” He rushed forward, and sucker punched the old man right in the face, sending him sprawling back into a chest of drawers.

  Hendrik was not exactly feeble, but the years take their toll on everybody. When the druid smacked his head on the solid wooden cabinet and then flopped down onto the floor like a beaten and battered ragdoll, — it was more than the kobold could stand. He rushed at Prate and leaped with great dexterity, clawing at his face with his dog-like nails. He was trying to gouge the man's eyes so that he wouldn't be able to properly defend himself. Something came over Kek, something that came over many animals including the dogs he was relentlessly compared to. There really was a primitive streak in him and his kind, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

  Prate reached around and tried to grab Kek, but kobolds were not so easy to outmaneuver, especially when he was clawing at your eyes,

  "Get off me, you cunt of a thing! Lousy mongrel mutt! You’re dead now, you hear me? Dead!”

  Thanks to superior hearing and keen reaction speeds, Kek observed the telltale sound of steel being withdrawn from its sheath. He pushed himself backward off the human just in time to avoid being slashed by his short sword. Now the bald and drunken maniac was swinging his weapon around in the confines of the tent, nearly destroying everything he went near.

  Kek only hoped that Prate wouldn’t accidentally—or on purpose and pretending it was an accident—stick Hendrik with the blade as he lay prone, propped up against the cabinet he’d hit his head on. Kek circled Prate and quickly considered his options: he could probably get out of the tent by the entrance or by scooting under the edges of the canvas. But that would leave Hendrik alone with Prate, and that would most likely spell disaster for his master. Or, he could continue outmaneuvering the much slower, inebriated man until he wore himself out and could be restrained or knocked unconscious. Kek chose the latter.

  But as the kobold dodged yet another swing of the blade, Prate lunged and tripped over his own feet, stumbling into Kek and tripping over the kobold’s body. The force nearly flattened the smaller creature as it sent Prate flying in a flurry of arms and legs—right into the burning fire at the center of the room. Embers flew out and chunks of glowing wood scattered about, which largely put out the fire where it was, but now there were dozens of tiny burning pieces all over the tent.
Smoke billowed in the tent quickly, setting aflame fabric and paper and canvas. Kek needed to get Hendrik and get the hell out of there before the tent fully caught fire. In his panic, he had forgotten to keep his eyes focused on Prate.

  The mercenary was flailing around no more, having evidently smacked his head on a stone around the fireplace. He lay there, ambers smoldering on his clothes.

  Kek’s first urge was to put the burning spots out, but instead he spat at the prone mercenary and went to help his master. As he finished dragging the old druid out of the tent into the cool night air, one of the mercenary guards—it was hard to tell if it was the same one from before—started shouting at to Kek stay where he was.

  “What have you done?” the man screamed.

  The man then took off, no doubt to fetch more guards, perhaps even Rufus. Kek placed his ear to Hendrik’s chest. He was alive. Kek knew he had only one course of action. He had to run away, or they would kill him. Running would condemn him in the eyes of the mercenaries and hopefully leave the druid blame free. Perhaps it was just a selfish act of cowardice to run, but Kek did not have the presence of mind at that moment to think it over. He ran into the night as fast as he could go. Thanks to all the commotion and the growing fire in the tent drawing the attention of the others, he managed to get away from the camp with relative ease.

  As he went, he heard shouts.

  "He's killed the druid!"

  "He murdered Prate and set the tent on fire. Burned him alive."

  “Let’s kill that bastard dog-man!”

  There was no going back now. The jungle leered at him as he ran farther into it, and the blackness of the night threatened to swallow him up

  7