Sixth Realm Part 2: A litRPG Fantasy series (The Ten Realms Book 7)

by Michael Chatfield

  Flames followed Domonos’s blade, causing his opponent to wince, even with their high Fire resistance. Their shield stopped the sword again and again, with Domonos having to forcefully increase his speed through his movement techniques to avoid being caught by his opponent’s sword.

  The man stomped a spell, changing the ground around them and creating ripples in the stone that were easy to cross if someone were going slow, but led to one missing their step and tripping if they moved quickly.

  Domonos jumped and took a hit on his blade. He flew backward, outside the rippled circle.

  He concentrated mana in his legs and arms. Flames condensed on his blade, and he shot forward, buffing his limbs and reaction time to the extreme as he touched on the ripples on the ground, sending him flying forward and picking up momentum.

  His opponent yelled as flames covered their body and their skin took on a stony appearance.

  Domonos waved his sword, sending out flaming blades that the man broke upon his shield, cutting his sword forward and sending out a bolt of lightning.

  Domonos slashed out another blade of fire, the lighting broke through it, crashing into his real blade , slowing his momentum and numbing his hands. He pushed forward the last meter and brandished his sword.

  The shield user turned. Their shield guided the blade away as their sword cut down at Domonos.

  Shit.

  Domonos had telegraphed his attacks, eager to see if the power of his technique and his blade matched one another. His opponent had turned him to the side, leaving him open. Domonos could practically feel his opponent’s blade cutting through his armor and digging into his leg.

  He heard the noise of the blade hitting his leg armor, enough to scratch. But he knew that his opponent’s full strength wasn’t behind it.

  Domonos stutter-stepped past his opponent and sighed as he lowered his blade.

  The sergeant grinned as he pulled off his helmet.

  Domonos took off his helmet as well, wiping sweat away with his hand. “You got me good.” Domonos smiled as he shook the sergeant’s hand.

  “Ah, well, you got me three times out of five. Need to get at least some hits in!” The sergeant laughed. “Are you looking forward to the Battle Arena’s competition?”

  “The year has gone quickly. Just a month to go until we have another competition. I’m sure this year it will be even larger.” Domonos pulled out a canteen and drank from it.

  “I heard there are a lot more people coming. They all heard about last year’s rewards and the abilities of the people training at the Battle Arena!”

  Domonos offered the sergeant his water canteen, who took it with a nod of thanks.

  “I’m sure it will be as lively as ever. I wonder how the fighters from last year will compare to the new contestants.” Domonos chuckled. A messenger walked over now the fight was done.

  The sergeant nodded to Domonos, passing the canteen back. “If you’re ever in the need of someone to spar with, I’ll be around.”

  Domonos nodded. There was no saluting in the sparring area. Here, everyone was the same, fighting to improve their personal skills. Most of the people were at higher levels than others and were actively looking to get on the close protection details and onto the special teams. The simple sergeant he had been sparring with wore the markings of the CPD and had added more patches to show his training with the air force’s birds.

  The messenger passed him a sealed letter. Domonos cut his finger and used it on the letter. The seal broke, and he read the contents quickly then took his time on the second pass. He needed to see Roska.

  He left the training area and went to some of the more secluded buildings in the military compound.

  The area was separate from the main compound and had their own guards. It was one of the training grounds for the special teams. Domonos was stopped and checked. There were all kinds of spells and skills people could use to fake their identity. He passed through and saw special team trainees who were just coming back from a mission, while others headed off on another. The air around them had shifted; there was a subtle change between regular soldiers and those on the special teams. The soldiers were like a shield; you knew that they were soldiers. You could see through their actions and how they acted. Veterans and those who knew their roles were instantly recognizable. They could do things with such fluid ease it was hard to notice it. Silent gears in the machine.

  The people on the special teams were like a sheathed sword. They didn’t look different from anyone else. They were normal—easy smiles, laughing and joking more often than not. Once they were on a mission or given a task, they came alive. They were professionals to the core, the sharpened blade in the sheath.

  Domonos went through the camp and reached Roska’s quarters. He knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “Domonos!”

  “Come in.”

  He opened the door. She looked as though she had just come out of the shower as she toweled off her hair.

  She’s so young still.

  When they were in armor, no one could see one another. They had grown up fast in the Ten Realms. Training and growing with the Alva military had accelerated that. Alva was young by the Ten Realms’s standards. They did have people who were two, even three, centuries old, but most were under a century old in the military.

  Though I can’t really say anything; I’m a few years older than her.

  “What can I help you with?” Roska asked, oblivious to his thoughts.

  “The Willful Institute is moving in the Third Realm. Operation Black Shadow has been authorized. I have your target and your mission orders.” He pulled out an information book and passed it to her. “When will your trainees graduate to the special teams?”

  “Another week and they should be ready,” Roska said.

  “That went quickly.” Domonos sighed.

  “It rarely goes slowly.” Roska smiled.

  Domonos chuckled and nodded. “Very true. I have a feeling that things are going to heat up sooner rather than later.”

  “That’s why they pay us the big bucks.” She used the information book. A glow covered her then disappeared as the book turned to ash.

  “So, it will all kick off where it started. Seems fitting. I’ll have a squad move over to begin preparations. We’ll be in place and ready. I’ll confirm our escape with Kanoa.”

  “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll have a combat company ready to act as a quick reaction force around the clock and a battalion ready to act within a two-hour window.”

  “We both know how you’ve been training your people. If it were under an hour, I wouldn’t be surprised. Hopefully we won’t need it, but knowing that you’re watching our asses is reassuring.” Roska used a Clean spell, removing the remaining water as she circulated her mana.

  There was a chilling sneer on her face. “They fucked with the wrong group of people. Now it’s time we taught them a lesson.”

  Domonos’s own killing intent filled the air as well. The two of them glanced at each other, two weapons united in purpose and direction.

  27

  Taking Resources

  Ludnakov wore a cloak that hid his identity and his aura. He blinked away the light from the teleportation scrolls aftereffect.

  “Guildmaster.” The assassin bowed, staring at the higher echelon of the guild.

  When hearing about what the Willful Institute had done—how their students had killed members of the guild and how the elders had dismissed any punishment on their people and had instead awarded them a promotion to a higher realm—the guild wanted blood.

  The guildmaster and others held them back, driving some people to leave the guild, thinking that the guild wouldn’t do anything.

  When the guild started their attack, it wasn’t like an attack the assassin had seen before. It was much more vicious, cutting off the Willful Institute from their funds and, therefore, their power. The guild had clashed with the Willfu
l Institute here and there as they were found out. But now, it looked as though it was starting to come to light.

  There were twenty people in total, all wearing black cloaks. They pulled down their hoods, and a shiver ran through the assassin’s body. He had been highly praised in his branch as being one of the best assassins they had.

  Seeing the elites of the guild, he felt lacking in both skill and power.

  These people were at least level thirty-five, wore five or six pieces of Journeyman armor, and even had Journeyman-level weapons. Not only was their power higher than his, the way they moved showed their combat standards were higher as well.

  He thought people had been exaggerating about how powerful the guild was. Seeing these Experts—just how powerful is our guild?

  The assassin controlled his breathing as he realized that the guildmaster had asked him a question.

  “The Willful Institute has prepared the stage and are waiting for our guild’s representatives. They have spread the word through the city that if we are not willing to come it is because we are scared. If we don’t show, then the traders we deal with will start to think we don’t have the power to protect their goods.”

  “Looks as if they are ready for us. What about the fighters from your branch?” Blaze asked.

  “They are waiting for us in the city,” the assassin said. Why does he want us to have our people from the Third Realm fight? With his group, we could easily defeat the Institute’s fighters.

  “Good. Let’s meet with them and go to the fight.” Blaze waved his hand, and a pitch-black panther with lightning running through its fur stood there.

  The others all pulled out mounts.

  The assassin gulped and pulled out his simple mount. It quaked, seeing the other beasts.

  He smiled awkwardly, calming it down before he got on top and led the party toward the city.

  The group pulled their hoods up and once again reined in their auras and power.

  There was no hiding their presence as they reached the entrance to the city. Being in the Third Realm, the Willful Institute focused on harvesting and processing ingredients to be sold to others or used to raise alchemists within the Institute.

  The city wasn’t big enough to warrant a Blue Lotus, although it had extensive fields, while being less than a third the size of Vuzgal.

  It didn’t stun or dazzle Blaze in the slightest.

  They stood in the line to enter the city.

  “Shadow Foot, isn’t it?” One of the guards peeked at the leading assassin. “Don’t think I have any record of you leaving the city. Odd, that,” the guard said in a dark voice.

  The other guards moved forward. One spat on the ground. All of them wore the emblems of the Willful Institute.

  “Looks like you’ve got some new friends. Couldn’t handle things yourself?” The man snorted, staring at the people and the beasts. “Scared to show your faces? Once a loser, always a loser. Who knows when another group might just disappear from your guild?”

  The guard’s friends stepped forward, and the people around them stepped back.

  “Bunch of weaklings.”

  “Derrick, pay the man,” Blaze said.

  Derrick dropped from his mount in a fluid movement. He stood above the guard who snarled, stepping forward.

  Derrick held out a bag of money and wore a playful smile that could be seen under the cloak.

  “Kneel, and I might accept it. You guild fuckers will learn your place,” the guard said.

  No one moved.

  “Get on your knees or you’re not making it in. All of you! Just like your dead group. Beg, and I might let you in.”

  The guard took their lack of action to be fear and laughed. His face twisted into a snarl, and he checked behind at his people. “You know, I heard the group our Young Master killed, they were crying and screaming out for their guild. They died like the dogs they are.” He kept an eye on the group, but he didn’t catch sight of Derrick’s hand as it rested on his shoulder, almost gently.

  The man turned back, grabbing his sword before yelling in pain. Derrick didn’t seem to exert any power as the pauldron in his hand started to deform, screeching and cracking. The guard couldn’t put any Strength into his hand as Derrick clamped down on his tendons.

  He dropped to one knee and then both.

  The other guards pulled out their weapons but just watched as Derrick crushed the high-Novice-level armor as if it were paper.

  The scariest thing wasn’t his Strength; it was the way his smile never wavered.

  “Fucking dog guild!” There was a pop and a crunch, and the guard screamed as his shoulder popped out of place and his collarbone broke.

  “Whoops. Sorry about that. Well, we don’t want to trouble you too much. Looks like you should go and see a healer as soon as possible.

  “I’ll leave this with you. Thank you for welcoming us into your grand city. I hope you fellows don’t get any ideas. I would only be too pleased to redecorate the front gate. You see, I have been meaning to use my brush recently.” Derrick’s hand holding the money purse touched the hilt of his rapier.

  He kept the same smile, but the guards’ confident sneers were gone.

  Derrick pulled his hand off his rapier, weighed the money bag in his hand, and threw it out.

  A guard caught it, and the man on the ground whimpered as Derrick released him. He held his shoulder as he fell on the ground, tears of pain on his face.

  “Good choice.” Derrick mounted up, and they continued into the city.

  “I heard the Adventurer’s Guild was a bunch of pushovers who had annoyed the Institute.”

  “How brazen! The Institute won’t let them off easily now!”

  “I thought the Institute would win for sure, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “Having a fighter who can crush one’s armor with his hands—just how strong is he?”

  “Their cloaks were hiding their identities and auras. Are they really just a simple guild?”

  News quickly spread through the city. People who had been hesitant to watch the fight between the two groups were now queuing for tickets.

  Blaze and his group passed through the city and found themselves an inn. As they arrived, the other patrons quickly paid up and headed out, leaving the inn to the guild.

  Guards were posted around the building. Blaze took off his hood and studied his hand-picked group. Each of them were powerful and had potential. They were making their way through the guild’s ranks, growing their power and contributions to the guild. They also had Ten Realms contracts that would keep their lips sealed on guild secrets.

  “In one hour, you will be fighting the Willful Institute people on behalf of the fellow guild members who were attacked and killed by students from this very city. They believe they can use resources to push us into a bad position. I don’t care for the resources; you will crush the Willful Institute’s people completely.”

  The group looked at him with a mix of pride and anxiousness.

  One stepped forward, and Blaze indicated for them to speak.

  “We aren’t switching out fighters? I know we are strong within our branch, but we aren’t strong enough to take on the elites of this city,” the man said with a sour expression.

  “Do they have a greater will? Do they have greater fighting abilities?” Blaze’s voice rolled through the room. All their attention focused on him; his voice didn’t have accusation or malice, just questions.

  The man gritted his hand, working up his courage. “We have all undergone training through the guild. We are no weaker than them in techniques, but they have higher cultivation of the body and mana. They will undoubtedly be wearing Apprentice-level armor and some Journeyman-level gear. Combat standards don’t matter if we don’t have the power to land a hit that will hurt them.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Sok Young-Min.”

  Blaze smiled. A breastplate appeared in his hand, and he threw it to the man.


  The man stared at the breastplate. It was actively drawing mana toward it, pulling on the very air.

  Sok Young-Min shook as he held the armor.

  Blaze knew what he was seeing.

  ==========

  Ice Knight Breastplate

  ==========

  Defense:

  241

  Weight:

  42.3 kg

  Charge:

  10,000/10,000

  Durability:

  100/100

  Slot: Takes up chest slot

  Innate Effect:

  Strength of the user increases by 8%

  Increase Agility of user by 6%

  Formation One:

  Fighter’s Instinct—Increase speed by 12%

  Formation Two:

  Ice’s Touch—Each attack has a chance to increase the numbness of an opponent (chance to paralyze and decrease speed (3-5%; stacks up to 30%))

  Requirements:

  Mana Pool 21

  Agility 26

  Strength 31

  ==========

  It was a true Expert-level armor. With their basic stats, it would allow any of them to drastically increase their power. The Ice’s Touch didn’t sound like much, but in a long battle, the effect would increase, decreasing how fast the enemy could move. With their speed changing from what they were accustomed to, it would throw them off, creating more openings.

  This was a task that Alva was behind. They wouldn’t skimp on the gear supplied to their people. Expert-level crafters had joined Vuzgal and sold them their goods and multiple connections through the Trader’s Guild. With the wealth of Alva behind them, they had acquired a fair amount of Expert-level gear.

  Blaze pulled out item after item, passing them to the different members of the team.

  They were all stunned by the gear.

  “Don’t forget that the guild stands behind you. The Willful Institute thought we would forget about them murdering our people.” Blaze snorted, and the air chilled.