Sovereign Rising (The Gods' Game, Volume III): A LitRPG novel

by Rohan M Vider

  “Adra,” he whispered across the bond, “retarget your attacks. Help the wyverns with the hounds.”

  It was the only additional help he could give the beasts. Adra’s arrows were doing little damage against the ogres’ toughened hides anyway. Hopefully, her arrows would have more success against the chaos hounds.

  On the right, Kyran saw Wynak’s warband steadily retreating. Their battle line still held, but their losses were mounting. A steady, gentle rain began to fall.

  Gaesin’s healing rain, at last, thought Kyran with relief. The rain encompassed the entire battlefield and would heal all the party’s allies. I hope it will be enough.

  “Is that all you have to offer?” he asked finally.

  The demon’s eyes flared in anticipation. “Well, now, I can sweeten—” He broke off. Frowning, Muroc turned his gaze inwards. What is he doing? Kyran wondered. It almost looked as if the demon was querying the Game. Did the demon have a player interface?

  Kyran’s spellcasting (oil slick) has been completed. Spell placement has been deferred by delayed casting.

  Kyran hid his relief as the oil slick spell completed. Holding the weaves of the spell at bay in one portion of his mind, he began a second casting. Up above, the wyvern mother began her dive.

  The demon’s midnight eyes refocused on Kyran. “Do you take me for a fool, mortal? Do you think I do not understand what you play at? If you will not accept my offer, then die.”

  Muroc has rescinded his offer.

  The warlock’s eyes cleared of the glistening black staining them, and his face seemed to shift and realign. Nekuhr had resumed control.

  Damnit, I am running out of time, Kyran thought, hurrying through the weaves of his second casting as quickly as he could.

  His face a bland mask, Nekuhr pointed his staff at Kyran and unleashed three balls of inky darkness.

  Nekuhr’s chaos orb has hit Kyran’s image for 150 damage (chaos). Image destroyed.

  Nekuhr’s chaos orb has hit Kyran’s image for 161 damage (chaos). Image destroyed.

  Nekuhr’s chaos orb has hit Kyran for 0 damage (153 blocked by magic shield). Remaining shield: 536 / 689

  Kyran’s eyes flicked upwards. The wyvern mother was still diving. He could not wait. Hardening himself against what he had to do, Kyran released his first spell.

  Kyran has delay cast oil slick (radius: 6.9m, chance to resist: 17%, duration: 1 minute), 0 enemies slicked.

  A black pool of oil bubbled to the surface and surrounded the warlock, but it did not penetrate his chaos shield. Nekuhr stared in momentary confusion at the pooling oil. His eyes narrowed as he realised what Kyran intended. Snapping his eyes closed, the warlock cast again.

  A moment later, Kyran’s second spell completed, and he unleashed the scorching projectile into the oil slick.

  Kyran has cast fire dart. An oil pool has been set aflame (damage: 6.9 HP per second), 0 enemies trapped in the flames.

  Kyran’s oil flames have hit Nekuhr for 0 damage (7 blocked by chaos shield). Remaining shield: 61 / 900 HP.

  The flames, of course, would take too long to destroy the warlock’s chaos shield. Realising the same, Nekuhr grinned mockingly at Kyran as he released another stream of chaos orbs at Kyran. How is he casting so fast? Kyran wondered.

  Nekuhr’s chaos orb has hit Kyran’s image for 153 damage (chaos). Image destroyed.

  Nekuhr’s chaos orb has hit Kyran for 0 damage (130 blocked by magic shield). Remaining shield: 406 / 689 HP.

  Nekuhr’s chaos orb has hit Kyran for 0 damage (160 blocked by magic shield). Remaining shield: 246 / 689 HP.

  Nekuhr cackled in delight as Kyran staggered backwards from the impact. “I will outlast you, little elf. You cannot stand against me!”

  A moment later, the wyvern mother crashed into Nekuhr.

  A wyvern mother’s sky dive has critically hit Nekuhr for 120 damage (47 blocked by chaos shield).

  Nekuhr’s chaos shield has been destroyed. Remaining: 580 / 700 HP.

  Nekuhr is aflame (damage: 6.9 HP per second).

  A wyvern mother is aflame (damage: 6.9 HP per second).

  The warlock’s chaos shield shattered in the fury of the wyvern mother’s dive and in mere seconds, his body was riddled with burning oil. The old ogre shrieked and battered futilely against the flames licking at him, concentration lost, and all thought of attacking Kyran, fled.

  Kyran’s lips tightened in a thin smile. It was a horrible way to die, but no more than the demon-bound ogre deserved.

  Ordering the wyvern mother aside, Kyran wove essence and sent more shock bolts hurtling into the warlock, hurrying his death along.

  ✽✽✽

  Xetil floated in the ether, his spirit tattered and at the mercy of the ether winds while he slowly reknit himself. Only a few more days, he muttered sourly to himself. He had manifested in the mountains for longer than he would have liked, and it had sorely taxed his reserves. Now, he was paying the price.

  While he still could not coalesce his self or re-manifest on Myelad, his consciousness remained whole. He could still think and function. Inaction bored Xetil, though, and he had whiled away the time watching events through the eyes of his champions.

  He rarely ever did so, preferring to remain corporeal in his temple and indulge in what pleasures he could. He had spent the first days of his forced hiatus as a disembodied being in the mind of Morgta, his champion in charge of the war effort against Auriel on his south-eastern border. But he had gotten bored of doing that, too.

  Now, he rode Yiralla’s mind. She is making good progress, he thought. She would catch the elf before he left the mountains, Xetil thought with satisfaction. And then the free agent’s fate was sealed. Yiralla had never failed him. And he didn’t expect her to start now, not when the elf was so heavily outmatched. His gloating anticipation of victory was interrupted as a Game message unfurled in his mind.

  The free agent, Kyran, has killed Gnarok and completed the quest: A chieftain’s hatred!

  “What?” he roared so loudly and unexpectedly in Yiralla’s mind that he caused her to stumble and fall.

  “My lord?” she asked. “What has happened?”

  “The Balturra exiles have failed,” growled Xetil. “That idiot Gnarok is dead. You must make haste, Yiralla, and reach the ogres’ camp before the free agent escapes.”

  “Where is the tribe, Divine?”

  From his own consciousness, Xetil picked out the location of the Balturra tribe—many leagues eastwards and deep in the inner mountain—and dropped it within Yiralla’s mind.

  Yiralla swallowed. “That is many days east, Divine, and far deeper in the mountain than we planned on travelling. It will take days to get there, and winter will be on us soon.”

  “Enough excuses, Yiralla. Do as I say.”

  A momentary silence before the inevitable obedience. “Your will, sire.”

  Chapter 26

  24 Octu 2603 AB

  Demons and divines. They are two sides of the same coin. Both are immortal creatures. One is bred of divine essence, and the other of chaos. Neither being can be truly killed. Only their physical forms can be destroyed for a time. But the same might that makes demons and divines immortal also prevents them from fully manifesting on the physical plane. When they take form on Myelad, they do so as aspects of their true selves. —Johlya Seerixa, naturalist.

  The battle ended quicker than any of them expected. With the warlock’s death—the fact of which pleased Wynak beyond belief—the chaos hounds’ anchor vanished, and they disappeared, banished back to the Abyss.

  Gnarok’s men had lost their demon-infused strength at the same instant, too. The ogre hunters, it seemed, had not had control over their own chaos marks. Wynak snorted, amazed anew at the young hunter’s stupidity. Foolishly, Gnarok had given over control of his warbands’ chaos-marks to Nekuhr.

  Wynak leaned heavily onto his warhammer. He was tired. It had been many years since he’d last participated in a battle such as today’
s. Even after Gnarok’s men had weakened, Wynak had taken no chances. He had ordered his legionnaires to surround and cut down the crippled ogres, one by one. There could be no mercy for the chaos-marked.

  He looked up and took in the ravaged field. He had not expected this. Kyran and his party had more power than he had credited them with. Wynak could scarce believe that during the entire battle, their combined forces had suffered only three deaths, and none of those his own ogres.

  Many of his men had sustained grim wounds and would be days yet in recovering, but critically, none had died. He looked up at the still-falling rain. Its amazing healing had saved many lives today.

  He shook his head in renewed wonder. He had thought, when Kyran first approached him, that the elf had been buying the aid of his ogres cheap. He had fully expected to lose half his men today. It was a price he had been willing to pay to secure the tribe’s safety. Yet as his eyes roved over the battlefield, he realised that perhaps the elf’s party had not needed their aid at all.

  So, how much does that put me in the elf’s debt? He sighed. He would find out soon, he was sure. The elf could not truly be what he pretended.

  Wynak glanced over his shoulder to where Limeira waited at the rear of their lines. “Come here, granddaughter.” The young ogress had pleaded with him to be allowed to join the battle, but he had forbidden it. She was too young.

  But Limeira was destined to be the tribe’s future leader, and his falling out with Gnarok had reminded Wynak of his own mortality. It was past time, he knew, that he began her training in the duties of a chief.

  The ogress hurried to his side, trailed by the worg pack. They, too, had been kept from the battle, their numbers too few to risk needlessly.

  Limeira pulled her wide-eyed gaze away from the dead and wounded and asked, breathlessly, “Where to, grandfather?”

  Wynak pointed ahead to where the non-combatants lined the edges of Gnarok’s settlement. “Come, we must go talk with our people.”

  ✽✽✽

  Battle Log (Assault on the Balturra tribe)

  The battle has ended.

  Combat results

  Creatures bonded: 0.

  Hostiles killed: 42 of 42 demon-possessed ogres, 1 chaos warlock.

  Allies killed: 3 mountain wyverns.

  Levels gained

  Kyran: 2 levels (18 SP, 2 AP). New combat level: Level 29.

  Adra: 2 levels. New combat level: Level 26.

  Gaesin: 2 levels. New combat level: Level 25.

  Aiken: 2 levels. New combat level: Level 27.

  Items acquired

  None.

  Congratulations! You have killed Gnarok, chieftain of the Balturra tribe and completed the quest: A chieftain’s hatred. As reward, you have been granted 2 combat skill points.

  Sighing, Kyran closed the Game message. What will the gods make of the quest notification? he wondered. Xetil’s reaction, in particular, worried him.

  The god had gone to much trouble in setting the ogres after him. Wynak had shared the details of Xetil’s visit to the tribe, and Kyran knew the goblin-god would not be pleased by Gnarok’s defeat. Who will he send after me now? he wondered.

  Turning his eyes outwards, Kyran observed Wynak and his granddaughter address the ogres from Gnarok’s camp. Even from where he stood, Kyran could see the fear and uncertainty in many of the faces listening to the old chief.

  Kyran deliberately made no move to join Wynak. It was best, he felt, that the ogres’ fate was decided by one of their own, their former chief no less. He only hoped that Wynak would make the right decision.

  “Kyran, what now?” asked Adra, walking up behind him.

  Kyran turned around. Adra was as tired as the rest of them but whole and uninjured. None of the party had taken even the least scratch from the skirmish. The same could not be said for Wynak’s warband, though. Many sported wounds and injuries, yet thanks to Gaesin’s healing rain, none had fallen in battle.

  “Let’s go help Gaesin with healing the injured,” he said.

  On the way, the pair passed the sleeping wyvern mother, exhausted after her own exertions. The pair paused. The wyverns, more than anyone, had won the battle, Kyran knew. They have paid the biggest price, too.

  The chaos hounds had been a greater menace than Kyran had anticipated and had ripped open the wyverns’ throats with their powerful jaws before anyone could get to their aid. In a way, the allies had been lucky that Nekuhr had unleashed the hounds against the wyverns and no others. The death toll would have been much higher otherwise.

  Kyran was sharply sorrowful at the beasts’ deaths, but he was glad as well that of all the clutch, he had managed to save the wyvern mother.

  She still had her young to rear, and Kyran promised himself he would not put her in harm’s way again. He ran his hand down her hide. The injuries she had sustained from the burning oil had already healed, and her scales shone with good health.

  Patting the wyvern fondly on the back, he moved on to where the others were caring for the downed ogres. The next few hours went by in a blur, as Aiken, Kyran, and Gaesin tended to the ogre warbands’ wounds.

  There hadn’t been too many wounded for Kyran to see to. Gaesin had already seen to most of the more critically wounded, but using the cure wound healing trance, repairing even simple wounds took time. All eight injured ogres—many of whom had sustained major wounds—were on the mend and, in time, would make a full recovery.

  “You should rest now,” said Mirien.

  The whiesper had been a silent and constant presence at his side as he went about his work. She remained as subdued and withdrawn as she had been ever since the events at the wyvern lair.

  Something obviously still bothered her, and whether it was a heinous secret as Adra suspected or another matter entirely, Kyran didn’t know. But he knew he couldn’t leave the undercurrent of animosities he sensed in the party to fester any longer.

  Before this, he had resolved not to unnecessarily stir up matters within the party until they escaped the mountains. But now that point fast approached, and he knew he would have to speak to Mirien soon—both to air her own secrets and his own.

  Yet for all that might have been troubling Mirien, she had fulfilled her role in the battle more than satisfactorily. He knew from the Game message and quest completion notice he had received that it had been Mirien that had slain Gnarok.

  I have much to be grateful to her for, he thought, looking at her. Whatever secrets she hides cannot be all that dire. He was about to reply to her comment when he saw Wynak approaching.

  “Wynak,” he greeted. “How did it go with Gnarok’s people?” he asked.

  Wynak shrugged noncommittally. “They understand the hopelessness of their situation and have agreed to a truce. The tribe will not attack you or your party. They realise such would end in a quick death.”

  “Will they rejoin your people now?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Wynak, his eyes distant and his manner guarded. “I have offered, but the choice is theirs to make.”

  Kyran unbent slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing at the chieftain’s words. It was all he could ask for, he knew. He had been right to trust the old ogre.

  Despite his faith in Wynak, he had been dreading that the ogre might decide to slaughter those who had betrayed him. And that he would not have allowed. “Good, that’s good. Now—”

  “Kyran, we must talk,” said Wynak, cutting him off.

  Kyran closed his mouth, starting at the sudden abruptness of chieftain’s tone. “Of course, Wynak. Go ahead.”

  Wynak’s gaze slid over the watching party. “Privately,” he said. Not waiting for Kyran’s response, the chieftain walked off.

  Now what has him so bothered? Kyran wondered as he frowned after the ogre. He made to follow, but was held back by Mirien’s hand on his arm. “Kyran…” she began, a warning clear in her voice.

  He patted her arm. “Don’t worry, Mirien. Whatever has Wynak upset, I’m sure it�
��s nothing to be concerned about.”

  “Still, you should not go unguarded,” Mirien insisted.

  “The old ogre is honourable. He will not betray us now,” he said, gently releasing himself from her grip. Reluctantly, she let him go.

  “She’s right,” Adra said. “One of us should go with you. Wynak’s people might have needed us before, but they don’t now. We can’t trust them fully.”

  Kyran glanced at the two women and struggled not to roll his eyes. It was not as if he could not look after himself, he thought in exasperation. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. On impulse, he turned to Mirien. “Let’s go.”

  Adra started slightly at his choice, but said nothing.

  Jogging to catch up, Kyran and Mirien hurried to Wynak’s side. The old ogre was heading into Gnarok’s camp, Kyran saw. When the pair reached his side, Wynak glanced down briefly. But other than a slight narrowing of his eyes as he registered Mirien’s presence, he did not outwardly react.

  Wynak maintained his silence, until they reached a large tent in the centre of Gnarok’s settlement. Then, turning to Kyran, he said, “Before we proceed further, I have something to ask you, and I would like you to be honest in your answer.”

  Kyran nodded, wondering what could be bothering the chieftain.

  “Why are we here?”

  “What?” asked Kyran, staring blankly at Wynak.

  “Why did you ask for my help?” Wynak asked. “When you first requested my tribe’s aid, I did not question your need for my ogres. I thought you simply another elf, even if one of your companions was a great bear. Of course you needed my help to defeat Gnarok, I told myself.”

  Wynak snorted unhappily. “I discounted your tales of being a player as fanciful nonsense. After the battle, I cannot doubt anymore.” Wynak fell silent. “Tell me truly, Kyran, whose champion are you?”