Single-handedly defeated 32 Dark Lords.
Was a Chosen Hero on 47 separate occasions.
Wait, every five years, and he's still alive? How is that even possible?
Is over 500 years old thanks to House Koschei's Buyan Lifespan Enlargement Program.
Right.
His lingering resentment for House Koschei for the Fall of Rosencrace.
“Prince Raphael Distances Himself from House Koschei Following Military Activities in Rosencrace”
“Prince Raphael: House Koschei has 'Lost Its Way'”
“Celsioran Prince Calls King Gregor a Dangerous Lunatic”
Erotic fanfiction of “Prince Raphael x Reader” he saw on imawriter.co.ari.
Ew.
Okay...so I'm in the presence of Prince Raphael. Engage handshake protocols.
Era extended his hand. “Well, you can call me Era. Pleasure to—”
“Sorry, but if you're trying to shake hands, we'll have to do it in a place where it wouldn't be seen by guerilla reporters as a potential political statement.” The Prince turned away and took out his cell phone.
Add to Raphael's file: “is kind of a jerk.”
Liv came hobbling over with two boxes of confiscated knives—a peace offering from shopping arcade security after the Mystic's threats.
“Whatcha got there?” asked Era.
“Bullets,” she said. “I was thinkin', you can move blades with your mind, right? So, you could use these to pincushion the vog outta Lord Monty, so…” she plopped the boxes at Era’s feet, scattering a few pocketknives hither and thither. “Merry Crissmus!”
Era chuckled. “Aww. I appreciate it, but...that's not how it works.”
“Man, what?”
Era drew his own sword, displaying it. “I can move this Schiavona with my thoughts because I've had it for years. If you wanna control a blade, you gotta earn its trust. Hone its edge, respect its power, worship its craftsmanship, tell it your secrets, make it feel like it's the most sublime piece of cutlery in all Luminar.”
“Uh, I dunno how to tell you this, Slasher. It's an inanimate object.”
“Maybe with that attitude, it is.” Era gestured to the Prince. “By the way, our mentor's here.”
“Awright, cool—Holy vog, is that Prince Raphael?”
Raphael turned, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. “...Is this Martha? ...Not at all, I completely understand your pain. ...Yes, I have her right here. I'll put her on speaker.”
He placed the phone in Liv's hand, and pressed the speaker icon. “It's for you,” he said.
“Is this Liv Matapang?” asked an old woman on the other side of the line through a tight throat and a face covered in tears.
“Uh, yeah,” said Liv.
“Oh, thank Argo! Look, Prince Raphael says you might know what happened to my son.”
“Your son?”
“My name's Martha Vance. My son had just joined this GU thing a while back. He refuses to talk to me, but I've been worried sick about him. Apparently, something happened to him in the Imperial Palace?”
Liv shuddered. “What's your son's name?”
“Peter Vance. Is he all right? He's not in any danger, is he? Please tell me, I'm in a cold sweat as it is. I don't want any more suspense. All I want is my son back.”
“Tell her,” hissed Raphael. “Tell her what you did.”
The phone shook in Liv's hand.
“What's he saying?” asked the old woman. “What did you do? Is Peter gonna be okay?”
“I gotta go, pizza's ready,” said Liv, ending the call.
[Liv — Phone Launch]
[Intercepted!]
[0 DMG to Raphael's face]
Raphael leaned to the side and caught the phone in midair. “So, you're a murderer and a coward,” he said. “Clearly, the Gods choose their heroes well.”
Liv's eye fires blazed white-hot, scorching her mask a little. “Okay, jackass,” she said. “The only thing keeping you alive right now is a forensics documentary I saw—”
[Raphael — Voice of the Savior]
“Silence!”
[Liv was paralyzed!]
Liv's mouth shut, against her better judgment. Her body froze.
“Liv, thanks to your actions today, Peter Vance won't go home to his mother tonight. Is this what a hero does? Lash out in anger? Break the hearts of nervous mothers? Take human lives?”
“He had hostages,” mumbled Liv, struggling to speak through the paralysis. “He was gonna kill 'em.”
“And he didn't. The only killer here is you, despite the 32 possible peaceful resolutions for the conflict that I calculated while monitoring the situation from afar.”
Era lifted a finger. “Uh, I killed that neo-caveman dude.” I can't help but feel a little left out.
“Then this team needs my help more than ever. Where's your healer, Erasmus?”
“Heeeeyyyy guuuuyyyss...”
Noah danced through the terminal, twirled around a pillar, and plopped on Liv's back in sleepy joy. His face was covered in lipstick—thankfully for his code, not on the lips. “We got a day for the wedding. St. Xerxes Day, January 20th, at the Royal Cathedra—”
[Raphael — Atomic Buzzkill]
“Please stop talking,” spat Raphael. “I can feel your voice with my teeth.”
[CRITICAL HIT!]
[Noah was paralyzed!]
Liv's eye fires blazed a deep red.
“Let's not dawdle any further,” said Raphael. “Now that we're all here, let's get to training. Lesson One.”
Raphael parted the index finger and thumb of his thin right hand, concentrating until a three inch thread of white light appeared between them.
[Raphael — Magic Printer]
Plucking the thread, Raphael pulled out a cleanly typed list on House Koschei royal stationery, and handed it to Era. “Meet these requirements in seven days. Good luck!”
“And if we don't,” said Era, “do we get—”
“Good. Luck.”
[Raphael — Teleport Self]
[Liv and Noah are no longer paralyzed!]
HOUSE KOSCHEI
~ Liberty Through Innovation ~
Initial Objectives for Chosen Three due by May 25th
All: Reach Level 25, add a fourth party member
Erasmus: Three new sword techniques
Noah: Learn Restore-2, if you don't know it already
Liv: Five new offensive spells, written apology to Peter Vance's family (at least five pages, single spaced)
Era looked up from the note, expecting to see Liv in a full blown rage state. But even after this, she was only mildly flustered.
“Happy thoughts, Liv,” said Noah, already terrified. “Remember, he doesn't—”
“Whatever,” she said, with a chuckle. “It's a little difficult to take him seriously, now that I've seen his feet—socks with flip-flops, unironically.”
“For real?” asked Era, cringing. “Ye Gods.”
“That can't be practical,” said Noah, hoping no one would bring up the fact that he was still in his bunny slippers.
Fifteen minutes of restless loitering passed in the bus terminal as our heroes waited for the Doomwagon. Era and Liv picked up the scattered daggers, and Era had remarked that he just might have to give her knife launching idea a try, if only to fill one of the new technique slots.
The other heroes did end up noticing Noah's bunny slippers, but since he wasn't wearing socks with them, it wasn't too much of a fashion disaster to tolerate. Noah introduced the bunny slippers, claiming that their names were Lefty du Lapin and Righty Rodriguez.
[The reason you are not seeing the dialogue in this section is because I value your health as a reader, and the little play Noah put on for the slippers to introduce themselves has been known to cause explosive vomiting and/or diabetes in the state of Kentucky. The little G-rated “Feets of Friendship” song they sang is especially hazardous. Draw your own conclusions at your own risk.]
&n
bsp; [Doomwagon — Horn]
A bus horn squawked out eleven notes of a funeral march leitmotif, mercifully interrupting the ninth verse of “Feets of Friendship.”
The Doomwagon was 45 feet of metal, musically and literally. The windows were tinted black. The body was painted blacker. Barbed wire hung from the rearview mirrors. “TRANS-ARIESIAN COACH SERVICES” once graced the sides of the bus, now replaced with two murals of dragon skeletons. A bumper sticker on the front read: “I BRAKE FOR HOT GRANDMAS!”
Era sighed, trying to hide his grin. Dad, you haven't changed a bit.
“Slasher,” said Liv.
“Yeah?”
“Is this...our bus?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“'Cause I'm gonna marry this bus.”
“You two have my blessing, but your kids are gonna be weird.”
The door opened on the right side in front of Era. At the top of the stairs, in the driver's seat, sat—
“Is that a dead monkey?” asked Noah.
Steve waved to Noah, as he removed his feet from the monkey-skeleton-accessible pedal stilts.
Noah shuddered as he looked over the demonic decorations of his new home-away-from-home. “No one get on yet,” said Noah. “This bus could be a trap. It's got 'Dark Lord' written all over—”
“'Yo, Meatbag!” screamed Era into the bus. “Get off your mayonnaise filled anal haunches! Your God has returned!
The growing awkward silence was interrupted by a roar from within the bus.“Ya speak like a poet! Bet you fence like one, too, you emaciated skin sack of dog turds! Getcher limp dick in here so I can tear it off and FLOG ya with it!”
Stomping echoed throughout the bus, and Era hopped onto the entry stairs. There, in what used to be the central aisle, stood Mischa Gualtieri, his arms still wet from engine grease, holding a twenty pound wrench in his right hand. Era tackle-hugged him, and they both laughed like idiots.
“I missed ya, Little Dork,” said Mischa.
“Missed you too, Meatbag.”
Outside the entrance, Noah quickly searched through his phone for ASMR videos of quiet prayers.
As Mischa sat and chatted with the heroes, relating stories about “how much ass I kicked as a street pirate” this and “we Gualtieris live by a set of rules established by Lutero Gualtieri himself” that, Era tried to catch up on his nap from earlier in an imitation leather recliner. He took a good look over the interior of the bus, knowing this place was going to be his new home for a while, and he'd have to get used to it.
The front was custom made to be Steve's private driving area, filled with empty bags of Cheezy Bacon Chips, or CBC's for short. Steve was Mischa's familiar (a sort of civilian grade monster created for peaceful and/or companionship purposes). Having lost his left eye in a CBC eating contest at Rankin Towing when a piece of experimental imitation cheese flavoring powder dissolved his retina on contact really cool knife fight that totally happened, Mischa's days of safe driving were over, and he had to find someone else to take the wheel.
Behind the driver’s area, there were two fridges, one of which was padlocked, with alphabet magnets that spelled out “NOT MISCHA'S LIQUOR STASH.” Then, a couch, two recliners, an old TV, and a metallic door, plugged into the wall. It leaned against the windows with the phrase “KOSCHEI THAUMATRONICS, INC” emblazoned on its steel frame.
“What's with the door?” asked Liv. “Is it decorative?”
“Yeah,” said Mischa, “I just like having it around; it don't lead nowhere.”
Noah cringed. “Mr. Gualtieri,” he said, “you do know I'm a truthseer, right?”
“What about it, kid? You sayin' I'm a liar?”
“No, I'm not,” said Noah, silently reminding himself of the old adage about how painting just one or two paintings doesn't make one a painter.
There were four foldout beds in the walls (yes, Noah, they had the little window curtains), and the tail end of the bus had a closet on the right end, and a three cornered staircase on the left.
The staircase led to the crow's nest, a small watchman's turret on the back right corner of the bus's roof.
The closet was the bathroom, and the toilet was one of Koschei Thaumatronics’ trademark bottomless pits.
The harsh red glow of the Cheeseburg sign glared in Era's eye as he sat in the crow's nest. His Triple Bacon Diplomatic Immunity with Cheese had long since devolved into a wrapper and several crumbs sitting unceremoniously under his peg leg.
The Doomwagon idled in the parking lot while the heroes napped, and Mischa pawed through the contents of his padlocked fridge. Era opted for guard duty that night, rather than deal with another late night visit from the Bug Man.
What even is this Bug Man, anyhow? Other than a man, who's also a bug. I'd say it's just a coincidence, or my subconscious dealing with my quest anxiety, but the whole “let me in” thing while I'm awake isn't something I can just write off as “well, that happened,” like everything else in my life.
Exactly! Like, how can I explain this kind of—
Era jumped in his seat. Hold up. I'm awake, and my HP's at max right now, and you only show up when I'm dying or sleeping. Why are you…?
Okay, that's just about enough of this garbage, Bug Man. We need to have a heart-to-heart.
Don’tchu sass me! First off, you're the same guy that's been giving me nightmares about being eaten alive by bugs. Second, I don't even know what this letting-you-in deal entails, and all the benefits and risks thereof. A Gualtieri doesn't sign a damn thing until he reads the fine print.
How old are you?
Really? 'Cause you negotiate like a Godsdamn toddler.
[Bug Man — Some of Us Don't Have the Luxury]
Era felt a heavy force brush his right shoulder, as if a stranger had sprinted past him on the street trying to catch the train.
Era looked, but there was nothing there.
Okay, whoa, that was just—
[Bug Man —Let Me in While You Still Can]
Another stranger passed by.
[Bug Man — It Won't Be a Choice Forever]
Another.
[Bug Man — I Can Be Your Beggar]
Glaring, invisible eyes surrounded him. Era felt naked.
[Bug Man — Or Your Burglar]
A cold, sharp claw slowly dragged across the back of Era's neck.
[Bug Man is assuming direct control of Era's mind!]
Nope.
Era rushed back down the stairs.
As soon as he came back into the cabin, the Bug Man's nightmarish, phantasmal nagging had ended. Total quiet, save for Mischa, in his underwear, snoring in his recliner, and Liv, in her pajamas, setting off a few magical midair lights around Mischa. Noah was huddled in blankets in the bottom bunk across from Liv's.
[Liv — Vox Nihili]
[Mischa's snoring was silenced!]
[Liv can get some Godsdamn sleep tonight!]
Era smirked. Dang. Where was that spell for the vast majority of my childhood?
Stay focused. I was just being harassed by an invisible bug monster from my nightmares. But it stopped. Why's that?
I better go about this scientifically.
Lab Report for unit 1-1: How to Make the Bug Man Shut Up, by Era Gualtieri, age 19
Problem: I'm probably being possessed by a demon.
Hypothesis: It stopped when I saw Liv. Ergo, Bug Man is scared of Liv.
Materials: Stairs, feets, escapitude.
Procedure:
Step 1: Go back up to the Crow's Nest.
[Era — Go Back Up to the Crow's Nest]
Step 2: Wait for Bug Man.
[Era — Wait For B—]
Hi.
Step 3: Record Results.
[Era — Record Results]
[Counterattack!]
[Era — Procrastinate]
Damn right.
Step 4: Go downstairs and come within eyeshot of—
“You all right, Slasher?”
Era turned, and Liv was there, peeking her head out the top of the staircase.
“I'm cool, just...” Is there a non-weird way of saying “I'm trying to see if the nightmare monster in my head is afraid of you?” “...thinkin'.” Nailed it.
“I feel ya,” said Liv. “Hey, a little late on this, but you don't mind if I turn down the volume on your dad's snoring, right?”
“I mean, he'll probably murder you when you wake up, but I don't mind.”
“Murder I can deal with. Just so long as he doesn't creep on me or nothin'.”
“Liv, take it from me: you're about 50 years too young for his taste.”
Liv chuckled. “You Gualtieris are weird.”
“Understatement of the decade.”
The bells?
[Bug Man — Say Too Much]
[Critical Hit!]
“By the way, Liv,” said Era, catching her just as she headed downstairs. “Have you seen the Bells of Miracles?”
Neverstone: A LitRPG Adventure (The Mad Elf Book 1) Page 12
