The Guild Core: The Complete Saga Boxset: A LitRPG Dungeon Adventure

by TJ Reynolds

  Rhona would never forget how she’d done nothing.

  Honor whinnied, pulling her attention back to the present. The town of Gunnel came into view, little more than a row of houses and a few stores. Manure and wood smoke burned her nose, smelling more familiar and honest than any priest’s incense. Breathing it in, she let the memories go. Her jaw ached, and she discovered her face was set in a grimace.

  No, she decided, I’ll walk in with a smile.

  Strolling beside Honor, she headed for the center of the town, the most likely place she might find a merchant or two. She had coin aplenty, but her abrupt departure from home left her sorely lacking provisions.

  A few of the townsfolk eyed her suspiciously, most likely wondering why on earth a half-grown girl needed a war mount. What they didn’t suspect, however, was that the horse was the gentler of the two. She hoped she’d not need to show anyone the limits of her hospitality.

  There was a line formed before a cart laden with various goods. She pulled up behind a blind old man who stood holding the arm of a boy. Despite his deficiency, the old man turned to her and smiled. “A fine day it is for a trade, eh?”

  She answered respectfully, “Aye, it is, grandfather, may your barter be fair. What are you after today?”

  “Hoping to fleece the bastard for all his coin.” The ancient man admitted. “And bring his wife and horse home with me.”

  The unexpected answer forced a laugh from Rhona, and she found herself liking this man. “You and me both, though I’d settle for some grain and dried meat.”

  “Name’s Jory.” The old man held out his hand and introduced himself.

  “Nice to meet you,” Rhona replied.

  “Oh,” he continued, “the boy’s name is Finn. Don’t just stare at the girl, boy. She won’t bite. You couldn’t be so lucky as that. Say hello.”

  Rhona shook Jory’s hand, suppressing her grin as the poor boy mumbled a greeting. “I’m Rhona. It’s a pleasure.”

  “Bah! A pleasure is too much wine and enough room on a bedroll for two. No, this is what they call friendship.”

  Rhona couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Travel is it, then?” He smiled.

  Certain she’d made a friend, she answered honestly. “Yes, I’ve a long trip ahead of me.”

  “A few towns over or further afield?”

  “South,” Rhona answered, her eyes unconsciously looking toward the distant horizon. “I’m heading south. I’ve an appointment with someone that lives near the sea.”

  Jory’s face wrinkled in exaggerated disgust. “It’s your back, girl, not mine. Well, it’s my turn, I think. Wish me good luck then!”

  Rhona watched as the old man turned with perfect timing to face the bored and somewhat dull-looking eyes of the tradesman. Jory began haggling, and Rhona settled in for a long wait.

  Several men trotted by on well-groomed horses, fine steel at their hips. Behind them rode another man, dressed in silk and soft leather. Mercenaries. Across the street, the blacksmith pounded away at a horseshoe, muscles dancing along his arms with each blow.

  Children exploded out of a nearby building, the schoolhouse Rhona figured, and began terrorizing society at large.

  This was a right proper town, if ever she’d seen one.

  Then she noted a group of travelers, their worn cloaks stiff with grime. Two men and a woman, if her eyes were to be trusted, and all carrying steel. They tended to their horses, a bunch of hard-ridden beasts, judging from the flecks of lather on their neglected hides.

  The manner in which they moved, all graceful efficiency and understatement, told her they were killers. What kind of killer, she didn’t know. One was a massive man, more clumsy than the others, but with a back nearly as broad as her father’s. He dismounted, and sensing some disagreement with his horse, pinched the beast’s skin in a powerful hand.

  The horse nickered and shook its head in response but didn’t otherwise complain. He’s given it more than a few thrashings then.

  Another, slightest in frame, glanced around a moment, and Rhona noted her full lips and narrow jaw. A woman, with these two? And no armor or uniform to speak of. Assassins perhaps, on a mission to kill some unlucky noble, perhaps. But no. No, I’m guessing those are bandits, common as fleas but with a nastier bite.

  Rhona caught the eye of one man, shorter than his companions but with a cruel face that told Rhona all she needed to know about how little he cared for such petty things as priests, religion, or unrewarded piety.

  Breaking eye contact, Rhona fretted over a bit of nothing in Honor’s mane, waiting until the man looked away. By the time he finally did so, she knew he wished her ill.

  Jory’s timing was terrible. He finished his trade with a flourish and a few crude jokes, then bid Rhona farewell. Though the man was relatively astute, for one without vision, he didn’t know the consequences of his words when he announced for all to hear, “Good day, Rhona, and good luck on the open road. May your travels be swift and free of trouble!”

  The tradesman didn’t care one whit, however, and only wanted her to hurry about her business. “What is it you’ll be wanting?” he said, and she noted that despite being born with one of those faces that practically shouted his deficiencies, the man’s eyes flicked up and down her person, weighing and measuring her worth in an instant.

  He was as clever as he needed to be.

  “Travel rations, sir. Two pounds of dried meat and some grain, either rice or barley, I don’t care which.” She met the merchant’s dour grimace with a smile. “Any greens and hay you have would be much appreciated as well.”

  Nodding as she rattled off her shopping list, the man responded, “Got venison jerky for ya, but no proper grain. I do have hard biscuit though. No hay to speak of. Carrots is all I’ve got for the horse, unless you fancy radishes.”

  “Biscuit is fine. Let me have all you’ve got. I’ll take both the carrots and the radishes, thank you.” Rhona reached for her purse. “Oh and do you have an extra cloak as well?”

  The man just nodded, and when it was clear she was through, he stuck out his hand. “That’ll be 2 silver and 6 pennies.”

  Rhona felt too many eyes on her as she counted out the change from her purse and slipped it away again, well out of sight. The tradesman rummaged through his goods and handed her a burlap sack with enough carrots and radishes for a dozen horses. The biscuit he offered didn’t look tasty, but there was plenty of it. That, along with the jerky, would be sufficient. Rhona wouldn’t need to stop to hunt along her journey.

  She might have enjoyed the exchange, if it weren’t for the continued looks of barely-stifled greed from the three travelers.

  Crossing over to the blacksmith, Rhona then had Honor’s shoes inspected, one of which needed to be replaced entirely. She really shouldn’t have ridden him so hard last night, and for such a silly reason. Anger at her father was, for Rhona, as common as field mice—or so the saying went. Rhona chastised herself for being careless and waited for the smith to pound out a new shoe.

  She fed the horse a handful of radishes and led him over to a water trough to drink. If Rhona had learned anything in her years in the Brintoshi army, it was to treat your horse well. You never knew when your life would depend on it. She had more than a passing suspicion that it soon would.

  Eventually, Rhona watched the burly blacksmith hammer the new shoe back in place and she mounted up once more. She trotted on through the town, passing children and chickens in even numbers.

  The town of Gunnel was nice enough to please any wandering poet, its people fair, if not well educated, and the beauty of the surrounding countryside evident to any appraising eye.

  But the only thing Rhona noticed as she left were the three figures who had mounted up and trailed behind her, following in her wake like birds of prey.

  It might come down to a fight, that much was clear, but before she allowed herself to fall into combat with three armed opponents, she’d test how fast their horses were.r />
  Giving Honor a good kick to his flanks, she gave the gelding his head and clattered out of town, showing her would-be bandits that they’d have to work for the pleasure of robbing her.

  14

  Cats in a Mousetrap

  Rhona

  The road bled away in an endless streak of colors.

  Rhona fancied herself to be sprinting through a master’s painting, the trees and foliage on either side blending together into a swirling riot of color. The thoughts didn’t speed her horse along any faster, but they helped pass the time.

  Wind-blown and panting, Rhona pulled back on Honor’s reins, hoping to preserve his strength. Her face was pink and numb from the battering wind, lashed by a few loose and defiant strands of hair. Her braid would look a mess by now, but that mattered to her less than a chipped penny to a noble.

  The many differences of being in or out of the army frustrated Rhona’s sensibilities endlessly. From her perspective, the world could be classified in exactly those two ways.

  Her latest observation focused on how strange her body felt after racing on Honor’s back for an hour straight. Though a familiar numbness tingled across her skin as any ride would, her shoulders didn’t chafe from the straps on her armor. Her lower back, though tight, didn’t petition so ardently for rest, as it would have weighted down with mail and plate. Finally, her head felt strange and light, the lack of a helm so utterly foreign to her, the sheer pleasure of it seemed almost perverse.

  The lack of a sword, however, gave Rhona more anxiety than she liked to admit. At least a dozen times already, she’d reached around her waist to check if the blade was secure, a habit that all soldiers developed, especially while on horseback.

  Rhona laughed to herself as she recalled the great misfortune one of her first squad mates had experienced. The boy was only seventeen, and couldn’t grow a beard, let alone kill a man. Along with the rest of the troops, though, Closs had been given a sword. On their very first expedition, the boy rode into a practice skirmish, dismounted gracefully from his horse, and reached to pull his long sword free. The look of terror and surprise on his face when he realized it was missing remained the highlight of Rhona’s long and arduous training.

  Even their captain, a hard man who’d fought with Rhona’s father in The War of Dragons, had laughed so hard his helm nearly came loose. He still gave Closs a sound beating, once his mirth had died down, and made the whole troop run laps around the sparring pit in full armor until the boy had found his sword, over an hour later.

  But not having a blade was troubling, even though Rhona had surrendered the philosophy and methods that such weapons represented months ago. Today would be a fine test of whether her sacrifice and diligent training would be sufficient to overcome the handicap of fighting unarmed.

  Her great warhorse walked steadily, his breath as steady and vast as a smith’s bellows. He was a fine horse, even by cavalry standards, a nearly all-black gelding purchased in Kaltan. His mane billowed loosely in the wind, and she’d allowed him to keep the silken fur that grew over the tops of his hooves like boots. Those socks, along with a few patches across his chest and neck, shone almost blood red in sunlight, evidence of his mixed parentage.

  Most cavalry kept their horse’s manes and tails in tight braids, but she rebelled against this tradition. If she maintained her strict sense of discipline—something she couldn’t throw off simply because she was now a civilian, no matter how tempting it seemed—he at least could let his hair down.

  Honor had recovered his wind, but Rhona kept him at a walk. She needed him to be strong. This race had only just begun. She also wanted to keep an ear out, to ensure she wasn’t just being paranoid.

  The breeze that dried the sweat on her back sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t the first of such cold winds she’d felt. Winter’s icy fingers had been reaching to silence autumn’s last breath for weeks now.

  It would soon be cold enough for snow, and then her travels would slow to a crawl.

  Heading due south from her father’s house near the capital, Rhona had formed a loose plan in her mind. She’d need to travel south until she came to the Farthing Coast, a stretch of wind-blasted beaches and rocky cliffs she’d only glimpsed on military maps. If the rumors held true, she’d find her next and most powerful master there. Rhona was determined to learn more of her path, and this master was the only other Palben had known of.

  Much stood in her way, however, before that would be possible. Thankfully, the Earl’s Road ran parallel to her route for much of its length. It was only in the southernmost reaches of Brintosh where she’d have to strike out cross-country, that travel would become arduous.

  Taking a moment to herself, Rhona closed her eyes and focused on the cyclone of ether in her core. Ever since ascending to the Golden tier, Rhona had felt the power within her body change into something new. Ascending to Crimson or Amber was significant in its own right, but her most recent ascension was something else entirely.

  Rhona had reached Golden 2 and accumulated 38 Progression towards her next rank. She examined her progression and the state of her ether using the ancient forms Palben had taught her. Once, he’d said, all Brintoshi soldiers had known how to ascend and invest their attributes on their own. Only after they abandoned The Path, had the kingdom begun to rely upon the services of wizards to ascend.

  She brought up her Etheric Interface, as Palben had called it, and thought again of where she would invest the points she would gain upon her next ascension.

  ___

  Family Name: Rhona Bloodspar.

  Alias: None

  Level: Golden 2

  Classes: Soldier (Cancelled), Cavalry (Cancelled), Monk

  Accolades: Survivor of The Battle of Duskfellow Motte

  Redeemer of the Dying

  Soldier of Sacrifice

  Strength - 11 = Base 7 (+4)

  Dexterity - 18 = Base 12 (+6)

  Constitution - 12 = Base 8 (+4)

  Intelligence -13 = Base 11 (+2)

  Wisdom -13 = Base 9 (+4)

  Charisma - 13 = Base 11 (+2)

  Soldier Class Skills:

  Flame Strike (Cancelled) - Imbue bow or blade with the purging fire of Yugos, inflicting additional Fire and Holy damage. Increased effectiveness versus creatures of Dark or Water affinities.

  Stone Skin (Cancelled) - Reduces all physical damage taken by 30%. Reduces Fire Damage by an additional 50%.

  Unwavering Parry (Cancelled) – Grants a 100% chance of parrying a single attack. Disrupts the attacker’s balance.

  Cavalry Class Skills:

  Aura of Command (Cancelled) - Increases active Charisma attribute by 10%. Enhances effective distance of verbal commands by a range of 10 meters per level. Reduces all negative morale modifiers by 20%.

  Frigid Charge (Cancelled) - Commanding the righteous fury of Briga, a charge on horseback is bolstered with a shield of ethereal ice. Defense increased by 50% during initial charge, reducing both the chance to be hit by ranged or melee attacks as well as damage caused.

  Monk Class Skills:

  Blood Sunder - Gain mastery of the flow of ether unleashed during Sacrifice. 80% of damage taken is converted into ether that can be used to empower unarmed attacks or heal the damage taken.

  Martyr’s Vigor - Gain mastery of the flow of ether unleashed during Sacrifice. Scarring, infection, and the effects of blood loss are reduced by 90%. The natural rate of healing for all injuries is accelerated by 300% after Sacrifice is invoked, lasting up to 4 hours or until fully healed.

  Wall of Stone - When blocking an incoming attack, adopt the strength of ancient stone. Damage received is diffused, reducing the potential for disabling injuries: 10% of damage taken is reflected back to attacking target; 15% of total damage is blocked. Use of Wall of Stone does not reduce ether collected through Blood Sunder.

  Etheric Sapping - A palm strike that causes minimal damage, this attack pulls a modest portion of an enemy’s Available Ether from their core. The
ether is added to the Monk’s store of ether to be used in augmented unarmed attacks or to promote further healing. Etheric Sapping causes a two-second stun effect in which the enemy’s movement is restricted.

  ___

  It still irked her how much she’d given up to become a Monk-class fighter.

  Earning her other classes and skills had been anything but easy. A class could be chosen when you reached Amber ascension. Her first class was that of Soldier, as so many become who join the army. And after choosing it, she’d been able to learn skills.

  In order to learn a skill, one had to either possess great wealth or else be enlisted. The nobility had the privilege of purchasing skills from masters, and could afford the most exotic abilities. As a soldier in the army, Rhona had been given but a few choices. Flame Strike and Stone Skin had both been given to her upon Amber ascension. Most were only afforded a single purchased skill, but given her father’s reputation, Rhona had been lucky.

  On the advice of her commander, she drilled a single skill relentlessly until she acquired it the hard way. Almost any skill could be learned through repetition and hard work. Some simply took too long, however. Yet, after three years of effort, Rhona had learned her third skill, Unwavering Parry. It had been her proudest accomplishment.

  When she reached Golden ascension, Rhona made the choice to spend a great deal of her own personal wealth, including that year’s signing bonus, to acquire a second class. Her commanding officer had applied for the funds necessary to buy two more skills to match her investment.

  To her great surprise, they’d received the coin.