The Road East (Epic LitRPG Adventure - Book 2) (Fayroll)

by Andrey Vasilyev

He was wrong: I had a question. “What can the forty of us here in the tower, or however many there are, do to change things? They’ll take out the last line right away, and everyone on the second and third levels will be slaughtered as soon as they get there.”

  “While they’re busy taking out the last line, we’ll get a huge support group in there, and everyone will start pouring out of the towers,” answered Zherrar. “The gates, the battering ram, that’s all a distraction, I think. The left wall is where the main strike will land. At least, that’s what I’d do. Although…who knows what Cedric is thinking? Not to mention the Witch.”

  “And we’re the very tip of the spear. Even if they kill all of us, that’s a huge honor,” noted the elf.

  “Sucks to be Valent right now,” said the dwarf with feeling.

  “Why?” I asked falteringly. My hands were shaking from the adrenaline—not to mention a bit of fear.

  “You think he really wants to be sitting down there while we’re all up here dying?” the dwarf answered. “I know him, we were at Klatornakh together, and we fought a man-eater in Tirgol. He’s never one to hide behind other people.”

  “Oh, that’s not what I meant,” I said, crossing myself. “I wouldn’t even think that!”

  “Okay, okay, he wasn’t thinking,” noted the elf. “Don’t worry about it—anyone might have thought that.”

  “Arche-e-ers!” The old archer’s voice rang out. “Twenty seconds!”

  Kelossa shuffled his feet, apparently checking to see if his boots would slip, and fiddled with a ring he was wearing on his finger. Unslinging his quiver, he rested it up against the wall before pulling out six arrows and leaning them against the wall next to it.

  “Fifteen seconds!”

  Zherrar pulled out his axe, breathed on the blade, and polished it with his sleeve. The rest of the warriors unsheathed their weapons as well. I gripped my sword, noticed that my hands were slick with sweat, and hurriedly wiped them on my pants.

  “Ten seconds!”

  I thought my heart was about to beat out of my chest. Damn the emotions…I was almost ready to believe that killing me right there would end me forever.

  “Five seconds!”

  The archers strung arrows and crouched down, prepared to unleash a volley. I pressed up against the side of the tower and looked out a crack I’d noticed earlier. The wall, the battlements atop which were pockmarked by the trebuchet fire, were almost on top of us.

  “Fi-i-ire!”

  The archers leaped up, arrows sizzled through the air, and almost immediately, they cut loose a second volley. The arrow fire continued unrelentingly.

  We could hear screams from the wall, and I watched from my crack as a warrior with two arrows sticking out of his chest plummeted to the ground.

  “Swords at the ready,” barked Zherrar. “Ten seconds!”

  I tensed and relaxed my muscles, noting with surprise that the fear and uncertainty were gone. The stress was apparently so intense that I’d given up caring whether I died in battle or not. There was just me and a very specific goal: hold the assault platform—no matter the odds!

  “Ftorin, let it go!” bellowed Zherrar, and there was a creak and a boom, followed by a cloud of stone dust rising and settling. Six pairs of legs beat their way forward.

  “Forwa-a-ard!” I recognized the dwarf’s voice. Steel clashed against steel, muffled cries rang out, and I heard snatches of cursing.

  My sword drawn, I climbed up onto the platform and looked at the slaughter going on at the other end. One person fell, followed by another, each fading into a cocoon filled with their belongings.

  Our archers did their level best to cut down the Heart soldiers before they got close, but there were too many of them. The shock of seeing the siege towers had also worn off, and the Heart archers were taking aim at our archers. Only six were left out of every ten.

  “Let’s go, boys, forward!” Ftorin creaked and fell, melting into the assault platform.

  My three comrades at the tower exit jumped forward, and there was nothing else for me to do but follow suit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw motion on the ladder leading up from the second level.

  Ah, there’s the cavalry! I thought right before my sword clanged up against someone’s saber.

  The saber blow was so strong that I was flung back onto the platform, a large chunk of my health gone. My opponent, a warrior in chainmail with a huge and, for some reason, green heart on it, leaped toward me only to catch two arrows in the chest.

  “I’ll kill every last one of you,” he said, and appeared to be about ready to continue his story when an arrow thudded into his mouth and nearly killed him. I don’t tend to lose my wits in similar situations, and so I sprang up and sank my sword into his throat. He looked at me with hate in his eyes and collapsed.

  “Nice work,” a warrior running by me from the second platform said, “but keep going. There are plenty more of them!”

  More warriors rushed by me. I looked back at the platform to see that there were almost no archers left, though Kelossa was still alive.

  “A-a-ah!” A cry rang out from the stairs that appeared to lead down to the courtyard inside the walls, and a mob of warriors wielding swords, axes, and every other weapon you could imagine split into three groups and poured toward us.

  So, that was just the prelude, I realized. Let’s do this.

  Chapter Five

  In which we discover how victory is achieved and what comes next.

  All that was left from the troops in our tower finished off the remainder of the enemy’s first line of defense and tried to straggle into a defensive formation. There weren’t many of us—around a dozen swordsmen and seven archers, and some of them had perilously low health. The horde sprinting toward us was made up of maybe thirty or thirty-five ugly mugs, and that was just who we could see. All in all, they were poised to smash through our defensive line without breaking a sweat. I ran across the platform to take up position behind Valent, figuring that he would be killed last, if at all.

  “Hold the line!” ordered Valent. “To the sword! Live forever!”

  “Live forever!” our group shouted back.

  I’m not overly given to reflection, and so I had no problem joining in their chorus. But I had to tip my cap to Valent. We were already wavering in fear of the onrushing and sword-brandishing mob, regardless of the fact that there was no such thing as death in the game.

  Suddenly, the spell was broken. Two small fireballs slammed into the charging crowd one after another, right when they got within fifteen strides of us. The Heart warriors were thrown in every direction.

  It was the mages who, up until that point, had been busy churning the towers forward with their wizardry. They had climbed up the ladders from the lower level and finally joined the battle right when it looked like all was lost. With that said, the damage they did, while substantial, was less than critical. The twenty or so Wild Hearts that were remaining crashed into our line.

  Sword against crossed sword.

  “Ah, you bitch!”

  “Get him!”

  “A-A-AH!”

  “Mages, heal who you can!” That was Valent.

  He was locked in combat with a hefty opponent in a breastplate and didn’t notice a small enemy soldier with a glaive sneaking up from his right-hand side—almost from behind him. I wasn’t about to get involved in the main fight, but I saw the little weasel, realized that he was about to break our forces by assassinating our leader, and decided to pull out my trusty trick. Just as he was about to thrust his glaive upward under Valent’s armor, I threw myself at his legs and knocked him down. My maneuver worked just as well as it always did, though I didn’t do much damage. He crunched down onto the stone and found himself on his back with his legs resting on my stomach. The glaive clattered off to the side out of his reach. I gripped my sword tightly and was more than happy to drive it straight into the opening between his appendages, which was protected by nothing more than his p
ants. He howled, and it was obvious that the pain was not the only reason. There was some surprise in his scream, and probably some indignation—it wasn’t the most honorable spot to be stabbed. Taking advantage of the reprieve his horrified yelling gave me, I quickly crawled out from under him and had time to run my sword into his low back as well. I added injury to insult with Bloodletting.

  I should note that the damage I was doing was far from mortal but starting to add up. In comparison with my health, he was a raging bull.

  My opponent got up and looked at me with rage in his eyes, leaving me with no doubt in my mind that he was about to finish me with pleasure and ease. And that would probably have happened if new members of our grand alliance hadn’t appeared from the Mouse in that instant. The first to come charging across the platform was my old friend Gorotul. He was, at that moment, a god of war, his red-bearded face (Did he have a beard the last time? I couldn’t remember. Maybe he grew one?) roaring a challenge.

  “Who’s first to die?”

  There was some kind of amulets bouncing around on his chest, his bare arms were covered in tattoos, and his armless chainmail glistened like the sun.

  “RA-A-A!” His bellow shook the earth as his hands shook his double-bladed axe. “Time for wa-a-ar!”

  The first to feel his wrath was my erstwhile foe, and in the process, his enormous body bowled into me. I flew several steps backward and smacked into the wall. One after another my clanmates popped out of the Mouse’s hatch.

  I guess Zherrar was right about this being the target for the main attack, I thought before leaping to my feet and running over to the little and still-breathing Wild Heart.

  “Go ahead, finish me, you dog,” he hissed.

  “I’m just a guest in this little citadel of yours, so if that’s what the host wants…” I sliced twice into his head.

  And I didn’t feel the slightest compunction about it. I hazarded that, if it hadn’t been for the dull-witted, if immensely brave Gorotul, I would have been a goner. War is dirty. It’s you or the guy across from you, and you leave the chivalry and honor to romance novels.

  In the meantime, Gorotul and my clanmates cleared out the rest of the Hearts from around our platform and started toward the stairs leading downward into the courtyard. I looked around to see similar scripts playing out all over the wall. Our assault groups had done their job and held the three platforms until the Hounds’ many brigades could make their way into the citadel.

  There were only five of us remaining from our original group. Zherrar and his one-horned helmet had fallen in the very first attack, and the imperturbable Kelossa, who made it all the way to the final assault, was apparently unable to last any longer. The last archer eased his way down to the stones from the platform. One mage was also killed, and the second had been hit: he pulled an arrow out of himself, squeamishly grimacing as he did.

  “You did good work,” said Valent with feeling. “Nice job—all of you.”

  “And a special thank you to you, little one,” he said to me, walking over. “As far as I’m concerned, you went above and beyond. You didn’t get too involved, which was the right decision for your level, but you still picked off that one guy.”

  “Well, I had a little help,” I said modestly.

  A friendly laugh broke out, and with it, all spent adrenaline, exhaustion, and acknowledgment of how close we all came to dying. We could have died, but we didn’t. And since we were alive, it was right to laugh, even if we were laughing at a dumb joke, and even if none of it was actually real.

  Just then, we heard a crash from below us. Valent cocked his head and held up a finger.

  “Ah, sounds like they finally took down the gate. Let’s go, what are we all standing around for? This is the fun part!”

  Our small detachment, reinforced by the remnants of the other Mouse groups (they had suffered the same losses we had), rushed down the stairs. I decided my debt of honor had been paid and fell back.

  “You guys go on ahead. I’ll cover you from the rear.”

  They joined the ongoing battle below while I carefully (I’m afraid of heights) looked over the edge to watch. It was an impressive sight.

  The internal courtyard was enormous, as it looked like the same laws of physics I’d noticed at the Thunderbird clan fortress were in effect. Everything was much larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. The courtyard itself, I thought, was at least as big as Palace Square,[4] and maybe even as big as Red Square.[5] Or maybe, it was the other way around. One way or another, it was massive. All across it, was a mass of cutting, slicing, and chopping, as the general battle disintegrated into hundreds of smaller duels. The gates had indeed fallen. It looked like a dozen defenders had been crushed when it did, and Hound warriors were pouring into the newly opened gateway wielding swords and axes. The Wild Hearts tried to stop them, but their cause was lost.

  Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. “Well, you little Hound louse, want to party?”

  I wheeled around to see a Heart warrior covered in stone dust running at me. His mouth was gaping, and a sword was whirling around his head. Judging by the looks of things, he had been knocked senseless at some point in the battle before coming to and seeing me standing there staring at the carnage below. He wasn’t happy.

  Obviously, I had no intention of fighting him, and so, I stepped deftly to the side and stuck out my foot. He apparently hadn’t quite regained his senses and, still somewhat uncoordinated, tripped over my leg and flew over the wall without making a sound. I looked over to see how his flight went and was less than surprised to see a cocoon at the bottom. What did you expect? It was at least three stories to the bottom, with five long flights of stairs. And he went over the wall head-first.

  “Icarus,” I said in amusement, “sprouted wings!”

  The battle in the courtyard intensified. It was a mass of surging flesh and inarticulate cries, with Gorotul taking breaths in between strokes to call out and ask anyone who was listening to immortalize his great feats of valor on their internal cameras. He, I suspected, was either unable to turn his camera on or did not know how.

  As I looked around, I saw something I didn’t like in the least. Not far from me, and right up against the wall near where the Mouse was parked, were three Hearts. They had pinned Milly Re—who I’d met in the pavilion right before the battle started—into a corner. She was clearly an expert swordsman, at least judging by how her two swords fluttered in and out like butterflies, and she was doing a good job defending herself, but her defeat was a matter of time. She was unable to go on the offensive, as her time was completely monopolized defending herself from the three big soldiers who were going to work on her. Realizing what was going on, I tried to think how I could help her. There was no point joining the battle himself because that wouldn’t help in the least—that much was clear. A few strikes and I’d be history. She might have been able to use the twenty or thirty seconds I could buy her, but, then again, she very well might not have been able to. I had to think of something else. But what?

  I glanced around the wall until my eyes stopped on a fairly long chunk of the battlement that had been knocked off by our mages’ fireball barrage.

  Eureka! I jabbed a jubilant finger in the air.

  I ran over to the boulder and tried to lift it. It was monstrously heavy, but I was able to drag it over, choking on the dust it kicked up.

  I swear I did my best to hurry, but by the time I got the monstrosity over to where I needed it and looked over to judge the exact angle I needed, Milly was just about finished. She was on her last leg and, I thought, had already let a couple blows through. There was no time left. I set the rock on the very edge and yelled down at the group below.

  “Hey, losers! Yeah, you three picking on the girl!”

  I wasn’t sure they heard me over the din, but the acoustics were especially good there, or I yelled especially loudly, because two of the three looked up, perhaps based solely on instinct.

  “Eat
a grenade, you fascists!” I shoved the rock right at the watching and confused Hearts. It tumbled down too fast for them to jump out of the way, though I think their shock had something to do with that as well. They were warriors, and warriors aren’t used to things crashing down on top of them. Whatever the case, I was right on target. Both sides of the rock clipped their targets, flinging them in opposite directions.

  Milly made good use of the reprieve that gave her. In seconds, with the last remnants of strength she had left, she attacked the third opponent with a set of impressive maneuvers and finished him off with a sword to the throat. It was a pretty sight. Well, as pretty a sight as death can be.

  That done, she ran over to one of the two who had been stunned by the boulder and started hacking away with what sounded like a flurry of curses. His head spun around, and he tried to reach for his sword; he was not about to die quickly.

  The last of the trio groggily shook his head and tried to stand up.

  Oh no, she’s distracted, and he’s about to take her down. And I don’t think I can get her attention. I sprinted down the stairs, crossing my fingers that no one would kill me before I got to where she was.

  How no one took me out, I still don’t know. Right at the bottom of the stairs, I nearly fell victim to a wild swing by a barbarian who was simply thrashing his club around right and left. I got on all fours and crawled back to the wall hoping that the barbarian hadn’t noticed me. He hadn’t, apparently. Figuring that, while I cut a less conspicuous figure crawling along the wall, I was much slower that way, I stood up and jogged along toward the sound of a woman’s voice cussing. Happily, I made it in time.

  The third Heart had gotten up, though he didn’t look good. The boulder had smacked into his head and had also done a number on his shoulder. Half his body was disfigured, he held his sword tightly in his left hand, and a livid scowl was plastered across his face. He wobbled zombie-like toward Milly, who was almost finished dispatching her victim.

  It’s like Chip and Dale around here today—I’m saving everyone, one after another, I thought as I sliced into the back of his knees with Sword of Retribution.