Watcher’s Fate: A LitRPG Saga (Life in Exile Book 3)

by Sean Oswald

  “We need to get out of here, Lady Emiri. I am grateful you saved me despite my error in bringing you here, but I can hear something coming through the tunnels,” Daichi said without making eye contact with Emily.

  “It’s probably the ones that ran away from the fear spell,” Emily said absently.

  “No, it is more than that. Rak’kar please escort Lady Emiri and her daughter out of here,” Daichi said.

  The only answer he received back was a quick snort, but the large warrior still started to use his thick arms to turn the two women in the direction of the exit.

  “Wait, what about him?” Mira asked while looking at the drake hound shaman.

  “I will bring him …” Emily started to answer but stopped short when Daichi and Jaselm exchanged a quick glance before wordlessly attacking the shaman. A sword to the gut and a crushing knife hand to the throat dropped the creature in a jumble on the floor and left it screeching as blood poured out. In a brief second, the monk dropped on top of it, slammed his fist into its skull, and exposed the inside for all to see.

  Emily felt a small backlash as the Dominate spell ended but managed to bark, “Why did you do that?”

  “We couldn’t trust him around you, and even with the magic, we didn’t want to give any more information about us, and certainly not about Eris’ Rise, to the master of this dungeon,” Jaselm said.

  “So why didn’t you tell me ahead of time? I had him under control,” Emily said, not so much angry that the evil creature had been slain as much as shocked at how it was done.

  “That isn’t the way such magic works, Lady Emiri.” Daichi continued to be deferential but still wouldn’t look at her. “The moment that you had any active hostile intent towards the creature, the domination effect would have ended.”

  “Ah, um, well … I guess thank you then.” Emily fumbled over her words unsure how to really thank them for murdering what was effectively a helpless creature in front of her. She decided to let it go for now but thought she might bring it back up again later.

  Then she noticed Mira was bent down and starting to rifle through the robe of the shaman. “What are you doing?” Emily asked her.

  “I just want to get the loot,” Mira replied.

  “There is no time for this,” Daichi said and then added when it looked like Mira was going to argue, “Just trust an old man’s survival sense please.”

  Whatever response Mira planned to make was cut off abruptly by a screech from further in the dungeon. Whatever made it sounded like a true monster, and it chilled the blood in all of them.

  “Now!” Emily said, and no one even looked back, but all started to run in unison towards the exit.

  Interlude 2

  Dungeon: Tomb of David Nelson - Altracia, dungeon drake

  Deep within the bowels of the dungeon, there was a final cavern that could only be reached by traversing all the way through the traps and monsters which constituted its defenses. The cavern had been shaped with a large oval dome. This was achieved by continually sloping the dungeon down and then making steep drops near the end. The result being that the entrance to this cavern was a full five hundred feet underground, but one side reached to within fifty feet of the surface.

  Altracia, the former forest drake empowered by the magicyte and shaped by one of the most ancient of Eloria’s magic into a dungeon drake, called this room her home. Well, the entire dungeon was her home, for she was the guiding intelligence behind the shape and growth of the dungeon known as David Nelson’s Tomb. Forest drakes are clever creatures but not what one would call truly intelligent. They are able to converse, but only barely, and certainly not great architects. Yet, the pooled magic in the Murkwood had been stored into magicyte and had elevated Altracia to become the dungeon master.

  Not all dungeons had a drake in them, but every magical dungeon had a dungeon master–a singular intelligence which was inexorably linked to the dungeon. For this place, that was Altracia. Her intelligence shaped it, but she was just as much shaped by it. This was a baby dungeon, and she was still stumbling her way through. She had learned that by having people come into the dungeon, she was able to empower herself. Not only did she learn new things and gain the ability to replicate new objects, but something about the use of magic and skills within the walls of her dungeon empowered her.

  Sweetest of all were the two deaths of creatures which had stumbled into her halls. One had been a lone goblin scout. The little ugly thing was not the first creature to die in the dungeon. Many creatures of the forest had preceded it, but something about the death of a sapient creature caused her great pleasure and showed her new ways to think. Yet, compared to the goblin, the elven warrior who had accidently stumbled into her was a buffet table laid out. The breadth of his experience was so much greater than that of the goblin.

  Now, with this party of invaders, she had tasted her third death. She had as of yet not been able to fully absorb him, but she already knew that his name in life had been Sir Tradon and that his race was human. He was a tasty morsel more akin to the elf than the goblin in the potential she sensed. Yet, whereas the elf had been a rich wine meant to be savored for its various complex flavors, what she had tasted so far of the human was a briefer yet far more concentrated rush of exhilaration. Altracia had been waiting for more bursts. She couldn’t exactly see the fight. Her mastery of divination magic simply hadn’t gone that far, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t get a general sense of what was happening. All indications were that her traps had gone off just as expected. The invaders were on the ropes, and it shouldn’t be much longer until she got the power. The joy of it was that two of them were ones precious to the hated enemy. She could feel their connection, mate and offspring.

  Then everything went sideways. Trapped and outnumbered, her prey should have fallen. Yet somehow, they turned the tables. The horned creature–perhaps a minotaur– turned out to have disastrous power. He cut down six of her drake hound warriors, and while not Tier 3 Alphas, they were still strong. More than that though, it was the way that he destroyed them almost as if it were a casual afterthought. Altracia was torn. The guiding principles hardwired into every dungeon master, whether that be a gemlike core, a small balding man with white hair, or Altracia herself, were first and foremost self-preservation. It wasn’t a simple selfish desire but the realization that a dungeon could be rebuilt as long as the dungeon master survived.

  That principle didn’t change her frustration though or make the conflict within her stop. Somehow beyond all odds, the invaders were turning the tables on her troops. While she now had new ideas swirling in her head for upgrades, she couldn’t implement those while the invaders were within her dungeon. That meant that the only force in the dungeon capable of taking on this party was her. She was only at the peak of Tier 3 now, but empowered by the mana flowing through the magicyte veins around her, she was so much more.

  With that in mind, her decision was made. Altracia used shaping magic and reduced her size down to that of a horse and began flying through the twisted tunnels of her lair to end this prey. A part of her felt conflicted, held back, but another part was more alive than she had been in ages. Drakes, after all, were meant to hunt.

  Chapter Six

  A sibling is like a bit of you. Maybe the part you boast about to others, maybe the part which makes you cringe wondering how you could have just said that, or even the part which you outright hate. Still they are a part of you, growing and changing and knowing who you are, even when you don’t. — From the Annals of Togmar, Dwarven Historian, Adventurer, and Thief.

  Northern Albia: Village of Eris’ Rise – Jackson and Sara Nelson

  Jackson couldn’t help but rush through the portal as soon as it opened. It was still disconcerting to travel like this, but because he had done it before or because his training over the past two months at the Royal Academy had drilled more durability into him, it didn’t seem so bad this time. He shook the haze from his head and managed not to vomit alth
ough, admittedly, he had prepared by not eating any breakfast. What he saw both scared and angered him. There were men fighting all around the town square. Some bore a symbol that he recognized because it had been hung over the fireplace in his home for as long as he could recall. It was a tree with its roots grasping around a white rock. It meant something to his mom and dad even if he had never fully understood it. This must have been what they had chosen for their livery. It made sense. He wore only academy colors, but now that he knew what the official symbol of his family was, he could wear that with his academy uniform.

  The men fighting his family’s troops were all human from what he could see. This contrasted the combination of humans and elves who comprised the defenders.

  Academy training kicked in, and Jackson immediately unlimbered the mace he carried across his back. Before he could run off and engage though, General Eikhorn had stepped through. Like Jackson, he took the situation in, and while he didn’t know Eris’ Rise at all, he had a trained eye and was instantly able to tell who was attacking and who was defending. Next to the general came Tabor and the general’s bodyguard. The mountain of a man had a shield and battle axe in hand almost before Jackson even perceived it.

  “My Lord General, we need to find shelter,” the large guard said. As if to punctuate his words, the portal winked out of existence at that moment, leaving Gunidar and Gabriella immediately behind the warriors and boys.

  “Agreed, Ernst. That manor house is most likely to be where the local lord is, or at least hopefully whoever is there can tell us where to find him. We move in a unit. Ernst up front on the right with Jackson on the left. Tabor and I will take the rear on the reverse sides. Cover each other. Priestess, please heal any of us who come under attack, and Gunidar, I trust you can blast anything that moves.” The Baron was all military.

  The boys were still fresh, never having seen real military action, but the strict training at the academy had taught them to follow orders first and ask questions later. Even Jackson, who only had a few weeks of training under his belt, knew better than to question authority, and the constant struggle of trying not to be attacked by his classmates drilled a wariness into him. “That’s where my dad was going to build our home, although it looks much larger than I expected. If the town is under attack, then I don’t think they will be there unless one of them is there protecting my little sister, Sara.” Then Jackson added as an afterthought, “General.”

  “Very well lad, but the plan remains the same. Now move it. Double time, I don’t like being out here in the open for any archer or caster to attack us,” General Eikhorn said with the expectation of being obeyed.

  The corners moved, and Gunidar kept a hand on Gabriella to keep her moving along with them. She was clearly shocked, jumping at each grunt or cry of pain. “We need to help them,” she lamented.

  “We will. You have my word, but we have to get to safety first.” Eikhorn left it unsaid that he desperately wanted to get his son to a safe place first.

  The six of them attracted enough attention that a squad of warriors moved towards them. Jackson turned and stopped to face them only to hear the General bark, “Don’t stop. Gunidar will deal with any attackers unless they get right on top of us.”

  No sooner had he heard those words than a blast of air rushed past Jackson and knocked into the five soldiers running at them. The front man took the worst of it and slipped in the mud falling backwards. The four others closely following him stumbled over the fallen man and went down in a jumble of legs and arms.

  Jackson’s brief stop made their formation stutter step, but with just a brief delay, they were running again. Once they got closer to the Nelson’s house, they could see a group of at least twenty of the invaders being held off by a smaller group of humans and elves working in unison. They appeared to be mostly church soldiers and members of Emilie’s Meiyo Eihei’s personal guard–the elven monks and soldiers working in tandem with a paladin and three church soldiers.

  Realizing that they were most likely trying to get into the house to attack his sisters or mother, Jackson saw red. He charged forward and activated the chain portion of his magical mace and broke away running straight at the backs of the men attacking home. He whirled the chain, and because the soldier was completely distracted, he landed a blow against the back of his knee and even managed to entangle the enemy warrior. Sadly, as a level zero, even with a magical weapon, the damage was minimal (18). Even though he tugged with all his strength, he was unable to pull the warrior to the ground. His opponent’s forceful movement to right his balance pulled the mace out of Jackson’s hands and left the boy with only a belt knife to defend himself.

  Fortunately for Jackson, a stream of acid conjured by the Royal Mages latest spell went straight into the face of the warrior who was already mid-thrust at the second youngest Nelson. It wasn’t enough to entirely save him, but instead of being skewered on a foot of steel, he took a glancing cut across his abdomen. The irony being that the three-inch gash would have had any of his friends screaming bloody murder back home, but after the torture he had endured at the hands of his academy mates, it was nothing to Jackson.

  The caustic liquid did its work, and the soldier dropped the sword after his missed thrust and brought both hands in a misguided gesture to his face. Not only was the acid eating away the flesh of his face, it blinded him and began to eat away at his hands. Seizing the opportunity, Jackson rushed forward and thrust his belt knife into the man’s throat. Even in his little time at the academy, he had been taught to avoid using such a weapon against the sturdy leather armor the man wore. It might not pierce, especially given his relatively low Strength stat.

  “Get back here!” the general shouted, his command cutting through the screams of the man dying in front of him.

  It was enough to pull him back so he could mumble, “We need to help them.”

  Baron Eikhorn had somehow heard the soft-spoken statement and responded, “That’s what we are doing, but soldiers don’t tell generals what to do.” His eyes signaled for Jackson to fall back next to Gabriella and Tabor. “Priestess, see what you can do about that cut so he doesn’t bleed out, and Tabor, you protect them both. The rest of us will see if we can play the hammer against these mercs to the defender’s anvil.”

  Without another word, the Royal Mage strode forward, waves of flame rolling off his fingers as he was flanked on either side by the Baron and Ernst.

  Inside the house, Sara was getting even less of a chance to defend herself as everyone positioned themselves between her and the assassin’s poisoned blade.

  “Come now child. Tell me where your parents are, and I will leave.” The man in black leather armor taunted as he danced back and forth with the elven monk who was acting as bodyguard to Sara.

  The fight between them was like a dance or the tide in its perpetual back and forth. No matter how well Daichi had trained his followers, the assassin seemed to be just as well trained. The fight likely would have been a short one if the monk had insisted on continuing to fight bare-handed, but he had produced a pair of escrima from a strap across his back. It was a short sword and venomous dagger against fighting sticks. The elf had to be careful not to take direct cuts from the short sword against his fighting sticks while making sure that he was deflecting the blows. At the same time, the true danger was whatever substance was dripping off the dagger. As part of the conditioning a monk goes through, he had gained an increased resistance to poisons, but he didn’t want to put it to the test right now if it could be helped.

  Behind them, Krinnk kept looking for an opening, but the one rock he had launched had been contemptuously dodged by the assassin who seemed preternaturally aware of his surroundings. Balayria grew more and more nervous as the fight appeared to be going against Sara’s protector, and she was trying to decide the best way to use the totem power imbued into her staff. It was a one shot deal and wouldn’t be available to her for another moonrise, so she had to make sure to use it at the right ti
me. Worse, she could clearly hear the sounds of fighting outside. Hopefully the defenders would prevail, but she couldn’t count on it.

  Interlude 3

  Northeast of Eris’ Rise - Duke Holstein

  A mile outside of Eris’ Rise, Duke Holstein and his best troops he held in reserve, well, other than those sent to kill the upstart nobles, were all growing antsy. None more so than the duke himself. The reports were coming in of much more resistance than anticipated and far greater losses. Even though they head the reports, Itsu’s elves still did not engage. Whether because of incompetence or because the elven defenders were well prepared, the bows of his supposed elven allies were proving ineffectual.

  “Sound the call for retreat,” Duke Holstein growled.

  “Are you sure, My Lord? Has it been long enough for the attack to be considered serious enough?” asked the knight next to him.

  Holstein immediately lashed out. For a man his size, he could move with astounding speed. Holstein slapped the knight across his face making his neck pop. The force sent him flying five feet to the side and into one of the horses.

  “Don’t ever question my commands. Now someone get him a potion for the wound, and someone else sound the call for retreat.” The Duke’s face was red from his drunkenness, even more so than his normal ruddy hue.

  The other men scrambled around helping to remove the offending knight from the presence of the duke. They knew from experience that the man would be in the duke’s doghouse for a while, but they had all been there before. The good thing was that as quick as the duke was to anger, he was equally quick to forget things. Never forgive, but at least forget. Horns began sounding the prearranged signal for retreat.