Drake's LitRPG Megabundle (7 Books)

by Adam Drake

  Erwin couldn't blame her for being frustrated. But the barb hurt. Ever since the walls vanished, he'd been casting his net into the surf for hours and hours, right up until the sun fell into the sea. He would have kept on fishing, too, if it weren't too risky. The Kingdom might have been saved, but it was still a very dangerous place. Particularly at night.

  “I don't understand it,” Erwin said. “King Rob kills King Perrin and the walls disappear, and yet there's still nothing to eat. Jace hasn't found any wild game to hunt and the seas are just as empty as they were before.”

  Satisfied with the measurements of its cut up parts, Fumi dropped another turnip into the pot. “Perrin wasn't a king.”

  “Sure he was. Saif made him the king, I was there, I saw it.”

  Fumi shook her head and tried to pick the next turnip candidate from the little pile on the table. “He was a temporary solution to a long standing problem.”

  “He may have just been temporary, but he was king. Right?”

  “Just in name for what good it did. And what was the end result of Saif's shenanigans? Walls. Big, towering walls, cutting off the land and squeezing us in.”

  Erwin went silent, focusing on his skinned rat. Everyone knew Fumi hated the Sage, even before he tried to make Perrin king. They had a history which Erwin wasn't privy to, nor wanted to be.

  He glanced at Fumi, who was seething. “Okay, Perrin wasn't King. Not one that mattered, anyway. Still doesn't explain the lack of fish and game. I thought we'd be overrun by now with a better choice of meat.” He slammed his cleaver into a rat carcass and slid the quivering piece into a pile of others.

  “Hasn't been that long,” Fumi said. “Barely two days has passed. Everything trapped on the other side of the walls need time to make their way in. Now, enough talk and watch what you're doing! You got to cut them in more even pieces!”

  “I am!” Erwin shot back. He understood her stress. With the walls gone, people have been able to return to their homes and farmsteads, only to find their larders bare and family members missing. Most came to the main camp and loitered about. Some made the near fatal mistake of complaining about the boiled rat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Instead of a cleaver to the head, they'd received a verbal blasting from the massive cook.

  Before, it was difficult for Fumi to keep only a handful of people fed. Now, she'd taken on everyone who arrived, each on the verge of starvation.

  “Still doesn't explain it,” Erwin said, feebly trying to change the subject.

  “Doesn't explain what?”

  “Where King Rob is.”

  “I already told you, he hasn't gone anywhere. He's in his manor. At least, he was there when I brought him dinner yesterday evening.”

  Erwin perked up. “You went to the manor?”

  “I just said that, didn't I?”

  “So you spoke to him?”

  “No,” Fumi seemed to curl inward a little, almost sheepishly. An odd gesture for someone so large and terrifying.

  “Did you even see him?”

  “No, but I knew he was there. Saif was camped outside the door, waiting.”

  “Saif said he was there? How can he be sure?”

  Fumi paused in her work to glare at the little Dockmaster. “King Robert is resting. Nothing more. He's not missing.” She returned to her cutting, but Erwin could tell she was bothered, too. The King was acting, well, oddly.

  The first full day without the walls, and King Rob wouldn't emerge from his manor to do the kingly things expected of him. And there was so much to do! Break ground on the new castle, make proclamations, clear out the valley of its dangers, bring back the fish and make Erwin into a knight.

  “Did Saif say anything?”

  “The less that Sage says, the better. Can't trust anything that comes out of that worm's mouth.”

  Another sore spot. Livio, the kingdom's Castellan, vanished while on a simple errand to find Saif. For some reason, Fumi suspected the Sage had something to do with the man's disappearance, but couldn't say why. At the time, everyone was going missing. No bodies, or clues as to where they'd gone. Erwin assumed whatever happened to them, happened to Livio.

  Erwin held up a severed rat tail, shrugged, and threw it into the pile of cut parts. “What if he never comes out then? What'll we do?”

  “He'll come out.”

  “But what if he doesn't?”

  Fumi suddenly reached over the table and yanked the cleaver from Erwin's grasp. “That's it. I've had enough of your prattle. You can't even cut those things properly. People will complain! There won't be enough to go around!”

  “Sorry,” Erwin said, forlorn. He wiped the rat slime off his fingers with a rag. “What should I do now?”

  “Go bother Jace,” Fumi said with a sigh. It begun to rain, pattering against the wooden lean-to.

  “Cutting wood?”

  “With the trap lines! Go make yourself useful!” The cook returned to making the pathetic meal, grumbling.

  Erwin stepped out from under the meager protection of the lean-to and into the growing rain. Dark clouds above gave the camp an even more miserable look as if that was possible. Decrepit little mud-brick huts and makeshift shanties sat squat along the muddy trail which skirted the edge of Castle Hill.

  He caught a glimpse of other people rushing about to get out of the rain, or adjusting their flimsy coverings. With the walls gone, people returned, but not many. At best maybe twenty in all had come back, only to make their way to the main camp looking for supplies, or a purpose.

  They were all waiting for their new King, and so was Erwin.

  The Dockmaster squinted up at the top of the hill. King Robert had placed the cornerstone there, but the castle still needed to be built. But by whom? Erwin couldn't imagine himself helping in such an endeavor. Fish was more his calling. And maybe chopping rats.

  But if asked, he'd do what he could. A man always did what his King bid of him. That was the law.

  Erwin picked his way along the muddy path until the sad little buildings thinned out and he could head southeast toward the tree line. Even at this distance and through the hissing rain, he could hear the distinctive sounds of an axe cutting wood.

  As he marched through the wet knee-high grass he looked northward, toward the ocean. Although obscured by forest he could feel her out there, her waves crashing against the shore like a beating heart. He was in tune with the seas in ways no one else understood, like it was the wife he never had. Fumi laughed at him when he told her about that, but her ambivalence didn't bother him. He knew it was the truth. He felt it.

  Maybe he should skip checking the trap line and run down to the shore. He'd stand on the dock and cast out his nets. Rain almost always brought out the fish if there were fish to begin with. Maybe he'd get lucky.

  The thought of angering Fumi further yanked him back to his senses. He'd save another fishing attempt for later.

  He entered the forest, following a cleared pathway of tree stumps, each freshly cut. Felled trees splayed along the ground, waiting to become firewood.

  The chopping grew louder as he got closer. Each fell of the axe echoed off the surrounding forest to drown within its depths.

  The woodcutter has hammering against the base of a tree, its branches trembling with each strike. As Erwin approached, the tree suddenly tilted and fell to the ground to join a dozen others.

  “You've been busy,” Erwin said, looking about at the cleared space.

  Jace turned at his voice. He was shirtless, the pale white skin of his muscular fame reminding Erwin of an alabaster dolphin.

  With both hands on his axe, Jace regarded Erwin. “Is the camp okay?”

  “Sure, I guess,” Erwin said, running a hand over the bark of a stump. The rain made it feel like a wet scab. “If by okay you mean miserable and depressing, then yes.”

  Jace watched Erwin, then sighed. “Fumi sent you away, again.” He scratched at his great red beard, which somehow managed to maintain its full bristling gl
ory in the rain.

  “She's mad.”

  “She's always mad,” Jace said matter-of-factly. “What is it now? The lack of fish?” He struck the axe into a stump, then took a drink from a waterskin.

  Erwin felt uncomfortable at the mention of fish. “The King won't come out of his manor and no one knows why. It has Fumi all torn up. She wants to know when he's coming out.”

  If Jace didn't believe him, the woodcutter didn't show it. “The King needs time to recover from the ordeal he went through at the crypt.”

  Erwin waved at the legion of fallen trees. “You recovered. You both fought Perrin, and you both used healing potions. From what I can see you've recovered just fine.”

  Jace closed his eyes and tilted his head back so the rain could spatter his face. After a few moments he shook his head like a wet dog. “We all recover in our own ways. Wasn't just physical. He's got things on his mind he needs to deal with before he comes out. That'd be my guess.”

  The words sounded uncertain, like the woodcutter couldn't quite understand King Rob's behavior, but did not want to admit to it.

  Erwin had a thousand questions for Jace since his return with King Rob. How was the fight with Perrin? What was the crypt like? Did they find any good loot? But he had shown enormous restraint, mostly imposed upon him by Fumi. Now, almost two full days later, Erwin found himself unable to ask any of them.

  Jace may have looked unharmed, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes when you looked directly at him. Or was it pain?

  “Do you need any help?” Erwin finally said. His questions could wait for another day. One where Jace wasn't so busy killing trees.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know you have the tree thing covered, but Fumi was wanting to make rabbit stew for dinner tonight. Did you set the trap line?”

  Jace stretched, audible pops emanating from his bones, then took up the axe. “Of course I did. Why? You want to check it yourself?”

  The last may not have been intended as a challenge, but to Erwin it sounded like one. “Yeah, I'm not afraid to do it on my own. Besides things are safer now, right?”

  Jace wandered over to a tree and contemplated his next victim. “Why would things be safer?”

  “We have a king now.”

  The woodcutter snorted. “Well then, I feel better already.” When he noticed Erwin's confused look he said, “The walls are gone, yes. But now everything and everyone that has been wanting to get into the valley, can. Brings a whole host of new problems above and beyond the ones this place had to begin with. So, no, it's not safer. Maybe worse.”

  Erwin dismissed this logic. They had a king now, didn't they? And by getting one they were saved from destruction. But from Jace's worried expression he could tell that he wasn't up to debating the point.

  As Jace launched an assault against the tree, Erwin held up his fishing knife. “I can handle myself just fine. Where's the line?”

  Jace gave the Dockmaster's little blade a bemused look. “I set it up along near the stream in the western woods. Starts at Bear Rock, and follows it north.”

  “I know where it is,” Erwin said, sheathing his blade. Before he turned to go he felt compelled to ask a question. “Aren't you worried about the King? That he'll be okay?”

  The big man paused to consider the question. “No, I'm not worried about that. I'm more worried about something else.”

  “What's that?”

  “If he's the right king.” And with that Jace turned his back to cut at the tree with renewed vigor.

  Erwin left him and picked his way around felled trees and stumps out of the forest. The right king? What did that mean? Of course Robert was the right king. He was the Chosen One sent by the Gods themselves. How could he not be right?

  Confused by Jace's statements, Erwin walked back to the muddy path, this time crossing it into the vast green field which surrounded Castle Hill's west side. The grass was shorter here and muddy puddles formed small lakes he had to circle.

  As he entered the treeline of the western forest, his mind was still awash with confusion. Did Jace see something in the crypt to give him doubt about Robert? Or was it just because the King was taking his sweet time emerging from his lair? Recovery time or not, this waiting while the kingdom needed him didn't feel right. Probably not to Jace, either.

  Erwin stopped as the massive form of a creature came into view. He blinked against the rainwater to peer at the large boulder shaped like a forest denizen. Bear Rock.

  As he tried to find the line which tethered the traps within the vegetation, his mind continued with its distraction.

  Here he was worried that they'd lost a king, and Jace was worried they had the wrong king. The two canceled each other out. And what did Fumi think of Robert? She barely gave the new king a mention until he'd returned with Jace, but only to compliment him on bringing the woodcutter back alive. As far as Erwin knew, Fumi didn't care a whit who was king just as long as someone held the title.

  But Jace's words grew louder in his mind. What if he wasn't the right king?

  His thoughts were interrupted when his thumb snagged the line and he let out a small cheer of victory. But as he started to follow it along to the first trap he felt something wasn't right.

  Someone behind him suddenly spoke.

  “Vizza dan?”

  Erwin stood, whirling about, his little fishing knife in hand.

  There, standing half a dozen paces away was a strange looking man. No, not a man. A humanoid.

  The strange being was as tall as Jace but with a reed thin frame. It was bald, with large yellowish eyes which looked at Erwin intensely. Its skin was whiter than Jace's, the color of bleached bone. It wore a form fitting leather tunic and trousers, both black, giving a sharp contrast to its skin.

  “Vizza dan, co?” It said again.

  It sounded like a question.

  Suddenly Erwin noticed other similar beings standing around him. White skinned with black armor that glistened with the rain. Two stood on top of the spine of Bear Rock, like hunters after a kill.

  The being in front of him took a step closer. It held a long thin stick in one hand, like a spear, only its tip was a small rounded stone. Was that supposed to be a weapon?

  Cold fear rushed through Erwin's body. He raised his knife up. “Who, by the Many Hells, are you?”

  But instead of answering, the being's arm shot forward with blinding speed, poking him with the stick. The little stone at its end crackled against Erwin's chest and his entire body went numb. He collapsed to the muddy ground.

  Paralyzed, he thought as he lay motionless. As the being came into his view he finally realized what it was.

  Pech! Pech slavers!

  The Pech reached down to him, but he couldn't pull away.

  Someone has to warn the king! Erwin thought.

  Then the world went dark.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Robert Barron woke with a blinding headache.

  For several panicked seconds he didn't know where he was. The familiar surroundings of his little apartment weren't there to greet his sleepy mind. Instead, he found himself exactly where he didn't want to be.

  A crappy little medieval shack.

  He closed his eyes again, placing a hand on his forehead. A drumbeat of pain thrummed within his skull. It was as if he was hungover, only he hadn't drunk the night before. He couldn't have, anyway, as he doubted there was any alcohol in the entire kingdom.

  Kingdom.

  The word bounced around like an angry wasp within the confines of his headache. Right. He had a kingdom now. Damn.

  Forcing his eyes open, again, he sat up in bed. The window at its foot was covered with a makeshift curtain which was partially open. Muted daylight filtered in and he thought it might be raining. Through the crack could be seen the green grass of Castle Hill.

  He had a kingdom, and he had a hill and a crappy medieval shack. His morning was looking up.

  Glancing at his feet, he not
iced both of his socks had holes in them, with one big toe exposed, its ragged nail dirty. He stared at it for several moments while trying to will the pain in his head away.

  For the last day and a half, or however long it was, he hadn't left his 'manor'. Not since he'd looked in the mirror and found the mark on his face. That terrible mark with its terrible implications. Or at least that's what he'd been telling himself over and over.

  He glanced over at the shattered little mirror on floor on the other side of the room. He'd ripped it from the wall and smashed it. Now it sat there like a broken reminder of his lack of control. He'd lost his temper again. But could he blame himself?