Chapter One
Inquisitor Rigges, Dreadmount
It was said that if the creatures that roamed the crags of Dreadmount didn’t kill you, then the unremitting cold surely would. The Serpent homeland was cut into the side of a mountain range, nestled in a landscape so hostile that few ever wandered there.
Inquisitor Rigges and the others stood in one of the marble domes, so high up that the ground was lost beneath a thin layer of cloud. His body ached and his legs felt like they wouldn’t hold him upright for much longer. He felt sapped from a lack of mana, and when he checked his bar he found that it was almost empty. Just how long did Herelius want him to go on for?
If he felt bad, then the young mage must have felt worse. She was in the centre of the room, her arms tied to ropes that were wrapped around two poles on either side of her. The ropes kept her body upright, but she couldn’t keep her head from slouching down. For a level 6 mage, she’d held out much longer than he’d expected. In his time as inquisitor, he’d seen people of much higher levels succumb to his torture a lot quicker. For that reason, he held a small amount of respect for the girl.
“Hit her again,” said a voice next to him.
Herelius sat on a black iron chair. The metal looked as cold as the icy landscape outside, but it didn’t seem to bother the Serpent commander. His metal armour was so polished that it reflected the glare of the snow outside.
Rigges took a deep breath. He forced the feeling of cold out of his mind and instead focussed on a fire glowing in his hands. He imagined it as a crackling ball of flame. The more he concentrated the bigger it became, until soon he could smell it. His fingers were stained black from the heat, though he didn’t feel any pain. When the ball was large enough he pointed his hands at the young mage and released it.
The fireball hit her in the chest and spread over her robes. She screamed out in pain, tilting her head back as the flames scorched her skin. Her shouts were loud, but nobody heard them so high up in the Dreadmount peaks.
“Where is it?” said Herelius, fixing his cold stare on the mage.
To his right was another mage, but this man was older and more powerful than the younger specimen in the centre of the room. Cruelty was scarred onto his skin like wrinkles. His player name gleamed above him.
Battan555 – Level 81
He was Herelius’ closest ally, and one of the most powerful mages in the land. It was said that there were mages out there who boasted higher levels, but most were guildless, and they stayed away from others. Rigges had never met another mage at Battan’s level.
The young mage lifted her head. Every movement was a struggle, and the pain was written across her face. Her skin was shaded black from the scorching of Rigges’ fireball.
“Where’s what?” she said, her voice strained. “I don’t know what you need me to say.”
“Hit her again,” said Herelius.
This time Rigges looked at his commander. He didn’t want to blast her again. His mana was almost empty, but he was sure he could conjure another blast if he chose. That wasn’t the reason for his reluctance.
“But Herelius,” he said, looking at his commander. “Her HP is barely registering. I might kill her.”
“Would you rather take her place?”
He sighed. Knowing the answer to that question, he concentrated again and gathered flames in his hand. Seconds later the mage screamed in pain once more. He stood and watched as her HP bar slid further down toward empty, and millimetre by millimetre he was sure that she would die. As the flames lessened the damage stopped, and her health bar registered just a fraction. More flames would kill her. Even a match held close to her face would be enough to murder her at this point.
Torture skill increased by 1% (93% until level 60).
As if on cue, Battan555 left Herelius’ side and stood in front of the young mage. He stared at her with wicked eyes and held his hands out. Keeping his stare on the girl in front of him, he conjured a golden ball of energy in the centre of his palms. It was a light too bright to look at, and the edges of it seemed to fizz. When it grew to the size of a pumpkin he unleashed it at the mage’s chest.
She made one last attempt to lift her head as the golden energy surged through her. It was clear from her face that she expected her death, but it did not come. Instead, her HP bar began to rise. Despite the energy increasing her health, she still grunted in pain.
Everyone knew that Battan had started out as a healer. Somewhere along the way his priorities had changed, and he had paid to alter his class to a destructive mage. He still carried his healing spells, but even those caused pain now. As much as they could cure, they could also make someone suffer.
“We’ve been doing this for hours,” said Rigges. “Hurting her, healing her. Hurting her, healing her. She’ll be feeling this pain in the real world, you know. Not just her character.”
“Carry on,” said Herelius.
Battan smirked. “You know I could just cast a spell of divine truth? If she knows anything, which I doubt, that would get it done without all this boring torture business.”
Herelius glanced at the young mage, and then at Battan. There was a twisted look in his eyes. “I know that, Battan. Continue please, Inquisitor.”
The torture carried on until he reached level 60. By that time he’d drunk so many mana potions that he was sick of the taste. When the notification told him that his torture ability had levelled up he felt pleasure, but it made him shudder at the same time. He didn’t find any joy in this anymore.
He’d never admit it to the rest of the guild, but he sought pleasure elsewhere these days. Hidden in his character screen was a skill that none of his fellow Serpents knew about. Practicing alone, he had increased his pottery skill all the way to level 48, and now he could make a flawless crockery set. There was something soothing about shaping a perfect jug, and he’d become so obsessed with it that his house was full of vases. Sometimes, he would even remove his inquisitor robes and dress like a trader. He’d journey to a market town fifty miles across the map and see how much money he could get for his wares.
It was just a hobby, but it would have been the end of him if any other Serpents found out. The Serpent guild was powerful, and good humour was not a quality sought by its leaders. Herelius was the worst of them all; the highest level warrior in the land, and a man who was as cruel as he was unforgiving. Most of the officers were scared of him, and the initiates were downright terrified. There were probably higher level players than him out there, but those people stayed away from guilds. They were like the creatures that lurked in the deepest depths of the ocean; you knew they existed, but you never saw them.
A knock at the door broke him away from his thoughts.
“Come in,” said Herelius.
A rogue hovered in the doorframe. He was a level 11 inductee, and he seemed scared to enter the room. It was as if he wanted the shadows to swallow him up. He held a note in his hand. Battan crossed the room and took it from him. With long and bony fingers he unravelled it, and read. He turned to Herelius.
“Durthan and his men are in position. They intend to attack within the hour.”
Rigges had been dreading this. What they were about to do seemed foolish, and he knew it would have repercussions that were felt far beyond Dreadmount. It seemed he would have to partake in some stupidity of his own and question his leader.
“Are you sure about this, Herelius?” he said. “This will affect everyone in Re:Fuze. We’ll be vilified.”
“Don’t question me,” growled the comma
nder. “Save your interrogation for the mage. Hit her again.”
He checked his stats and saw that his mana had recharged enough to allow another blast of fire. He concentrated and then launched it at the mage. He smelled her hair burning as the flames licked the ends, before fizzing out. It took a few seconds more for the mages’ screams to extinguish. When she was done shouting she gritted her teeth and stared at the ground.
Herelius thumped the arms of his chair. His face turned red, and he stood up.
“I’ve had enough of this.” He crossed the room until he stood in front of her, then grabbed her by the neck and twisted her head until she faced him. “Where’s the dagger?”
“I don’t know which dagger you mean,” said the mage. “I came here to join the guild, I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
Herelius squeezed her neck harder. At his mere touch, her HP bar began to drain, and she took heavy breaths as pain coursed through her.
“Then forget the dagger. I’ll ask one more question, mage. Where is he?”
With all her effort, the mage grunted an answer. “Where’s who?”
Rigges winced. He knew that wasn’t the answer Herelius wanted.
Herelius stared at her as if he was looking deep into her soul.
“Where is the Tinker?” he said.
***
Durthan Thojeff, Outside Calmarnock
The chatter of the army was louder than the shrieking of the wind, and Durthan was amazed that nobody from town had come out to see what was happening. It could have been that they hadn’t noticed that an army had marched to their doorstep. More likely, though, was that they knew they were there but were too scared to do anything about it.
The field ahead of them was filled with crops, most of which looked ripe for harvesting. Beyond the vegetation was Calmarnock. A stone wall surrounded it, but it was not one made for defence. It only reached three feet tall, and in any case, there was just a wide opening where a gate should have been. These people had lived in peace for too long.
Durthan sat on his stallion and held the reigns in his right hand. It was difficult getting used to riding this way when his left hand had been cleaved off, but he’d managed. He was a doer, and not even the loss of a limb would stop him.
Next to him, on a horse of his own, was the thief. Dyzmal, along with the tiresome mage Battan555, was one of Herelius’ closest followers. He was a thief-turned-assassin, and Durthan knew he was one of the slipperiest people you could ever meet. He didn’t want the thief there next to him, but it was better that Dyzmal was here than Herelius himself. The Serpent commander always made him shudder.
“You never asked me why we chose Calmarnock,” said Dyzmal, looking at him. “I mean, we could have picked any NPC town to attack and break the treaty with, yet we chose this one.”
“It’s my job to lead, not to question.”
Dyzmal laughed. “You must be a little bit curious. Don’t act so high and mighty, Durthan. If you were that noble you would have joined the Halons. Don’t tell me I haven’t piqued your interest.”
Durthan shook his head. He wasn’t going to get drawn into this. He knew the games that the thief played with his words. “Not at all.”
“You’re a blockhead. I suppose you’re so honest that you never even tried to find out where your mum hid your Christmas presents when you were a kid. Well, to answer the question you pretend not to care about, there was a good reason for choosing Calmarnock. And she probably hid the presents under her bed.”
“Are you planning on jabbering at my side the entire battle?”
“We didn’t choose it for the carrot fields or the pretty NPC villagers,” said Dyzmal, ignoring him. “We chose it for what we think is buried underneath the town.”
Durthan turned and looked at the thief with contempt. “I don’t want to know.”
The thief’s horse snorted and lifted one of its front legs. Dyzmal pulled the reigns to calm it down. “So,” he said. “How’s the one-handed training going, anyway?”
He knew Dyzmal was taunting him. Worse, he knew that he had scratched a sore point where the wound itself had healed, but the memory of losing his hand was still raw. He liked to pretend he’d gotten over it, but a part of him was still angry.
“It’s going well enough to cleave you in two if you don’t pipe down.”
“That’s no way to talk to a senior officer.”
The thief’s jibes hadn’t worked, so now he was pulling rank. Durthan decided to let it go, because he had other things to think about. The battle ahead would be tough. There was a time when swordplay had been easy for him, and he used to be one of the highest-skilled two-handed swordsmen in the game. Then he lost his left hand, and since then he’d been maxing his one-handed stance. The going was slow, but luckily one of his abilities was a high-level War Cry, and that meant he still had value as an officer.
He turned away from the thief and looked at his men. They were a bunch of midlevel scum bags who’d loot the corpse of a close friend before it even hit the ground. He listened to a group near him. One was a barbarian who wore nothing but a set of leather straps that crossed his manhood. The other was a necromancer who had torn off the hood of his robe to reveal a thatching of stiff, dirty hair.
“I’m hoping I’ll have time after the battle to have a little fun with one of the NPCs,” said the barbarian. “I like to choose the married ones.”
“You don’t have a high enough charisma skill for that.”
“You don’t need charisma when you’ve got a sword.”
Durthan turned his horse and rounded on the men. The barbarian saw his commander and then looked up, startled.
“No looting and no forcing your way with the NPCs,” said Durthan, hardly believing he had to give the order. He spoke again, this time activating War Cry so that all the army heard him. “And while we’re at it, I don’t want any non-combatants to be killed. Joining the Serpents doesn’t mean you can do what you like. We might have a sour reputation, but we also have a code.”
Next to him, Dyzmal laughed. “A good speech, but you’ll never stop them, you know. People are people.”
“After the battle, I’ll hang one of them,” said Durthan. “That’ll stop the nasty business.”
Dyzmal held the reigns of his horse in one hand and with the other he took his short dagger from the sheath on his hip. The blade was small but it was jagged, and it looked sharp enough to cut through flesh with barely any effort. A constant drip of black poison oozed over the silver steel.
“You’ll have more to worry about after this than a few NPC murders,” he said.
Durthan nodded. He knew what the thief meant, and it worried him. “There’s no going back once we break the treaty. The other guilds will want blood.”
“We’ll have the dagger soon,” said Dyzmal. “It’s out there somewhere. And with that, we’ll bring back Necrolor. Once the Fire Lord is back, nothing will stop us.”
Durthan noticed movement in the corner of his eye. He saw a soldier breaking rank and marching across the field toward him. He was taller than most of the Serpent warriors around him. Where a lot of the army had beefed up their defence points with heavy armour, this man wore a simple leather vest. A long sword hung off a strap on his back, and a blue gem was in the hilt.
Connor Rutland – Warrior – Level 39
“Need a bathroom break?” said Dyzmal, looking at the warrior who now stood in front of them. “Get back in rank, soldier.”
Durthan nodded at Connor. “Do you need something?” he said. Normally he might have barked an order at the man, but he decided to take a softer approach because he knew it would annoy Dyzmal.
“I could have just left,” said Connor. “But I thought I’d tell you first. I don’t want any part of this. The second we pass the wall of that town we’re breaking the treaty. I know you didn’t order it, Durthan, but Herelius is leading us into another Great War, and I won’t be part of the first charge.”
He couldn’t believe the guts of the soldier. To desert the army was one thing. Some people thought it showed cowardice to go AWOL, but to Durthan, it displayed courage. Everyone knew that the second you left your post without authorisation, you became hunted. You lost your Serpent marker, and if any of your old guild mates saw you, they would get a quest telling them to kill you.
The problem here was that he agreed with Connor. He couldn’t say it, not with all the other soldiers around, but the warrior was right. Herelius’ plan was leading them into an era of renewed violence.
“I have noted your feelings, Rutland. This is your last chance to fall in line. You know what comes next.”
He shook his head. “I won’t fight.”
“Do you know what happens to those who disobey orders, Rutland?”
The warrior nodded.
Tinker, Tailor, Giant, Dwarf ( LitRPG Series): Difficulty:Legendary Book 2 Page 1
