Dagger Lord: A LitRPG Series

by Elliot Burns

  He stared across the flek fields to find the source of the screams. He saw an expanse of ginger-brown mud, dry and cracked in some places, and wet in others. Yellow lines zig-zagged through it. These were flek veins, and they converged at parts of the field that looked like they’d taken the force of tinker bomb explosions.

  This wasn’t too far from the truth, Elena had advised him. When enough flek concentrated in one area, it became like water set to boil. It bubbled and it spat until the force was enough that it broke through the ground and shot out into the sky above. Flek was quite safe to handle once it had been mined, but it was the mining process itself that made flek-mining a dangerous occupation.

  As for the battleground, it offered few strategic advantages for either side. It was level for the most part, which gave neither army protection from archers. To the left side of the field was a grouping of small hills which effectively blocked that flank from use. The mists that loomed above flek-holes could have been used as cover were it not for the danger posed to anyone standing nearby where flek erupted. All it would take was for hot flek to gush out, and anyone in the vicinity would soon be writhing in agony. That meant that for Jack’s plans, use of any type of fire or explosive was out. His tinkers had been disappointed when he told them this.

  Despite the lack of any obvious strategic points on the field, Jack and his council had made what plans they could. Using maps from the library, Elena’s knowledge of the territory, and the limited scouting they could employ, they’d finalized their battle strategy.

  The screaming rose out again and travelled along the lonely field. On the other side, two raiders dragged a man across the ground by his arms so that the cracked mud scratched his naked chest and legs. One of them grabbed him by the shoulders and wrenched him to his feet.

  The man, his skin glistening with blood, stood with a crooked back. The sag of his skin marked him as being beyond middle age, though there was muscle tone on his arms that suggested he’d done a lot of physical labor.

  Realization hit Jack like a blow to the stomach. He knew this guy. He’d spoken to him. It was the peasant who’d lost his crop field to fire, the one Jack had met just before finding the crystal in the house. The raiders must have captured him. From the cuts and bruises covering his body, they’d hadn’t been shy about using torture.

  “Poor fucking bastard,” said Mav.

  One raider carried a thick wooden pole, taking careful steps to make sure it stayed balanced on his shoulder. Two more came to help him set it in a hole they’d dug in the ground. Before long the wooden pole was upright, and it stretched ten feet high.

  Another raider, an older man with a stump where his left hand should have been, painted red symbols onto the peasant’s chest. The raider held out his hand, and a man placed a dagger into it. With no hesitation, he gouged two long, deep cuts into the peasant’s thighs, slashing across his veins until blood seeped out. He nodded to his men and then stared across the battlefield as if he was looking at Jack.

  Two raiders took hold of the peasant and heaved him up on the pole until his head rested against the top, and then they tied him to it with lashings of rope. The old peasant was suspended in the air now, with his bare legs coated in blood. He wailed in such an agonizing way that it made Jack shudder.

  “We need to hurry,” said Jack. “If we win this quickly, we might be able to save him.”

  Elena’s tone was gentle, yet to the point. “His cuts are fatal. He will bleed out long before then.”

  The peasant cried out again. It was a pain-filled and mournful sound, that of a soul in deep torment. Jack wondered if it was the pain of his cuts, or worry about what would happen to his family when he died.

  “If we can’t save him, then we’ll end his suffering,” said Jack. “Have one of the archers finish this humanely.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  An archer, one of the new recruits into his army, nocked an arrow. There was a thwacking sound, and then a broadhead arrow flew through the air, sailed over the flek fields and penetrated the mist, before lodging in the peasant’s throat. The screams ended abruptly, and a gentle silence descended over the battlefield.

  “Quite a shot,” said Mav.

  Jack agreed, though an arrow aimed to kill one of his own people was nothing to cheer about. The next thirty minutes were spent getting their men in formation while Sarna gave them one last drill on their strategy. Mav and Elena stayed at the front and watched their enemy, who were busy with preparation themselves.

  The growing gale soon brought sounds from across the field. The faint chatter of men about to fight, too quiet to discern words. The high-pitched scrape of a sword on a whetstone.

  Their enemy’s leader strode across the dirt with his crossbow over one shoulder and a bundle of oil-covered arrows in a quiver on his back.

  When he got closer, Jack was shocked to see that he recognized the man. It was Bruce Frier, Lord Veik’s henchman. Not only that, but Jack realized that some of the men in the raider’s camp wore armor that bore Lord Veik’s sigil.

  Veik was here, then. He’d known that Jack would attack the raiders, and he’d come to face him. Or, he’d sent his army here, at least. Jack couldn’t see any sign of Veik himself. Suddenly, the battle had taken on even more importance. Henry Veik planned to defeat Jack here, it seemed.

  When he was in front of his men, Bruce opened his arms. He raised his face to the heavens, and then let out an almighty bellow.

  “Time to attack,” said Jack.

  Their enemy had gathered across the field. While some soldier wore armor painted with Lord Veik’s sigil, the raiders wore a mish-mash of protective clothing. Some had equipped different hues of brown leather, starting with amber and ranging up to cocoa. One man wore a metal chest plate that had begun to rust on the sides. Jack wondered who he'd butchered to get something like that. Others had opted to paint blood symbols on their naked chests.

  There were no fancy speeches needed now, no grand words of courage. Instead, they faced their enemy’s ranks across the field. Jack’s men stood in one line, side-by-side, soldier with soldier. They would fight as one, they would battle together, and as long as they knew that, there would be no need for rousing words.

  Instead, there was an order shouted by Jack and followed by another from Sarna, and then the men charged. They didn’t run with swords swinging in the air; Sarna had trained them better than that. They held their blades horizontally at chest-level, with the blades pointing at their enemies. From that position, they could quickly change to the different stances that Sarna had drilled into them.

  The raiders kept no such discipline. As Bruce bellowed, his men and women screamed in return and then charged forward with their weapons in the air. Sat on his horse, Jack had a good view of them. He saw axes, mauls, and even a war hammer. He saw leather armor of different brown hues, while some especially-crazy bastards ran to the battle bare-chested.

  “Four to one,” said Mav next to him, as they galloped. “You might say we’re more outnumbered than a nun in an Arcus priest orgy.”

  He was right. Luckily, they had been prepared to face a larger force than their own, and Sarna had banked her training on the fact that a disciplined army could defeat an unruly force many times its size. Still, this was ridiculous. He hadn’t expected there to be so many raiders.

  Jack looked at his own men, and he used his rally power. He felt energy seep out from him and coat his men, raising their hitpoints, attack and defence.

  Rally activated!

  [Your units receive a bonus in hitpoints, attack and defence while you are alive.]

  As the two armies ran at each other, the flek mists thickened. Soon the mist was so heavy that it seemed as though two silhouetted forces charged across the fields. With the thickening fog came a stronger smell, one of fire and sulphur. The soldiers took care to avoid the cracks in the fields, since there was no telling which of them hid pressured flek, ripe to explode from the ground in hot balls. The flek s
lugs were gone now, having dragged their slimy bodies away from the battlefield.

  Bruce seemed to have placed his weakest men at the front, and when Jack’s soldiers met them head-on, they got the better of the first wave. Raiders and soldiers fell as swords punctured their armor, while some shrieked in pain when hilts smashed their noses.

  Jack tugged the reins of his horse and spurred it forward. He extended his dagger just over mid-length. He ploughed into the raiders' lines, swiping left and right with his weapon, aiming for the few fighters who had shields in the hope that it would make it easier for his own soldiers.

  When he saw soldiers wearing metal armor, he used armor break, shattering their defenses so that his own men could cleave through them. After using this a few times, he checked his mana.

  Mana: 580 / 814

  Armor break was a real mana drain, and he’d need to use it sparingly from now on so that he had enough left for his other powers. He had a couple of potions with him, but battle didn’t tend to allow for convenient breaks, and he couldn’t be sure he’d have time to drink one. He needed to be conservative with his mana use.

  Mav had dismounted and had joined the fray with his mughal dagger held out. He’d taken off his coat for perhaps the first time since Jack had met him and was dressed in battle leathers, a pleasing sign that he was taking it seriously. Since the thief had insisted on fighting, Jack had ordered him to stay at the back of his soldier ranks, and only engage when necessary. With a broken arm, he’d be useless in the crush of melee in the centre of the field where swords thrust through armor, fists were flung at faces, and blood spattered from fresh wounds. Mav had chosen to ignore his advice.

  One raider ran straight toward Jack’s horse. Then, when he was just three feet away, a thin metal tongue lashed out and lacerated his throat. Jack saw Elena to his left, wearing a stern look on her face, with her armor gleaming as though it had just been cleaned. She whipped back her urumi until the blade was by her side.

  “Thanks,” shouted Jack, though his gratitude was lost amidst the roar of battle.

  More of Veik’s men ploughed in now. The flek fields became a mess of blood and dirt. At the heart of the battle, the fighters of both sides were crushed together. The war cries of the raiders were so loud that Jack saw one of his soldiers visibly shudder at the volume. A small crater near the melee had filled with blood. One raider, his nose crushed by the hilt of a sword, fell face-first into the puddle. He spluttered and tried to stand, but in the chaos of battle one of his own men stepped on him and forced his mouth deeper into the blood.

  Sarna led a force of soldiers and watchmen around the outskirts of the battle lines, before charging in from the side. With their enemies’ attention split, Jack’s soldiers scored more hits, and the raiders’ numbers began to fall. Warriors cried out in pain as blood-crazy soldiers gutted them. Bodies piled up, so many that the fighters on both sides had to step around them. Jack saw one of his soldiers trip over a corpse. He stumbled to the ground and had just enough time to look up before an axe cleaved his neck in two.

  Jack’s charged to and fro through the enemy lines and jabbed at his enemies with his extended dagger. When he had a clear hit on a group of men, he used chain slice, sending damage rippling through their ranks. Sarna similarly rode back and forth, and she leaned over the side of her horse to swipe with her haladie at anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby. Her movements were so deft that the light seemed to glint across her blade.

  Bruce Frier joined his men now, wasting no time in caving in a watchman’s skull with his club, and then yanking out pieces of brain when he pulled his weapon away. He battled alongside his army, and from the first swipe of his weapon, Jack knew that he was a seasoned warrior.

  Bruce bellowed an order to some men to his right. Five soldiers and two raiders scattered across the field carrying vials of liquid. They ran to points on the ground where flek-tremors grouped. They poured liquid onto the cracked earth, and then flicked pieces of flint to set sparks, before retreating to a safe distance.

  The raw flek met with fire, and explosions sounded across the battlefield, showering the combatants with the molten liquid. It coated Jack’s men and the raiders alike. Bruce didn’t value his men’s lives highly, and he seemed satisfied that the molten liquid had sent fighters screaming in all directions. The brunt of it had hit Jack’s soldiers, and he watched in dismay as groups of them died.

  “Jack,” called Mav, turning his way only for a second. “We’ve got a problem.”

  A row of raiders brought up the ranks on Bruce’s side. These men wielded bows, which they pointed at the sky before letting loose. They didn’t fire arrows; instead, blue-tinted spikes were cast out. When they reached the highest part of their arc the spikes unfolded into blue mana nets, and some of these hit Jack’s soldiers and paralyzed them.

  Their numerical disadvantage was showing now. They were getting to the part of battle where tactics counted for less than sheer brute force, and Jack’s men would find themselves on the losing end before long.

  Jack looked to the east of the battlefield. His heart hammered. The east looked worryingly empty, and he wondered if his message had been heeded. Would they come? Had they even gotten the message in the first place? He couldn’t help but think that a vital part of his plan had failed.

  To add to his dismay, he soon heard the roars and yelps of a pack of wolves that Bruce had let loose upon the field. These beasts, running with their mouths open to reveal teeth dripping with saliva, latched onto the arms and legs of the soldiers nearest to them. Jack charged with his horse, scattering the beasts as well as he could. They nipped at his horse’s legs, but the animal was wise to them and galloped forward before sustaining any damage.

  Elena whipped her urumi, and the thin blade slashed a raider across the chest. Nearby, Sarna charged at a pack of warriors and then dismounted from her horse. She met five of them head on. With no sign of fear, she twisted and turned amongst them, lashing with her haladie in an unbelievable show of speed.

  Cries of pain mingled with the ringing of steel, the growls of wolves, and the swoosh of mana nets cast into the sky. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and blood and mud, creating a cloying mix of aromas that Jack could taste at the back of his throat.

  The shitty odds took an even darker turn as more of Jack’s soldiers succumbed to the thrusting of the raider’s swords. Jack whipped the reins and charged, thrusting with his blade at any raider who came his way. His arms began to ache, and his heart hammered so fast he worried it would burst out of his chest. He looked to his right and saw Mav thick in the fray, his mughal dagger slashing across men’s throats. He was coated in so much blood that it looked like a second skin. More and more of them they killed, but it wouldn’t be enough. Not unless…

  And that was when he heard the reassuring clomp of horse hooves on dirt. He looked to the east and saw the riders emerge. They wore shined metal armor and they brandished polished broadswords. At the head of them was the man who had answered his call. Sat on a magnificent black stallion, was General Bordan Vine. His gleaming armor bore the sigil of the Golden Troop. Crowley Drach rode next to him, with wisps of blue light smoldering from his robe.

  Jack felt a momentary flicker of relief. Bordan had gotten his message after all, and he’d answered the call. Jack had sent a message days earlier offering the old general one last chance of making history, and the beautiful, beautiful man had grasped it.

  Bordan and his men wasted no time in charging to the heart of the battle. As their swords met with the raider’s flesh, Jack made sure to watch Bruce, who had moved to the edge of the battle to survey it and give orders. For a second, he looked as if he was going to charge forward with his spiked club, but instead, he turned around and faced his camp over at the edge of the field.

  He shouted something across to some men behind him, and then left the battlefield. He returned just minutes later. Four men were with him. They held ropes that were attached to a giant brass
-cladded crate. As they pulled it across the battlefield, some of them cast wary glances at the crate behind them.

  “What the hell is in the crate?” said Jack, more to himself than anyone else.

  He looked around, hoping to find Elena or Sarna and see if they knew what the crate was, but his friends were thick in the fray.

  Bruce approached the crate. He took a key from his pocket and walked to the crate door, before unlocking a padlock. He swung open the doors and then stepped to the side, seemingly to put as much distance between him and whatever was inside.

  Two sounds boomed across the battlefield, and then a shape stepped from the darkness of the crate. The creature that emerged from the crate was so tall that even its shadow loomed larger than most men. Jack assumed that it had needed to bend its neck while it was in its prison. Despite its menacing height, it had a rakish body. Its skin resembled that of a lizard, except that it looked like it would be slimy to touch. Its eyes were tiny black ovals that appeared to possess a keen intelligence, and with these it surveyed the area around it with an unblinking stare. Set in the middle of its forehead, held fast by patches of skin, was a blue crystal.