The Cursed Princedom (Realm of Arkon #2)

by G. Akella

  Chapter 11

  "Sir knight? Do I have to put this thing on?" Reena looked at me skeptically, then at the plate fauld that she held in front of herself, pinched between two fingers like a mouse caught in the pantry.

  "Only if it's on your head," Reece chimed in with a grin. Having already slipped into his suit of armor, he was twirling his sword thoughtfully.

  "Yes, you have to," I replied, forcing myself to stay calm and gesturing to Ayim, who was about to defend the lady's honor, to stay calm as well. "You're a healer now, and your role carries great responsibility. Plate will offer you much better protection than what you're wearing now." I looked around at all my clanmates. "You have one minute to put all this on—we've lost too much time as it is. You'll worry about looks and style later. We're not headed to the club, after all, but to—"

  "A club? Is that like a tavern up above?" Having finally slid his blade into its sheath, Reece now indulged his curiosity.

  "Kind of, except you don't eat at a club," I snapped back. "Enough chit-chat. Time's up."

  Alas, the village had nothing in the way of staves or rods, so besides fighters, tanks and archers, all my casters were issued swords as well. The blades were useless as weapons, but I made sure to give them those with a boost to constitution. Almost a thousand extra hit points never hurt anybody.

  A déjà vu moment... I recalled my days in the army. Why was it that uniforms always looked so terrible on new draftees as compared to seasoned soldiers? It all came from the same warehouse, after all. Having finally finished changing, the vast majority of my troops made a rather comical sight. Imagine a suit of armor that slipped off a pedestal and came to life, each piece moving independently of the others—that was how the armor looked on my soldiers. They looked every bit the rookies they really were.

  I looked at Salta slide the sword out of the sheath, then make a few test swings, and chuckled. It reminded me of an old movie about pirates from around the turn of the century. There were several sequels, and the main character was a pirate captain who acted like a total fruitcake. I didn't remember the actors' names, but the demoness was the spitting image of the lead actress. The devs were known to model certain non-player characters after famous actors from the past and present. In fact, Ingvar had seemed familiar to me right away...

  "Bring the benches here and sit," I snapped at the demon crowding the yard. "I will show you how and when to use all that you've learned..."

  Our squad departed Ballan some three hours later. The entire village poured out to see us off, having nosed everything out in time. The settlement was tiny, and rumors probably spread in an instant. Some of the women were crying; most of the men looked on grimly, yet approvingly. I led the way at the front, steering Gloom by the reins. This was what the Spartan king Leonidas must have felt leading his three hundred soldiers to the Pass of Thermopylae. Recognizing the solemnity of the moment, my clanmates tried their darnedest to look the part of stoic warriors, which made them look even more comical. Or was that just me?

  The first pasture hit beyond a small grove roughly half a mile from Ballan, though it took us all of fifteen minutes to get there. I raised my hand, commanding everybody to stop. I surveyed our purported farming area—a square about a half mile in diameter, overgrown with nearly waist-high grass that swayed in the wind. The aroma of plants and flowers streaming our way was intermixed with the repugnant stench of dead flesh. Packs of undead—levels 152-157, thirteen to seventeen mobs strong—stood some sixty-seventy yards away. Oh, but the place was crawling with them!

  Climbing into the saddle, I activated magical voice amplification for Ayim, Salta, tanks and healers, then put on my helm. The nearest undead pack was fifty yards away: a seven-foot-tall zombie with two hundred thousand HP, four liches, two skeleton archers and six skeleton warriors. The ordinary mobs all had around forty five thousand HP. No big deal.

  "All right, just like we practiced. We'll attack the nearest pack to us. Tanks, assume your positions to the sides. Archers, three behind each tank. Take down the warriors first," I marked the targets, and indicated them by hand for good measure. "Each tank takes two! Archers pull with arrows and wait for the tanks to intercept, then switch to my targets. Tanks, make sure to keep the attention of your two skeletons. Ayim, you're with Aritor, Surat is with Hurd. Keep away from me. Reena heals Aritor, Osk heals me, Hagedia heals Hurd. Reece, count to three, then start unloading on my targets. And don't forget to cover one another. I don't want anyone's life dipping below half! Buff up! Ayim, Salta, report when your groups are ready."

  I turned, watching the demons behind me spread out and take their indicated positions. Having already cast Shield of the Elements on everyone, I could simply observe how they went about carrying out my orders.

  "Ready, boss!" the smiling mage raised his right hand. "Let's kick their bony asses."

  "Put your helm on!" I barked at him. 'Ready' my butt! Ayim? Salta?"

  "Ready, dar!" the archeress stood still, bow drawn, helm hiding her face. Yet, I could still sense her tension.

  "My team is ready!" Ayim stood in a crouching stance behind his brother, the rags attached by the devs to his strangely-shaped helm flapping gently in the breeze.

  I gave my anxious clanmates one last lookover. When my eyes fell on Aritor's bronze-bound steel shield, the wolf muzzle on it winked at me, then widened its eyes. Was I hallucinating? Not likely! If anyone expected me to wink back, fat chance! I turned my boar in the pack's direction, and touched my heels to his sides. "Osk, shield! Let's roll!"

  The razorback's target was one of the zombie healers directly behind the mini boss. The tip of my lance pointed right at the bastard. Charge! The momentum pressed me into the saddle's back. In the corner of my eye I glimpsed a volley of arrows strike at the skeleton warriors, and tightened my grip on the leather straps on the shield's inner side. The razorback steamrolled one of the warriors on his path, an arrow sprouting from its shoulder, knocking the skeleton into an archer and sending them both tumbling into the tall grass. I popped Frenzy for Gloom. A huge zombie appeared on our path out of nowhere, its arms spread wide like a goalkeeper. Bam!

  The lance rammed into the collarbone, skewering the victim, and the razorback knocked it to the ground. Silence on the other healer. Unable to reach Gloom's target, I let go off the lance, whipped out my blade and pounced on the nearest archer. Osk's shield absorbed the first two Clots of Darkness and several arrows. After blocking a warrior's attack with a shield, I felt a sharp stab in my back. Ah, damn! In my initial charge I'd run over a skeleton meant for one of the tanks, and Gloom's Frenzy had picked up the other one. The boar's aggro was my aggro, so now both of them were on my ass. After quickly finishing off his skeleton, Gloom hurried to assist me. Dispatching with my target with an Ice Spear that left a gaping hole in its chest, I switched instantly to the remaining healer as the archer's bones crumpled to the ground.

  "Heals on the dar!"

  Two more strikes at my back, and I noticed my health bar slide close to the midway point. As I downed a health potion, a cool wave of healing washed over me at the same time. The boar spun in place, knocking down my target, but it didn't matter anymore as five arrows plunged into the lich's chest within the span of a second, finishing off the mob. I turned, setting my sights on one of the mages. As a Clot of Darkness struck me in the side, I suddenly found myself surrounded by four warriors, all four attacking at once. I managed to block one blow with a shield, and one other landed on the boar, but the remaining two connected. Almost immediately after I felt the sting of an arrow loosed by the last remaining archer. Pain, a world of pain!

  "Fire at the ones in plate, damn you!" I picked up notes of panic in Salta's tone.

  Three simultaneous heals brought my life back to full as I finally made my way to my next target, the mage. Tongue of Flame, Ice Blade! A crit! Three arrows plunged into the lich's chest, and the next Ice Blade ripped the bastard's head right off.

  "Focus fire on the last mage!" I o
rdered, blocking another two-hander's swing. Then, standing up in the stirrups, I swung my blade at the head of the last skeleton archer. The skeleton tried to block me with a bow, but the sword sliced right through the wood and smashed into the skull, sending bone fragments flying in a small explosion. The mob's health had already been low, and my death blow had triggered the effect. The next to drop was the last remaining mage with four arrows in his chest, and I turned to attack the nearest warrior. Where the Hart are the other two? I glanced around me, searching for the remaining skeletons...

  "Salta!!!" Ayim's yelp pierced the ears. "Hagedia! Heal her! Heal!!!"

  Standing away from everyone, the archeress was firing arrow after arrow at the chest of one the skeleton warriors rushing right at her. Her energy was running out—the girl had drawn the aggro of these two from me with armor-piercing shots, and for some reason had run away from the tank. Suddenly, one of the two skeletons charged her, bringing the blade of his two-hander down on the stunned demoness' shoulder. The girl's health bar dropped to nearly half, and I felt my insides twist, as if gripped by winter itself.

  "Bitch!!!" Jumping toward them, I set the razorback into a gallop while casting shackles on the other skeleton running toward the archeress. There wasn't enough time! Rage swept over me.

  "Heal her!!!" Ayim bellowed again, and dashed in Salta's direction, along with everyone else.

  The only one within healing range, Hagedia threw up her arms. The archeress' health bar rose by a quarter, but the mob's next blow became a crit, dropping the demoness to the grass like a broken doll.

  The skeleton staggered from my Ice Spear and five arrows plunging into his back. Ignoring us completely, he raised the massive two-handed sword over the girl, as if in slow motion... Just as my boar's Charge finally refreshed.

  "Come ooooon, Gloooooom!!!"

  The tip of the spear I'd whipped out of the inventory was aimed right at the backside of the bloody bastard's helm. Bam! The steel tip broke through the helm's metal, piercing the skull right through. The next instant Gloom smashed into the skeleton, knocking it back, tusks grinding against metal in the most horrid way. I'd made it in time! I turned the razorback around, shielding Salta's unconscious body.

  "Finish off the rest," I commanded wearily.

  Even without my order, the tanks were already intercepting the skeletons running my way, while Reece and the archers were finishing off the remaining undead at almost point-blank range.

  The morale of your party has risen by 3 points. Your party's current morale is +5 (a 5% increase to your party members' physical and magic damage).

  Our first battle, makes sense, I hopped off the boar, kicked off the skull stuck to the tip of the spear, and turned to Salta who struggling up from the ground.

  "What were you thinking, stupid? You could have died! Why did you run away from the tank?"

  Salta ripped off her helm with a single motion, letting her fair hair fall heavily onto her shoulders. Tears streaked down her cheeks, but the girl's huge brown eyes shone with defiance.

  "Hurd wouldn't have survived against three, and Hagedia was healing you!" she shouted into my face, her voice breaking. "Who am I? A nobody! If I die, it won't matter one bit! But if you die, all of this will have been for nothing! Who will avenge my mother and father? Who will avenge us all?!"

  "Now, now, let's not get emotional," I said, suddenly feeling like a total jerk, all my anger evaporated. "The right thing would have been to draw out of the two warriors I wasn't fighting," I continued in an even tone. "Why have casualties at all?"

  "I... I..." suddenly deflated, the young woman fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

  "If this happens again, I'm sending you back to the village for further training. Every single one of you is needed, and I can't afford to lose anyone for foolish reasons," I concluded patronizingly, clenching my teeth so hard they hurt. But then, watching the demoness' shuddering shoulders, I added with a sigh. "And also... Thank you, Salta..."

  The young woman withdrew her hands from her face, and looked at me with tear-stained eyes... Then started to weep even harder.

  "It's my fault, dar," Ayim, who had been keeping a tactful distance until now, walked over, his eyes downcast and twirling the helm he'd pulled off his head. "I didn't realize we needed to fire at the others..."

  "It's nobody's fault! There will be more mistakes to learn from. This is only your first battle—you will react faster next time." Closing my eyes, I let the breeze cool my face.

  Reena and Hagedia skirted me, then sat on the ground on either side of the weeping archeress, consoling her. The tanks were sitting on the ground, conversing softly. The others were discussing the battle, giddy with excitement and gesticulating wildly.

  "Sir knight!" the intrepid mage appeared before me. "Don't you think it's time to sort through the trophies obtained in this uneven battle? With all this psychoanalyzing you've completely forgotten about what's important!" Reece cast a skeptical glance at the three young women sitting on the ground, shrugged and sighed, then looked back at me. "And don't forget that you've promised me all the reagents."

  "An 'uneven' battle, sure..."

  "We were sixteen, the boar included, and they were thirteen..." the demon smirked. "Do you think we were evenly matched?"

  "Maybe not, but at least we wiped the floor with them," I said, matching his tone, and started toward the corpses littering the ground.

  "I'm not arguing that! But we should get back to exterminating our enemies," Reece motioned at other nearby packs. "If we don't, we're risking Aritor dozing off while spooning your black beast. Either that or," he nodded toward the three weeping females, "these three will cry a proper river and we will all drown."

  "How is it you're such a wise guy?"

  "My mom is a succubus," Reece shrugged. "She would visit Xantarra often in her youth. I don't remember my father simply because I don't know who he is," the demon gave a light-hearted wave of the hand. "But why should I care? As long as I'm here, that's what's important."

  "You're right, that is what's important," I slapped him on the shoulder. "Tell Ayim to gather everyone for some blamestorming."

  "Blamestorming?" the mage stared at me curiously.

  "A figure a speech where I come from. I'll tell you about it some other time," I frowned. "Now go, you have orders."

  "Aye-aye!" His eyes bulging, Reece spun awkwardly on his heels, and Jumped right to the weeping women. A real clown, that one.

  The dead skeletons had only one item of unusual quality that would be of use for my squad: a tank helm. Other drops of note included an alchemy recipe for a strength potion, and five ancient bones. The rest was your typical junk. I handed over five pieces of thick fabric looted off the corpses to Hagedia. Reece got the recipe and all the ingredients. I distributed the dropped vials, awarded the helm to Aritor, and proceeded with an educational talk. My subordinates listened attentively, and promised not to act the fools from here on out. And, oddly enough, they made good on that promise.

  The rest of the day became your typical farming raid. Honing our tactics and skills, by sunset we were spending no more than seven-eight minutes per pack, including looting and distribution of trophies. We hadn't managed to clear the entire field, but at least half of it was now free of undead. Six people, including myself, had leveled up, and nearly everyone had obtained unusual quality rings and miscellaneous gear. One of the drops had finally allowed me to upgrade my blade. Though it wasn't anything special—a level 145 unusual quality cavalry sword with nearly 150 strength and plus one percent chance to critical hit—it nonetheless raised my base physical damage by almost fifteen percent. The squad's morale had also risen to ten, so spirits were quite high as we returned to Ballan.

  Once through the gate, the whole crowd streamed in the direction of the blacksmith. We found Master Skyle sitting on his workbench, a mug of beer in his hand. All that was missing was a TV playing SportsCenter. Seeing so many guests, the demon gave a fri
endly smile and patted a sizable barrel next to him, suggesting that we celebrate the squad's baptism by fire. It seemed that Skyle had felt desperately lonely drinking in solitude. After giving me the spears I'd ordered and graciously offering his smithy and all the tools in it for our use, he sat everyone down on a wooden logs he'd carried out from behind the barn, and proceeded to hang out mugs filled with a foamy beverage.

  It took Aritor about two hours to repair the entire squad's equipment. Bit by bit the smithy's yard emptied out, as my clanmates received their mended gear and went about their business. But I just there, enjoying every moment. Leaning back on the fence with a mug in my hand, I listened to Master Skyle's monotonous dribble, watched Aritor working the anvil, and analyzed the events of the past day.

  Hart damn, I'd actually done it! I'd put together a squad that was fully capable of farming the local mobs. It had been a bumpy ride at first, sure, what with the girls bursting into tears, but what would you expect of someone who was a simple farmer only yesterday? But with those tears they had seemed to cry out all of their fears and uncertainty, for their behavior afterwards was exemplary. The key now was not to push too hard, too soon. We had no problem taking out groups of mobs ten-fifteen levels above us, but it was important not to overextend ourselves.

  Of course, the devs hadn't put out the complete information on combat math, but whatever was available publicly was quite enough to draw certain conclusions. Roughly speaking, your damage output against any mob, NPC or player was equal to your base damage multiplied by the level difference. For instance, with a level 100 player versus a level 200 mob, only half of the player's damage got through, whereas the mob dealt twice as much damage to the player. Accounting for the difference in the base damage, it was clear that the player in this example wouldn't survive more than one-two attacks. There were certain other coefficients, to be sure, but let's put them aside for now. The point was that I wasn't going to lead my people into zones where the mobs' average level was more than ten-fifteen above ours.