The Phantom Castle (The Way of the Shaman: Book #4) LitRPG series

by Vasily Mahanenko

  The Dragon stepped right up to us. For several moments he fixed Anastaria in his gaze. Then he turned and addressed me:

  “Son! I am proud that you have found a part of yourself, even if within the Foe! From now and until your final deaths separate you, protect her as you would yourself!” The Dragon turned to the Siren, rooted in place beside me, and growled: “Foe! I would have happily vanquished you, had I met you earlier, but you found a part of yourself in my son! From now and until your final deaths separate you, be a worthy companion to this Dragon!”

  Do you wish to speak the words of fidelity?

  Attention! This action does not entail any legal ramifications in the real world!

  It took me one glance at Anastaria to understand that she had received the same notification. Mind-boggling! This I definitely had not expected—an impromptu virtual wedding! My entire adult life I fled from this like from fire, afraid of the responsibility, but Barliona incarnated all my fears in the form of one wonderful, dear and gracious girl.

  Yes! I pushed the button without much thought. How could I refuse in this moment? Never! Our vows instantly appeared before me, indicating that Stacey too had ignored the ‘No’ button.

  “Anastaria! I, High Shaman Mahan, Dragon, vow to love you in misery and joy…”

  “Mahan! I, Paladin-General Anastaria, Lieutenant of Paladins and Siren, vow to love you in misery and joy…”

  We spoke the words at the same time, almost in sync, and as soon as the last word left our lips, our amulets pulled toward one another like two gigantic magnets. For several moments I resisted, but the force became so great that I was yanked toward the girl. All that I managed was to spread my paws and accept Anastaria in my embrace as she came flying in, pulled by her own amulet. As soon as our two essences touched, I went blind for a second from a bright flash—a small sun formed near my eyes. When my sight returned, we found ourselves in the center of a huge crater that had once been the Jewelry workshop. Furthermore, both Anastaria and I were in our human forms and there were two amulets now around our respective necks. Looking at Stacey I couldn’t help but smile—like it or not, there was no getting away now: beside me stood Countess Anastaria, companion of Mahan. And, accordingly, in my properties, my name was transparent and read Earl Mahan, companion of Anastaria. Well here we are…

  “Quick, into the portal before the guards grab us,” whispered Anastaria and instantly activated the teleport.

  “Mahan!” The Jewelcraft Master’s scream could be probably heard across all of Anhurs. “You’ve managed to de…”

  We didn’t wait around long enough to hear what we had managed to de…stroy, as I dove straight into the portal that Stacey had opened. I hoped only that it would take us somewhere outside of Anhurs.

  And that it did…only now we found ourselves smack dab in the middle of what looked like a gathering for an upcoming battle.

  “You woke up finally?” asked Magdey, glancing me over head to foot. “There’s no time, Mahan, so let’s do this in short question and answer form. Are you equipped to heal?”

  “No,” I instantly replied, noticing the serious looks on the faces of the clan members around me.

  “You don’t have any secret abilities that have something to do with mass damage or healing, do you?”

  “No again,” I was beginning to grow perplexed at this interrogation.

  “Okay…I’ve studied the Shamanic skill tree. At Level 51 you can’t really help us with much, so try to stay in the middle and keep casting puddle of healing.”

  “Maybe you’ll tell me what’s going on? If you’ve studied the shamanic skills, you should know that our skills can be combined, and the power of the summon depends on the Spirit. I don’t really understand why you’re bringing up Level 51, but I have a Level 9 Summoning spell.”

  “Again,” interrupting my rant, asked Magdey, “Level 9? At Level 93?”

  “Who cares what the level is? Even though I don’t have healing, as a healer I’ll be not much worse than Barsa.”

  “Wonderful! In that case, you can join the second group with Plinto.”

  “The time has come,” half spoke, half yelled an enormous hirsute man, and only then I realized that we were in a fairly astonishing place—a huge glade, once green but now stamped out to the earth, surrounded by tall trees. As my map helpfully informed me, we were in Craggy Forest.

  A large, round, wooden dais was located in the center of the glade and around it stood several dozen rows of chairs, forming an amphitheater of sorts. Huge tents stood around the perimeter of the glade—I counted a dozen altogether—and above them fluttered multicolored banners. Smaller tents clustered around the larger ones, as though twelve warring clans decided to make a temporary peace and watch a show. I say warring because the camp closest to us was as visible as if it were in the palm of my hand and I could see very well not only the hastily dug trench, bristling like a hedgehog with spikes, but also armed detachments of sentries, intently scanning the surroundings in search of enemies.

  My clan was part of the thirteenth camp, whose main tent had no flag. In fact, there was no main tent at all—only an empty space—perhaps because no one dared to place a tent in the leader’s vacancy.

  “Stand ye prepared to prove that you have regained your ritual disc?” again shouted the giant man.

  “We are prepared!” yelled an old man in response.

  “In that case, let the warriors of the Silver Hand clan step into the ring! The clans grow weary of waiting.”

  “We are coming!” yelled Magdey instead of the old man and headed confidently toward the amphitheater. Hmm…Not Anastaria and not Plinto but…Magdey! It looks like the six days that I was absent had been very productive for my clan. Everyone else followed the Raid Leader, including Eric and Clutzer. Tarrying and not entirely understanding what was expected of me—whether I should go along with everyone or stay in place—I remained standing in place until Plinto’s friendly hand clapped me on my shoulder.

  “What, boss, did you not expect such mettle from us? Come on, I’ll tell you what’s going on here. Basically, your job is to stand in the middle of my band—set it in your frames right away—and cast healing and buffs. Ignore the mobs, they’re our business.”

  “Why did you guys even come here?” I asked, noticing that we had already passed halfway between our camp and the arena.

  “Because the Prince’s quest has been completed—the ritual disc has been delivered. But then the quest instantly updated with a further offer of doing battle. We discussed it and agreed. Look up the quest description, while we’re walking—it should have changed for you too…”

  Escorting the Prince. Description: You have returned the ritual disc to the Werebeasts of the Silver Hand clan, but some of the other Werebeast clans refuse to admit the scofflaws back to the Werebeast Council. Prove that the disc is real by doing battle with members of the seven Werebeast clans in the Arena of Trials. Reward: Variable. Penalty for failing or refusing the quest: Variable.

  “Have you read it?” grinned Plinto, noting the look on my face. “Seven clans opposed us, the other five came out in support. We need to hold out four rounds to get our reward. Magdey and Stacey have cooked up a tactic to compensate for our loss of levels during this quest, so your only job is to stand and heal anyone in range. Nothing complicated.”

  “Why are we losing levels?”

  “Let’s deal with that later, okay? Once the first battle is over, we’ll talk it over.”

  “Okay…Stacey?” I instantly addressed the girl telepathically.

  “Plinto should tell you everything. Was there something you didn’t understand?”

  “No I get it, it’s only that…”

  “Dan, don’t waste your Energy—you’ll be needing it. Let’s talk later—we’re late as it is because I had to go fetch you.”

  When we approached the Arena, I got a chance to see the local VIP section a little better. An enormous lodge decorated with furs, shields, b
anners and textiles of various colors. Two massive chairs were set in the middle of it. One of them was empty, but the other one was occupied by a giant. The fellow who came up to us and told us to enter the circle was a tiny child compared to this local Chieftain. I don’t know how tall this giant was—I’d guess three meters—but, still, I’d never seen such a mastodon before. His powerful arms, rippling with a terrible beastly strength, rivalled my torso in dimensions. I was thinner than his paws! His chest could be used as a battering ram in a pinch, and his reddened eyes glared with the menacing look of an aggro-boss from beneath his oppressive eyebrows…A Level 450 murder machine…

  “A fine looking fellow!” Magdey appeared beside me, like me, regarding the Chieftain. “If we survive to the fourth round, he’s all ours!”

  “What do you mean ours?” I asked surprised. “That crocodile would make two bites of the lot of us and not even notice!”

  “Aye, that he would,” Magdey agreed with me. “But for that to happen, at least one of our players needs to make it to the fourth round. After that, let the big man have his snack—no big deal. Listen—forgive me for my sharp tone back there in the huddle. There wasn’t any time for politeness.”

  In the background, the announcer was proclaiming something about how the Silver Hand clan had lost its ritual disc forcing and was expelled from the Council. However, the clan had since recovered its relic and wished now to prove its right to the clan flag.

  “Listen, we spent three days coming up with various tactics, depending on how we’d be fighting, so do me a favor and pay attention to what Barsa and the other healers are doing if you want to live a little longer.”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “Any other requests?”

  “Don’t get aggro,” frowned Magdey, interpreting my words as sarcasm. “We’re in this together. The Blood Ritual is a competition of four rounds. In the first round we fight together against a similar number of Werebeasts. 62 vs. 62. In the second round, those of us who are left, fight a replenished group of Werebeasts. Keep in mind that there’ll be as many of them as during the first round. The third round is like the second. The fourth is against that there boss. The goal is for at least one of us to survive to the very end. You can’t die in the Arena—as soon as you fall to one health, you’ll be teleported out and healed back to full. But then you can’t return to the Arena either. Theoretically, we’re not risking anything, except that if we lose, the Craggy Forest will be closed to us forever.”

  “Got you. Tell me, is the composition of our enemies determined by…”

  “ENTER THE ARENA!” the announcer cut me off as the gate blocking our way rose with a rumble. “THE BLOOD RITUAL COMMENCES!”

  Drums began to beat, at first infrequently but gradually faster and faster until eventually they became one standing roar. The seats around the Arena begin to fill and I got a chance to see my first female Werebeast. Catching the eye of a pretty girl sitting several meters from me—a Bear judging by her amulet—I smiled and received the same in kind. The female portion of the local populace was no different from ordinary people, unless you glanced at their properties—no one would guess that he was looking at a Bear or a Vagren.

  You have entered the Arena of Trials. Due to the quest limitations, your character’s Level has been decreased to 51. All of your equipment, stats, abilities and skills have been adjusted accordingly. As long as you are in this Arena, you may not use the following abilities: Summon Spirits of Slowing (requires Level 75), summon Spirits of...

  The long list of Spirits that I could not summon during my time in the Arena took over my entire field of view, so I quickly scrolled through it, wondering at their immense diversity. Learning from the text that during the battle I could not be resurrected by Priests or use scrolls, I dismissed the annoying text. I had taken note of the most important information—I could still heal and do damage. Everything else was secondary—that’s what Plinto and Magdey were there for.

  “You who wish to prove the right of the Silver Hand clan to take their place among the clans,” the announcer turned to us, “are you prepared?”

  “We are!” Anastaria replied immediately.

  “You who wish to show the Silver Hand clan their true place lies outside the Council—are you prepared?”

  “We are!” came the throaty cries of 62 Werebeasts, and our foes, all wearing headbands marked with the number ‘1’, emerged on the other end of the Arena. As I managed to understand, we were about to fight members from all seven of the clans opposing the Silver Hand.

  “Fight!” The Chieftain commanded in a husky voice and a furry avalanche of Bears and Vagrens rushed in our direction—their maws contorted in malicious grimaces.

  The first battle for the “honor” of the Silver Hand clan had begun…

  As per the plan, I took my place in the middle of a circle of our players, the perimeter of which was occupied either by tanks or other armored warriors—Warriors and Death Knights—or quick and agile fighters like Plinto and Clutzer. Their job was simply to keep the enemy from reaching the healers and ranged fighters within. Anastaria and Magdey, each commanding their own squad, would assign targets, each of which would then instantly find himself in the focus of a dozen fighters. The Werebeasts got in each other’s way as they tried to reach us. They pushed and gnashed among themselves, vying for position and so didn’t cause us too much trouble. Their armada had come out against us simply too disorganized. All that I recall from that first wave was our circle and their wedge, which flared up and vanished to nonexistence almost instantly. The Legends of Barliona routed the Bears 62-0 and did so in five minutes, sending all of its opponents out of the Arena for a well-earned rest.

  “The first round is complete!” the announcer called out when the last Werebeast was teleported out of the Arena of Trials. “The warriors of the Silver Hand have proven that they have come here in earnest and don’t intend on retreating. You who wish to punish and show the Silver Hand its rightful place lies outside of the Council—are you prepared to do battle?” The old man repeated his question to the Werebeasts marked with the number ‘2’ on their headbands, who had assembled at the far end of the Arena.

  “We are ready!” they roared in unison and at the wave of the Chieftain’s paw, the second round got under way.

  “Same thing as last time,” ordered Magdey when the avalanche of ‘2s’ rushed at our tanks. “On my mark, focus on…”

  It became immediately clear that what happened next had not been foreseen by my Raid Leader—there were Mages among the Werebeasts.

  “Priests! Cast the dome!” yelled Barsina in a panic as soon as Ice Rain appeared overhead and icicles as sharp as spears began to fall to the ground. What made our situation worse was that there were several Ice Rains and that my raid party was between them and the earth. “Mahan, start casting mass heals! Someone has to focus the Mages!”

  “Where did these guys come from?” Magdey wrote in the chat. “I made sure to check yesterday—there weren’t any Mages among the Werebeasts!”

  “I didn’t see any either,” agreed Stacey. As I understood it, our entire strategy hinged on the assumption that the Werebeasts were comprised only of ordinary fighters without any ranged attacks. This was why we had clumped together into a big circle, which was now being ravaged by all kinds of unpleasant spells.

  Unlike the first wave, the ‘2s’ were acting in an entirely novel way—stopping several dozen meters from us, they sent out massive Bears who, I assume, were the local tanks and whose job it seemed was to soak up the damage from our ranged fighters.

  “I can’t hit his liver! I can’t even see it!” yelled one of our Hunters in response to Magdey setting a marker. In addition to blocking our sight, the giant Bears hampered our ability to aim at the designated markers.

  “Mages, put on an ice show!” Anastaria ordered. “All fighters! Take ten careful steps towards the Werebeasts! Tanks—prepare yourselves for the advance. It might distort our ranks and the enemy might us
e that to their advantage. Healers! Why is the raid party so weak? Heal everyone! On the count of three, take ten steps forward! One! Two! Three!”

  It turns out that a synchronized advance as a large group requires some drilling. For example, the mob has to step around the healers who are occupied with healing the raid party to a satisfactory level of Hit Points. Or you have to avoid tripping and falling under the feet of your own companions. On the fifth step, when a tripping player fell against the back of one of our tanks, thereby distorting our perimeter, the Ice Rain ceased and the Werebeast assault group rushed upon us. We had shortened the distance ourselves and now…

  “Close ranks!” Anastaria managed to yell out before our circle was effectively ripped into two halves. An enormous Bear slipped past the fallen Tank and slammed full tilt into one of our Archers—and continued onward like a battering ram, utterly ignoring the cloth and leather armored players in his path. This wedge didn’t do anything bad to anyone, besides knocking over a couple players and slightly taking down their Hit Points—which were instantly restored with mass healing—however, this Bear was followed by others who had sharper claws, more speed and higher damage…In a matter of moments, our circle of players was ripped in two, at which point came the really unpleasant part.