PROLOGUE

  One way or another it was going to end, here and now, upon the field of battle; and the future of their world would be decided. His comrades had fallen, bodies strewn about the field, blood soaking into the soil turning the earth to mud the tang of iron heavy in the air mixing with smoke rising from flames which clutched at the bodies of the dead. His friends; his followers; his men had been piled high as they had stormed the hill forming towers casting dark shadows on the field caught in the sunset; and now their foe was before them; before him the last man standing. If he failed here it would all have been for nought; the last two years: for nothing, all the death, all the war, all the bloodshed, all the sacrifices worthless. That thought terrified him, it shook him to his core and set his hands trembling; his blood ran cold. And despite it all he couldn't help but smile. Here it would be decided, one man against an army for the title of king; and he had no intention of backing down. 

  Time seemed to pass slowly as Coughin marched, the man striding across the field footsteps heavy across the hill, distant voices reaching him from the spectators camps, dull tents of red and purple scattered on distant hills ringing the site of their battle; those lords and ladies who’s armies had already fallen in battle many of them at his own hand, having retreated to the safety and comfort of their camps rather than staying to fight to the bitter end. Coughin laughed heaving up his axe, the weapon trailing glinting with motes of golden light cast by the rays of the setting sun red on the horizon, painting the hill in vibrant orange, the last fragments of daylight touching on the armour of the fallen and bidding them to rest. “If I haven’t given you proof enough yet, then I shall do so now; victory is not decided by the size of your forces or your cunning in battle, it is a product of patience and timing; it is a skill!”

"You’re really into your’ character aren’t you? I know this is a role playing game but still" Rowan grit his teeth behind the screen as a young woman’s voice flitted down to meet him, as she stood there high above, having taken the high ground surrounded by her forces, sword sheathed at her hip, looking down upon her foe. “Right right, I’m ruining the mood aren’t I...” Ordelia cleared her throat straitening her spine, a harsh wind blowing in pulling at her hair, golden braids blowing in the wind, pale skin caught within the dying light of the sun, as clear blue eyes struck him to his place; “I Ordelia King of Azenkein and ruler of the city of Venwall accept the challenge of Coughin: The Heretical Knight!” The woman yelled a violent cheer rising from the distant, camps Coughin gritting his teeth in a wild grin. Ordelia drew her sabre from its’ scabbard the sun finally vanishing beyond the hills, the faint glimmer of starlight filling the purple sky and catching on the woman’ steel, glimmering on her armour. Rowan shrunk as the sound of applause and laughter filled his headset before Coughin let loose a laugh stepping forwards, and beginning his charge his voice cutting through the raucous mob:

“Then let’s begin!”

  Rowans’ closed his eyes fingers twitching as they flew across the keyboard, jerking left and right; the movements instinctual. He could feel it his body moving, the weight of the axe, the taste of his blood, and the heat slowly rising in his veins.

  The Last Knights; it was a game that had appeared roughly five-years ago, admittedly when it first appeared it didn’t set the world on fire: but it was a digital juggernaut. Slowly the game gained popularity forcing its’ way into mainstream culture, the game gained momentum and before anyone had realised it was a worldwide craze. The premise was simple; you are a knight, you serve your kingdom, and protect your people, gather your' followers, tackle quests, earn glory and become a king. There were roughly three-hundred different servers each equating to its’ own kingdom, within which several thousands of players would battle over resources, land, troops, fame and glory. And once a year a battle would begin for the right to claim the title of king: The Round-Table War. Gather your’ armies, form your’ guilds and head to battle to claim your’ kingdom; at least that was how it worked for those who could afford it. The Last Knights was a great casual game it allowed you to gather a small group of NPC characters and challenge difficult quests; three or four players able of forming a party the size of guilds in other games. But to form a proper army it required you to spend either a ridiculous amount of time, or some real world money. This was especially true at the games’ higher levels, and they didn’t get much higher than Azenkein.

  Azenkein was the games’ first server and was roughly three-times larger than any other server in the game, it supported near ten thousand players, the requirement for access to this oversized server containing the rarest and most valuable resources, items and loot; become a king. It is no understatement to say that reaching Azenkein is every knight’s goal.

  And amidst the elite, Four guilds stood out each vying for the title of the game’s best player and king of Azenkein; The Ironfist Nobles, Greenwood Militia, Guards of the temple, Redrun Heroes and Old-Land giants. The Round-Table war had been fought four times now the Ironfist nobles had claimed victory for the last two years, the Old-land giants and Greenwood militia each possessing one win each. Each year the winning faction was given a huge real-world money prize split between its’ members, a bounty of in-game bonuses, a sea of awards and accolades along with the glory of being the worlds’ best gamers. Rowan breathed steadily Coughin charging up the hill towards foe, the obstacle between him and his victory; Ordelia the games current number one, leader of the Ironfist nobles, and current king of Azenkein

  Ordelia smiled, her eyes glittering from atop the hill, as she gave the command, to her archers pulling back he began to reel back, hundreds of pristine white arrows streaking through the air. Coughin roared swinging up his axe a vortex of bloodied water rising from the earth dragging up swords and armour and the bodies within them pulling in the arrows and pushing them off course, his mana gauge falling rapidly as he finished casting the spell. Coughin crying out the name of the skill he had just used; "[Neptune's Lance Lv8]!" those same words appearing painted in the air above his head. Coughin pushed on, stepping past the vortex of his creation his hair thrashing wildly behind him held back by a thick iron ring, a wave of spearmen detaching themselves from Ordelia's main force. Yellowed eyes, ebony claws and ivory fangs; scales adorned their skin, the darkest red, as they moved in sync spears brandished before them, hoping to skewer their unwitting foe.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Coughin laughed, drake soldiers were a pain; their scales provided natural armour and they possessed a strong defence against elemental damage. In other words they were his weakness, not to mention the fact it irritated him to no end; no matter how many times he played the games gacha, they would never spawn. Well at least that pent up rage was useful for something.

  Coughin activated one of his silent skills; [Lunar Axe Lv14] taking his axe in both hands, the gigantic weapon whirling forwards as he attacked removing the heads of his opponents spears, leaving a trail of moonlight in his wake the spectators standing in awe many recording the battle from every possible angle as if the games developers doing the same thing already. Hell their fight was being broadcast live on TV, still all the meant was that Coughin couldn’t afford to mess up, he’d spent the last two years preparing for this moment and nothing was going to stop him from enjoying it to its’ fullest. He hadn’t spent a coin not a penny; after claiming the title of king on one of the outlier servers he’d jumped at the chance to join Azenkein and from there he had built up his forces, gathered resources and founded his guild; The Heretical Knight, and if the name wasn’t indicator enough this guild had only one member; Coughin himself.

  He had come this far fighting off nearly five-hundred different players and their armies, not with overwhelming force, or unsurpassed cunning, but with simple patience and timing. Yes he needed power, and yes he needed intelligence, but those paled in comparison to what you could do with skill.

  That was the point he was trying to make, to everyone and to himself, effort surpassed all.

  Coughin paused giving himself a moment to catch his breath and let his stamina recover, Ordelia stepping forwards from where she stood atop the hill, she left behind her armies, of giants and dragons and other monsters beside to meet him head to head. Coughin laughed walking forwards to meet, her slowly carefully watching her every move; Rowan poised above his keyboard ready to act. And then she struck.

  She swung out her sabre the silver blade slicing through the air and reaching for his throat. Coughin evaded the strike but unable to evade the area-effects of the skill she had just used against him a wave of debuffs piling up against his person. His health began to dip, as bleeding seeped away what little life he had left, his body slowed and numbed, but still able to move. Coughin struck out his axe whistling through the air his opponent pulling back to avoid the attack Coughin following up slowly working his way into a combo attack, slashing at his opponent over and over, keeping a steady eye upon his gauges watching as his mana rose and stamina fell; until at last he was left running on fumes. Coughin moved roaring out the name of his next spell; “[Glacial World Ice Age Lv9]!” his cry echoed across the hill, the sky burning a pale white, as a frost formed upon the corpses of the dead extinguishing any lingering flames. Ordelia rushed forwards blade in hand, her movements slowed by the spell effects before the ground itself was bleached white as bone, a hail of ice falling down from above, returning Coughin’s mana to zero. The needles of ice fell skewering the ground, creating a forest about the two players, Ordelia’s health dropping rapidly as she tumbled back to lie upon the frozen ground Coughin trudging forth unwilling to use what fragments of stamina he had left pushing his way through the icicle forest to stand above his opponent. He let out a loose smile and swung his axe down. That had been a mistake.

  Ordelia rose in an instant, her sword lashing out and driving deep into his left eye, Coughin spinning sending his axe hurtling upwards to strike across the young woman’s throat, pushing her health down into the red, resting ever so close to zero before a wave of lightning rolled off of the blade embedded in his skull, paralysis fixing him into place Ordelia withdrawing her blade, and releasing a wild scream cutting a diagonal draw across Coughin’s chest leaving the night tumbling back; dead a single word appearing across his screen almost mocking.

   CONGRATULATIONS       You have placed second in the fifth Round-Table War

   You shall recieve the following rewards...

   Rowan pushed back from his desk, expression blank, breathing hard. He’d failed; a big number two printed on his screen followed by an ocean of text which held more in common with a legal document than any kind of award. The young man pouted pulling himself close; this was a brilliant way to end his last summer vacation before college. He let out a bitter sigh, scrolling his way down to the bottom his vision dim. He wasn’t sure what time it was but it was probably pretty late. At least in second place he’d get some decent rewards but... It didn’t feel right, he hadn’t given up yet; he still wanted to do it: prove he was right. He swallowed hard glancing at the two options resting at the bottom of the page.

   ACCEPT       DECLINE   

  And then everything went dark.  He was going to prove to them that it was possible, that you could make your way to the top through effort alone and he couldn’t do that until he reached the top, without accepting charity or aid, without acknowledging second place. Rowan slowed hard and clicked decline