B1 | Chapter 15: Adventure and Intrigue_Reclaimer Redux [LitRPG Portal Fantasy]

Suraiya stabbed her blade into the ground as the last of the Torqali were slain, shading her eyes with her hand and looking out at the Desolation around her. They had been travelling almost non-stop since crossing the leagues between the city proper, outer villages, and the Lunar Gate itself. She had thought that the Desolation’s dangers would be waiting for them far beyond the reassuring bulwark of the Wall, and long out of the sight of the Lunari that stood sentinel upon its length.

She had been sorely mistaken.

Within thirty minutes of riding out into the accursed wasteland, they had been attacked. Raiders and half-tamed beasts, more than happy to rip and tear anything they could wrap their foetid jaws around, had assaulted them in a sea of vile intent. It had been all she could do to maintain control of Valour, never mind fight, while the wave of Blightmen and their ungodly pets had descended upon the convoy.

Her Knights and the Adventurers had shown their mettle, however, and formed ranks quickly; the armoured warriors dismounting rather than risk their mounts and charging into battle with the speed and brutality of Second Tempered elites. The way they had moved in their armour was… artful. Faster than Suraiya could track they had surged around the battlefield, one moment fighting one foe and then the next fighting another, all while travelling half a dozen metres in a blink.

The Adventurers, meanwhile, had held their own with equal, if slightly less uniform discipline. Melee combatants they referred to as ‘Slayers’ had surged into the Blightmen ranks alongside the Knights, though they’d maintained some level of unspoken distance between the two groups; while their ranged combatants—their ‘Sentinels’ and ‘Strikers’—had used precision ranged weapons and powerful spells respectively to hem in and corral the charging Blightbeasts.

Within minutes the fight had turned into a slaughter, with not a single raider left alive.

She had felt useless and ridiculous in her polished plate atop her gallant Courser, but the four Knights that had been left as her protection—her minders in other words—had been firm about her not ‘breaking rank’.

They were the rear-guard, they had said.

It fell to them to cover the retreat.

Suraiya grimaced at the memory.

By the time the Knights and Adventurers had ‘retreated’, the battlefield had been nothing more than a charnel house. None of the Knights had been so much as dented, and of the Adventurers the only ones who bore any injury were those of the Untempered or Initiate-level who had joined the battle in order to work on their skills. Laughter and merriment had greeted their return, and the ‘Soothers’ had worked their healing magic to ensure every one of them was patched up and ready to go for the next engagement.

When the convoy had resumed its travel as if nothing had happened, she had ridden in humiliated silence while Ser Gilbert studiously avoided looking at her. She had suspected at the time that he was too embarrassed to look at her, the Princess that had forced him to babysit her during her reckless jaunt into the Desolation.

It had come as a surprise, then, that he’d later offered to let her be among those that made first contact with the next wave of enemies, if he deemed her capable of handling them.

She had agreed with gusto, and though two more waves of attacks had come without him signalling her, she had finally been permitted to engage when another ragged score of bedraggled, vicious-looking Blightmen had come at them.

Suraiya had dismounted Valour without hesitation the moment Gilbert signalled her, and her helmet had been donned without her needing to be told. Protected behind the T-shaped visor of her great helm, she had charged into the battle to meet the oncoming horde of ill-kept wretches with pity and disgust warring for equal dominance in her heart.

The moment her greatsword had sheared through the body of the first of her enemies, and the shock and jarring experience of shearing through bone and cartilage had travelled up her arms, she had almost vomited on the spot.

Only the sudden aggression of a second foe had kept her in the fight, and once they too had been felled she had been once again dragged into the fray by a third, and kept unable to think due to the chaos of it all that followed.

She had been kicked, punched, clawed, had her armour scrapped and ineffectually stabbed; and even been nearly trampled by a runaway horse before the conflict had ended.

They had come on in far greater numbers than the first of such attacks, but with far fewer capable fighters. The result was a stench of death and quickly-rotting corpses— thanks to the blight around them—that had seen her throw away her helmet, stagger to the side, and start vomiting noisily under the silent guard of her quartet of protectors.

Eyes had observed her as she’d emptied her stomach, but when she’d looked up she’d seen no judgement.

No ire. No venom.

Only empathy, understanding, and several respectful nods—from both Knights and Adventurers as well. After a moments’ discussion with Gilbert in fact, a Soother that had taken the initiative to approach had even been allowed to see her and ensure her health, and Suraiya had quietly spoken with the elven woman as she quite literally soothed away her aches and pains.

“Perfectly normal to react that way, your highness,” she had said in the melodic lilt of elven folk. “In fact it’s expected at times like this, especially out beyond the Lunar Gate.”

“Have you travelled out here often?” Suraiya had asked while attempting not to rasp due to a raw, and dry throat.

“Oh yes—” she’d replied while insisting the princess slake her thirst, which she did obediently “—my husband is one of the main Slayers with the guild in Stormharrow in fact. If it weren’t for me, well, he’d likely have never risen past Initiate!”

She had shared a quiet laugh with Suraiya as she’d said it.

“So it really is… normal?” the Princess had asked near the end of the examination.

“Oh yes Princess, truly it is. Why it’s almost unheard of for it not to happen,” she’d insisted before leaning in conspiratorially. “They say that those that don’t have that reaction are a bit, well… not quite right, if you catch my meaning. A few arrows short of a full quiver, so to speak.”

Suraiya had nodded her understanding and, with a final dose of healing magic received, said her farewells to the woman and let her return to her husband and friends in the adventurers’ section of the convoy. If she had been a little envious of the easy camaraderie they shared, well… that was just the cost of being Royalty, she had accepted. Leaders did not often have the luxury of such easy relationships, no matter whether they’d wish it otherwise.

From there the day had become a series of skirmishes and angry wildlife, with any number of nightmarish creatures emerging from the sun-baked, blackened, and hilly terrain of the Desolation to assail their convoy in the hopes of an easy meal.

By the time they had reached the location marked out for their first encampment—an elevated hilltop with ample sentry locations and enough room to fit them all within magically erected earthen walls—near the end of the day, Suraiya had been exhausted.

Which is why she then stood with a smattering of others, including her guards, atop that self-same hilltop—Traveller’s Sanctuary, it apparently was called—with her greatsword planted in the sun-scorched earth and her helmet quickly set to resting atop its pommel.

Her blonde hair had been tied back into a messy braid halfway through the trip, its length and curls too much of a risk for gore and splatter during the hardships of the journey.

“Are you well, Princess?” Ser Gilbert’s voice interjected amid her recollections.

Suraiya turned to face him with a weary smile when he joined her atop the hill, and the rest of the convoy trailed after him while a few stragglers remained behind—with lookouts—to salvage monster Cores and other trade goods from the Torqali corpses prior to their accelerated rotting.

“I am well, Ser Gilbert. Full of vim and vigour!” she said with a forced smile.

“You look like you’re ready to drop into a bedroll and sleep for three days.”

“Yes, well…” she cleared her throat. “No need to call a bird a bird, as it were.”

“I only jest, my lady.” the Knight said as he removed his helmet, and let his short brown hair go free. “You accounted for yourself well this day. Some of those cretins were more than mere living detritus, and the monsters too. Did you satisfy your thirst for progression?”

At this she truly did smile, and pulled up her status display.

Name: Suraiya Vasilia Augusta Tollarius Karelian

Temper: Untempered Novice

Core: Unaspected Core (Ignition Stage)

Level: 21 | Race: Human (C) | Origin: Highborn (E) | Gender: Female | Zodiac: Lion (R)

Health: 200 | Mana: 132 | Stamina: 107

STR: 31 | AGI: 26 | DEX: 25 | VIT: 20 | END: 29 | INT: 34 | PER: 18 | WIL: 30 | CHA: 55

Spirit Skills: Mana Channelling (UC) 18 | Inspiring Presence (R) 13 | Empathic Link (E) 21 | Radiant Strike (R) 17 | Sacred Flame (R) 18

Traits: Royal Scion (E) | Fast Learner (E)

Titles: Princess (E) | Knight (R)

Languages: Common

22% to Level 22

You have 1 Attribute Point Available!

You have 2 Skill Points Available!

You have 1 Skill Upgrade Point Available!

“I have gained four levels in Greatsword Mastery, several levels in strength, agility, dexterity, and endurance—and I even levelled up Leadership!” She reported proudly as she sent her display to Gilbert for review.

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His nod of approval a moment later made her grin widely.

“You have done very well Princess,” he remarked with a considering look. “And though it burns me to say it, perhaps you were right about insisting to come out into the Desolation. One day and you’re already breaking through your assumed limits.”

“It is tradition!” she insisted as she regarded her sheet again with a feeling of buoyant joy. “Karelians have been venturing out here since before the founding of the Grand Ascendancy! It is only right and proper that I take my place in that long and storied history.”

“Your Father never bothered.” the Knight pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

“Perhaps not,” Suraiya allowed distractedly, “but my mother was legendary for her exploits out here!”

“May she find glory in the Halls of the Highest.” Gilbert intoned solemnly.

It was echoed by the Knights around them as well, and Suraiya’s joy tapered for a moment at the scene. Her mother, Vasilia Augusta Tollarius, had been an adventurer of rare power and rarer breeding.

A noblewoman, a warrior, and a spellcaster of incredible talent. The fact she had caught the eye of, and later the heart of the then-Crown-Prince Nicholai Varius Nathaniel Karelian had been a mark of improbability nobody had seen coming.

Were it not for the fact her mother had been on the cusp of Expert-tier by the time their romance became widely spread, it was very likely the Church might have actually tried to object to the union. As it stood then, however, the Mithril-ranked Adventurer would tolerate no impugnment on her love for the future King, and he would hear no objection to his affection for the golden-haired war-maiden.

Suraiya had been born just barely nine months after their wedding, a fact that had raised several eyebrows—but which no one had ever dared to openly comment on.

Not for fear of the King, either.

Her mother had packed quite the literal punch.

Suraiya’s eyes drifted down to her Greatsword, her mother’s own choice of weapon, and she smiled quietly. Would she have been proud of her, she wondered?

“She looked just like you when she was your age, you know.” Gilbert said quietly at her side. It took every essence of her Strong Mind ability not to jump in surprise.

“You have said this before, Ser Gilbert,” she reminded him without heat.

“I know, my lady, but it should be said. When I first saw her, wide-eyed and buck-toothed as I was—” Suraiya giggled at the image of such a thing “—she stood as you stand now. Fearless, proud, and unbowed. She had already been engaged to your father by that point, and had been announced as the future Princess-Royal of Stormharrow.”

“She was still adventuring even then, was she not?”

“Indeed she was.” Ser Gilbert affirmed. “Leading expeditions from the Lunar Gate against the Blightmen and their myriad of contemptuous, profane clans throughout the Desolation. She is largely credited with stopping them before they could unite into a real threat.”

“I know all this, Ser Gilbert,” she said, though again it was without condemnation. “You tell me often. She was my mother.”

“Yes, and she was my mentor,” he reminded her with a gentle pat on the shoulder. “And I promised her I would ensure you were protected, as you might surely remember.”

“How could I forget, when you remind me ever-so-often?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

“It is good for the soul to remember such things, when one thinks of rebellious action,” he said lightly before stepping away prior to her retort, and drawing a small laugh of amusement from her.

At times, Ser Gilbert was exactly what she’d always envisioned in an older brother.

Her eyes drifted along her sword, and then up towards the cloudless blue sky.

Mother, are you there? She wondered in silence. Are you proud?

Only the wind through her hair served as any form of answer.

* * * * *

Lower down the hill and near a cluster of carts, Eluviale Morningsong tu Davrell settled against the wooden frame of one of the burden vehicles as two men and another woman approached her.

One of the men was known to her; a hulking half-orc brute with a wicked scar across his face and a grimace that could curdle milk at a glance. She smiled when she saw him, and her beloved husband Antony Davrell smiled back.

Alongside him came Marcus Quintus, a dark-haired, bearded, and handsome dual-shortsword wielding human Slayer with more skill in subterfuge, assassination, and underhanded combat than she had time to count—and elves were long-lived even without Tempering.

The last to approach was a spritely gnome with a pep in her step and a braid of brown hair caught between her lips in thought, wielding her ruby-topped quarterstaff like a walking stick; this despite its ability to deliver infernos hot enough to melt armour and cook flesh in moments.

If nothing else, Delsie Demsin was a paragon of her kind; both as a gnome and as a spellcaster… at least insofar as she was an eccentric that was constantly and easily lost in her own mind, at least.

Love and fondness flowed from Eluviale while the three of them converged upon her, and Delsie idly cast a ward against eavesdropping.

“May the day come that our Hiding is at an end—” she began by tradition,

“—though keep Watch we shall until the Reclaimer is sent—” the other three said,

“—for the dream of Elysea, and the Mantle we defend!” all four concluded together.

“You all seem to be in good spirits,” she said when the greeting was done. “Enjoying a bit of casual murder, are we?”

“Bah,” her husband snorted, “these beasts are little more than appetisers. I’m still hoping for a Wyvern or Manticore. I need the blood and Core of something strong for last Infusion.”

“How far off are you?” Marcus asked curiously.

“Three levels left on the skill!” Antony growled in annoyance, “and the gnats we’re facing ain’t gonna cut it.”

“You could always just run until you hit a Blightdemon den.” Delsi said absently. “If you survive, you’ll probably out-level us all.”

“Yes, well—” Eluviale interrupted “—let’s not encourage my beloved husband into suicidal acts of bravery, hm? Bjorn does enough of that.”

“Eluviale has a point. We need Antony in fighting shape for what’s coming, and besides which, I’m more interested in hearing about the Princess than our dear Aegii’s performance issues.”

Antony rounded on the far more slender man with a glare, and Marcus grinned up at him slyly with a waggle of his brows.

“Given the constant screaming I hear from Lulu’s quarters—” Delsie once again interjected without a hint of social grace “—and the way she seems to always be flushed and exhausted each morning, I don’t think Antony’s sexual prowess is a problem.”

The reactions were eminently predictable, of course. Eluviale herself felt nothing but smug satisfaction, Marcus looked mildly perturbed, and Antony—bless his heart—looked like a young boy with his hand in the cookie jar, and said nothing.

“My husband’s immense sexual prowess aside, the Princess is certainly an interesting study. When we were tasked to shadow her by the Elders, I didn’t think much of it, but after talking to her—”

“How much of Vasilia does she have in her, exactly?” Marcus interjected eagerly.

“—at length,” she continued with a scowl for Marcus, “I can safely say that she is very much her mother’s daughter, at least on the surface of it all. She could be trying to fool me, but my Soulforce was at full burn and my Empyreal Elucidation was trained on her directly. Nothing she told me was anything less than what she sincerely felt, and all of it was endearing.”

“You talked to her several times, Lulu.” Delsie chimed in with sudden interest. “Be specific.”

“Well after I healed her the first time, we spoke again on several occasions, including when she’d been badly trampled by that Bastilurk,” she shuddered. “Awful creatures…” she mumbled before getting back to the point. “She expressed legitimate and sincere admiration for the Adventurers, and seemed quite earnest in her desire to be seen as a princess of the people, and stay true to her roots as a Karelian.”

“A backstabbing, two-timing, traitorous piece of hound excrement?” Marcus asked.

“No, Seraii—” Eluviale said with a disapproving frown “—not the true roots, the ones the Ascendancy invented to reinvent them all as heroes of the masses following their forswearing.”

“Ah. The Veil.” Delsie said with a quiet sigh. “How exhausting.”

Having been silent throughout the exchanges—likely due to his shy nature following the talk of their sex life, Eluviale mused—and holding his piece, Antony finally interjected himself into the discussion.

“Whether or not she has noble intentions is wholly irrelevant,” he said with his usual growling tone. She suppressed a shiver of delight at the ferocity of it, and maintained a clear and focused outward veneer. “What matters is if she can be trusted near the Reclaimer. We know nothing of the Nephilim, save that they will be pure-blooded Elysean and bear the mark of the Dragon.”

“That still confuses me,” Marcus muttered, “since Dragons are bloody extinct.”

“The Ascendancy was very thorough.” Delsie agreed sadly.

“It could mean many things, though. A tattoo. A birthmark. A Zodiac, even! We know not the limits of the Nephilim or their power, and have only the stories to go off of.”

“The ravings of lunatics, you mean.” Marcus said with a sigh.

“And some scholars, actually. There are fascinating accounts in the libraries of Alcaria that—”

“The point is—” Antony said with a more pronounced growl that made Eluviale resolve to have their tent to themselves and a dampener ward in place as soon as possible “—that we do not know how the Princess will react. Her mother, Eternals keep her, passed before she could properly induct her daughter into the Inheritors. She is going into this blind and ignorant, and that could spell disaster if she reacts poorly.”

“Then we shall have to ensure she doesn’t.” Eluviale said simply, and while carefully avoiding her husband’s eyes.

The man had no business being that damnably attractive.

“What about her minders?” Marcus asked warily. “Too many to kill, and too strong.”

“I think the Veneratii and Magisterii can handle that. Don’t you, Delsie?”

The gnome looked up at Eluviale with a pair of blinks, and then when her eyes focused, she smiled. “Yes. I think so.”

“Then that just leaves the last problem.” Marcus said as he turned, and they all followed his gaze to the top of the hill, where a tall Knight stood sentinel at the Princess’ side. “Ser Gilbert van fucking Ostland,” he pronounced with grudging respect.

“The Storm’s Blade is no simple opponent.” Antony agreed quietly. “He could likely take down half the convoy before he met real resistance, and even then, it would take almost all of us to properly challenge him.”

“Do you think it’s true that he’s almost at Expert Tier?”

“Doesn’t matter, Delsie.” Marcus said quietly. “He’s a fucking monster either way.”

“Ser Gilbert will only be an issue if he thinks we mean to harm the Princess.” Eluviale said confidently. “I read his emotions as clear as a mountain spring, he is devoted to her in a way she is woefully ignorant of.”

“Oh?” Delsie asked before her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“That’s… isn’t he nine years her senior?”

Eluviale shrugged. “Perhaps important to you humans, Marcus, but not so to other species. Were elves so worried about age, we’d never look at other races, let alone marry them.”

Antony grunted in agreement, and she spared him a quick, lustful smile.

He blushed.

It drove her mad.

“Well, elves are also famous for having enough excess libido to go with the centuries of extra life.” Marcus grumbled. “I doubt a little thing like age will stop the lot of you humping your way through the Real—Oof!”

He rubbed his head where Antony had smacked it, and Eluviale grinned at the byplay. “Nonetheless, Ser Gilbert can be handled. First though, we need the Princess on side.”

“Okay, but—and hear me out here, seriously—what if neither of them are feeling too cooperative?” Antony asked warily.

“There is a solution for that,” Marcus said with a rare seriousness to his tone, and produced a small vial of acid-green liquid, interspersed with flecks of black.

The moment he did, Eluviale leaned further back against the cart, Antony swore, and Delsie… Well, bless her heart; Delsie leaned forward with hungry interest.

“Is that—?”

“—King Dracolisk Venom.” Eluviale said with an involuntary tremor to her voice. “One drop of that, Marcus, one drop—!”

“I am aware, Veneratii.” the human responded seriously after he tucked the vial away into his leathers. “The bottle has been spelled thrice over to keep it sealed and secured, and only my blood can open it, and only when given willingly. Rest assured, though… It’ll end our Gilbert problem easily enough if we need it to.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this when we were all shitting ourselves about him not two minutes ago?!” Antony demanded.

“Honestly?” Marcus said—and Eluviale triggered her Empyrean Elucidation to clarify his answer—before grimacing, “I don’t want to think about using it. I just see Vas when I look at the Princess, and I remember Gilbert from when he was Vasilia’s shadow, and we were both boys. Ain’t much difference between him and I in age, yanno.”

Eluviale almost sagged in relief. Truth. Marcus was telling the truth.

“Well…” she said as she recovered herself, and drew their attention. “We have plans, and hopefully three full weeks to implement them,” she nodded to the other three. “I say we start working on it.”

A chorus of agreement followed, and all three turned to leave.

“Oh, Antony?” Eluviale said very carefully, as if it were an absent thought.

“Mmm?” he rumbled.

“Hold a minute, won’t you? There’s something we… need to discuss.”

She heard Delsie’s snort and Marcus’ exaggerated gag as the two left, but ignored them. She only had a mind for the half-orc in front of her, the tent they had just set up, and the warding stones hidden in her satchel. She felt a predatory grin spread across her face, and Antony’s cheeks immediately reddened.

It was going to be a very good night.

B1 | Chapter 15: Adventure and Intrigue

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