(Second Book Complete!) Runeblade: A Delving & Skill Merging LitRPG

Julian’s windsoul charger took another steady step, the motion rocking him in his saddle. The thick mud and hidden roots barely even slowed the beast, its pedigree evident as it tirelessly trudged through the dull, red gloom.

He sat at the head of their formation, Kel on his right, and Edmund and Adrian on his left. An outrider flanked them on both sides, while the rest of their retainers moved behind. Their pace was consistent, but slow. Swathes of cutting bramble and noxious growths blocked their path at every second turn, forcing them to take a circuitous route.

An easterly wind kicked up, moaning through the unnatural canopy ahead. The breeze did nothing to banish the sickly, damp heat that lay heavy on his skin. It was the mana, Julian decided. It felt sticky, like old sweat and traildust had been smeared over his skin — despite the fact the enchantments on his armour should have left him perfectly clean and cool.

All of them were alert for danger, even if they hadn’t found any since they had entered Vainblood days ago. A group of twelve Silvers might have been too much of a threat for most beasts to bother with.

Well, that, and Kaius and his team seemed hellbent on slaughtering every creature with a beating heart they could find. Julian and his team hadn’t just passed unmolested — their surroundings were fucking dead. He hadn’t even caught sign of a single bird all day. He doubted that they’d killed everything — but even the lowest of beasts knew to make themselves scarce when giants clashed.

A few trunks away, Julian spied a familiar vine clinging tight to a tree. The carnivorous ones — except its massive pink flowers were sealed, and pulled tight against the trunk. He bit back the urge to frown.

The team’s brazen violence was reckless. Or, it should have been reckless; if Kaius and his team were the kind of fools who threw themselves at every battle without care, they would have long since died.

He struggled to reconcile that thought with the corpses of Golds they’d found.

Images flashed through his mind. A massive skinned hog creature, one leg missing, sitting forgotten in a clearing that looked like the site of a dragon attack. Or that two-headed lizard, larger than two of their chargers put together. It had been ripped to shreds, ragged wounds torn through its chest and shoulders. Its bloody throat had been torn out — no doubt by that greater beast’s maw. Someone, Kaius most likely, had cut through its rib cage as well. The edges had been forced open — cracking bone to reveal a heart with a blackened hole through its centre.

Golds. They’d been brutalising Golds!

When he’d suggested they follow a few hours behind the group, he’d expected a long, winding route. One that would take them around the many impassable barriers that existed in living battlefields like Vainblood. No, Kaius and his team had decided they wanted to run at every deadly threat they could find.

The worst part was that he and his team weren’t catching up. What were they bloody doing? Sprinting through the forest? Even for abominations like them, a fight took time — proper scouting, planning, and execution could take hours with fights at their level. It was impossible.

It should have been impossible.

A cold shiver went down his spine as he remembered sitting on the deck of the man’s landyacht; that burning fire in the man’s eyes as he so openly yearned for a life of destruction, of a brutality the sensible shied away from.

Hells, anyone who had reached their level was comfortable with the struggle. Most understood it was a necessary trial and tempering if you wanted to grow into someone that mattered. It was something to respect, and find satisfaction from — but not to crave.

Julian got the sense that Kaius wallowed in it.

He remembered that burning weight of ambition pressing down on him from every angle; that iron grip of hard-won strength around his throat — as undeniable as it was unintelligible.

Shifting in his saddle, his plate clanked slightly. That team was too strong. It went beyond something explainable by Legacy, Honours, or Aspects and Refinement. That sort of power could only be seized one way: madness. What feats had they achieved? What Class Rarity had it brought them?

He blinked, trying to banish that indomitable golden-green gleam of the man's eyes. He’d miscalculated.

No. That was wrong — no sensible man could predict a team like that. But still, he’d erred. At least they’d been amenable to a working arrangement. He was wary of a held grudge, of course.

He would be far more at ease if there was any bloody sign of one. But no, his once-captors genuinely seemed focused on their goal and their goal alone. That was just poor sense — did they not know what leverage they held? Beyond simple personal power, they’d foiled him so utterly and completely that his standing and prestige would be annihilated if it ever reached the ears of the court. It didn’t matter that they were some sort of gods-blessed freaks of nature, all that would matter is a twelve-man team of highborn had lost to four common delvers; that they’d captured him. Of course, they had their own pedigree — but that would be waved away quickly.

Let alone what fresh hell they could wreak if they spread word of the Wellspring. But what could he do about it? Against all sense, he believed the man — Kaius had a small list of objectives, and the daily doldrums of the Dukedoms didn’t factor into them. He doubted even wealth did, not truly; not more than it could be used to facilitate yet more carnage and yet more strength.

That meant his rivals had very little to offer the team. It also meant he had very little to offer the team.

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He gripped his reins tight, the leather creaking in his grip. Blast it all, he hated dealing with warriors.

Hearing the sound, Kel looked over from his position at his right, his eyes flicking from the reins to Julian’s eyes. He didn’t look back, focusing on their route. Sir Violetguard was keeping their heading true, but navigating Vainblood was a nightmare. The mud was omnipresent, and every second bush had an unnatural thirst for blood. Ahead, a ray of afternoon sun cut through the canopy, illuminating hair-fine strands hanging from the dense patches of pale-blue lichen on the branches of a tree.

The strands themselves were almost invisible — and as Sir Gantloam had found out yesterday, their touch was blisteringly painful. Though, not too dangerous with their stats. Thankfully, the blue of the lichens themselves stood out starkly from the dark bark of their hosts. They’d only had the one brush with them.

“Stingstrands,” he warned his group softly, nudging his charger to take a wide berth.

His men followed his lead, each of them roaming their surroundings for any sign of attacking beasts. It hadn’t happened yet — another impossibility. The only explanation was the team they were following — every major threat nearby was either dead, running scared, or had no interest in such a large group of Silvers.

That didn’t mean they would get complacent. That was a great way to end up dead.

As his mount tirelessly trudged through the mud and picked its way around stray patches of dagger-thorned briars, Julian drifted to the look Kel had given him.

That was a far more dire problem. He had no proof that Frostbloom was behind the Archivist’s disappearance, but he was the only one who had significant motive. Sure, the man had been a stalwart ally — but that was politics. Alliances were as fickle as a commoner’s favour, and as cyclical as the seasons. The position of his House was the most precarious it had been in centuries.

Kel would have to be a fool not to consider just how well Frostbloom was positioned to take advantage of the current chaos. Kel was not a fool. Blast it all, the man was amongst the shrewdest he’d ever met.

Yet even for all of Frostbloom’s pragmatism and guarded exterior, Julian did know him well. Had known him well for decades. There was no trace that pointed to the man, no glimmer of satisfaction or guilt when they had discussed the matter of the Wellspring. Every point of reason directed him to suspect Frostbloom, yet there was nothing real he could point to.

The man was good, and he could keep his cool — but was he that good?

Did it even matter? If he’d made one good play, it was twisting his being taken hostage to his own benefit. With easy access to a Place of Power, without any sticky political issues, Kaius and his team had every reason to help him. They gained much: revenge against the people who had kidnapped the Archivist, yet more strength, and a favourable ally in high places to smooth over any issues they might run into in his duchy.

If what he had seen over the last few days was any indication, the mole could have made turncoats out of his entire warband and he’d still have a shot at success.

“I’ve found another kill site,” Sir Violetguard said behind him.

Julian turned in his saddle. The beast master was shaking his head, a few strands of his combed brown hair sliding out of place as he blinked blearily. He’d been spending long hours trapped in those birds of his — a strain on his mind. Apparently, after a while the creatures left a bit of their ghost in him. Some sort of imprint: foreign instincts that could take a moment to shake off.

“Close?” Julian asked.

“About a league ahead of us. It smelled a handful of hours old, so we’re still keeping the distance you wanted,” Violetguard said, before he frowned. “It’s a messy one.”

Julian cocked his brow. They’d all been messy — just what sort of charnel pit were they heading towards if this one was spectacular?

Thinking back to earlier in the day, he wracked his mind for any memory of the sounds of the battle. There had been a few echoing cracks, hadn’t there? It was hard to tell, Vainblood was as violent as a fighting pit. It seemed like every ten minutes he heard some sort of far-off roar, or loud crash. Powerful beasts grew like reeds, and they fought like alley cats.

“Why are we keeping such a distance anyway?” Edmund said. “Even if we’re using them to break our path through the zone and to soften this ‘Brokenlight’, it’ll be hard to hold them to their word like this. What’s to say they won’t head straight to the Wellspring without us?”

Julian fought the urge to roll his eyes. Rosenhall might have been uncommonly skilled for a man of his birth, but he was shit at politics. He was so blasted insecure that even the smallest of slights got to him. The irreverence of the delvers had plainly needled the baron, and his impotent inability to do anything about it had left him whinging since Aslo’s Pass.

If he’d thought the man had any sense for guile, he would have been tempted to believe Kaius’s suspicion that he was the turncoat — but the baron was not exactly one for long, methodical plots and slow payoffs. Besides, the position of the House of Rosenhall was precarious. A scheme like this required foundations to profit from. Allies, resources, and man power. All things the Baron lacked. The man was hotheaded, but not a moron.

“Leave off, Edmund,” Adrian grumbled, his massive arbalest held ready as he kept watch on their right flank. Steelroot was nothing if not dedicated. “You know why, so don’t let your distaste for the guildhounds turn you foolish. If they spot us, it jeopardises our ability to use them against the Onyx. Their trustworthiness is dubious, but they had plenty of opportunity to work against us already.”

Edmund scoffed. “They were bluffing — do you really think they could have taken all twelve of us? Ridiculous."

Julian didn’t believe the baron for a second — he wasn’t even sure the man was successfully fooling himself. Adrian had the right of it at least — dependable, that one. And predictable, which only made him a better man to have at his side.

He’d considered the Steelroots, of course — but their holdings were in the centre of the duchy, and much of their investments were tied to the House of Flowers. If Julian’s house went down, the Steelroots would come sinking with them. Without the ability to make a play to consolidate their lands into a neighbouring duchy to reach for a higher title, Adrian had few reasons to work against him.

He could, of course, be attempting to strike out alone — found a new House, under the wing of another Duke. Julian doubted it. Adrian was a family man, through and through.

Regardless, he wanted to see the kill site. What would it be this time? A drake split in half — or maybe some monstrous crow, torn wing from wing? A macabre thrill washed over him; he couldn’t deny there was something alluring to seeing such powerful creatures brought low. No wonder Kaius and his team had picked up a bit of a taste for it.

Julian snapped his reins as he tapped his heels against the sides of his charger. The beast surged forwards, mud slopping under its hooves as it kicked into a canter.

“Julian!” Kel yelled, his own mount following quickly.

Julian just laughed, urging his mount to leap a clean fifteen strides over a patch of blightballs. It made the jump easily, gliding through the air weightlessly.

“Hurry on!” he yelled to his following band. “The sooner we get to the carcass, the more time we have to inspect it without falling behind!”

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