Sovereign's Choice (The Gods' Game Volume V): A LitRPG novel Read online

  Talien: level 54 forest ranger (vassal).

  Gayla: level 31 forest ranger (norm).

  Name: Mirien Tolyrandil. Race: High elf (elf).

  Level: 37. Health: 555.

  Stamina: 750. Will: 750. Essence: 700.

  Attack: 41 (slashing).

  Defences: Physical (58), psi (37), spell (37).

  Class: Whiesper (rank II, apprentice).

  Name: Gaesin Illineiros. Race: Half-elf.

  Player type: Basic player, vassal to Kyran Seversan.

  Level: 32. Health: 288.

  Stamina: 450. Will: 520. Essence: 800.

  Attacks: 61 (water).

  Defences: Physical (32), psi (32), spell (39).

  Class: Hydromancer (rank II, apprentice).

  Name: Adra Maeko. Race: Wolven.

  Player type: Basic player, vassal to Kyran Seversan.

  Level: 33. Health: 462.

  Stamina: 700. Will: 500. Essence: 500.

  Attacks: 60 (piercing).

  Defences: Physical (62), psi (33), spell (33).

  Class: Scout (rank II, apprentice).

  Name: Aiken. Race: Jade great bear (elder beast).

  Player type: Basic player, bond-companion to Kyran Seversan.

  Level: 34 (young bear). Health: 680.

  Stamina: 1000. Will: 1200. Essence: 400.

  Attacks: 68 (blunt, slash), 66 (earth).

  Defences: Physical (51), psi (85), spell (60).

  Deepholm Construction Status

  Date: 9 Novo 2603 AB

  Work Order 01: 80% (8 of 11 items completed).

  Work Order 02: 0% (0 of 5 items completed).

  Build queue showing expected completion.

  Mines: 16 Novo 2603 AB, 18 days.

  Third spoke: 23 Novo 2603 AB, 7 days.

  Craft halls: 07 Des 2603 AB, 14 days.

  Storeroom: 10 Des 2603 AB, 3 days.

  Well: 12 Des 2603 AB, 2 days.

  Mill: 19 Des 2603 AB, 7 days.

  Granary: 22 Des 2603 AB, 3 days.

  Kitchens: 27 Des 2603 AB, 5 days.

  Deepholm’s Profile (Condensed)

  Settlement name: Deepholm (capital). Type: Fort. Rank: Tower.

  Sovereign domain: Labyrinth Deeps.

  Population: 2 (2 essence constructs).

  Current effects: Hidden Veil.

  Essence structures: Essence lighting system, secret door, essence chamber, world portal.

  Mundane structures: First spoke, second spoke, world portal chamber, central guardroom, main barracks, fourth spoke, mine guardroom.

  Chapter 1

  09 Novo 2603 AB

  I am a king now.

  Kyran bowed his head, chest heaving. He still could not believe what had just happened. He had thought himself prepared, but the reality felt altogether different.

  He, a former street rat from Earth, now ruled a kingdom. It was ludicrous, yet true. Admittedly his new domain was a ruined wilderness, beset by enemies both divine and mortal, but still, he couldn’t be ‘simply Kyran’ anymore.

  He lifted his head and took in the room. Zarr had left to see to an urgent matter needing his attention. The others though—Aveyad, Tyeliss, Talien and Lera—were still kneeling.

  They are my responsibility now.

  Though it was not only them. All the Crotan undead and Eldervale townspeople were his to protect and already, he could feel his shoulders bowing under the weight.

  Mirien squeezed his arm and he turned to her.

  This is not a burden I have to bear alone though. He had Mirien, and Aiken, and all his other vassals too.

  He smiled. I can do this.

  We can do this.

  Keeping his gaze locked on Mirien, he said, “All hail, Warden Mirien Tolyrandil, voice of the Forest.”

  The whiesper’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened. Kyran shook his head, stilling her protest.

  She, too, could no longer simply be Mirien. If the days to come were going to be anything as dreadful as he feared, he would need her to be more—to be the Warden of the Elder Forest.

  And perhaps more.

  The others echoed his words. “May the roots of the great forest endure evermore,” Lera rasped.

  “And may the light of Crotana become a beacon for the world once again,” Aveyad finished.

  “Thank you,” Kyran said softly. “I will not forget this. Now enough with this kneeling.” He motioned them to their feet. “All of you, rise. Please.”

  A rare smile touched Aveyad’s face as he rose to his feet. “A king does not say ‘please’, my liege,” he murmured. “Nor do his subjects usually address him while standing.”

  Kyran scowled and folded his arms. He would not be that sort of king.

  The dowager snorted as Aveyad helped her up. “The boy doesn’t have it in him to be such.”

  Aveyad chuckled. “I think you are right, Lera.” His humour faded and his face grew serious. “And maybe that is a good thing. A new day has dawned on Myelad, one that neither I, nor any of the undead ever expected to see. We have hope again, and the chance to redeem our past failures.” He held Kyran’s gaze. “Perhaps it is only right we begin by breaking from the old ways and forging new traditions.”

  Kyran inclined his head in acknowledgement of Aveyad’s words. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said. He would lead, but only as the first amongst equals. It seemed that the ever-perceptive vampire had already figured that out, and in his own way, given his tacit approval.

  Kyran glanced towards the door, but the lich king had still not reappeared. It was time to get going. There was much to do, and not much time to do it. Where is Zarr?

  Seeing the direction of Kyran’s gaze, Aveyad answered his unspoken question. “Zarr awaits you in the Observatory. You know the way, I believe.”

  Kyran nodded and glanced at the others, wondering if he should take them along.

  “Our liege will speak to you alone,” the vampire lord said. A quiver of unease entered his voice. “On matters that touch only on the undead.” Aveyad turned to Tyeliss and Kyran sensed something pass between them. The death knight stepped forward and ushered Mirien, Lera, and Talien out.

  Kyran pursed his lips as he watched them leave. As he well knew, the undead citadel was not the most benign of places. Would they be safe?

  “Do not worry,” Aveyad said. “No harm will come to them while Tyeliss accompanies them. He will escort the dowager and Talien to the main library and introduce the ranger to some of Crotana’s history.” Aveyad’s look turned wry. “Perhaps it will ease your latest vassal’s mind to understand his new allies better.”

  Kyran nodded. He was unsurprised that Aveyad had noticed Talien’s wariness of both the undead and his new liege. The elven ranger may have sworn himself to Kyran, but he had done so reluctantly. “And Mirien?” he asked.

  “There is something she must see.” Aveyad’s look turned distant. “The forest has been distraught without its guardian. There is much for her to do. Perhaps too much,” Aveyad murmured. The vampire refocused his gaze on Kyran. “It is good that you’ve found her. Already the forest breathes easier because of her presence.”

  Kyran chuckled. “I did not find her. Mirien found me.”

  “Her spirit burns brightly,” Aveyad said. “The grandfathers have chosen well. But go. Zarr awaits you. He has much to discuss with you.” The vampire turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway. “Oh, and Kyran, if we do not speak again, know you have my thanks for all you have done for us.”

  Not waiting for Kyran’s response, Aveyad stepped into the corridor and disappeared from view.

  ✽✽✽

  Kyran frowned, wondering as to the meaning of Aveyad’s parting words. Why would he not see the vampire lord again?

  But, eager to speak to the lich king, Kyran did not dwell overmuch on the matter. Leaving the room, he made his way through the citadel to the Observatory. While he had not been to that particular room before, he knew its location. It would only take him a few minutes to get there.

  As he walked, he studied his surroundings. All the citadel’s undead appeared awake. On his player’s map, he could see them hurrying to and fro. They passed him in droves—ghouls, skeletons, wraiths, zombies, and even vampires—and while none of the undead approached him, he felt many a curious gaze upon him.

  Do they know about Tiara’s ring? he wondered. He reached the door to the Observatory. Raising his hand, he knocked. He would find out soon enough.

  “Enter,” Zarr called from within.

  Pushing open the door, Kyran stepped through. His eyes widened as he took in the jumbled mess inside the room. The shelves lining the walls were bursting with all manner of instruments and artefacts.

  The chamber itself was cluttered too. Arcane relics were piled high on desks scattered all over the room. And to Kyran’s truesight, nearly everything brimmed with powerful magics and enchantments.

  The Observatory was a treasure trove. And nothing like what Kyran had expected. Instead of a room built to gaze upon the stars, it appeared to be a madman’s workshop.

  Or a wizard’s.

  Kyran’s eyes were drawn to Zarr. The lich king was in the centre of the room with his hands braced on the large central table that seemed the only spot free of the chaos afflicting the rest of the chamber.

  Picking his way through the room, Kyran stopped at Zarr’s side. The lich was studying the complex web of interconnected crystals arranged on the table.

  Curious, Kyran probed the structure with insight.

  Found: Crota wardstone.

  Type: Enchanted item. Rank: Wondrous. Requirements: Grandmaster magic.

  Remaining charge: 12,800 / 12,800 essence.

  Special properties: Creates a network of detection wards and scrying barriers around the citadel of Crota.

  Description: While the wardstone is active, it will protect the shielded area from all forms of magical scrying, and will warn its controller of any intruding hostiles.

  Kyran’s eyebrows flew up. “This is a wardstone, too?”

  Zarr turned his way and tilted his head to the side. “You’ve encountered one before?”

  Kyran nodded. “I did. In Celne. The Reapers used it to create a death ward around their camp. It’s how they protected themselves from Cilantria’s wrath.”

  “Ah,” Zarr said leaning back.

  The lich, Kyran noted, was wearing Eld’s former priestess’ ring. “You know you haven’t told me what you mean to do with Tiara’s gift,” he said quietly. “I assumed at first you would want to use it immediately to free your people, but now I wonder.” He held Zarr’s gaze. “When will you unravel the curse?”

  A grimace of something—pain perhaps?—crossed Zarr’s face. “I will explain in a moment,” the lich said. “But first, tell me about Celne.” Zarr closed his eyes. “I must know everything. Spare me no details please.”

  Kyran studied the undead in silence for a second. “Alright,” he said at last, and proceeded to tell his tale. He told Zarr everything, from what Sula had been doing to the nature of the Eater, and from Cilantria’s possession to his discovery of the Amulet of the Prime.

  When he was done, tears streamed down the lich’s face. “Oh, my people,” Zarr murmured. “My failures have cost you so much.” With visible effort, the undead king blinked back his grief and focused on Kyran again. “You are sure the Tower has been cleansed?”

  “I am,” Kyran said. “All the restless spirits in Celne have been put to rest. No more of them remain in the city for any necromancer to exploit.”

  Zarr bowed his head. “Thank you, Kyran.” He toyed with the ring on his left hand. “It seems I am in your debt many times over.”

  “Will you free your people in Crota now?”

  The lich king lifted his eyes to Kyran. “No,” he said.

  Kyran stilled, but he was only mildly surprised by Zarr’s response. Ever since the lich’s insistence to pledge himself, Kyran realised he had been expecting something of this sort. Still, he would not let Zarr’s response go unchallenged. His face hardened. “Why not?” he demanded.

  The undead king lifted his hand, asking for Kyran’s patience. “What do you know of the curse of undeath?”

  Kyran’s eyes narrowed. “Little beyond the fact that a powerful artefact like Tiara’s ring is needed to lift it.”

  “That is true,” Zarr allowed. “But what is also true is that once the curse is lifted, we will die.”

  Kyran blinked. “Die?”

  Zarr nodded sadly. “Those of my people that are living dead are neither living, nor dead, but in an in-between state: undeath. The curse is all that holds our spirits to the mortal plane. Once it is lifted, we will be drawn forcibly back to the Wheel of Life.”

  Kyran bit his lip. He understood Zarr’s reluctance now, and Aveyad’s cryptic comment. If the lich king used Tiara’s ring, he and all his people would vanish from Crota, leaving the citadel—and its Essence Well—unguarded.

  “That still doesn’t make it right,” he said finally. “You cannot keep your people tied to this plane now that you have the means to free them.”

  Zarr’s lips quirked upwards. “Of course. My people will choose their own fate. I mean to give each a choice: to stay on this plane and continue the fight or return to the Wheel to be reborn.” He expelled a breath. “As for me, I will not avail myself of Tiara’s gift. Not yet. I mean to see how this gambit of yours plays out.”

  Kyran felt a spurt of relief at Zarr’s words. He couldn’t help it. Without the lich king, the tasks before him would be impossible. Still, he scrutinised Zarr’s face for the least sign of doubt. “Are you sure?” It was no small risk the undead took by remaining cursed.

  “I am,” Zarr said mildly. “And I am certain many of my people will feel the same way that I do, now that they are buoyed by renewed hope.”

  “Alright,” Kyran said reluctantly. If any of the cursed living dead were slain while shackled to the mortal plane, their spirits would be destroyed—utterly. It was a high price to pay, and not one he wanted to be responsible for. “Make sure your people understand the consequences and what we will likely face.”

  Zarr’s eyes darkened with sorrow. “They understand better than you realise, Kyran,” he whispered. “They made this choice once, during the moment of our greatest despair. They will make it again, but this time gladly.”

  Kyran looked away and let the matter lie. It was not for him to judge the Crotan undead and their choices. They had already sacrificed so much in the name of their cause, and he would not rob them of the opportunity of seeing their hopes fulfilled. “What now?” he asked.

  “Now,” Zarr said, spinning on his heel, “we scry out Misteria’s champion.”

  The lich strode to another table, this one much smaller and nearly hidden by the mess in the room. The table was made from stone and was circular in shape. A shallow dip had been carved into the table’s centre and filling it was a liquid that, by all appearance, was molten silver.

  “This is a scrying table,” said Zarr. “It is an enchanted device fashioned from blood iron and powdered essence crystals.”

  Kyran studied the magical object in fascination. “What does it do?” he asked.

  “It supplements a caster’s scrying ability, allowing him to see further, and perceive more of his target location than is usually possible with even the most advanced spells,” Zarr said. “It shouldn’t take me long to find Misteria’s champion with it.” Seeing Kyran’s rapt expression, he added, “Try to be patient while I do so.”

  ✽✽✽

  Vyne stared suspiciously at the trees looming overhead.

  He was sure they were laughing at him. His scales rippled in impotent anger.

  Damnable sentient trees. He wished he could burn them all to the ground, but attempting such would be dangerous, even for a champion. Thank the goddess, his island home had no such aberrations.

  Banishing further thought of the forest behemoths from his mind, Vyne jerked his head downwards and ran his gaze along the long snaking column of islander marines behind him.

  A large measure of Vyne’s frustrations disappeared as he beheld the company of five hundred saurians—some of the island kingdom’s finest troops—following in his wake.

  For all his failures, he still commanded an impressive force. He glanced at his three remaining vassals walking at his side. Together, they were undoubtedly the mightiest force in the Elder Forest at the moment, excluding Yiralla, perhaps.

  An errant thought intruded: but not mighty enough to thwart a bunch of elves.

  Vyne scowled, his irritation reignited. He still found it hard to believe that norms had stolen the settlement stone. To be foiled by their kind was embarrassing. What would his fellow champions back home think?

  His first thought on learning of the stone’s theft had been that some other domain—Xetil’s most likely—had been responsible.

  But after his people had ambushed the ragtag force of elves lurking nearby his forest camp, any suspicions he had harboured as to the goblin god’s involvement had vanished. Xetil, more than any other god, despised elven kind. He would not have used the likes of them to raid Vyne’s camp.

  No, despite Vyne’s scepticism, every indication was that it was norms behind the theft. The thieves’ armour and gear had for the most part been basic items and though the elves’ bows had displayed all the craftmanship one would expect from elven-made ones, their magical enchantments had been paltry.

  The thieves hadn’t had any hint of divine magic about them either. In fact, their magic had been so lacklustre that not even the most basic of detection spells had warded their camp and they had been caught flat-footed by Vyne’s ambush. Most telling of all, no champion had accompanied the thieves.

  The conclusion was inescapable: the elves who had stolen his settlement stone were refugees and not from any domain—which made the theft all the more inexplicable. What could the thieves hope to do with the stone? Sell it perhaps?

  However, while the thieves’ motives were certainly puzzling, at this point they were immaterial. He had to get the settlement stone back. At all costs. Every day that passed, his own doom drew closer.