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

Laughter spilled across the polished marble room, the delicate sound of joy quickly echoed by a dozen other mirthful women.

They danced—hips swaying through the slowly raining petals as the warm sun shone through their silks, framing the subtle curves of their hips and breasts. They moved slow, but carefree. A voyage of love and light as they fuzzed in and out of sight.

A goblet was offered, the colour of honey and studded with rich rubies and gleaming diamonds. The wine within was buttery and rich—exactly as he expected the good stuff would taste.

He laughed—joined by the gentle mirth of a pale beauty who still leaned over him, full frame spilling over as her green eyes twinkled with shy deference.

Winking at the girl, Tovic grabbed a handful of what was on offer as he tugged her into his lap and raised his goblet, cheering in delight.

Running his hand up her hip, he—

A deep seated crash shattered the illusion, throwing Tovic into a bleary disarray.

Wiping his hand across his face, he stared at the film of grey that had been left on its surface, desperately trying to reconcile what was happening with his sudden awakening from his dream.

“Is that dust?” he thought, swinging his legs out of bed to sit on its edge.

Rubbing his fingers together, he realised it was. Why the fuck what he covered in dust, and what the hells had caused that noise? He sincerely hoped it wasn’t guards roughhousing outside of his room again—if they’d woken him from such a nice dream, there would be hell to pay.

Shaking off the last of his fatigue, the blood drained from his face as a wardlight in the ceiling suddenly cast a deep red over his room. He stared at the light in horror. Never, in all of his years working in the compound, had that light turned on.

An all hands call. An alert that they were under attack.

Adrenaline shot through his veins—a flow of cold dread that banished his exhaustion and left his heart thumping in his chest.

Hands moving in a blur, he ripped off his sleeping clothes, doing his best to dust himself off the rest of the debris that coated him.

How could they possibly be under attack? The compound was hidden, its location only known to a handful of the boss’s chosen few—even he was knocked out before he was cycled out. For fuck’s sake, barely more than a hut with walls tucked deep in a forest—most of it was underground!

Unease rushed through him as he froze, realising that if they were truly under attack, he had no way out. No doubt the place had hidden exits, but he didn’t know where they were.

Even if he wanted to, there was no way for him to flee.

Tovic grit his teeth, rushing to his closet. Halfway across the room, a deafening crash kicked him in the chest. More dust rained from the ceiling as he stumbled, struggling to keep his legs as the very bones of the building shook beneath his feet.

Calls of alarm carried through his heavy door, pounding feet and the jangle of armour crashing into stone easily heard. The guards were active, rushing through the hallways in a scurry of activity. Shortly after, a bell began to peel far above—the noise faint after having to traverse through a warren of underground passages to reach him.

“Fuck.” Tovic muttered, forcing himself to move as he started to pull his under-armour on.

Graces be, that he didn’t have to join them on their mad dash to the surface. Tough as nails he might have been, he had no will to spill his blood for the ‘cause’.

Thankfully, his job was simple. Kill the prisoners if they were fully breached.

Tying his padded tunic on as best he could, he started pulling out his boiled leather and chain—throwing on his armour with reckless abandon, barely slow enough to make sure his buckles were properly fastened before he moved on to lacing his boots.

Snatching up his trusty steel bludgeon, he felt a modicum safer. Though only marginally; an assault on the compound was something he’d never anticipated actually happening. What sort of lunatic would move against Old Yon like that?

They’d have to be mad. Old Yon was as avaricious as a dragon, and thrice as mean—no way he would take an assault like this lying down. Whoever had organised this raid was a dead man walking.

He might have just been muscle who’d gotten stronger than most, but Old Yon and his core crew were connected. Knew the sorts of people that anyone with sense left well enough alone.

Strapping his buckler to his arm, Tovic sneered as his thoughts turned to his charges.

These new ones were even worse than the girl. Thought they were tough because they’d handled a little bit of pain, thought they were strong because they’d been handed the sort of opportunities most men never even dreamed of.

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He despised them—the silver spooned freaks who never knew the struggles that real men went through to gain even a sliver of safety in the brutal battlefield that was life. Never knew hunger. Never needed to learn who would shank you for a spare copper bit.

They deserved what was coming for them, every scrap of it. When the mind mage arrived, he looked forward to watching them shatter. To witnessing their smug pride turn to ash as their brain melted out their ears.

In his mind, what they were doing was justice. None of them, not even the beast, deserved what they had got. Not when the deserving like him had to squeak by, barely surviving thanks to their strength of arm and quick wit.

Besides, their capabilities were wasted on them. Any fool who was stupid enough to be caught was far too weak to be trusted with such power.

Much better he make a little profit off their failure, where he could squirrel away the little bits of information he so desperately needed as the blue-blooded scum screamed their hearts out.

He grinned, thinking of the wealth he had secured. The scraps he had pieced together over the years—half mumbles after prisoners had been returned to him from questioning. No child of his would suffer as he had—and no child of his would be so stupid as to get caught by boastful tales and flashy fights.

Already he had figured out three skills—small ones, but enough that his own would flourish. One was even a legacy! His own would put them to good use—scions of the people, rather than some trumped up noble bastard.

Tying the final lace of his scaled hide boots, Tovic launched to his feet and rushed to his door. Slamming it open, he let out a bark of surprise as he nearly ran head first into a tall man holding a hammer sprinting down the hall—a poorly fastened steel breastplate clanking with every step.

Flinching, he reached for his bludgeon—only to belatedly recognise the man thanks to his dark brown mop of hair and overly bushy brows that dropped heavily over his grey eyes.

Catching the guard, he helped the man steady his feet.

“Eldric! What the fuck’s going on?” Tovic asked with hurried desperation.

Eldric shook his head, voice stern and his eyes cold. “No clue—I intend to find out. Just do your job, and make sure the prisoners aren’t freed.”

The closest thing he had to a friend in the compound clapped him over the shoulder, taking off down the hall at a full sprint once more.

Tovic scowled. They still didn’t know? How was that possible? He knew they had scouts and dozens of wards in the surrounding hills, even if he had precious little details of where they were.

For a force this strong to slip by them without a soul knowing, it had to be bad. Overwhelming numbers, or undefeatable force. Nothing else explained how they’d managed to rock the very foundations of the building without anyone being the wiser.

Shaking off the tightening in his stomach, he stalked on—pressing against walls every couple of minutes as more guards scrambled their way to the surface.

….

Grunting as he pushed open the heavy reinforced door to the cells, Tovic felt his heart start to settle.

He was in the lowest point in the compound, and his personal realm of absolute authority. The only way he would be attacked down here was if the entire operation was destroyed, and every one of his allies was killed or routed.

Deep in his heart, he knew that was unlikely to happen. The value of the bluebloods he was holding down here was immense, as was Old Yon’s interest in them. No doubt someone had already reached out to the boss, and reinforcements were on their way.

Stepping into the cells proper, a wave of unwashed funk and mold smacked him in the face. He scowled in disgust—even hosing them down with ice water every few days wasn’t enough to keep the foetid stench of the freaks from building to intolerable levels.

Taking a last gasp of fresh air from the hall behind him, he entered the jail and barred the door behind him—the satisfying thunk of the bolt slamming home helping to somewhat ease his nerves.

It was a fleeting reprieve, banished the second another impact rolled through the jail in a dull boom, sending more dust raining down.

Gritting his teeth, Tovis steadied his nerves and prowled down the long hall that was flanked by grated steel doors.

His first stop was the Hiwiann lordling. She looked…shaken—gaunt and weak in a way that normally brought a smile to his lips. Not today. She met his eyes—her gaze flinty and far less on edge than he would like. The distinctive lack of fear caught in his throat.

The attack had put a bit of fire back in her. Scowling hatefully, he flexed his hand to stop himself from reaching for the cells control formation to fry her where she sat.

He knew it wasn’t just the attack. Ever since his other charges had arrived, the Hiwiann had grown…vexing.

The girl had been doing so well—growing meek and fearful with her time in his care. Until they ruined it.

He scanned the other cages—the mutt of an elfling, the beast, and the freak. Their stubborn confidence was maddening, made him want to walk into their cells and beat them until they knew their place.

It was only his respect for Old Yon that stopped him.

“Listen here, you lot—you’re going to sit here pretty and quiet, or I’m leaving the punishment formation on for the next week.” he said, punctuating his words with a heavy growl.

He hoped they did—it would be nice to see them squirm, thieving nobles that they were.

“I’d like to see you try, knave.” the elvish mutt replied with a grating sneer, rising to his full freakish height.

The elfling walked to the cell door at a slow stroll, eyes boring into Tovic with moronic confidence.

A vein in his forehead pulsed.

“What the fuck did you just say, freak?” he replied, stalking over to the lippy bastard—his teeth clenched so tight they creaked.

“I dare you to try me again, I dare you!” he screamed—anger only heightened further as a maddened smile split the elfling’s face.

The man had gone mad—cracked. Clearly he’d need to be put down. Afterall, in the chaos of an attack, he couldn’t just let mutinous thoughts linger where they could inspire others. Old Yon would understand.

He slapped his hand on the working. “I’d like to see how you feel after—”

Something sharp slammed into the back of his skull.

The last thing he heard was a bloodthirsty roar fill the jail.