The Crisis of Power (Alpha LitRPG Book 9), page 1
Arthur Stone
The Crisis of Power
Text Copyright © 2025 Arthur Stone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Contents:
Arthur Stone
The Crisis of Power
Chapter 1
Higher Powers Not Happy
Chapter 2
Chaos Reigns
Chapter 3
A Rescue by an Honest Friend and Other Catastrophes
Chapter 4
Clear Instructions and a Strategic Briefing
Chapter 5
Collective Pessimism
Chapter 6
Final Preparations and the Morning of Battle
Chapter 7
Dust
Chapter 8
The Scales
Chapter 9
When the Dust Settled
Chapter 10
Back in the Capital
Chapter 11
Dark Dealings
Chapter 12
Dark Business Again
Chapter 13
The Emperor Speaks at Last
Chapter 14
The Gang of Fearsome Thieves
Chapter 15
In Pursuit of Artistic Advancement
Chapter 16
A Vial of Rare Essence
Chapter 17
The Palace Reception
Epilogue
Order
Many thanks to my readers!
Chapter 1
Higher Powers Not Happy
“Not long ago, I explained certain aspects of your near future to you. In the simplest terms possible, with no riddles. I’ll repeat myself now, just in case: I need that future to be victorious. To put it more bluntly, I expect great achievements from you—not a pitiful death in some ridiculous brawl. Yes, I know, sometimes even a corpse can be called a winner. But that’s clearly not your case.”
I gave the Dream Visitor a weary stare.
“It wasn’t a ridiculous brawl,” I said. “Actually, I got lucky. My opponent was strong, but not very smart. Anyway, what’s going on with me? Why am I back here?”
“Two nearly meaningless questions right off the bat… All right, even though I didn’t summon you here to answer your questions, I’ll indulge you a little. You’re here because I’m counting on your participation in a chain of events. They are so important that your feeble mind couldn’t even begin to grasp their full scale. And what do we have instead? Rather than do what you were supposed to, you almost got yourself killed. But a corpse can’t carry out a mission, can it now?”
“Well, I’m not a corpse. ‘Almost’ doesn’t count.”
“You’re closer to becoming one than you think. Your condition’s worsening. Right now, you’re unconscious. Fortunately, you had the good sense to tie yourself to the saddle. That’s the only reason you’re not already buzzard bait in the Ballonean wastelands. Instead of following my instructions, you picked a fight with someone who was dangerously out of your league. Small potatoes that the guy was in the grand scheme of things. Sure, your wounds may not be lethal at your current development level… but the death curse? That’ll kill you easily, with plenty of oomph left over for your entire family. In fact, that’s what this little anathema is doing to you now—finishing the job slowly and steadily. And you do remember you’ll likely have to face off against spawn of Death, or maybe Death itself, right? In battles like that, dying is not an option. No matter how gloriously you fall, no one’s going to call it a win. So how exactly do you plan to fight them when some random southerner has already put you halfway into the grave? That family vengeance magic is really common across their clans. Didn’t you know that?”
My exhausted brain refused to function, but I somehow managed to scrape a few words together.
“Okay, let’s assume I’m almost a corpse. But if we’re still talking, that means you’re still expecting something from me. So this isn’t the end. Which means I have to do something else for you, right?”
The Dream Visitor shook his head.
“What do you mean, ‘still?’ You haven’t even started doing your duty!”
“I’m not sure how exactly it works that I have any duties to you.”
“You don’t say!” the old man cackled, mock surprise in his voice. “You haven’t forgotten the Tomb of T’karr, have you? You might also recall who it was who suggested you take a peek inside of it. And what you got out of it.”
“All right, fine. I’ll admit, our little chats did yield a tiny benefit. Microscopic, unfortunately. As for what I owe you… you mean that whole thing where I’m supposed to defeat T’Khat’s army quickly and with minimal bloodshed? You might as well start carving my headstone now, because that’s not happening. How do you imagine that working? I don’t have an army. And I’m not going to get one. You want me to do it solo? I almost died going up against just three tough southerners. Real tough—for me, anyway. It was mere dumb luck that I survived, and I can’t count on it next time. What am I supposed to do against a coalition of multiple countries without any real forces of my own?”
I paused for a moment, gathering my wits around me.
“I know building an army is theoretically doable, even though it’s far from an easy task,” I continued. “But where am I supposed to find the time? The southerners will have conquered all of Ballonea in less than a month, even if they take their sweet time. But let’s assume for a moment that I do put an army together somehow or stop the invasion some other way. How the hell do I keep the body count low? No matter what I do, a lot of people will die, and you specifically said that was unacceptable. So don’t expect the impossible from me. The problem doesn’t have a solution. I can’t save Ballonea. And even if I could, I wouldn’t know how to do it bloodlessly. Go find some other savior. Not that I can imagine another viable candidate for that job. Not even the Emperor of Rava himself would have time to intervene, in all likelihood.”
The Dream Visitor shook his head again.
“Tell me something. What do you think I am?”
“I couldn’t say for sure, but I’ve seen you mentioned in some old books. They called you different names: Dream Visitor, Resentful Demon of Sleep, White-Haired Nightmare. I doubt any of those is your real name, and I’ve got no theories of my own. Honestly, I thought you were a fairy tale until we met.”
“I didn’t ask you for a name. I meant something else. Do you think I’m human? Or a demon, maybe? Something else?”
I shrugged.“Hell if I know. You could be anything—even Chaos incarnate.”
“I am not Chaos incarnate. I don’t belong to what you’d call the material realm. I’m something intangible yet real—a remnant of the final will of the great beings and higher powers, of which the nature your mind simply cannot comprehend. I am action and inaction bunched together, a lump of pure will with almost no soul. I get activated only in rare key moments to nudge events on with minimal interference. My existence today is a leftover glitch in this world’s systems. I can only affect things indirectly now, and not always correctly. The fact that I appear to you as a person is just a simplification for your own benefit. Even at my peak, my powers were never limitless. Now I’m just a sliver of divine providence with laughably limited resources at my disposal. The fact that I even managed to involve you at all, however clumsily, is a miracle. And yes, I do understand your predicament here. This rapid passage of time? It’s a pain in the ass for me too. But do you think I can simply go find someone else? You think there are lots of people like you just sitting around, ready to save the world? With things moving this fast, I have zero chance of locating anyone else of your caliber. In fact, I’m not even sure they exist in this world. I’m talking about your immense potential, which you’re squandering with embarrassing lack of imagination. You have accepted my help. You got something from me. Which means, yes, you do owe me. And collecting debts is one of my core functions. So whether you like it or not, you will obey the will I represent. You will do everything within and beyond your power. Or you’ll be punished. And it will be a harsh punishment. Don’t think that just because I’m a leftover will fragment, I can’t make your life a living hell.”
I gave a humorless chuckle.
“Threaten me all you want. Torture me, even. You’re asking the impossible. Like grabbing a star out of the sky. Actually, no, a star might even be easier. No one could pull this off. We’re up against a coalition of three countries, each of which could flatten Ballonea on its own without breaking a sweat. Without a full-strength Imperial Corps, we might as well not even bother trying. Unless you hire a force where every member’s at least on a par with the guy who nearly killed me. And I don’t mean a ragtag bunch of mages without escorts. I’m talking a real strike force. Good luck finding one, let alone convincing the men to come work for you.”
“I don’t intend to hire anyone,” the mysterious figure said, shaking his head. “My capabilities are just as limited as time itself. But don’t assume I’m sending you on a hopeless mission. If it were truly impossible, I wouldn’t waste what little I have on it. You do have a chance—if not to completely eradicate the problem, then to at least soften the blow.”
“And what kind of chance is that? You could at least hin
“Why would you need hints? It’s obvious: if you can’t meet force with force, you’ll have to resort to something else. Cunning. Trickery. Ruthless scheming. Treachery, if need be. Whatever gets the job done. You doubt your own abilities, and you should. Look at yourself. You’ve got the experience of two worlds, and what are you doing with it? Flailing. Senselessly, aimlessly, like a stupid fish yanked out of the water. All that thrashing is your way of staying afloat—to rise above the masses, whatever it takes. And, sure, climbing higher is the right strategy, because in this world, the lower you are, the harder you get crushed by all those above you. Pressure breaks people. And in your case, one slip might mean quick and permanent death. Certain powerful individuals aren’t exactly thrilled that someone from Clan Crow is still breathing. They’re watching, waiting for you to trip. How long do you think you have before your luck runs out at some crucial moment? Fortune has plenty of smiles, but it can ignore you just as easily. You want to survive? Then climb. Higher and faster. All the way to the top, ideally. Where the only pressure is from below. And that, as any sentient being knows, is a very different kind of pressure. I’m the one who can show you the most convenient path. And no, don’t start whining about the runes. The rune-craft of the ancients is obsolete for a reason. It couldn’t handle modern threats, so don’t place too much faith in it. Still, limited as I am, I can help you with more than just runes. Complete your task here, and you’ll receive a reward beyond your wildest imagination. And I don’t mean that in the vague spiritual sense. I mean something practical and immediately useful. A gift of real value for someone who’s serious about climbing the ladder of personal power. So enough excuses. Do what you’re meant to do, and you won’t regret it.”
“What about an advance?” I asked, cautiously. “This mission’s no joke. I could really use a power-up right away.”
“This isn’t a marketplace,” the Dream Visitor snapped. “You don’t get to bargain with me. You listen to my will and then go do your damn job. But, seeing how you nearly got yourself killed in such a pathetically avoidable way, I’ll give you one more useful tip. The head of the Imperial mission has an elixir made from the blood of a fire monitor lizard from the Burning Isles. Taken in drops, it’s known to significantly enhance male potency. But few in the north know its original purpose: it breaks down the structure of certain rare classes of curses. Including the one that’s currently killing you. So if you stop wasting time and haul yourself back to the capital, you just might survive. After that, I hope you’ll get your shit together and stop disappointing me. And, yes, the situation is dangerous. It’s no use hoarding resources now. If you take your medicine at the mission, we’ll speak again. You’ll receive further instructions then. You’re not ready for them yet—not in your condition. But once you feel better, you’ll get new directives. Crystal clear ones. That way you’ll make fewer stupid mistakes. And of course, it’ll help you ascend.”
* * *
In a blink of an eye, I found myself back in the saddle, dangling dangerously. Just like my visitor said, it seemed the only reason I was still in it was that I had tied myself in, although I couldn’t quite remember doing that. Everything else was much as the white-haired menace described it. And he wasn’t just being poetic about the scavengers either. Despite feeling like something the cat dragged in, I immediately caught the sharp stench of blood and found the source before too long. It was coming from a hideous mess of meat and shattered bone mashed into the mud beneath my horse’s hooves. My brain was barely functioning, so it took me a moment to realize what I was looking at: the fresh remains of some unidentifiable beast.
My prize mount, as expected of an elite warhorse, had guarded its unconscious rider. A noble creature like that could hold its own even against a serious predator. The small-time scavengers of the Ballonean flatlands never stood a chance. I made an effort to get my head working again. Who was I? What was I? Why did I feel so awful? But one thing seemed to have been hammered into my skull like a red-hot nail: Scown Drell had something I desperately needed. Something that could pull me out of this wreck.
Wreck, yes, that was the right word here. I had been out for so long that I lost all sense of time. Tormented by relentless pain in every inch of my body, drifting in and out of consciousness, I may have been riding through the arid plain for days. Heck, perhaps even a week. Something was telling me a month would be a wild exaggeration, but knowing that provided precious little comfort.
Damn it, how long had it been since that fight near the abandoned mine? I remembered holding it together better at first. The stray bunch of bandits who had thought robbing some half-dead noble rider would be easy pickings now regretted that decision a lot. That was when—on the second day, maybe? And how long ago was that second day? Could I take on another ragtag gang of peasants at that point? I wasn’t sure at all, and that got me thinking.
I slapped my cheeks and started casting volleys of healing spells on myself in a totally haphazard manner: regeneration, infection resistance, antidotes, anything remotely medical I knew I had in my arsenal of skills. Surprisingly—or not—I immediately felt better. That made no sense since the last time I tried that kind of “rapid fire” healing, it did not help at all. Maybe this time something finally clicked. I’d take that. There was no reason to be picky if it worked.
Unfortunately, the improvement didn’t last long. Soon enough, I once again felt like a corpse who was only warmed up just a little. I could barely move. I twitched—like a dead body obeying commands from a rookie necromancer. I knew I’d collapse altogether again, and soon, and this time it was going to be it. Which meant I had to make good use of every second I had left. So, which way was the north? With some effort, I spotted the bend of a narrow river ahead and a bit to the right. Now, that was a lucky break.
Ballonea’s rivers were notoriously shallow and narrow—so bad in fact that they were basically considered a joke. If you ignored seasonal trickles and glorified puddles, there were literally one and a half rivers in the whole region. And they only got the title of “river” because there was nothing better to call them. Assuming I hadn’t veered off course, it made sense that what I was now looking at was the big bend in one of them. If so, I just had to follow the bank, and I’d reach the capital soon enough.
Better yet, there seemed to be a road hugging that bank too. I had finally hit the right bend.
Chapter 2
Chaos Reigns
Aside from the gang of ragged thieves who tried robbing me, I hadn’t come across any locals on that charming little journey of mine. However, even with population density around those parts being what it was, it would be next to impossible to travel for days and not be seen. The Balloneans would have spotted me first, which wouldn’t be surprising given my condition. And once they did, they’d have followed the golden rule of the peasantry: stay the hell away from rich strangers. Everybody knew those could cripple or kill you just for looking at them the wrong way. The worst that could happen to such offenders themselves would be having to bribe an official or guard somewhere with their pocket change. And then they’d just walk away whistling.
Nevertheless, this woman wasn’t in a hurry to hide. A beggar of indeterminate age, wearing filthy rags over her awkwardly asymmetrical body, she had a rough-looking face and eyes that said “No brain matter inside”. Seriously, one would have to be remarkably stupid to have no fear of an armed man in fancy armor riding an elite warhorse. But there she came, strolling towards me without the slightest hint of hesitation.
I stopped and threw her a coin. It didn’t even have time to hit the ground before the woman caught it in mid-air.
“My Lord, shall we go down to the river, into the reeds? Or do you want to do it right here?”
“Here?” I muttered, my throat dry as sandpaper.
“Well, here’s fine too,” she nodded and began stripping.
“Wait!” I rasped. “That’s not what I meant. Just tell me, which way is the capital? Am I going the right way?”
“How could you not go the right way?” she blurted out, genuinely confused.
