Blessed Time: The Complete Series: (A LitRPG Adventure Box Set), page 120
The two guards attacked again, moving at the exact same moment as both of them slashed at the daemon’s legs with heavily enchanted swords. Behind them, four or five guards were running toward the Princess, shouting about how they needed to get her to the teleportation formation.
Micah cast Explosive Thicket, knocking the luoca off balance but failing to pierce the glossy chitin of its underside as he ran past it. Then the attacks from the bodyguards landed, each of them severing a leg and sending bolts of raw energy from their blades and into the unsteady daemon. Mana arced across the surface of its belly, blistering armor until the magic from both of their attacks met near its center and quieted.
The creature exploded into a burst of rainbow light as it lashed out with its legs and tail, frantically trying to strike Micah as well as the two blessed that served the royal family. He dodged the attacks easily, moving a quarter of a second before the luoca even thought to launch them, but neither of his companions were as lucky.
Both of them were beaten back, and the male fighter wasn’t quite quick enough. He made the correct call when dodging a swipe from the daemon’s tail, stepping into the attack to avoid its stinger, but he didn’t have an opportunity to set his feet and was sent flying by the attack’s back-stroke.
His scream brought a wince to Micah’s face. The warrior likely didn’t have an Arcana skill, meaning that he was forced to contend directly with the reality melting aspect of the daemon. Still, he would have time to help the injured later. The reinforcements were already surrounding the Princess, and Micah could see the coach driver lurking in their midst.
“It’s a trap!” he shouted, planks breaking under his feet as he put his entire body attribute into closing the gap between him and Gwen. “The man who drove my coach is a traitor. If you activate the formation, it will kill everyone inside!”
Two of the lesser guards stepped in front of the Princess, their shields up and drawn swords pointed in his direction. One of them struck, but it was almost a joke. After years of fighting high-leveled monsters, even without the enchantments layering his body, Micah could have easily avoided the attack. As is, the sword slash looked like it was moving in slow motion.
Almost contemptuously, Micah slapped his hand onto the flat of the blade, ripping it out of the defender’s grip even as he cast Air Knife repeatedly, firing the low-level bursts of pressure and mana over the guards’ shoulders and toward the carriage driver behind them.
The other soldier tried to raise a shield to stop him, but Micah simply swung his arm, slamming it with a forearm shimmy and knocking the man a step backward and letting him pass.
By now, Princess Gwendolyn’s gaze had turned, following the arc of Micah’s spells toward the driver intruding in their midst. His attacks had torn the man’s shirt open, revealing the silver glint of mail beneath. In slow motion, the man drew a dagger coated in a dark liquid, clearly a poison of some sort, and lunged at her back, seeking to beat Micah’s advance.
Calculations blazed through Micah’s head, none of them good. The shield bash had slowed him too much; he would arrive an eyeblink behind the traitor’s stab.
He clenched a fist, forcing his mana into the spellform of Root Spear faster than he had ever cast the spell before.
The floor beneath the Princess’ throne seemed to explode as the stage morphed into a half dozen spikes, angled upward but still rooted in the rest of the structure that impaled the charging man like a pike square stopping overeager cavalry.
Micah dove past Gwen, her eyes widening as he balled his hand into a fist and punched the coach driver with all of his strength.
It wasn’t a spear, but an ordinary human wasn’t meant to survive a blow from something with more than 50 body. His face exploded like a cantaloupe dropped from a tower, disappearing into a spray of gore that spattered the tapestry-draped walls standing behind the throne.
Micah wheeled around, trying to shake the blood off of his right hand as he took in the battle with the luoca. On her own, the woman was outclassed. She had managed to cut through the daemon’s chitin one more time, but she was currently being pushed back by a flurry of leg stabs and wing slashes. The male guard was returning to the fight, but he was walking with a visible limp and likely wouldn’t be enough to turn the tide of the battle on his own.
“Hold it still!” Micah shouted, preparing himself to cast Vacuum. “If you can keep it from moving, I have a spell that can cripple it.”
To his side, the Princess took one look at the wrecked body of the coach driver before adding her voice in support of his.
“Kyle, Luci, listen to the man. Seal its movements.”
Micah nodded gratefully, his mouth occupied with the complex and alien words to the spell. Power swelled inside of him as the two bodyguards threw themselves at the luoca in an unsustainable flurry of attacks that overwhelmed the monster.
For a brief second, the daemon was unable to counterattack, instead forced to flail wildly with its wings as it sought to deflect the perfectly synced strikes from their swords.
Then, the moment was over. Whatever martial art or surge of adrenaline that was powering the two fighters ran out. Their movements lost their edge, slowing just enough that the luoca could force them to retreat with a forceful sweep of its tail.
But, it was enough. Vacuum did an incredible amount of damage, but the spell was incredibly hard to adjust once Micah began casting it. He might be able to move it a pace back or forth, but the adjustments were slow and inexact, making it an awful spell to use against a nimble enemy that could simply walk out of its area of effect while he was casting it.
The rear of the daemon exploded as the spell destroyed everything in a one-pace radius. It screeched wildly, collapsing to the stage floor, where its aura immediately began to erode and melt the wood. The two blessed shared a glance, and a moment later, they both struck together, unfurling like coiled snakes to sink the tips of their blades in each of the daemon’s human eyes.
It shuddered once and went still. Micah let out a breath and its corpse began to disintegrate, fading into a wisp of familiar mist that was rapidly blown away by the morning wind.
“Form a cordon.” Princess Gwendolyn’s voice was filled with steel as she looked over the wreckage. On the street below, her soldiers were beating back the onkerts, and a detachment of the provincial guard was approaching, scimitars and bucklers at the ready as they prepared to assist. “There might be other assassins out there. I don’t want anyone but Guildmaster Silver, Kyle and Luci getting close.”
“But your Highness,” one of the nearby soldiers began, her eyes flickering to Micah’s torn shirt and blood-spattered hand. “How do we know that he’s saf-”
“Now,” the Princess growled. “To your posts.”
After that, there was no objection. The rank and file guards formed a ring around the throne, stepping aside to let the two warriors that had helped Micah with the luoca pass. Both of them nodded respectfully to him before taking up positions on either side of Gwen, and it was only when they were a couple paces away that Micah realized that they were siblings. Likely fraternal twins.
“How did you know my family’s pass-phrase?” Gwendolyn asked, crossing her arms as she stared accusingly at Micah. “Outside of our most loyal retainers, no one is supposed to know the monthly password. Did my mother send you? Maybe one of my uncles? Or was it a sibling?”
“Nothing like that,” Micah replied, waving his arms in what he hoped was a disarming way. It didn’t help that he was still covered in the coach man’s blood. “I’m a time mage with the ability to reverse a short period of time. Originally, you died in the assassination attempt, but before you died, I asked you for something I could use to identify myself. You told me the phrase yourself.”
She glared at him. The seconds began to stretch out, and Micah could only smile weakly at the woman. Finally, she sighed.
“I’m not sure I can believe you,” the Princess said unhappily, “but we can’t stay here. I’ve already been attacked by daemon summoners once. I’d be beyond foolish to stay in the open and make a target of myself.”
EIGHT
SUSPICION
“As I said earlier,” Micah replied, “I have the ability to see the future somewhat.”
They were in a conference room at one of the royal family’s summer palaces. It wasn’t as big as the Governor’s manor, but at the same time, representatives of the royal family rarely visited Red Sands for more than a month at a time. The building was large and well-appointed enough to make a point about the Empress’ wealth and power, but it didn’t see enough use to warrant a stupendous investment of energy and capital.
Most of the room was filled with a dinner table large enough to seat fifty people. Micah sat halfway down the table while Gwendolyn occupied its head. Further down the table, her guards, Luci and Kyle, were watching Drekt, Trevor, Leeka, Eris, and Esther uncertainly. Eris was staring at the large oil paintings that covered the wall with wide eyes while Trevor and Esther chattered happily, picking up candlesticks and pieces of silverware while openly guessing how much they thought the expertly crafted items cost. The entire time, Leeka sat perfectly still, both of her hands in her lap with white knuckles as her eyes darted nervously about the chamber.
As for Drekt? He had long since given up trying to control Trevor and Esther. Instead, he sat half slumped in one of the chairs, forehead in his right hand as he massaged his temples.
“What does ‘somewhat’ mean?” the Princess asked. “Are you talking about fragmented and cryptic prophecies, flashes of images from the future, or the gods themselves descending on a ray of sunshine to tell you what is coming to pass?”
Micah lapsed into thought, pondering how he would answer her question. They hadn’t exactly been close friends in his previous life. He had met and interacted with Gwen on a number of occasions after earning her trust, and in all likelihood, their relationship had risen to the level of a friendship, but at the end of each day, she had been a member of the royal family while he had been an immigrant. They were cordial and enjoyed each other’s company, but a secret like the nature of his blessing wasn’t the sort of thing he would share with someone on that level, especially someone with the ears of those who controlled a whole country.
He chewed his lower lip. As much as Micah’s instinct was to make up a lie in order to protect his secrets, he also needed the Princess to trust him. Every fabrication he made was yet another chance where he could lose all credibility with the woman he would need for the apocalyptic battle that was to come.
“I can travel back in time.” He practically blurted the words out, saying them as quickly as possible before he could second-guess himself and come up with an excuse to twist or obscure the truth. “That’s how I know what’s going to happen.”
“Yes,” Gwen replied impatiently. “You already said that after the attack. I need to know more. Are we talking like a couple of minutes, a day, a month, a year, or ten years? Hells, for all I know, you’re actually from a hundred years in the future trying to change history entirely.”
“Oh right,” he said, scratching his chin. “The actual time travel varies depending on how I use it, but the important factor is that a new power is going to arise in Pereston in the next year or two and invade Sandrovok. Even with the help of surrounding countries, when the time comes, Sandrovok won’t be able to defend itself.”
She frowned, tapping her index finger on the tabletop in a steady, insistent beat. Finally, she let out a sigh.
“Do you have any actionable intelligence I can take to my mother?” she asked. “You know, troop movements and numbers, locations, strategic assets, anything of that nature. Something I can bring to her to prove that she should trust you.”
Micah shrugged, shooting her a sheepish smile as he answered.
“I can tell you what happened last time, but things have already changed. All of my predictions regarding Pereston are up in the air. I can tell you the major actors and roughly what they’re able to do, but unfortunately, one of those powers lets it adapt to my time travel.”
“So you don’t have anything I can use,” Gwen replied in frustration. “I’m grateful that you saved my life, but for all I know, it was you that set up the attempt. If you want me to try and convince my mother to move armies and prepare for unseen threats, I am going to need to prove two things. First, that you actually know what you’re talking about. Second, that you have Sandrovok’s best interests at heart. At this point, I want to believe you, but I can’t act without solid information on both fronts.”
“I can certainly help with the country’s development,” Micah responded. “If you have any difficult dungeons, I’d be happy to clear them. As strong as I am, I need as many levels as I can get before the attack happens. More importantly, the last time Pereston had double agents in Sandrovok that undermined the royal family and weakened the army in anticipation of an assault. I know their names, and I would suspect that most of the bigger players are active by now, spreading their feelers out amongst the military and civil service as they wait for their chance to strike.”
“And what do you want us to do?” the Princess asked. “Imprison them without warning? Search their manors and seize their weapons? Without proper evidence, we would risk a civil war. The nobles would interpret our actions as a pretext for the royal family expanding its power, and the entire nation would fall apart. If Pereston were to truly attack, there wouldn’t be anyone left to defend after a civil war ripped us apart.”
He glanced back at the other end of the table. Trevor was holding up a porcelain vase, closely inspecting the delicate painting on its side while both of the bodyguards stiffened, watching the rambunctious young man closely.
Micah chewed on his lower lip again, looking for a way to answer the Princess’ questions. She had a point. He had saved her life and used a pass-phrase that he wasn’t supposed to know. Ritual magicians had confirmed that the teleportation formation was sabotaged shortly after they arrived at the palace, but that didn’t change much.
He had been too naive. Rush in, save the Princess, ask for her to attack a neighboring country. It all sounded like something that a protagonist in a bard’s tale would try. In the real world, political considerations and machinations took months if not years to work out. In truth, Micah was lucky that he had only been met with skepticism rather than an ill-advised attempt to put him in a jail cell.
“Good point,” Micah replied, biting back a sigh. “I’m not really a strategic thinker. Hells, half of the day-to-day operation of my guild is my father and the other half is Drekt. My job was always to grow strong enough and produce enough enchanted items that we can destroy anything we run into, and so far, that’s worked out just fine. Better yet, it will continue to work just fine for about two years. The only problem with that strategy is that in years, Baron Hurdon will have taken over Pereston, and they will attack with everything they have, and that doesn’t just mean people. Strange magic and scores of daemons like the ones you saw today will be in the vanguard.
“We lose, Princess,” he continued grimly. “And it isn’t the sort of loss where Sandrovok cedes some territory and pays a little tribute. Everyone dies, and most of their souls are used to power the Baron’s war machines and fuel his conquest. By the time of the final battle, there weren’t any humans left supporting him. Just enchantments supercharged with sacrifices and daemons.”
“But how can I know.” Her voice was a whisper, but its volume didn’t do anything to hide its intensity. “My mother deals with at least a courtier a week trying to drum up one threat or another so that they can benefit. The court and imperial bureaucracy are cloaked in plots and counter schemes. I need something solid.”
Micah leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. Finally, he shrugged.
“First, I stopped a dungeon outbreak on the exact day it was going to happen,” Micah said slowly, holding up one finger. “Second, I stopped an attack on your life and used a pass-phrase that I shouldn’t have known. I understand that the two events could theoretically be explained through some combination of blessings and spy networks, but at the same time, I am perfectly willing to give you answers that you can test. Even if you refuse to settle for a list of names, without some foreknowledge, how could I predict which horse will win a race? Maybe you’d prefer some sort of market trend? It should be clear from the way my guild rocketed to financial prominence that I have some ability on that front as well.
“And if all of that isn’t enough,” he continued, opening his hands, as if laying all of his arguments on the table, “I’d ask you to have faith. Specifically, contact your priests. The Churches of Luxos, Mursa and Ankros will likely be able to verify that I am working on their gods’ behalf.”
“I don’t really trust the gods,” Gwen replied, sinking back into her own seat, eyes distant and thoughtful. “They always seem to have their own goals that don’t necessarily align with Sandrovok or humanity as a whole.”
“Absolutely,” Micah agreed, drawing a surprised look from the Princess. “Half of them are assholes to begin with. We’re really only in this mess because Luxos made a huge mistake and left a path open to a place that no one from Karell should touch. As for Ankros and Mursa? I won’t betray their trust, but their goals don’t align with any one nation. I think it's safe to say that they support humanity as a whole, but their scope is so different from yours and mine that it's fundamentally alien. Trusting any one or two of them isn’t a good idea, but if all three of them agree? You’re probably onto something.”
“Except you shouldn’t talk to…” Micah trailed off, summoning the ageless folio and paging through it, “Bishop Lee. The Church of Luxos in Red Sands is largely under the control of the enemy. Frankly, that’s probably how they were able to get close enough to the parade to make an attempt on your life.”
