Tenacity: An Epic Fantasy LitRPG Adventure (The Completionist Chronicles Book 9), page 1
TENACITY
The Completionist Chronicles Book Nine
DAKOTA KROUT
Copyright © 2023 by Dakota Krout
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Newsletter
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
Afterword
About Dakota Krout
About Mountaindale Press
Mountaindale Press Titles
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To all my family, friends, and all the support structures and groups in my life, and to my Patreons, especially Lilly Hawk and Mike Rylander, thank you for helping me have the Tenacity I needed to succeed.
NEWSLETTER
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PROLOGUE
“I feel warmth.”
The mountain range began to shake as seven enormous Frost Giants moved for the first time in centuries. Each of them had a single distinct characteristic, the only identifying feature among them. The first among them stood as a giant of a man, different from a baseline human only in his sheer size. His eyes were colder than the snow that blanketed the world, and the sheer number of scars that coated his body told of a lengthy life full of conflict.
The next three stood in quick succession after the first had gained his feet, each of their places in the hierarchy of power nearly equivalent. A frost giant covered in electric blue tattoos, with lightning arcing between them intermittently. Another stood with the help of an arm that sprouted directly from his chest, and he pushed himself perfectly off the ground with a single push-up to secure his footing. His brother adjusted an enormous monocle that covered one of his eyes, which had long-since grown deeply into the flesh of his body.
Finally, the three with the lowest positions stood tall, the first of them standing on four legs like a half spider. Then one that had nearly half his face covered by enormous, bushy eyebrows that dangled in front of his eyes. The last among them stood tall, proudly, enormous tusks jutting from the lower mandible of his jaw.
The Jötunn, thrice as large as the mountainous giants that surrounded him, was the owner of the voice that had roused the seven giants from their otherwise eternal, frozen slumber. He alone had remained motionless while the others had been jolted by the sheer power of his voice. The titan of frost was trapped deep within the surface of Jotunheim, with only his arms protruding out of the planet and preventing his escape even as he strained to break free.
"The bifrost has been activated," he rumbled, his voice carrying across the land. "Its blazing mana is slicing through the swirling storms protecting us from being hunted. The audacity of the outer deities knows no bounds! They have dared to deposit their mortal charges upon the surface of our world. Even as we speak, the bifrost is shifting its location, evading our winter’s wrath."
The seven other giants lowered themselves to one knee, casting their gaze well beneath that of their Patriarch. The first to break the silence was the giant characterized by an arm emerging directly from the center of its chest. "Do you believe the hunts will commence once more?"
“Most assuredly, if we were to let this infestation take root,” the Jötunn stated consideringly.
One of them, adorned with a pair of massive tusks supported by two smaller protrusions, spoke out as soon as their leader's voice had subsided. "If the past behavior of the mortals is any indication, they will exert all their efforts towards fleeing this realm. Is it even worth our while to take action?"
“We failed to act swiftly enough last time, and think of what happened. Our world was mined for its resources, the creatures slain for sport!” The giant who spoke looked the most like a human: only massive, blue, and scarred. “I say we set out at once to the seven sectors of the world and uproot whatever vestige of civilization has sprouted.”
Before each of the other giants could say their piece, the Jötunn’s words bowled them over. “We made a pact with the Jörmungandr. Having filled this world with ice and death, our Geas calls me to action. As soon as one of them goes beyond the limits the world has offered, we will be able to act. For now, each of you must begin the long walk. Spread across this planet. Be poised to strike, to lead the children of the Jörmungandr into battle.”
“Summon your lessers and send them in advance of yourselves.” The Jötunn’s eyes slowly began to close, resembling immense glaciers traversing across vast pools of water. “Wake me only if I'm needed. If the situation becomes dire.”
The seven towering giants paid obeisance to their leader as he succumbed to his frigid slumber. With his departure into the realm of sleep, the behemoths exchanged sinister grins, relishing their newfound freedom. The last of the giants to depart, known to his brothers only by the immense glacier that had been shaped into a gleaming monocle, whispered in a voice as cold as the frozen wasteland that surrounded him.
"At last, it is time to satiate our hunger. Let us show those delectable, frail beings from the summer realms that the frost… will bite."
CHAPTER ONE
Joe the Ritualist surveyed the new realm he was trapped in. Compared to the last time he had gone to a new world, this was practically a vacation. No choking to death because he couldn't force air into his lungs, he chose to come here instead of being exiled, and he was surrounded on all sides by friends. “Great, now we have all the positives out of the way.”
He chuckled to himself as he looked around, finding that the surrounding landscape was aglow with the flickering flames of numerous fires, providing warmth and light to the gathered crowd. Even with their joy being tempered by their loss, the vast majority of those assembled were triumphant Dwarves reveling in their newfound freedom, fresh from their escape of Alfheim. Their society lay in ruins, their old way of life had been torn out by the roots, but every single one of them had grabbed the chance to start afresh in this unfamiliar world.
Being the catalyst for their escape—as they had earned survival on their own—Joe wasn’t surprised to find himself the object of the Dwarves' gratitude. Every person who recognized him would have their faces light up. This was followed in short order by endless offers of potent drinks being sent his way. Their persistent attempts to celebrate with him touched Joe deeply, filling him with the warm fuzzies, even as he politely rebuffed their invitations.
Still, he was only human. The Ritualist could only hold out so long–eventually the pleading and earnest offers wore him down. Even despite his often introspective nature, Joe understood the significance of this momentous occasion and the importance of bonds forged in the fires of shared struggle. With that thought in mind, he submitted to their desires a single time—joining the celebration in his own way by raising a mug of coffee as a toast to their survival and the promise of a brighter future together.
After escaping the small knot of people who knew him well, Joe continued his observation, his keen eyes surveying the mingling crowd. Approximately eighty thousand Dwarves made up the vast majority of the group after the aggressive escape through the bifrost. That was offset by the smaller groups of humans towering over most of the crowd, their multiple thousands seemingly insignificant compared to the dominant population. They were remarkable in the fact that their stances were stiff, and the expressions on their faces differed greatly from the joyous celebration surrounding them.
There was good reason for it, and Joe felt the same sinking sensation in his own gut. They’d all received the same message—they were trapped on Jotunheim, a world of giants, and the only escape lay in the likely years-to-decades-long task of building a City and dispelling the thick shroud of clouds above them, all in the hopes of generating a new bifrost. Even then, to ensure that they wouldn’t need to travel tens of thousands of miles to use it, they needed to complete their project before anyone else could claim the prize.
Joe rubbed at his lightly frosted bald head, understanding that this world would be yet another zero-sum game. Still, he was trying to focus on the positive portions of their circumstances, so he put a smile on his face and worked to keep his mood light. “Gotta enjoy the successes when we have them, or what’s the point of winning?”
Smile firmly pasted in place, his mind shifted from observation to planning, thoughts consumed by the task of building a new city, dispelling the clouds, and most likely being the glue that would bind these groups of surviving Dwarves and advancement-greedy humans together.
As Joe's gaze extended to the distant horizon, daylight timidly seeped in, providing an utterly incremental illumination of the world. The creeping wall of light moved at a glacial pace, underscoring the inconceivable vastness of the world they now found themselves on. ‘Glacial’ was an excellent descriptor of the area, as the abundant snow and ice were the only terrain features the light managed to highlight. Before he could start feeling concerned about the situation, he was grabbed roughly and once more invited to join the celebration of the now-shivering Dwarves.
The Ritualist firmly shook his head and set getting shelter as his number one priority for living on this world as he saw the Constitution-focused Dwarves already turning pale and trembling with cold.
“We’re going to need shelter sooner rather than later.” With that thought in mind, he turned on his heel and started walking back toward the guildhall, the only permanent structure that had currently been created in the area. His goal was to start putting together some apartment complexes, elevating the number of people who could be protected from the elements. He swept some of the blowing snow that had accumulated off of his Exquisite Shell as he thought about his next move. “If I build the apartments in a circle around the guildhall, will that help with cutting down on wind shear? There’s gotta be a city planner here who knows, right?”
He came to a halt as he saw a Dwarf on her knees punching the ground and snarling. Of all of the people around, she was the only one who didn’t seem happy in the slightest. “Excuse me… what’s the matter?”
She stopped moving, letting out a deep sigh as she looked up at the sky, the tears frozen in her mustache catching the light. “I'm an Expert frozen treat maker, I focus on ice cream.”
“Ah. Tough luck on that one. Shaved ice might be popular someday.” After a conciliatory pat on the shoulder, Joe stepped around her and entered directly through the entrance of the guildhall, his body instinctively shivering as a wave of warmth enveloped him. In that moment, he became acutely aware of the chill that had been slowly seeping into his bones. Whether it was an inherent trait of this world or a peculiar environmental effect, it seemed that the everyday dangers of Jotunheim were going to be even more severe than he had been thinking.
Only a handful of individuals were currently in the space, each of them radiating a palpable aura of power and competence. Among them, Grandmaster Snow stood out, a figure of authority and experience seated at a table, meticulously examining a rough map of the surrounding area. Her poise stood in stark contrast to the other, less elegant happenings.
Havoc was arguing with his brother, Grandmaster McPoundy, about the viability of creating a smithy immediately. But the conversation cut off as Joe stepped into the small building, the wind howling in with him before he finally managed to shut the door. “Good, finally you realized that you should put down the stein and get in here to discuss strategy with the adults! Hurry up, there's lots to go over.”
Joe approached with a respectful nod acknowledging the Grandmaster he was apprenticed to, though his eyes remained on the rough map that would provide him with a glimpse into the treacherous terrain and potential threats lurking in the vast expanse that was Jotunheim.
“Frankly, Havoc, it doesn't matter if he’s here or not.” Grandmaster Snow murmured as she stroked her mustache. Her eyes never left the document in front of her. “You know as well as I do that he's nearly empty of resources, having used them up in our escape. Until we're able to secure deposits of minerals and such, there’s no point in trying to squeeze blood from the stone that is Major-General Joe Pyrrhic.”
“I've seen him do more with less,” Havoc countered immediately, giving a rare nod of acknowledgment toward the human in their midst. “Worse comes to worst, I'll have him out there converting dirt into bits of coal to light our forges until he's useful again. At least it'll be good training.”
Joe's eyes widened, and he decided to get involved in the conversation before he was assigned an absolutely pointless task as a mandatory quest. “Good to see you as well; I'm glad that everyone got through safely. If you don't mind me asking, is that a map or a preliminary report on the area?”
“Ha! Coal?” McPoundy triumphantly pointed at Havoc. “I knew you were coming around to the idea of making a forge before anything else!”
Instead of answering Joe’s question directly, Snow ignored the bickering brothers and tapped the page in front of her, speaking loudly. “We escaped, for now. Everything is going to be extraordinarily difficult for the next several weeks as we rush to survive. You may have noticed that the conditions out there are rather… extreme. Well, get used to it! There are constant clouds in the sky, and it'll be blisteringly cold, even during the height of daytime. Which, for your information, looks like it will be sometime near the end of next week. Settle in for the long haul, and let’s start to build a firm foundation, no matter how long it takes.”
Everyone quieted and leaned forward slightly, waiting patiently as though she were about to start reading a story to a group of children. Seeing that no one had a comment, Snow tapped the paper and went over her thoughts on the information.
“Going by the size of the planet, and checking that against the slowly increasing light, we're estimating that each day on this planet is approximately two weeks long on Alfheim. That means we're going to have two weeks of daytime, followed by the same amount of time in absolute darkness as we're engulfed by nighttime. Havoc, as you were just having this conversation with your brother, could you enlighten us on the status of our resources?”
“Yeah. That's easy. In the grand scheme of possessing things, we find ourselves in a stuffless abyss, where the void of stuff knows no bounds,” the cigar-puffing Dwarf explained shortly. “It's cold. It's dark. We’re already under attack by monsters on the outer fringes of our group. We need metal; we need enough plants and meat to survive. Eh, mushrooms would work. All of this comes together to a simple conclusion: we need to start digging right away and get our society living underground like we always should’ve been.”
“I'd wondered about that.” Joe didn't realize that he had spoken out loud until he realized that everyone in the room was staring at him. Instead of apologizing, he leaned into his question. “If Dwarves are so used to living underground, why did you all live on the surface when I found you? On that note, why do you all carry axes and the like instead of pickaxes and shovels?”
