Towering Trouble: A LitRPG Isekai, page 38
Frock that.
Saskia didn’t want to hear about how life was brief and precious and that everyone and everything must die. Those rules sucked, and whoever came up with them should go take a running leap into the nearest black hole.
Some time later, in an attempt to banish the dark thoughts from her head, she asked, “Do all of the Outer Hollows have a theme?”
Ruhildi looked at her quizzically.
“I mean Wilbergond was all heat and slime and scary monsters and horror and let’s not talk about that. Dwallondorn, by the looks of it, has this whole lost civilisation thing going on. Are all of the Hollows so…unique?”
“Och no. And what you see here is but a small arm of Dwallondorn. Most of it is quite boring, truth be told.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Saskia, who had begun to wonder anew if this really was a stupid game where each zone had to have a unique biome just so players wouldn’t get bored. “What about the Inner Hollows then?”
Ruhildi raised an eyebrow.
“If these are the Outer Hollows, surely there must be Inner Hollows too?”
“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “If the legends hold true. But those realms are not for the likes of us. There dwell creatures of fire and chaos and indescribable strangeness. The scorchwings you witnessed flittering about the arlium flow in Wilbergond are the but least of them. In the Inner Hollows, the air burns so hot that a mere breath would set your lungs afire. Not even you could endure such a place, methinks.”
“Oh,” said Saskia, feeling tiny all of a sudden. “Well I guess we won’t be going there.”
They continued on in silence for a time, until, out of nowhere, a raging storm crackled into being in the air overhead. A fierce gale swept into the Hollow, and the water of the lake began to froth and churn around them.
“…the hell?” Saskia stared up at billowing black clouds, even now sending lightning arcing down among the buildings on the far shore. “How can there be a storm underground?”
“’Tis no natural storm,” said Ruhildi. “Dire trouble lies ahead.”
Spread out among the ruins drawn on her minimap was a swarm of red and orange markers, arrayed against a cluster of grey markers.
The dwarf hopped off Saskia’s shoulder, and they both crept forward low in the water, moving from cover to cover in an attempt to remain hidden. Flashes of lightning lit the chamber, always striking near the same spot behind the ruins on the lakeshore. Shouts and screams and thunderous crashes could be heard as they drew closer. She watched, open-mouthed as a huge slab of stone flew through the air, tumbling end over end as it came slamming down near where the lightning struck. The ground trembled, and a cloud of dust billowed high into the air.
“Why are we heading toward the epic battle of death?” whispered Saskia.
“I’ll not hold it against you if you want to stay out of this, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “’Tis not your fight. But I can’t just stand by while my kin fight for their lives.”
“Your kin? How do you know it’s…”
Her words trailed off as a small figure came flying out from behind the ruins, before smashing into a piece of debris and sagging into the churning water. In the moment before he vanished under the waves, Saskia caught a glimpse of a wide, sturdy frame and thick beard.
Yup. Definitely a dwarf.
“Who are they up against?” said Saskia.
“Tempests,” said Ruhildi. “’Tis the mer we face. If you’re with me, Sashki…”
The mer. They were a race of elves, if she remembered correctly.
This was bad. If she entered the fight, people would die at her hands. It was one thing to pull her punches in a tiny skirmish against a pair of elves, when it was only her life on the line. Even then, in hindsight, maybe that hadn’t been the best decision of her life. In a big battle, trying to spare her opponents would be almost impossible, and it would endanger not just herself, but anyone she tried to help. No, if she fought today, it would be with intent to kill.
She’d never intentionally killed a sapient creature before. There had been Garrain’s companion—the one who had died because of her. But she’d at least tried to spare him. This would be different.
But to stand by and let the dwarves die…would that be any better than killing them herself? Besides, there was no way she was gonna let Ruhildi waltz into danger by herself. Not after everything her friend had done for her. She’d either have to drag the dwarf away kicking and screaming—and lose their friendship in the process. Or she’d have to help her.
It really wasn’t much of a choice.
“I’m with you,” said Saskia. “Let’s do this.”
Ruhildi nodded up at her. The dwarf pulled a wormhide hood up over her head, and climbed back up onto Saskia’s shoulder. “We have to hurry, afore ’tis too late!”
Rounding the corner of a collapsed building, they came upon a scene of utter chaos and carnage. Amidst a churning vortex of water and air, blades clashed, arrows flew and lightning arced. Shattered bodies sank beneath crimson waves. The screams of those who had not yet joined them rose up against the howling wind and the ringing of steel and the percussive impact of flying masonry.
The mer were tall and hairless, and fought with bows and spears and nets. Entirely naked, save for the straps holding weapons and gear, their skin was pale and streaked with blue. Every one of them had a physique that would’ve made an athlete proud. She counted almost as many females as there were males among their numbers, and they were equally gorgeous.
The dwarves, by contrast, were heavily armoured, and bore crossbows and swords and warhammers and huge blocky shields nearly as tall and wide as they were. Those must be a pain in the butt to lug around, she thought.
Standing in a circle at the centre of it all, bearing spears inset with arlium, were five mer women. Alone among the combatants, they seemed unmoved by the bedlam happening around them. Saskia watched as a dwarven crossbowmen fired into the circle, only to see the bolt veer off to the side at the last instant, deflected by a swirling wall of air.
Those must be the tempests, she realised. And immediately she fixed her sights on them. If games had taught her anything, it was to take out the squishiest spellcasters first—the so-called glass cannons.
With a rumbling shudder, a large slab of stone rose up from atop one of the ruins and came hurtling toward the tempests. But it met the same fate as the crossbow bolt: swept aside at the last moment by their impressive barrier. Getting past that thing may be a problem even for me, she thought.
The stone clearly hadn’t been lifted by the tempests’ wind magic, since it had been aimed at them. That left only the dwarves. They must have their own spellcasters—probably stoneshapers like Ruhildi. Well, minus the freaky death magic. But where…?
And that was when Saskia spotted a second group of dwarves gathered inside a partially collapsed building. She could make out the glow of arlium from the tips of a dozen short metal wands. Two sides of the ruin had fallen away, but the open sides were ringed by a series of thin struts, like the bars of a cage. Those weren’t part of the building’s original structure. As she watched, more bars were beginning to form between the gaps.
Why were they caging themselves up like that?
Moments later, she got her answer. There was a blinding flash and a loud crack. Her eyes caught the after-image of bolt of lightning forking down from the thundercloud and striking the cage.
Huh, she thought. Smart dwarves.
Except while they were setting up their own defences, the stoneshapers weren’t doing much to protect their fellows dying outside. Lightning still struck the combatants in the water to devastating effect. Explosions of superheated steam jetted into the air, and dwarves and mer alike dropped beneath the waves. A few of them got back up; too few. Contrary to what certain games had taught her, these lightning bolts didn’t zap everyone in the water—only those standing within about five metres of the point of entry. Still, that area of effect was more than large enough to cut swathes through the dwarven ranks. It seemed the tempests had no qualms about sacrificing some of their own fighters, as long as the dwarves paid the higher price in blood.
The dwarves in the water were now outnumbered three to one. Even if the stoneshapers ultimately prevailed, it was unlikely any of their non-magical brethren would live to see it.
That is, until Saskia and Ruhildi arrived on the scene.
Stealth wasn’t exactly a troll’s forte, but both sides were preoccupied at the moment, and the howling gale and sounds of battle masked Saskia’s heavy footfalls. Darting between buildings with Ruhildi clutching her shoulder, Saskia managed to circle around behind the mer and get within spitting distance without being spotted.
It was the dwarves who noticed her first. She saw it in the widening of their eyes and slack jaws. Tipped off by his enemies, one of the mer glanced back at her, then shouted and whirled about. Calling for Ruhildi to hold on tight, Saskia sprang forward.
Landing in their midst, she swung Mjölnir in a wide arc. There was a terrible crunching sound as the giant hammer sunk deep into soft flesh and brittle bones. A spray of dark liquid drenched her arms.
The mer she’d struck tumbled head over heels, before smashing into a nearby companion. They both fell in a tangled heap. Struggling to crawl out from underneath the limp body, the second mer cried out in a language she hadn’t heard before, his face twisting into a rictus of terror.
Saskia stepped forward and brought the hammer down. He did not move again after that.
The result of her handiwork—the caved-in skull and splattered torso; the red stained water—brought a terrible chill to her heart. This was it: the moment she’d been dreading; the moment she crossed the line, and became…
She dropped to one knee, retching.
“On your feet, Sashki,” murmured Ruhildi in her ear.
Right. Of course. No time for this. Sucking in a deep breath, Saskia turned toward the other mer. All eyes were on her now, and all the mer faces held near-identical expressions of shock.
They weren’t just watching though. The air was filled with colourful lights telegraphing the trajectories of half a dozen spears and arrows; all of them converging on her body.
One of the spears, she snatched out of the air with her free hand and used to knock aside another. The arrows, she dodged; all except one.
From her discussions with Dave, Saskia knew that contrary to what video games would have people believe, arrows fired by longbows were far better able to penetrate plate armour than melee weapons. Unfortunately, the same must be true of her hardened skin as well.
“There’s an arrow in your arse,” pointed out Ruhildi helpfully.
“Oh you think? Ow, motherfu—” Saskia winced as her friend plucked the shaft out. It hadn’t gone too deep, but that was a very sensitive spot.
Ruhildi must be a good multitasker, because at the same time she was doing that, a scatterblast spell detonated in the middle of a cluster of mer archers. Three down. Thirty to go, give or take.
An orange glow appeared on the water at Saskia’s feet, turning slowly redder. Her hair stood on end. And when she moved, it moved with her.
Crap! She was pretty sure she knew what that meant…
All five tempests stood facing her, and written across a virtual scroll that hovered over their heads were the words call lightning.
“Get off, Ruhildi,” she said. “Get away from me. Now!”
“What…”
There was no time. She plucked her friend off her back and threw her as far away as she could.
As the light beneath her turned red, she took a running leap—straight for the circle of tempests. Might as well try to spread the love, she thought. Her feet slammed into a wall of air, and for the briefest of moments she hung there, suspended above their heads. Just as she’d hoped, their barrier was a sphere, and she’d just struck the top of it.
The world turned brilliant white.
Saskia blinked and shook her head, unsure at first if she was awake—or even alive. She crouched in the water, swathed in billowing clouds of steam. Something felt deeply wrong, but she couldn’t place what it was.
In the water at her feet lay five mer, twitching and groaning and staring up at her with wide eyes. A circle of tempests.
Well that worked better than I expected, she thought. Zapped by their own spell, after it passed through me. I bet they feel like right twits.
But before she could finish congratulating herself, a shadow and a flicker of movement caught her attention. She looked up, and in a sudden panicked burst of energy, dived away.
She didn’t see the boulder land, but she felt the reverberation throughout her entire body. An instant later, a huge wave swept over her, knocking dwarves and mer alike off their feet. And just like that, the tempests became entombed beneath several tonnes of solid rock.
There had been no telegraphing that boulder’s arrival. And now that she thought about it…where was the rest of her interface? The minimap, the highlights and labels—none of them appeared when she willed it. And why was it suddenly so dark…?
The answer, when it occurred to her, was more than a little unsettling. The lightning strike—it had fried her oracle interface!
She could only hope the effect was temporary. But in the meantime, she was as blind as everyone else.
Overhead, the storm clouds faded. The air around her stilled. And in more ways than one, the tides turned.
With the tempests dead, a dwarven victory was all but assured. Saskia found herself secretly hoping the rest of the mer would dash for safety. But the only things dashed were her hopes. The mer fought to the last breath—all except one, who was promptly taken out by a crossbow bolt as he turned to flee.
And just like that, it was over. Silence stretched, punctuated only by the groans of injured dwarves.
She’d just been struck by lightning, and yet still she felt cold. What she’d done…she could only hope it had been worth it. One side or the other would have fallen, with or without her help. But were the dwarves really any more deserving of life than their enemies? She didn’t know much about either side.
Trying not to let her inner turmoil show on her face, she watched as the dwarves fanned out before her, weapons half-raised.
“She’s with me,” said Ruhildi, rushing up behind her. “Don’t you be laying a finger on her!”
It didn’t escape Saskia’s notice that Ruhildi had subtly altered the timbre of her voice, and she kept her hood pulled low over her face. What was up with this secret identity routine?
“You must be jesting, lass,” growled one of the dwarves. “I’ve no mind to go anywhere near that beast of a rock trow.”
“Good,” said Ruhildi. “Sashki’s a very loyal…pet, but ’twould be best if you don’t make her angry.”
“Woof woof!” said Saskia. Several of the dwarves flinched and took a step back.
Hold on a second, interjected her inner reality critic. If my oracle abilities aren’t working, shouldn’t I have lost my ability to understand the dwarves? They sure as shaz aren’t speaking English.
Thinking about it further, she realised it probably didn’t work like that. Her magic hadn’t just been translating for her; it had been training her brain to think in those other languages. She’d been speaking and understanding Dwarvish for a couple of months now. At least some of that knowledge would stick with her, even without any further supernatural help.
Or maybe she’d only lost some of her abilities. Either way, she could understand the dwarves perfectly.
A deep voice rang out across the battlefield. “Stand down, guardians! I’ll have words with these…fortuitous interlopers.”
Gazing into the gloom, Saskia did a double-take. Was she seeing things, or was that…a robot? He sure looked like a robot. His face and body seemed to be made entirely of metal.
But as he drew near, the metal mask seemed to shimmer and melt, and in its place was the face of a middle-aged dwarf with an immaculately trimmed blonde beard. Just a spell, she thought.
“Good of you to finally join us, Honoured Rector,” said one of the other dwarves, his voice thick with ill-concealed scorn. “Where were you and your shapers while we were dying by the fistful down here? If it weren’t for this dwarrow and her trow…”
A murmur of discontent that arose from his fellows told her the dwarf was not alone in feeling this way.
The stoneshaper lifted his wand. The dwarf who had spoken flinched and stared down at a thin spike of stone that had risen from the ground all the way up to his crotch.
“Ken your place, shield-bearer,” growled the stoneshaper. “Your purpose is to protect us, not the other way around. You accepted our coin, so don’t come crying to me if you have to earn it.”
His gaze flicked from Saskia to Ruhildi. “That’s some pet you have there, dwarrow-kin. Wherever did you find such an impressive specimen?”
“She found me,” said Ruhildi.
The stoneshaper’s eyes narrowed. “Would you mind showing me your face under that hood?” he asked.
“Aye, I would mind,” said Ruhildi. “’Tis not for you to lay eyes on the one who just lifted your arse from the fire.”
His frown deepened. “Do you not ken to whom you speak, shaper?”
“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “I speak to one who has an inflated opinion of himself.”
Some of the other dwarves gave nervous chuckles. The stoneshaper silenced them with a glare. Saskia heard the grinding of teeth inside his jaw, before finally he spoke. “I’ll let that pass this one time, on account of services rendered, and your obvious ignorance. But speak to me like that again, lass, and you’ll regret it. You are addressing Grindlecraw, Third Rector of the Shaper Guild. Now that you’re aware of my rank, I trust you’ll offer me the appropriate respect.”
“Och ’tis a fair grand title, worthy of respect,” said Ruhildi. Under her breath, barely loud enough for Saskia to make out her words, she added, “’Tis misfortunate the person wearing the title is such an arse…”
