Vainglory 2: A LitRPG Adventure, page 1
VAINGLORY 2
©2025 PLUM PARROT
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ALSO IN SERIES
Vainglory
Vainglory 2
Vainglory 3
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CONTENTS
1. Secrets
2. Trogs
3. Ambush
4. Good Beer
5. Fire for the Spirit
6. Market Square
7. Blazewitch
8. Trading Words
9. Stories We Tell
10. A Fated Encounter
11. Aboard the Bounty
12. Murder
13. Secrets in the Blood
14. Midnight Confessions
15. Answers
16. Extending Trust
17. Westview
18. Alagenny’s Spire
19. Buzz Off
20. Clockwork
21. Clearing the Air
22. Loot Distribution
23. Cheat Code
24. A Walk in the Dark
25. Respect
26. Wasting Daylight
27. Readings
28. The Beast Within
29. Research
30. Wolf
31. Uninvited
32. Paid in Blood
33. Misdirection
34. Fear
35. Hunting the Hunters
36. The Love of the Hunt
37. A Place to Plan
38. Passenger
39. Evil or Not
40. Birds of a Feather
41. What Horrors Await
42. A Bad Feeling
43. The Sable Hall
44. Ritual
45. Wins and Losses
Thank you for reading Vainglory 2
Groups
LitRPG
1
SECRETS
Ward kicked his boots through the ash, stirring up some still-hot embers. “Huh. I thought maybe the mayor was exaggerating. You know, trying to keep us away.” The Graymane estate had, apparently, gone up in flames the same night that Ward killed Nevkin. The mayor was blaming the former employees, and they were blaming the warlock—saying he’d been careless in the way he’d piled logs near the hearth. Of course, that was something the workers would be responsible for in usual times, but most of them had fled when Nevkin killed Lord Graymane.
“There’s a lot left standing, though.” Haley peered up at the blackened rafter beams and scorched stones. Her voice wasn’t exactly hopeful, but Ward was pleased that her words hadn’t sounded defeated. He was starting to see what Grace meant about her always being deeply serious—“grave,” as his less-than-welcome passenger had put it.
“Look!” Grace cried, her excitement sufficient to carry the mood. Ward followed her slender arm and finger with his eyes and saw what she meant. Saddlebags, burned black by the fire, were piled in the corner atop the ashes and charred remains of what looked to have been a small table. “Maybe something survived! That’s thick leather.”
Ward grunted his acknowledgment. The truth of the matter was that he was already feeling like going back to the inn and lying down for a while. It wasn’t just the injuries he’d sustained from casting a spell far too potent for his body and mind—those were mostly healed. It was the after-effects he was dealing with. The healing wrought by the magical tonics, tinctures, and creams had taken a toll on his flesh. He’d dropped at least twenty pounds and felt like he’d been bedridden for weeks, not just a couple of days. Grace was sure he’d feel better with a bit of time and some mana absorption; he hoped she was right.
Ward stepped toward the blackened leather bags, frowning. “Doubt anything survived.”
Grace practically vibrated with excitement as she pushed past him, leaning close. “You just don’t want to get your hopes up.”
“Yeah, I suppose. I don’t doubt that his spells were here. He was racing back like a lunatic when he attacked us.” He turned to Haley, “Nothing was on his body?”
“Nothing much. A belt pouch with a few glories. I picked up his knife and my sword. His horse had a saddle—no bags.”
Ward squatted near the bags and gingerly pulled them close, frowning at the way the burned leather crumbled under his fingers. Still, they felt heavy; something was inside. As he used his knife to pry the stiff, black leather flap open, slicing through the old strap and buckle, he heard Haley ask, “Why don’t you wear shoes?”
“Ask him,” Grace replied, leaning close to stare at Ward’s slow progress.
“Ward?” Haley pressed.
“Hell if I know what she’s talking about.” He had the first saddlebag open and was sifting through burnt scraps of cloth—a blanket or some clothing, perhaps.
Grace tsked. “He’s lying, but he doesn’t know he’s lying. I look like I do because somewhere in his twisted little mind, he fancies a gal like this.”
“That’s some grade-A bullshit.” Ward snorted, grinning as his knife touched something solid. “I don’t have a foot fetish.” He brushed the ashes and burnt cloth aside and gripped the heavy object, lifting it out in a shower of ash and scraps. “What the hell?” What he gripped in his hand was a heavy metal container about the size of a tissue box, sealed with something like molten lead or pewter. “Shouldn’t that seal have melted in the fire?”
“Careful, Ward!” Grace hissed. “Look at those runes on the top.”
Ward brushed the ashes away and saw what she meant. Jagged symbols were etched into the metal, and they looked very foreboding; he had no idea why he thought that—he couldn’t read a single one, but something about them said, “Danger,” with a capital D. “It’s heavy.” He turned and held it out for Haley, and she took it in her hands, peering at it with her strange, pale-gray eyes that seemed to catch and reflect any light in the room.
“I think it’s holding something inside—the seal, I mean. I don’t think it’s meant to keep people out. You should leave it sealed until we learn more.”
“Yep. I’ll cast my ‘reveal secrets’ spell on it later.” Ward dug around in the other saddlebag but only turned up scraps of burned paper, cloth, and ash. “Well, it’s something. I suppose his spells are gone—burned up with the house.” He sighed, brushing his hands together as he stood. “I’d hoped for something more. I guess it was a longshot; if the servants really did torch the place, they probably looted anything they thought was valuable.”
Grace nodded. “Spells are valuable, Ward.”
“Do we wanna stick around this little village, interviewing peasants who have no reason to trust us, though?”
“Why not use your spell here?” Haley interjected. “If someone deliberately burned the place, wouldn’t that be a ‘secret’ that it might reveal?”
Ward thought about it for a moment, then he nodded. “All right. Let me go outside to prepare it; I don’t want to get covered in ash.” He led the way out, pushing through the remnants of the once-grand double doors, now blackened and hanging from twisted, loose hinges. When he stepped into the sunlit courtyard, he inhaled deeply of the fresh air and walked over to Nutmeg. “Hey, boy.” He rubbed his muzzle as the horse snuffled at him. “I’ll give you an apple in a minute. Let me just fish something out of my saddlebag.”
A few minutes later, Ward was sitting on a relatively clean section of pavers, going through the strange half-dance, half-meditation ritual to imprint the words of power into his mind. It was the first time he’d looked at a spell since he’d nearly killed himself by bringing Haley back from… beyond. He still wasn’t clear on how that whole thi
If all the spell had done was move her back into her body, he supposed it wouldn’t have been so powerful and had such an effect on her and Ward. It had done more, though; it had healed and changed her body. It had affected her demeanor in ways they were just starting to figure out. The spell had been rife with warnings, and one had said that her body would be “infused with a power that dwells in the twilight between life and death.” It explained the healing, but Ward wasn’t sure they were interpreting “power” correctly. He hoped it was just a description of the magical force used in the spell and not some kind of entity. He wanted Haley to be all right, which made it hard for him to be objective.
Grace startled him out of his reverie. “What are you doing?”
“Got distracted, I guess. I’m still a little foggy.”
“Well, I’m the one who said you should rest another day. Maybe you shouldn’t do this spell right now—”
“I’ll be fine. Let me prepare it, and then I’ll know if it’s going to hurt or not.” He was hoping it wouldn’t. The silver tongue he’d taken from Nevkin had significantly increased the “tier” of his mana pathways. He’d been on the verge of being able to cast the “reveal secrets” spell without hurting himself before he got the tongue, so now he had high hopes that it wouldn’t be difficult at all. Before he got started, he glanced around the courtyard. “Where’s Haley?”
“Still inside. I think she’s poking around, looking for anything else that might not have burned.”
Ward almost told Grace to go keep an eye on her but remembered she couldn’t; she was bound to him and could only experience the world through his senses. Determined to make it quick, he opened his grimoire to the right page and began moving through the forms and reciting the words of power for his spell. He found his center quickly, and, listening to and feeling the thud of his heart, he timed the spell’s forms to the steady beat. When he looked up, Haley was there, speaking softly to Grace.
“…nothing but ruin.”
Ward closed his eyes, and in the darkness of his mind’s eye, he saw the words for the spell floating, throbbing, and yearning to be released. They were dark, wreathed in shadows and mystery, but they no longer looked dangerous to him. Where before they’d seemed sharp, jagged, and even scalding, now they were just secretive—filled with the mystery of things unknown. “I can cast it.”
Haley looked away from Grace, peering from the depths of her deep hood; she didn’t like to be in the sun without the hooded cloak she’d had made. “Hmm? Was there any doubt?”
“Nah. What I meant was that I can cast it without hurting myself.” Ward brushed his pants off and straightened his thick wool coat. As he did so, his eyes drifted over the neat, perfect stitches where Haley had mended it as he’d lain unconscious. She’d done a fine job; the thread was nearly the same color as the wool, and the needlework was precise. “Thanks again for fixing this, Haley.”
“You’re welcome. I’m only sorry I didn’t get your spear.”
Ward shrugged. “I can get a new one.” Haley had been in a hurry to get him some medical help on the night they’d confronted Nevkin and hadn’t retrieved his spear from the poor dead stallion. When they’d come to the burned-out manor, the horse’s corpse, along with the spear, had been gone. Ward turned back to the house and walked inside. When he stood in the burned remains of the central hall, he glanced over his shoulder at Haley. “Might want to plug your ears.”
She nodded solemnly and reached her hands into her hood. When she nodded again, Ward looked into his mind and recited the words floating there, “Shrovak gnyrath!” They whirled into motion, streaming from his mind to his tongue, where they flowed like water from a crystal decanter, smooth as could be. As soon as the sound of them entered the world, though, the smoothness faded as they echoed and cracked off the burned stone walls. They whirled around, stirring up ash, reverberating, and building off themselves into an echoing crescendo that had Haley leaning forward, pressing her hands hard against the sides of her head.
Soon, the echoes receded, and Haley lowered her hands. Ward watched as the stirred ash coalesced into faintly luminescent figures—two men, one with long, wild hair, the other wearing a thick woolen cap. Both were dressed like laborers in heavy boots, overalls, and warm, long-sleeved woolen shirts. “Orchard workers,” he grunted. They seemed harried, or perhaps just hurried, as they moved about the room, moving ghostly chairs and tables, opening drawers, and flinging objects from shelves. Finally, one stood in the corner where Grace had spied the burned saddlebags. “Here!” he cried, though his voice seemed to come from a deep tunnel a second or two after his lips moved.
The other man joined him, rushing over eagerly. They threw the bags open, rifling through the stuff inside. One man lifted a heavy, jingling pouch and crowed, “Glories!” The other hefted out a heavy, leatherbound volume adorned with inlaid runes that glinted in the ghostly light of the fire in the hearth.
“A spellbook! Imagine what they’d pay in Port—ack!” His words were cut off as he screamed, staring at his hand as it began to smoke. “It’s burning! I can’t let go!” Wide-eyed with panic, he looked at his companion, dancing back, away from the saddlebags. “Help!”
The other man, the one with the wool cap, snatched up a tattered shirt from the saddlebag he’d been digging through and used it like a potholder to grab the book away from his friend, eliciting a panicked scream of pain in the process. He didn’t hold the book; he flung it away—straight into the fireplace. “Dead gods! My hand!” the wounded fellow moaned.
“C’mon, Tem, we got the glories; let’s get out—” With a whistling pop, something exploded in the fireplace, interrupting the specter’s voice. Both men turned to the hearth to see sparks shooting forth, erupting like a pyrotechnic display. Little ghostly fires began to spring into existence around the room, and both men turned and fled.
“Those idiots.” Grace sighed as the ethereal light faded from the ashes, and they fell to the floor like they’d never been disturbed. The gloom that had shrouded the room while the spell was active faded, and sunlight streamed in through the burned-out roof. Ward walked over to the fireplace, and sure enough, he saw the remnants of a blackened, charred leather book cover. The pages were nothing but ash.
“Dammit.”
Haley stepped close, peering with him into the hearth. “I’m sorry, Ward.” He saw she had her hand inside her cloak, resting on the hilt of her father’s sword. They’d yet to figure out exactly how the sword worked, but it seemed to absorb spells aimed in its direction. He nodded and wrapped an arm over her shoulders, squeezing her into his side.
“At least those spells aren’t in someone else’s hands.” Haley allowed the embrace and even leaned into him a little, but she didn’t feel the same. She was stiff, and Ward inwardly wished he hadn’t made the show of affection—not because he didn’t care about her, but because he’d hoped to feel some warmth from her. All he’d accomplished was to remind himself of the reality that she was changed.
“Can you cast the spell again?” she asked, unaware of his inner turmoil.
Ward looked into his mind, saw the spell there, faint but ready, and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go back out to the courtyard.” He let go of Haley and returned to the sunlight. “You got the—” His question became redundant when Haley joined him, holding the metal box in her hands.
As he looked at it, steeling himself to cast the spell again, Grace asked, “Do you think it’s worth hunting those workers down? That pouch of glories looked pretty heavy.”
“Nah.” Ward brushed some lingering ashes from the metal box, noting that the thing felt like it had been stored in a refrigerator, even with the sun beating down on it. “I’m not looking to hunt down some peasants and strong-arm ’em for glories that weren’t even mine.”
“By right of conquest, they were—”
“No, Grace.” He nodded to Haley. “Set it down so you can cover your ears.”
