In the Shadow of Mountains - a litRPG adventure

That’s the problem with killing; it gets easier every time – unknown proverb

*Nathlan*

It was impressive to see the speed at which Jorge and Vera could plan an operation like this.

Word had come from Jorge’s contact that the Crimson Lions’ safehouse had been confirmed as occupied only a few days ago, and nobody had seen or heard of them leaving the city since. That was all that Jorge needed to decide it was time for a raid.

Normally that would be a risky thing; to raid the safehouse of a mercenary outfit, unsure on their exact numbers and fighting strength, with no knowledge of traps or hidden exits. But it had been two days since Lamb had gone missing, and everyone was willing to take some liberties with risk if it meant a possible lead.

Nathlan himself had spent the last two days roaming the streets of Colchet with Sally’s tracker, hoping to pick up some faint sign of the artifacts’ lingering presence, but to no avail. Jorge had been in contact with information brokers and various underworld elements to see if anyone had a lead, and Vera had to be talked down from striding right into the Council of Brothers in their fancy chamber and starting to crack heads until somebody gave her info about the Wielders of Azlan.

It was just in time then, when Jorge got the news from his contact, and none of them wasted a moment longer than necessary to prepare. By the time Nathlan had strapped on his armour, belted on his sword and covered himself with a large cloak to obscure his figure, Jorge and Vera had already scrutinised maps and blueprints provided by Jorge’s contact and come up with a plan of attack.

A brief discussion as they moved quickly through empty streets, and then they were in position.

So it was that Nathlan found himself crouched behind the eggshell-smooth side of a house in one of the lower districts of the canyon city, doused in shadow by the poor lighting of the lower levels, and with eyes on the door to the ‘abandoned’ warehouse. He focused on keeping his breath even and smooth, counting upwards to 30 as he ignored the various muffled bangs and crashes coming from inside the warehouse.

The moment he exhaled his thirtieth breath, he knew it was time and darted forwards across the street. His sword was in his hand and his foot crashing into the door before he had fully inhaled his next breath, and then he was inside.

The warehouse was a huge open space, with ‘hallways’ made of stacked crates at least 3 men tall dividing the giant room into a labyrinth of halls and small rooms. Nathlan instantly knew that their original plan would be out the window given the unexpected layout, but it was a vague plan for a reason.

Vera and Jorge had breached the building ahead of him and planned to snare up any heavy resistance and draw the attention of all the fighters. Nathlan was to wait for that to occur and then break in through the back and assess. ‘Assess’ was a pretty broad action and left him with lots of creative freedom and was quite frankly a heart-warming display of the trust his two companions held in his abilities.

Putting that freedom to the test, he decided against pushing forwards to the sounds of fighting ahead and to the left where Vera and Jorge were no doubt holding off a far greater number of enemies. Anyone they couldn’t easily walk through would be too powerful for Nathlan anyhow. Instead, he decided to slip quietly through the hall of storage crates and take a turn to the right at the intersection.

He kept his blade low and ready, ears pricked for any hint of an enemy. Slapping footsteps echoed through the building coming from further ahead and he quickly ducked up against the wall beside him, waiting with bated breath.

The next moment, a broad-shouldered man with an ostentatiously detailed war-axe held in both hands careened round the corner and straight past him, heading no doubt to the cacophony of violent shouts and screams coming from the front of the building. Nathlan saw the man’s eyes widen with alarm and his head twist to take him in as he ran past, but it was too late.

Nathlan’s blade darted out, snaking across the man’s hamstring on the way out, and slicing down at his ankle as it retreated. The man screamed and fell to the floor, skidding along the scuffed stone, and Nathlan flashed towards him, blade already falling.

To his credit, the man had twisted even as his leg gave out and a wild swing of the axe was all that kept his head on his shoulders, as Nathlan was forced to disengage. It brought him no more than a few heartbeats though, as Nathlan’s bright blade whistled through the air, empowered by his skill Veracity’s Edge which lent it a shining golden hew as it descended.

The man, obviously much stronger than Nathlan was physically, was still bowed beneath the weight and pressure of the blow. His shoulders shook with the strain of holding off the strike, but he didn’t break. The fanciful designs of his war-axe may make it look like something out of a noble boy’s dreams, but the weapon was incredibly durable, and despite the power of Nathlan’s skill empowered strike, it remained unblemished.

Seeing the man recover, Nathlan quickly tried again. The window for taking advantage of his surprise was rapidly diminishing and the last position he wanted to be in was one where he faced a man far beyond him in levels. He could likely outrun the man now considering his first crippling blow, but it’s possible he had a healing skill of some sort. Incredibly unlikely considering their rarity, but it was always dangerous to make assumptions that could kill you if they turned out to be wrong.

He gritted his teeth and made a show of looking angry, snarling at the man on the floor as he raised his blade again. He once more infused spirit into Veracity’s Edge, turning the blade golden and practically telegraphing his next move to the man.

As expected, the warrior hunched once more, preparing to take the blow on the haft of the axe and slip aside. Unfortunately, Nathlan was a little smarter than to carry out the same strike twice, and so as the blade descended once more, he abruptly cu the flow of spirit to one skill and activated another instead, in the span of a single heartbeat.

Deception’s Call was the darker cousin to his previous skill, and his sword abruptly stopped shining, instead taking on an indistinct purple haze. Its primary function was to cut through lies and constructs of spirit, as he had used to such success above the Iona Chasm. Nathlan had found a secondary function though when he combined it with a third skill.

It was extremely spirit intensive, and required immense concentration so wasn’t easy to use in a fight without leaving himself exposed. But when it was applicable, it was worth the trade-off. His dark blade met the metal haft of the axe and clanged against it with only a fraction of the power of his previous strike.

He strained against the man on the floor, who finally seemed to see his fortunes reversing, a cruel grin splitting his face as he realised that he possessed much greater strength than his attacker. Nathlan for his part was only glad the man hadn’t pulled away yet. It still took him a few moments to pull together the focus required to activate two skills concurrently.

A moment later though, it was over. Nathlan felt The Master’s Tools activate, and most of his spirit left his core in a rush that left him feeling hollow and wrung out. His blade became incorporeal for a moment though, slipping straight through the haft of the war axe without damaging it. By the time he had deactivated the skill, his blade was already parting the skin of the man’s shoulder.

Nathlan heaved down with all his weight, cutting deep between the shoulder and neck of his opponent, who gurgled and slumped to the floor in response, his neck nearly severed by the blow.

Nathlan shivered, sucking in air and pulling his blade free from the corpse as the system dinged in his mind.

You have killed a Human (Azlan’s Inheritor) (level 55). Experience gained.

You have reached level 19. Attribute points available for allocation.

You have reached level 20. Attribute points available for allocation.

Skill ‘Veracity’s Edge’ has increased in level. Veracity’s Edge – level 4

Skill ‘Deception’s Call’ has increased in level. Deception’s Call – level 3

Skill ‘The Master’s Tools’ has increased in level. The Master’s Tools – level 3

The man was barely into his 2nd tier, but it was still an impressive victory judging by the level discrepancy alone. Hard to consider it such though when Nathlan had started the fight by literally hamstringing his foe from hiding. Vera would approve.

He quickly shook the thought off and ran back around the corner, hunting for any other mercenaries that may be holed up and waiting in ambush. He wouldn’t be springing any if he found them, but it would be good to have intel for when Vera and Jorge finished up at the front.

He eventually emerged into a small room, surrounded on all sides by stacked crates full of who knew what. Two heavy trunks lined one wall, thrown open and mostly empty, and a single desk sat against another. In the centre of the room was a firepit lined with stone blocks no doubt meant to be used as stools by people gathering around the fire.

There was only one person here though, a young woman roughly Nathlan’s age if he had to guess, frantically throwing letters and missives onto the fire, which was barely burning – clearly it had been out for a long while and only the onset of the attack had caused the woman to stoke it back to life in the vain hope of burning the evidence of their activities.

Nathlan leapt across the distance sword first and she stumbled back from the fire, dropping the bundle of papers in her hands onto the growing flames as she did so. His eyes darted between the unarmed woman and papers about to start crumpling in the heat, and he made a decision.

“Stay back!” he shouted, running forwards to kick the paper away from the fire, stamping out the bits that were already burning and attempting to keep as much legible as possible.

He was taking a risk, and knew it too, but in that moment he judged the risk of losing the only potential lead they had on Lamb’s whereabouts greater than the risk of turning away from an enemy during a fight. Besides, she was unarmed.

He wasn’t stupid though, making sure to keep his sword extended in her rough direction and stealing glances to check on her every few moments.

All that meant that he wasn’t entirely surprised when he felt something smack aside his blade, the sound of steel striking steel hitting him in almost the same instant that he looked over. She was already within his range, the short dagger plunging desperately towards his heart with deadly speed.

Nathlan did his best to swivel, feeling his brigandine take the impact of the stab and thankfully hold. His chest felt like someone had sucker punched him though, breath whooshing from his lungs as he fell backwards. The Lion staggered past him with the momentum of her lunge, and almost without conscious thought he stabbed out, catching a clean thrust through her neck as she moved.

She dropped like a puppet with her strings cut, dagger skittering away across the floor and blood pumping from her neck in a grisly fountain. He coughed a few times, gasping as air flooded his abused lungs once more.

You have killed a Human (Crimson Cadet) (level 25). Experience gained.

He shakily got to his feet in time for Jorge and Vera to round the corner. Vera was beside him in an instant, reaching for buckles and clasps with experienced hands. He pushed her off, stepping backwards and managing to get the words out despite his leaden tongue.

“Blood’s not mine. Hers.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of the dead woman, blood pooling around her from her torn throat, and the glance over was enough to make his gorge rise. He stumbled away and vomited, bile spattering against the floor.

Jorge started to gather the remains of the papers Nathlan had saved from the fire, keeping them out of reach of the growing pool of blood. Vera rested a hand on his shoulder and murmured soft words until he had calmed down.

“First time?” She asked, once he had regained some of his centre. He nodded shakily.

“Since I left Krakenport anyway.” He said, squeezing his eyes shut to push away the memory – how easily his blade pushed had through flesh, the sickening resistance as it lodged for a moment in the trachea, then the moment after when it slipped through anyway.

He shivered and listened to Vera as she talked to him about her first time killing a man. It wasn’t a pleasant story, but there was a strange feeling of relief in hearing it. Like he wasn’t the only one who had crossed that line. Like he wasn’t alone with the sensation.

Jorge had finished gathering the papers and completed a cursory sweep of the room. They retreated quickly, combing over every inch of the warehouse with quiet efficiency before slipping out the back door that Nathlan had entered through, and into the dark streets beyond.

Back at the inn, they each dug through a small pile of singed letters and scrolls. Nathlan seemed to be making the fastest progress out of the three – an addiction to academic drama at least had the side benefit of making one proficient at trawling through papers. It was no surprise therefore, that he was the one to find the most useful missive.

The scroll contained orders from a certain ‘High Marshall of the Academy’, although the name and most of the message was burned away. What little Nathlan could glean from the destroyed scroll was some sort of order of reassignment for a member of the ‘esteemed house of D’Sware’ in order to take charge of the effort in Colchet.

What exactly that effort entailed was either left out of the original message, or simply explained in the burned off sections, so Nathlan had no way of knowing. However, the fact that they were burning evidence before they left – and doing in such a sloppy manner – suggested that this was not necessarily a planned move. That the Lions unexpectedly disappeared around the same time that Lamb went missing was one hell of a coincidence.

He set what was left of the scroll aside and continued on with renewed vigour, but ultimately found nothing else of value. Everything else was burned beyond legibility. Vera found some minor documents of interest – enough to piece together that the Lions were on the lookout for a certain number of individuals, but no details on who they were or any descriptions – those most likely burned or disposed of by the Lions before they left.

It did confirm that the orders came from on high though, superseding any standing orders the Lions stationed in Colchet had previously had. It seemed likely that the new orders came along with the relocation of whoever was mentioned in the missive that Nathlan had found, but they were simply speculating at this point.

The evidence was far from damning, but new orders coming in only a few weeks before their arrival, then the Lions disappearing at the same time that Lamb did was enough for all three of them to decide to pursue the lead.

It was the best they had after all. It seemed insane to Nathlan that even with two high-level, experienced 3rd tier classers on the trail after no more than a few bells, Lamb could still go missing right under their noses. Given that it was clearly the case though, he was not particularly confident that they’d be able to follow and track the Lions once they left the city, and he voiced that fear aloud once it became too loud rattling around in his head.

Jorge looked at him with determination before answering, “Aye, fair point. Difference is, I’m not great at tracking through busy cities and under the earth. That’s why I have contacts who can do it for me. But I promise you this lad, get me under the open sky out in the wilds and there’s not a man or woman in Tsanderos under the 4th tier that I can’t follow.”

Vera came to stand at his back, her powerful frame scattering shadows around the room from where it partially blocked the glow of the lamp. It was strangely comforting.

She nodded at him as she stood. “Let’s get him back then.”