Through the Portal - A Strategy LitRPG

That hurt.

But it wasn’t the end. My heart pounded in my chest, my hand wrapped around the hilt of my elven sword as I slashed across his stomach.

“Connor!” Lariel shouted from behind me, fear and concern in her voice, somersaulting from the window, leaping toward me and my opponent.

The man was dead before she reached us.

[ASSASSIN: HP-10]

HP: 0/8

EXP + 6

YOU HAVE LEVELED UP.

LEVEL 2

[NAME: CONNOR]

[MODE: TACTICIAN]

[CLASS: KNIGHT]

[LV 2]

[EXP: 01/20]

[HP: 3/12]

[DATA]

[STR] 3 [SKILL] 3 [SPD] 3 [LUCK] 6 [DEF] 2

The pain in my stomach started growing, my vision becoming a blur as Lariel leaned over me.

“My love,” she said, her hand rapidly moving to cover my wound. “You’re hurt.”

I reached for my stomach, blood pouring freely and the pain becoming sharper.

“I can walk,” I managed to mutter through my teeth.

I stepped forward, feeling the warm blood seeping through my hand despite my best efforts to stop it. Lariel was already reaching for her pouch and extracting elven healing herbs. She dragged me back to bed and made me sit.

“Take off your armor; I should heal you now before it gets worse.”

I hesitated. Loud screams and the rumble of battle echoed outside our door. I couldn’t afford to waste time. Besides, the hallway was replete with assassins. She saw through my hesitation and helped me pull up my shirt.

She pulled out a vial, dark and small, the elven script etched into its glass surface. The moment she applied the green paste inside, it seared like a brand. I hissed through clenched teeth, but she kept her touch gentle, leaning in to kiss my cheek, her lips cool against my fevered skin.

"It’s going to be alright," she whispered, the words meant as much for herself as for me. She bound the wound with a cloth, wrapping it tight around my torso, catching a red tint as soon as it touched my skin. My [HP] ticked up to [6/12], a flicker of relief but not nearly enough.

I pulled on my elven chainmail, the rings sliding over my shoulders. Lariel turned toward the window, but a sharp hiss escaped her lips as my instincts kicked in and I reached for her hand.

Lariel crouched, grabbing her bow and stringing it with expert movement. Footsteps echoed toward the door, and I pressed it shut and locked it to buy us time.

I quickly pulled up Aria’s map in my mind. Four red pips—enemy soldiers—approached rapidly, the outline of their positions clear in my thoughts. I signaled to my elven lover and she crouched beside the window, her bow already in hand, her fingers flying over the string with precision.

Timing was everything. I signaled to Lariel with a nod. She smiled that sharp, confident smile of hers.

I counted down in my head. “Three… two… one.”

The door burst open, and we moved like clockwork. I flung it wide with controlled force, catching the first soldier off balance. Lariel’s arrow streaked past me, finding its mark in the man’s throat before he could even cry out. He crumpled to the ground, blood bubbling at his neck.

She was already pivoting, loosing a second arrow into another attacker’s ribs, the shaft burying itself with a sickening crunch. He fell with a choked gasp, and I slammed the door shut again, the bodies littering the once pristine hallway.

But we weren’t done yet.

I reached out with the map again, quickly checking Zyra’s position. She was moving fast, already on our floor, followed by the rest of the elven forces.

The other three assassins on our floor had split, most of them now obliged to face Zyra and her forces.

I kept peeking at the map, watching Zyra dance with her sword and the elven comrades massacre the enemy. She was a whirlwind in battle, and those assassins wouldn’t stand a chance.

We were winning.

But what was that guy doing on the ground floor? The mage. He didn’t seem to move.

Aria had marked him for me, his figure glowing red, and he lingered on the ground floor, barely moving, his silhouette thin and hunched beneath a crimson hood. Oathmarks spiraled across his hands. This one was definitely a wizard.

But he looked much younger than any I had ever seen. He was still moving, methodical and slow, weaving through the lower levels. Something about his movements felt… off. Like he wasn’t just hunting. He was waiting. Preparing.

"Lariel," I murmured, keeping my voice low. "There’s a sorcerer down below. And I don’t like it—his power levels don’t make sense."

“Awesome,” she said. “It’s easier to deal with than those assassins. We can get to the ground floor through this window. If you want, I’ll deal with him while you stay here and wait for the others.”

I gritted my teeth.

"No." I cut her off, my tone harder than I intended. "Something’s off. I can feel it. If he’s waiting for us, I’m not letting you go alone."

“What do you mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“His HP is 10. Even lower than mine. But his other stats are… well. There’s actually no information. From what I saw in the forest, mages usually have MP, and I’ve seen ranges from 10 to 25, but this one has a little infinity sign.”

“It might be a glitch,” she said, but I could feel the hesitation in her eyes.

I faced her, following what I saw on the map.

I looked over at the map. All the enemy units on this floor had been cleared, and our elven comrades were coming to meet us.

But I forced myself to stand. I had to. Lariel was at my side in an instant, steadying me with a firm grip.

"Don’t worry," she whispered, her breath brushing against my ear. “Ina’s gonna heal it in a second.”

She scanned the corridor beyond, her eyes narrowing to reveal a handful of dead assassins, blood pouring out and soaking the carpet and the wooden beams. Our elven troops stood among the bodies, some examining our fallen enemies and pulling up their hoods and turbans to identify them.

Heavy boots echoed across the hall. I figured those must be the actual Alabenian forces coming to see what the hell was happening.

“Zyra,” I croaked, dragging myself across the broken floor, blood seeping through the torn fabric of my tunic. “There’s another…”

Before I could finish my sentence, the floor beneath us exploded.

The floor buckled and then exploded beneath us in a storm of splintered wood and scorching heat. The blast hurled me backward, and I barely registered the sensation of falling before the ground slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs. Wooden beams and jagged debris flew through the air, cutting through the darkness like claws. The flames that had clung to the walls roared to life, spreading hungrily through the timbers, consuming everything they touched.

I hit the ground hard, my body slamming into the rubble. Pain shot through my legs, my head spinning as I tried to gather my senses. Smoke filled my lungs, and I struggled to breathe, my vision blurred by the thick, swirling dust.

I could hear them—voices calling out through the chaos.

“Lariel!” I shouted, panic seizing my chest. My heart hammered as I searched the crumbling ruin, my legs pinned beneath a heavy wooden beam.

I couldn’t see her.

I couldn’t see any of them.

Pain rippled through my body, sharp and relentless, but the fear in my heart drowned out everything else. I clawed at the beam pinning me, ignoring the jagged splinters cutting into my hands.

I looked up, fearing that the ceiling would give way and collapse too. But nothing happened yet.

“Lariel!” I screamed again, but my voice barely carried over the roaring flames and collapsing stone.

A hand gripped my shoulder.

“Connor,” Zyra’s voice was hoarse, her face streaked with blood and soot. She had pulled herself free from the wreckage, but her eyes were wide with the same fear that gripped me. “What happened?”

“A sorcerer!” I said through my teeth.

“A single sorcerer? A sorcerer caused this?”

She bent down, using all her strength to lift the beam off my legs. The weight lifted, and I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain that screamed through my body. The air was thick with smoke, but I didn’t care. I had to find Lariel.

“Blood of the Ancients,” she swore, her eyes widening as she saw the blood pouring from my wound. Her expression hardened, and she turned sharply, scanning the wreckage with a tense urgency. “Ina!” Zyra called, her voice cutting through the smoke and chaos. “Ina, where are you? Can you hear me?”

There was no answer.

Suddenly, a pulse of energy shot through the air, like a wave of heat that made the very ground tremble. I felt it deep in my bones—something dark and ancient.

And then I saw him.

He stood on the other side of the collapsed hall, his form wreathed in swirling black smoke and fire. This sorcerer was not like the ones I’d seen before.

He looked like a child. A young man, not older than sixteen, with a pale face and heavy eyelids, watching me almost soullessly under his dark hood.

“What are you?” I muttered.

A mighty wind started billowing around him. I could see the dust and debris lift in the air, as if pulled up by a whirlwind.

His eyes locked onto me, and a twisted smile spread across his face. The ground beneath him cracked, flames licking at his feet, and with a wave of his hand, a violent gust of wind surged forward, and a massive jagged beam rose into the air, whirling dangerously toward us.

I moved on instinct, ignoring the searing pain in my side. I grabbed Zyra and hauled us behind a crumbling wall just as the beam smashed into a pillar, sending shards of wood flying like shrapnel.

But the beam wasn’t done. It jerked into the air, spinning as if pulled by invisible strings. Wind whipped around it, and then it shot down toward us, fast as a lightning strike.

Zyra pushed me out of its way, and it passed inches from my back.

“Where’s Ina?” I said. My body needed healing. I tried to reach for the map, but there was little difference.

“Still trapped, I think,” Zyra said, her eyes scanning the smoke-filled ruins. “Can Aria’s map help us?”

I scanned through Aria’s grid, but all I could see were the ruins of what had been a palace minutes ago.

I took a deep breath and pushed through the pain, forcing myself to move. The sorcerer’s eyes glared at us, as if daring us, challenging us.

“Keep an eye on that guy,” I said through my teeth. I had a responsibility for my men. I had to find them. “But find Ina. I’ll try to find Lariel and the rest.”

Zyra hesitated but nodded, her hand wrapped tightly around her sword, her knuckles white. “Be careful. That… thing isn’t playing.”

I gritted my teeth. “Neither am I.”

“Lord Tactician!” said a male voice. A figure appeared from the mist, wary, eyes fixed on the magician. It was Nidar, soot covering his armor and face as he held onto his spear. Two more elves were with him, their figures blurred among the dust and smoke.

“Issue an order, and we’ll be ready to act,” he said, bowing his head slightly, but with his eyes still fixed on the mage, who was strangely silent and inactive as we stood among the rubble. He seemed to be testing our actions.

“We need to find the rest of our group,” I said. “You saw him.”

“Mages are our specialty,” Nidar said. “This spell might be new, but we can handle it.”

“I trust you, then,” I replied to the elf. He nodded and signaled for his comrades to advance.

The elves fixed their glances on the sorcerer and held their spears forward.

I watched them for a moment, walking back to roughly the area where Lariel was standing.

Nidar and the others approached, spears forward, shifting their angles with the same strategies they used against regular mages.

The mage’s chuckle rattled through the air. It could give chills to anyone who heard.

He raised a hand, fingers clawing at nothing, and the wind around him answered.

What started as a whisper turned into a roar, swirling into a furious vortex of wind. Dust and debris spun wildly, the air bending to his will. With a sharp motion, he flung his arm forward, and the wind exploded outward like a cannon blast.

The force hit Nidar like a sledgehammer, launching him across the room. He crashed into the last standing wall, splintering wood on impact as the wind howled on.