Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 31 – Floor 3: Part 5

Mathew could hear the sounds of fighting outside the walls from where he sat with Greg on the Temple steps. Only a few minutes after the group of eccentric players led by the mace-wielding man left their sight, he could hear them clashing with the Goblins.

Goblins preferred to fight at night, but nothing made them adverse to fighting during the day. It seemed to be a preference. They would shield their eyes from the sun’s glare and retreat to their holes and shaded trenches outside the walls, only returning to attack again at sunset.

Mathew had expected the madmen to only survive for a few minutes, perhaps half an hour at the most. But after the morning dragged on and the sounds didn’t dimmish, the pair rushed to the walls to observe what was happening.

How could a few dozen men and women, no matter how insane and powerful, withstand an army of thousands of Goblins? The creatures were weaker than some of the city’s players; Mathew thought they were around level 4 or 5, with a ‘Body’ stat to match.

Mathew was shocked by what he saw when he peered over the battlements next to the gates.

The white-clothed humans had formed a half circle with the wall at their backs. In the center, robed clerics were chanting in unison. There was a glow surrounding every human fighting. Mathew watched as it slowly healed their wounds and caused the Goblins to cringe and hesitate to approach them.

But it was the giant figure in the front that was holding the Goblins back. His white clothing and armour were covered in blood, some of it his own but most of it belonging to his enemies. He looked battered and bruised, and the continuous healing magic wasn’t able to completely counteract his accumulation of more wounds.

Mathew winced as he saw the state of him. He had been wounded by a knife only once, and the pain lingered with him for days, even after he had consumed a healing potion. The man was sporting injuries that would have downed a lesser person and was still fighting.

It was awe-inspiring, and Mathew knew he wasn’t the only person feeling that way. The group behind him appeared to worship the man, following his commands without question. Even players from within the city who had nothing to do with their group had joined in the fighting until hundreds of people were outside the gates.

Someone jostled him as he stared out the wall, and Mathew turned in surprise. Greg was hoisting his crossbow, a bolt already in place as he was heading toward the stairs.

“Wait, you’re going?” Mathew asked, and his companion nodded.

“So are you. Come on.” Greg said, disappearing down the stairs from the wall to the ground near the shattered gates.

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“Smite!” Samuel shouted, swinging his mace in a wide arc.

The divine energy within him surged, flowing from the chest, down through his arm and into the weapon in his hand. It trailed a sparkling white light as it aimed for the small Goblin in front of him.

The creature was stunned by his Divine Aura, the radiance that surrounded him and his companions. In the presence of so many of his fellow divine travellers, he found the Aura was enhanced beyond its previous limits.

At Tier 3, Divine Aura would hinder his enemy's movements and aim. For himself and his companions, it would give them a boost in energy and stamina. But there was an overlap in their abilities, and they combined into something greater than they would otherwise have been alone.

His stamina never ran out; Samuel felt as if he always had energy for Divine Smite and the abhorrent little abominations in front of him were reticent to engage with him. Samuel’s wounds didn’t bother him; his faith would sustain him through all adversity.

With a deafening crash, his mace struck the Goblin and the little creature evaporated into a bloody mist. Not satisfied, the divine energy within his mace sent out a shockwave, knocking more of the beasts backwards.

Laughing, Samuel leapt forward. With his mace held tightly in both hands, he brought it down on his dazed foes, removing more of them from his sight. The ground rumbled as his mace buried itself into the blood-soaked ground.

One of the Goblins sneakily struck from his side, burying its small knife into the gap between his breastplate. The knife slid off his ribs, and Samuel gritted his teeth against the pain.

With his mace stuck in the ground, Samuel let go and backhanded the Goblin. It spun around comically, its knife falling from its hand. Just as he was about to pull his mace free, the Goblin disappeared into a pillar of flames.

A young man was sheltered behind the line of Samuel’s companions. Wearing a thick black jacket and jeans, the young man looked out of place on the battlefield. He wasn’t wielding a weapon, he was snapping his fingers and creating fires wherever his eyes lingered.

It seemed his fellow Players who had remained in the city had finally found their nerve. He was surprised that people who lacked faith in the gods could manage the courage to leave their shelters and fight.

Ignoring everything else, Samuel heaved the mace up from the ground. Bits of bloody dirt clung to its head as he looked for his next enemy. With a shouted prayer to his patron god, he lashed out.

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Mathew didn’t believe that this giant who wielded a mace was human. It wasn’t possible. They had been fighting for hours, and everyone who had left the walls to battle the Goblins had retreated for periods of time to rest.

Even the white-robed fanatics that Mathew knew were insane spent time in the safety of Averatha to recuperate from their wounds, to eat and recover their mana. They didn’t all go at once; they cycled through their numbers, ensuring that most were always behind the mace-wielding man to support him.

But Samuel? He never once stopped swinging his mace. He left a mountain of Goblin bodies red with blood in his wake. That was if there were even bodies left after he was done. He was unstoppable, and for this first time, Mathew regretted not choosing a faith Discipline.

Who knew that it was so overpowered?

Mathew shook the thought away. It wasn’t the Discipline, or the stats, or even the Blessings. It was the individual. He was watching someone who could have changed the world if they had been born at a different age under different circumstances.

Like a Napolean or an Alexander the Great. Samuel Johnson would become a legend in the Tower of Avarice.

Mathew snapped his fingers, using a conjured fire to block the path of a group of approaching Goblins seeking to avoid the mace-wielding giant and attack his companions behind him. Halting for a brief moment, a loud twang of a crossbow sent a bolt through the flames.

It hit the lead Goblin in the throat, and it collapsed into the fire. Recovering, the three remaining Goblins leapt over the fire, rushing to reach Mathew before he could resummon the flames when a mace came flying toward them from the side.

Striking another Goblin in the chest, it was soon followed by its owner, who crashed in their midst. Not bothering to retrieve his weapon, Samuel lashed out with his fist while another crossbow bolt finished off the last Goblin.

“We need to fall back! It's only a few hours to sundown. We need to rest and prepare for tonight!” Mathew shouted, trying to get the large man’s attention. Picking up his mace, Samuel paused for the first time to look at Mathew.

“Retreat if you want. Our faith will lead us to victory! With the gods, all things are possible.” Samuel shouted, and his companions cheered. The glow they had around them, which seemed to have been fading as they exhausted themselves, became much more potent.

With renewed vigour, they flung themselves at the Goblins. With the fighting intensifying, more and more players came out from behind the walls as reinforcements arrived from the lower floors.

Mathew was about to grab Greg and retreat from this madness, where they could rest and rebuild their fortifications for the night when he saw his friend bashing a Goblin in the head with his crossbow. Having run out of bolts, the man pulled out a knife and rushed toward his next enemy.

Mathew let out a resigned sigh.

“The man’s going to get himself killed.” With a snap of his fingers, he burned another Goblin.