World: MSS - Loading...

  I’ve seen disaster news on TV. It’s always filled with smoke, fire and lots of people running around in the background. Yet, there’s a certain order to the chaos. The reporter is always in front of the disaster, standing next to it but not really a part of it. They keep their calm and narrate the happenings in a cool manner.

  This was nothing like that.

  The initial explosion was deafening and quite literally stunned me. I didn’t even have time to think about the fact that being ‘stunned’ in MSS was a Status, [Stun], before the screaming really began. My subconscious briefly went into panic mode. Were my arms working? Yes. Were my legs working? Yes. Could I move? Yes.

  If I could move, my brain reasoned, then I should run.

  And the MSS gods help me, I almost did. If I hadn’t been risking my life at every turn, I would have been the first one to high tail it out of there.

  But I had been risking my life. I was used to panicking and despite the burning pain in my left leg, I began to help.

  The first thing I noticed was the screaming, the blinding smoke and the almost physical sensation of panic that descended upon the barge like a thick smog. It was near enough to overwhelm my senses.

  Or so I expected to see and hear.

  Yet, when I got up everything was fine.

  The sailors who had dropped to the deck with practiced motions looked around, their expressions both puzzled and dazed. Numerous adventurers had brought forth their defensive abilities to bare for all to see. Translucent shields made of mana, pocket-sized items that expanded in a split second into a one-time use defensive structure. Some others held their shields.

  And still, I saw others who had strategically placed themselves behind the sailors. Body shields.

  It made sense. If we were attacked, no matter how many sailors we had, adventurers would be invaluable.

  But when I tore my gaze away from Delas, I wanted to break something. It didn’t help that I was pretty sure that he was a player and that he had chosen, either subconsciously or consciously, to step behind the sailors for safety. His behavior was made worse by the fact that some of the adventurers, like Gurran and Aurora had chosen to place themselves in front of the sailors.

  “Sir Lock?” Said a soft voice from somewhere beneath me.

  Still disgusted with Delas’ behavior, I looked down to see the person I’d grabbed out of reflex, trying to shield them from the worst of the blast.

  Dawn Vetilius was right beneath me.

  In the process of grabbing the nearest person and pinning them beneath me, I’d grabbed Dawn Vetilius.

  One arm was wrapped tightly around her head, holding her near my chest. My other arm was placed right next to her face, protectively and the entirety of my weight was supported on it and my knees. She squirmed against me, giving me all sorts of inappropriate ideas. When she spoke again, warm breath steamed up from those lips, warming my neck and then caressing the tips of my ears.

  “You can let go now.” She said softly, “Sir Lock.”

  I got up faster than she could say ‘lock’.

  Dawn got up, smoothing her skirt. Then she gave me a look.

  A look that I wouldn’t ever have expected from a Vetilius.

  The look that girls give, which gives young men ideas. Stupid, stupid ideas that they know better then. But they do it anyway.

  I looked away quicker than I got up.

  “Apologies.” I said.

  The smile disappeared from her face; replaced with that almost plain Vetilius facial expression that I’d come to associate with Aurora. “No, my apologies. I should have reacted faster than that.”

  And frowning, she reached out a hand towards me. Almost touching, but not quite.

  “You have a lot of scars.” Then she added, “I could feel them through your shirt.”

  I gave her a careful, measured look.

  “I know.” I said. It somehow came out gruffer than I intended, my voice much lower and deeper than my usual speech.

  She extended her hand, fingertips trembling towards one of the scars.

  Then a voice spoke to us.

  Not from someone next to us. No. This was a magically enhanced voice, designed to travel over great distances. We’d used it on this expedition to give simple instructions. I’d seen some of the Mages do it. A simple enough spell that could be cast by any level of mage. What shocked me wasn’t the volume nor the fact that an announcement had been made. I’d expected it.

  The problem was that I didn’t recognize the speaker and that it was obviously not one of us.

  “Unidentified Vessel.” The voice boomed out over the sea and everyone on the ship froze to listen, “That was a warning shot. Identify yourselves.”

  As the voice spoke, something in the distance shimmered.

  Many things shimmered.

  “Cloaking.” I whispered and Dawn gave an audible gasp. “We’re surrounded.”

  Dozens of frigates shimmered out of thin air into view. Small ships designed for warfare, nothing like the clumsy barges that’d been built for mass transport. Their design was sleek and sharp. They weren’t just standing still either. The entirety of a dozen frigates sailed a circle around us, just out of our own firing distance.

  And one of our own voices boomed out in reply.

  “This is the vessel of Zenom Saintred, Holy Knight of the Church of Light, Flame and Shield.”

  I saw Zenom standing at the Captain’s wheel. But he wasn’t the one talking. Cecilia was.

  Her soft voice traveled in a much less aggressive manner, hugging the air and being carried by the ocean-wind instead of punching through it like the other voice. “Identify yourselves.”

  I watched the boats and began to grow sick inside.

  I’d seen this design before.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  Dark green sails.

  The emblem of an orange centipede with a pair of daggers.

  “Zenom Saintred, you are communicating with the Centipede Knights;” the voice replied with steadfast authority, “The Last Remaining True Knights of the Akka Xaluds; Knight Cohort of the War Prince Jared Akka Xalud –True Heir to the Centipede General.”

  “Prepare for Boarding.”

  ***

  “This cannot be.” Borealis said, pacing back and forth. A big man pacing like him made the room smaller than it was.

  Opposite of Borealis, Zenom Saintred sat at the head of the table, looking solemn.

  After the announcement, my memories were a blur. All I remember is that Delas came by, grabbed me and dragged me to the Captain’s quarters where everyone was.

  So here was I sitting at the table with the other leaders, plus Doror. Captain Fluporuin was nowhere to be seen.

  “Stop pacing,” Delas snapped at Borealis, “You’re working up a dust storm over here. And will someone please explain just what in the bloody fuck is going on here?!”

  Borealis turned, “You heard it. That was Jared Akka Xalud.”

  “Yeah, and I’m supposed to know who he is?” Delas shot back.

  The answer came from the most unlikeliest of sources.

  Arione.

  I guess it made sense. He’d been on the run from Turina for the last year or so; but before that –if rumors were to be believed– he had been some kind of explorer working for Turina. Both for the Church and sometimes for the Houses. And as a Grade-2 Mage, I was sure that he had sources of information about the current geo-political-regional situations that I could only dream about.

  “Jared Akka Xalud,” Arione began. “Is a War Prince from the house of Akka Xalud.”

  Everyone turned to the good-looking elf, who spoke like a true mage for once; not a weeaboo isekaid into a fantasy game.

  “Five years ago,” Arione continued, “Jared was a celebrated War Prince; well poised to become the next head of the Akka Xaluds.”

  “What’s a War Prince?” I blurted out.

  Everyone looked at me like I was insane.

  I couldn’t very well tell them that the game MSS had a different culture and many of the events of this world hadn’t happened yet. I shrugged and pointed to my neck scar. “Former Slave.” I said, like that should explain everything.

  “A War Prince is a Scion who has distinguished himself,” Zenom provided, “Duels. Combat. Conquest. Negotiations.”

  “In short,” I whispered, “War.”

  “Precisely.” Zenom gestured for Arione to continue.

  Arione gave him a gracious nod. “As Sir Saintred has explained, Jared Akka Xalud became a War Prince primarily through Conquest. He was responsible for reclaiming much of the Lost Northern Territories, pushing the Northern Orc Hordes back to the Ice Wall as well as the Human Barbarians of the Glacier.”

  At that, Delas gave me a look. “Should know your own people’s history, no? Sounds like this bastard is downright your arch-nemesis from the looks of it.”

  I gritted my teeth, not blind to what Delas was trying to do. When I answered, I managed to stay civil. “I left at a young age.” I gave him a cool look. “Did I see you push the sailors in front of you during the explosion?”

  Delas gave me a smile. “Gold’s gold. Copper’s copper.”

  I was going to kill this bastard, one way or another. And I was going to root out this fucking Player’s Guild and-

  “Gentlemen,” Zenom said, “The matter of the War Prince?”

  “Eh-hem.” Arione cleared his throat, drawing our attention back to himself.

  “Like I said, Jared Akka Xalud was a celebrated War Prince. Powerful, which goes without saying.” Arione’s tone turned flat, “Smart. Cunning. Well-versed in politics. He was, without a doubt, one of the most powerful and influential political figures in Turina; even rivaling some of the Royal Family’s Scions.”

  “What happened?” I felt my attention being absorbed into the story. A story of the time-gap in MSS that I knew nothing about. A story of a time before my time.

  “Same as every other fallen War Prince.” Arione said, “He lost a duel. To a Royal Scion; someone from the Ruling Family. Not one of the Main Houses. But a real Turinan Prince. A year ago, Jared was stripped of his rank and banished from Knighthood.”

  “For losing a duel?” Delas said incredulously.

  “Ferris Duelies –Duel of the Iron. Or the Iron Duel.” Zenom answered. “That’s all it takes in Turina.” He looked right at me. “A duel for Knights is everything. Everything.”

  “And it is the right of even the lowest ranking Knight,” Borealis added, “To challenge any other Knight to a Duel.”

  “Surprised he lived.” Delas interjected.

  “Which is why he was banished.” Arione sighed, “If he had died, I’m sure the dishonor for the Akka Xalud family would have been less. But as it was, rumors were that there was no option for the family other than to banish him from the family. From Turina. Last I heard, he was demoted to a Barony close to the Jayu Borders. Near the Delirious Jungle; far away from the North where his real influence was.”

  “Ok, to sum it up,” Delas got up and began pacing back and forth; much like Borealis had done moments ago. “Former War Prince, who still calls himself War Prince, is here at the heart of trade for Jayu. Not just him either, the fucking ‘Centipede Knights’ are here with him. Here, the Islands where all trade of the Free States of Jayu goes through.” He counted off his finger, “Slaves. Weapons. Cores. You name it.” The bald human rogue turned to Zenom, “Then when we are near the Merchant States, where we are supposed to get a fancy new ship, hire new people and whatnot, mind you, they fire a warning shot at us. Even before they know who we are.”

  He slammed his hands on the table, but no one budged. Everyone was thinking the same thing he was.

  “We all know why he’s here, don’t we?” Delas growled and for the first time, lines of actual anger went through his face. “He’s here to fucking conquer the Merchants States and get his grubby hands on some weapons. And that puts us in what kind of position?”

  “A pickle.” Arione quipped.

  “A fucking pickle, you got it right in one.” Delas snapped his fingers. He went back to his seat and sat, lifting his shoes up. “Well gentlemen, I’d say we’re pretty much fucked.”

  “We’re not.” I said.

  “Yeah?” Delas leaned forward, anger flashing across his brow. “You’re the fucking bastard who brought those Dwarves on board. Yeah? You’re the fucking bastard who has slave collar marks all over your neck. You’re the fucking bastard who has al the Dwarves fucking listening to him. Trust me when I say this, Lock Slaveborn, a Slave-turned-adventurer who uses Aura that NO ONE BUT KNIGHTS SHOULD BE USING,” Delas’ voice reached a fever-pitch as he began roaring at me at the top of his lungs. “IF JARED FUCKING AKKA XALUD IS GOING TO BE GUNNING FOR US BECAUSE OF ANYONE, IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU AND WE’RE GOING DOWN WITH YOU JUST FOR BEING ON THE SAME FUCKING SHIP!”

  Delas had gotten up halfway between his tirade, staring down at me.

  Everything Delas said had been hammered home. He was right. I was a former slave who used Aura. I had our ship board a bunch of Dwarves who were Smiths. Even if they were not Master Smiths, rumors had a way of traveling and everyone knew that the Stonehammers were no ordinary clan of refugees. They were all smiths and skilled ones at that.

  I had nothing to say.

  Except one thing.

  “Then run.” I said.

  “...What?”

  I stood up to face him.

  “I said run. If you’re that scared, just run, Delas Ender. No one here will stop you.” I tilted my head. “Just admit that you’re scared and leave. I’m sure that this War Prince won’t give two shits about a nobody like you.”

  “You fucking-”

  “No, you fucking listen.” I leaned forward, “I’m the one who got us off that island. I’m the one who saved your sorry fucking hide against the Myung-sa. I’m the one who procured skilled hands that built the fucking floor you’re standing on.”

  “So if you’re not happy with that,” I snarled, “Just leave.”

  “Y-You-” Delas sputtered.

  “Or,” I said.

  “If you’re too scared to even do that,” I put a hand on his shoulder and pressed down.

  Delas and I are not that different in size. But the type of Cores he took were focused on speed. Me?

  A Knight is stronger than a Rogue. Every. Single. Time.

  I pushed him down into the chair so hard that some of the legs splintered.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I leaned forward in his ear, just so he could here. “And stay seated while I take care of yet another problem while you hide behind sailors.”

  “Coward.” The word sank like a blade in Delas’ gut and I twisted it.

  His eyes turned cold. So cold.

  Delas leaped away from me. There was no commotion or special movement; he just drifted out from my grip like a spectre. One second he was in the chair, the other he was against the wall and had his curved daggers out. “Touch me again.” His voice was ice of the deep ocean.

  I drew my sword and Aura flared to life. “Then come.”

  Zenom stepped between us. “Stop. Both of us.”

  The time for yelling was over. In the threat of violence, loud voices would only egg on the promise of impending violence. Zenom’s voice was calm like the surface of a pond.

  “Delas, put your dagger away.” Zenom said then turned to me, “Slaveborn, please.”

  Delas and I glared at each other a moment longer.

  “It might be worth it to serve his neck on a plate.” Delas said. “Just sell the Dwarves to the War Prince.”

  “Delas!” Zenom snapped.

  “My two cents, as a member of this expedition.” The rogue sneered and then sheathed his daggers.

  Zenom turned to me.

  “Anyone touches the dwarves,” I whispered, trying to look at nothing and everything all at once. “So much as even a fucking finger, I’ll show you how we did things in the Samak Horde.”

  Zenom swallowed. “Your sword, Slaveborn.”

  I made eye contact with everyone, keeping it out just a moment longer to show that I wasn’t putting it away because I was ordered to. But because I chose to.

  Sighing, Zenom turned to all of us. “There is no evidence to suggest that the War Prince is hostile to us. He will be boarding soon. I will talk to him, explain that we are on a quest for the Church and then…”

  “Then?” Delas asked.

  Zenom looked out the window. A small boat was approaching us –one of the frigates flying the flag of the Akka Xaluds.

  “...Then we’ll see.”