《To you, my brother [Revenge • Isekai • LitRPG]》 Chapter 1 - From you [Chapter 1 - From you] August 15th. The sound of cicadas lulled the air into a soft hum, perforated only by the hubbub of traffic and people twenty floors below. In that sweltering heat, a single parcel lay before me, its brown cardboard setting itself apart from the battered tiled floor. It had arrived just a few moments earlier, the courier bringing it in to the apartment door. Initially I treated it with caution, I had not ordered anything after all, but discovery as to the sender wrenched my gut with a sudden anguish. It was alleged to come from my brother, someone who had gone missing just over half a decade ago. And yet the packaging itself was still new, albeit slightly battered from the journey. The address, scrawled undeniably in his messy handwriting, brought forth a wave of sadness interlaced with nostalgia. Setting it down, I placed my hand gently on top. I was certain that it was a prank, one done in awfully poor taste. But a slither of hope, buried deep within me, tugged at me to open it. Running the boxcutter through the tape, a moment of hesitation halted my hands as I held the opened cardboard. A nervousness, a fear as to what I might find. And then it was gone, pushed aside along with the box panels to reveal what was stored within. A single book confronted me, its leather aged and worn. An unremarkable brown patina binding a wad of yellowed paper. Resting there, it looked modest almost, betraying nothing as to the content it held. He had always been a somewhat¡­ rebellious character. That had owed itself to the early passing of our parents. Relatives or otherwise could not be traced, so for as long as we had remembered it had always been only the two of us. Forgoing university, I had joined the military immediately after my graduation so that I could offer him the chance I could not afford. That, alongside my many part-time hours during my schooling years, allowed me to sustain us and to put him through two years of medical school. Whilst it was hardly luxurious, it offered us a chance to rebuild our lives; to re-establish a home for us and ensure a comfortable living. That was, until he disappeared. They entered his dorm a week later. The room itself appeared unremarkable, yielding no signs of any disturbance. His belongings littered the apartment as it always had, an ¡°organised chaos¡± as he used to put it. Everything seemed to indicate his continued residence; his half-prepared soup, set to too low a heat, boiled nonchalantly whereas the defeat screen cycled round and round on his monitor, waiting for further input. Despite an extensive search, followed by thorough police interviews of both fellow students and teaching personnel, no trace of him could be found. Nothing appeared to even hint at anything out of the ordinary. He had just simply¡­ Vanished. The days blurred after that. I found myself in a daze, moving from one place to another as a means to escape the reality I faced. Military roles turned to mercenary jobs. Morality of my field clouded further and further. The environments themselves changed again and again, until I was barely even sure as to which country I was in. Despite it all, I would always find myself here without fail, in the same apartment on the same day, each and every year. I was never too sure as to the exact reason why, perhaps an attachment to the place we had grown up in, where he had attended school from before departing for university dorms. Dusting down and cleaning the apartment became a sort of ritual for me, a cathartic escape from the grief that constantly plagued my mind; a sense of familiarity and the closest thing to the feeling of home I could find myself in. But it never amounted to anything more than that. Or at least it hadn¡¯t, until now. August 15th, the same day eight years later. The same date that was etched onto the open page that lay before me. The book appeared to be a diary of sorts, dating each entry, chronicling each event that occurred. Some part of me still begged me to deny it, to dismiss it as nothing more than some cruel, callous antic. And yet the handwriting was unquestionably his; the same scrawl meandering across the book¡¯s pages as the one which had dictated the letters he used to write from his dormitory all those years ago, now tucked neatly away in the drawer under the table. Gingerly, I picked the book up, feeling its enormous weight beneath my hands. My eyes drifted across the page, taking in each and every account he had transcribed. Piece by piece, his words slowly built up a picture of his life. His sudden disappearance, and with it his relocation. Another world, one separated from the reality that we knew. The shock and grief at the revelation. But the faint rekindling of hope, when disclosed about the possibility of return at the end of that long journey. Friends, people he had met along the way. The trials and tribulations that stood in his path. Occasionally, an illustration broke the sea of text; sometimes anatomical diagrams of mythical monsters, others drawings of maps, flora and minerals. But the book itself comprised entirely of his own accounts. His own stories. Stories which seemed so glaringly fictitious, but had nonetheless been authored as fact. And then his final entry, one only a week earlier. The last step in his long, eight year quest. Cut short by the betrayal of his allies. The discarding of their roles. And of him. The book ended there. There was nothing to be recorded further. It had long turned to night by the time I regained my composure. By then I had read the diary numerous times, immersing myself in the experiences each passage recorded. Realisation as to my brother¡¯s fate brought a cold epiphany. The diary wrought multiple emotions from me, each reading more tangible than the next as I traced and re-traced my brother¡¯s life in that alternative world. No part was more tormenting than the concluding two entries. The joy that radiated from my brother¡¯s writing as he stood at the culmination of his long endeavour, the hope he had for the following day, the relief that he could at last return to this world as he prepared for the final battle. Juxtaposed against the despondent words that comprised the following account. The ones which recorded his half-dead state, left to die in that desolate, empty palace, abandoned by those he had regarded as his closest allies. The complete and utter lack of hope which emanated from those words tortured me. That that was his fate, that I could do nothing to save him, gripped me to my core. Multiple emotions were wrought from me, but when they finally subsided there remained only a callous desire. One to right the wrongs my brother had suffered. For me, the diary brought not only closure, but with it replaced the grief-stricken purgatory I had found myself in with a cold, new purpose. *** Handling my affairs was hardly a difficult task. People in this field often disappeared, and for vastly less pleasant reasons. What preoccupied me instead was where I had to go, and what I could bring with me. These thoughts returned to my mind as I stepped into the hot afternoon air. Locking the door behind me, I headed into the elevator and began to descend. My brother had looked into the reasons for his sudden transportation to another world, investigating anything that might give some indication as to why he had been forcefully taken from his university dorm all those years ago. Whilst he found nothing substantial for himself, his later accounts wrote of the discoveries of several gates which enabled people to traverse between the two realities. Gates that showed up momentarily, for brief fractions of time. A dry smile crept across my face as I passed through the platform barriers and stepped onto the train. Gates, he recorded, one of which would open exactly one week from the book¡¯s arrival. By the time he had found them, it was too late. He was too deeply immersed in his quest, had too many people reliant on him and held too many responsibilities to allow him to head halfway across that other world to attempt to come back. But for me, it presented the perfect opportunity I needed. I had thrown only the essentials into my bag. The diary for one, nestled at the bottom amongst the painkillers and antibiotics which made up a portion of the medical supplies I relied on. As for clothing, inner layers would suffice until I got there, ones that were nondescript and could keep me warm if necessary. Outer layers would have to be sourced from that world, lest I drew unwanted attention, but a single long coat remained in anticipation of the immediate climate I could find myself in once I traversed through that gateway. Basic rations, although hardly enticing, comprised the majority of my supplies, sufficient to last me several weeks, especially when paired with the numerous packs of water purification tablets I had buried alongside them. Leaning against the smooth metal train seats, I felt my last two pieces of equipment press into my thighs. A pair of knives, one survival, one push. Following my brother¡¯s chronology, military technology in the other world seemed characteristically fantasy, with the majority of weaponry favouring medieval-era arms and armour. The knives I had taken would be sufficient to ensure my basic survival, both in the wild and against other people. As the station names sounded in the background, the possibility that this was all some sick joke plagued the back of my mind. Yet it was all too intricate, too elaborate to be orchestrated at someone¡¯s morbid imagination. The location itself as well, too public for anything criminal. Leaning back, I gazed out the window once more and watched the world slowly pass. *** It looked wholly unassuming when I first laid eyes upon it. With my bag slung over my shoulder, I made my way through the rubble that smothered the floor. The area was littered with debris, sections of smashed electronics and discarded car parts sprawled amongst the dirt. Wild grass and weeds grew around them, the abundant greenery slowly enveloping the abandoned metal. And yet there it stood, in a small clearing all by itself. A single, inconspicuous white door. Its faded paint peeling off its frail wooden frame, revealing the battered oak that lay beneath. In direct contrast with its unassuming appearance, it gave off an almost incongruous sense of solidity. Even the foliage seemed to recognise this, taking care to avoid growing where the door stood. Tentatively I stepped forwards, reaching out my hand to clasp the handle. Anticipation shook my arm. A fear perhaps, of what I would see. I gripped the handle and pulled. The familiar sight of the blue sky which surrounded me, tinged with the late afternoon hue, brought a sense of relief. I let out my breath, and gently pushed the door to a close. There was still half an hour left until sunset. Setting my bag down opposite, I looked across the bay and waited. Twenty minutes left. Before me lay the city, a tall mass of white and glass, nestled within the dense vegetation of the mountains around it. At its heart, a pool of deep blue that stretched all the way out into the horizon, captured within the layer of land which comprised the port. The sounds from the city could be heard even from here, a comforting ambience of quiet traffic and people¡¯s voices. Ships dotted the open waters, drifting lazily outwards, whilst the quiet evening sky, filled with the sleepy chirping of birds, was disrupted only by the occasional ship horn signaling its departure. I breathed it all in, savouring the crispness of the late air.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Ten minutes left. The wind had picked up, passing a gentle breeze through the trees whilst the grass swayed in cohesion. In the distance I made out the movement of cars, the bustle of people as they headed home from work. Orange rays intermingled with the blue sky in a mesmerising dance as the sun slowly wandered towards the horizon. Five minutes. I breathed out a sigh and slung the bag over my shoulder. It was nearly time. Glancing over, the door looked as inconspicuous as ever, gently closed within its thin frame. It seemed to be almost in a world of its own, unperturbed by the soft wind that swept through the bay. Despite its aging appearance, it hinted at a sense of strength, but with it also an eerie unfamiliarity, as if it didn''t quite truly belong in the world it resided within. Now. Taking in a deep breath, I strode across the dirt, clasped the handle firmly, pulled and¡­ There it was. A whole different world. Around me, the sun tinted the sky in its last moments. I could hear the cars in the distance, smell the ocean air that mingled with the humidity of the summer evening, feel the soft breeze that blew past my ears. And yet in front of me, ahead of me, was something incoherently different. A portal was the only way to describe it, within the door¡¯s frame contained long fields of clear green grass, rippling beneath cerulean blue skies. And in its centre: two pale moons, one a washed red, the other a bone white. It was right there before me, a whole different world; one that took my brother, and with it his life. The scent of cold air, subtle but in striking contrast to the environment around me, drifted past my nose. I lingered for a moment, pausing not only to comprehend the view that now lay in front of me, but also to acknowledge the reality that I would leave behind. And with it, the sense of normality that I had always known. I steeled myself, stepped forwards and passed through the frame into the world beyond. My feet landed on solid grass. The dirt, the air, it all felt similar and yet, I could not shake off the feeling that something about it was inherently¡­ different. Looking behind me, within the door lay the world that I knew, the sky entering its solemn blue hour as the sun finished its path beneath the horizon. A thin layer of orange separated it from the deep blue of the ocean, fracturing across the glass of the skyscrapers embedded within the landscape. I wondered when it would be the next time I could see the same view again, feel the same warmth that radiated from that summer evening scene, and for a moment I indulged myself, taking it all in. Holding onto the handle, I slowly pulled it towards me until, with a satisfying click, it closed. I hesitantly twisted and pushed it back once more, just to see. And the other world, the one I had spent my entire life in, the one which held everything I had ever known, was gone. In its place was simply a field of lush greenery. And the door itself was just that. A solitary wooden door, peeling in its white paint, discarded atop a grassy hill. And I stood there with it for a moment longer, one hand still clutching on to that handle. Now that I was actually here, the world around me felt even more surreal. The open plain did not last long, bordered by a forest which gave no indication as to what it held. As I headed down, I turned to look back once more. The door stood there by itself, a defiant frame of white against a sea of blue and green. I wondered to myself how it had been left there in the first place. Whether this one, like its counterpart in that junkyard, had been placed there intentionally. And whether, once my task was finished, I could rely again on this same door to return home. These thoughts coloured it with a certain melancholy in my eyes, and my gaze lingered on it for a brief second more. Then I turned around, and continued on my path. *** Blood was the first indication. That, and the silence. The trees crept in around me as I wandered through the forest, their branches growing thicker and thicker with every step. Gradually, the blue dome that had been the sky above was now shrouded by dense foliage, hidden behind a canopy of woodland green and brown. Even then daylight pierced through. Shards of sun sliced through the forest dark, unrelenting yet comforting in its presence. It seemed to almost warm the cool air, alleviating the chill crisp I tasted with every breath. My brother had drawn numerous maps in his diary. Some rendered intricate details of faraway towns and castles. Others tracked oceans, spanned continents. But here, they were of no help. There were no landmarks to discern my location, no clear markers to guide my way. Here, there was nothing but endless trees and leaves. And so I trudged on, accompanied only by the rhythmic crunch beneath each step. I was glad at least that I had not arrived in some godforsaken hell hole. The world around me was abundant with life; the air filled with the gentle sound of birds, intermingling with the soft swaying of trees, disturbed only by the occasional inquisitive squeaking of some small critter. Once, I came across a deer, one that seemed just as surprised to see me as I was to see it. A reassuring sight, a familiar animal in this unknown world. Its presence brought me some relief, if only a little, and for a brief second I found myself surrendering to this comforting ambience I had found myself in. That was, until I saw it. A crimson mark, splattered across an oaken trunk. Immediately I was wrenched back into the reality I faced. My hand snapped towards my thigh, drawing out my knife as I gripped it tight in front of me. The reassurance of the soft polyamide handle beneath my fingers quickly replaced the ease I had felt upon encountering the deer. I scanned the trees, alert for even the slightest movement. The sounds had died down, the forest smothered beneath an eerie silence. I had been oblivious, lost in my own world as I trekked endlessly forth. A mistaken rhythm I had lost myself to, one now replaced by the tension I felt in every muscle. I advanced cautiously, taking in everything around me with each step. The silence, ears straining to hear anything that may contradict it. The cold air, brushing against the skin on my arms, seeming to now cool even the sunlight which had appeared so radiant before. And then, the bodies. First hidden amongst the foliage, nestled between the roots of an unassuming tree. And then more, and more, and more. I had seen my fair share of blood, but I could not help but grimace at the sight that lay before me. A collage of blood and iron: corpses strewn across the forest floor; limbs hewn and dismembered, littered across the thicket; arrows embedded in armour, leaving behind trails of red above the metal. It was evident a battle had occurred. A clash of blue and red, attested to by the fabrics of the soldiers and the contrasting emblems. Judging by the smell however, or lack of, it had been fairly recent. Decay had not yet graced this place, and the bodies were still fresh. I stepped cautiously forwards, my eyes grasping at the scene before me. The heads I encountered were fortunately still covered by their helmets, shielding me from the undoubtedly haunting visages of horror and pain. Their armour on the other hand yielded more information. The soldiers bore their colours with pride, adorned in vibrant cloths beneath their armour in a clear display of allegiance. For those in blue, the metal was welded with an unmistakably romanic inspiration. Slabs of steel embraced torsos in a brutalist manner, while their faces lay shielded behind a full metal mask. As if not to be outdone, their counterparts bore thick plates of rigid steel and leather, their red emblems radiating atop surcoats clasped upon muted silver. Scars and dents decorated each rigid component, each and every one a testament to another blow sustained. It was a wonder that blood had been spilt at all, both sides appeared more metal than flesh. ¡°Nothing.¡± My voice broke the silence, cautious but assertive. I lowered my arm, there was no life here. Picking my way through the corpses, my eyes drifted from one body to another. Whilst it was hardly a welcoming first encounter with this world¡¯s inhabitants, the scene was at least useful. That such an armoury had been left here made it obvious that both sides had departed swiftly. Arrows bore primarily upon soldiers in red, whilst their romanic counterparts had sustained damage mainly from the immediate front. I pulled a splintered spear from the ground, briefly inspecting the shattered wood. An ambush. One the knights had clearly lost, forcing them into a frantic retreat to salvage any lives they could. I pressed on, tossing the spear to the side. Occasionally I picked up another weapon, eager for anything I could use, but the majority of arms and armour I avoided. They were too ornate, too distinguishable to be worn even if I was to find one which suited me. Either that, or too heavily damaged and dulled with blood. I would not want to mistakenly align myself to either faction, even if it was clear that their workmanship was unrivalled. The smell of charred flesh, vile but subtle, disturbed the earthy forest aroma I had accustomed myself to. Turning my head, my eyes traced it back to an array of scorch marks lining several trees in the distance, blackening wood and carbonizing bark. Yet the smell of sulfur I had expected along with it was non-existent, there was nothing to indicate any sort of gunpowder weaponry had caused such devastation. I began my way towards it, but the sound of trickling water stopped me in my tracks. My ears perked up. It was faint, but undeniable. The flow of water, somewhere to my right. A gentle sound, drifting through the melancholy silence of the battlefield, at odds with the carnage surrounding me. I walked towards it, careful to step over the discarded limbs which lay motionless across the forest floor. It was getting louder, more prominent. I gripped my knife tightly, still in hand to my side. Closer, and closer. And there, amidst the branches, a small clearing, illuminated by light. This was where the battle had been thickest. Bodies scattered everywhere, armour dented and gouged to almost scrap. It was evident to see why. A single figure knelt there, hunched over by the stream. His weight, propped upon a huge silver greatsword embedded into the ground. Numerous arrows filled his back, tearing holes into the once proud red cloth clasped to his armour. The soldier himself was identifiably one of importance, the edges of his armour lined with equally muted gold. I walked closer, wary, half expecting his head to jerk back to face me. But no movement came, even when I stood right beside him. I was surprised that even his armour had been left untouched, abandoned by both his fleeing allies and the soldiers pursuing them. The authority he held was clear. I admired the ornateness of the plating, carved humbly in the same minimalist fashion like those under his command. The gold demanded an air of respect, whispering tales of untold battles, ordaining authority earned through renown. All of which had ended. Here. My eyes tracked upwards, pathing from his dismembered arm towards his helmet, drawn to this figure whose presence dominated his surroundings. Yet something caught my eye. A wink, momentarily appearing beneath his gorget. I brought myself closer, discarding my fears of any sudden response. Along the lining of his neck, discreetly exposed behind the imposing steel, a single metal chain snaked itself between the leather and tunic. It was hidden there, carefully tucked away by its owner. And I found myself, hesitantly, reaching out. In spite of my discomfort, something drew me towards it, compelled forwards by some unknown force. The man¡¯s skin was cool to the touch, not quite chilled by the presence of death. The chain itself was light, delicate. But as I slowly lifted it up, I felt a weight pulling back. My fingers traced towards it, pulling this unknown mass towards me. And it arose out of the fabric. For a brief second I caught it, a beautiful glass vial, capped on either end by ornate gold, pillars on each side as if caging it. Inside, a myriad of black and purple, suspended midair in its container. And within, two eyes, irises of solid gold, staring straight at me. Then the world exploded. Darkness consumed my vision, pain smothering my nerves. My face aflame with agony, a fire which ran rampant through my body. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. I stumbled back, eager to distance myself from its source, grasping back to feel something, anything but the suffering which filled my nerves. But there was nothing else. I was there, alone in the void, writhing out. And before me, in front of me, eyes. Numerous eyes. Irises aflame, staring into me from the void, bearing holes into my flesh, piercing into my soul. My ears, pummelled by a gushing wind amongst the emptiness of space, assaulted by the incessant mingling of shouting and chanting in a foreign tongue. Words, echoing with untold depth, reverberating in my mind. Snarling, resonating, rasping, and then. Silence. Chapter 2 - Foreign land [Chapter 2 - Foreign land] I awoke with a start. The taste of blood filled my mouth, mingling with the saliva and dirt which pooled before my open jaw. My head was on the ground, the side of my face buried in the dirt. Coughing was accompanied by a discharge of crimson, a symptom following the splitting headache which tore my mind asunder. Voices in the distance. I wasn¡¯t sure how long had passed. The cool night air now brushed against my skin, my nose catching with it the faint smell of smoke. Opposite me lay the soldier in silver and gold. He was no longer hunched over, having collapsed much like I had. I tried to prop myself up on one arm, but immediately I threw the other out in front as my strength gave way. Voices again, this time louder. It took everything I had to force myself up, wrenching out an exhausted grunt as I staggered forwards to maintain some form of balance. Blood rushed to my head and I stumbled, endeavouring to avoid the bodies strewn across my path. Each movement was accompanied by the screaming of muscle, a pain relieved only by my eventual collapse into the roots of a nearby tree. The voices were much closer now, emanating from the growing torch light which flickered in the treeline opposite. Between desperate gasps in an attempt to bring my frantic breathing under control, I pressed my face against the cold wood, eyes focused on the growing light. Two men soon emerged, stepping into the clearing with flaming torches in hand. By their sides rested swords sheathed in leather scabbards, the metal pommels glinting with every step. One was covered by a muted gambeson, the padded grey armour spanning his entire body. His companion favoured a metal breastplate instead, worn and grimy from neglect. Bandits, judging from their mismatched equipment and the fresh blood which still glistened over their gloves. Deserters or ex-mercenaries, it did not matter. It would be of no good for them to know I was here. Words exchanged between the two, their tone conversational with a hint of snide cruelty. They seemed unfazed by the corpses surrounding them, occasionally stopping to peer closer at a fallen corpse. I put my knife away, slowly pulling the handgun out in exchange. They seemed to be alone, nothing in their behaviour to indicate they were accompanied by a larger group nearby. A knife would be vastly disadvantageous against two full swords, not even considering the hefty armour the shorter one was clad in. As they trudged closer, I could just about make out the words they spoke. The language was one unknown to me, but still I strained my ears to see if there was anything I could pick up. Pathetic. A rasp, drowsy but condescending. That single word filled my mind. For a second it startled me, jolting forwards as my eyes widened. And then immediately a wince, a sharp excruciating pain inflicted by the voice which had sounded in my head. Adrenaline demanded that I quickly regained my composure, holding in my breath as I glanced back, fearing that the two men had noticed me even across this distance. Nothing. Despite the voice which had sounded in my mind, the figures appeared oblivious, too absorbed in their conversation. For a brief moment nothing happened, the two conversing as they pressed closer. And then their words seemed to distort, their dialogue muffled, blurring in my ear. As quickly as it had come, the feeling stopped. In its place, comprehension of their speech flowed into my mind, clarifying itself as if they spoke a language I had always known. My brows furrowed. If not for the tense situation, I would have exclaimed in shock. A snicker sounded briefly at the back of my brain, before I could query it the men¡¯s voices disrupted my attention. ¡°All this fucking money around us and we can¡¯t touch shit.¡± A northern accent. It was thick, spat out by the taller of the two in the gambeson. ¡°These guys are Solari elites.¡± The other pushed a body to its side, turning him over with his foot. ¡°They see one plate in your hands and you¡¯ll be dead in the morning.¡± ¡°We sell one set and we¡¯re set for life. This guy¡¯s alone can buy a whole damn village.¡± ¡°You sell one set,¡± the guy turned his head to face his taller companion, his voice snarky, almost accusatory, ¡°and you¡¯ll be strung up a fucking tree. Noone will buy it you fuck.¡± He turned back, waving his torch in an arcing motion he gazed across the clearing. I shifted back, shielding myself from view as the flame light danced across the scenery around me. Ears straining, desperately listening to make up for what I could not see. ¡°Let¡¯s just find some conscripts and take what we can.¡± ¡°Oi, Ansgar.¡± A sudden nervousness, a hint of uncertainty evident in the larger man¡¯s voice. A silence followed. And then the trudging of feet in dirt, coming closer whilst not quite directly towards me. I sat with bated breath. My exhaustion had died down, replaced entirely by the blood pulsing in my veins. Killing both would not be difficult, the gun would punch straight through the steel plates. The problem would lie when they went missing, or else when their companions found their bodies. Nonetheless I gripped it tighter, my knuckles white from the tension. I could hear them drawing nearer, the undergrowth crunching beneath their feet and the occasional thudding of metal as another soldier was pushed aside. Switching off the safety, I held it tight in my hands. And then. The same voice, this time the unease was clear. ¡°Shit, is that¡­?¡± ¡°Albericht.¡± A single word, breathed out by the voice I recognised to be Ansgar. His crass cockiness was gone, replaced by agitation and fear. I risked a glance, peeking out from behind the tree trunk which shielded my body, caution losing to curiosity. Gambeson was knelt against the soldier in gold, one hand pulling the body back to show his face, the other holding the torch out in front of him. Angsgar had recoiled at the sight, my eyes just barely making out his fearful expression in the dark. ¡°We¡¯re fucking leaving¡±. He staggered back, his words shaking with an unknown fear. ¡°Now!¡± Gambeson stumbled to follow, hastily grabbing the torch he clumsily dropped beside the stream. They both clambered towards the treeline they had come from, a hasty movement all the more betraying their agitated temperament, accompanied by the odd glance backwards as if fearing the soldier would follow. It was only when they had gone beyond the treeline that I pushed myself up. With nowhere else to go, following them was as good a path as any. With this distance, I could move without fear of discovery, the trees shrouding my sight and sound from view. I was still exhausted, but the brief respite I had been granted helped me put one foot in front of the other. Unease at the earlier voice whispered at the back of my mind, but for now there was nothing I could do to enquire it further. If not for my newfound understanding of the fleeing mens¡¯ conversation, I would have doubted that it had even occurred, dismissing it as nothing more than some paranoid imagination wrought by the adrenaline and tension of the moment. Albericht. The soldier was unknown to me, but the fear his identity installed in the two were clear. *** The manor which Angsgar and Tedric went into was not especially large. Its status was nonetheless obvious from the limestone brick walls and tiled roof it boasted, a stark contrast to the mud village walls which I had flitted through to follow them. It had taken them some distance to get here. If not for their torches, I would have long lost them in the forest dark. Instead, it betrayed their position well, serving as wisps of light for me to follow as I followed them through the undergrowth. Whilst they were far enough ahead to not hear me, I still took care to make as little noise I could, avoiding the branches and leaves which webbed across my path. When the forest finally cleared, it gave way once more to vast open plains. There, the forest ceiling which had shielded the sky above had gone. In its place, a dome of night blue, rendered with a tinge of purple by the twin moons that served as its inhabitants. The silhouettes of clouds drifted slowly past, shrouding the stars which watched the world from above. Thatch houses dotted the scene, the white mudwalls illuminated between the strong timber frames. And in between, a dirt road snaked a path, one rendered by the continuous movement of villagers and carts. The manor lay to the side, isolated from the village by a small stream. As if to emphasise this, fire light clustered around the manor, emanating from the torches which decorated its beige walls. The rest of the village was left dark. Save for a singular torch at its center, the other buildings were lit only by the cold moonlight. As I made my way behind the houses, pressing my back against the white mud wall, it was quickly clear to see why. In the centre of the village lay a stone well, a bucket suspended by the wooden pulley atop it. Several bandits gathered around, clearly identifiable by their mismatched armour and rough demeanour. Some sat on stools or on the floor, whilst the one holding the torch propped himself up against the wooden frame of the well. Around them lay numerous corpses, some dragged into a burnt mound, blood trailing behind them, others left on the floor. Scarlet pooled around dismembered limbs, splattering against the walls of the houses nearby. Heads, whether attached or otherwise, lay there illuminated by the moonlight. All bore tortured expressions, whether of pain or of anguish. I gagged, repressing a retch invoked by the grotesque sight before me. Unlike the battlefield before, this had been a massacre, one which the men had clearly revelled in. There were only three of them here, all armed, laughing to themselves in their blood-stained clothes as they mocked the dead around them. A leering smile found its way onto their mouths as they saw Breastplate and Gambeson draw near. Hidden behind the houses, it was too far for me to hear the words they exchanged. Nonetheless in the torchlight I could see their cockiness quiver for a moment at the news. Those that were seated stood up, and together they sauntered down the road with an uneasy haste towards the manor. With their attention predisposed, I slipped between the houses, following their movement. Despite the boarded up windows, a slight sobbing halted my steps. I could hear it in the houses, and with it brought an anger within me. The road itself ran towards the manor, transitioning into a small brick bridge which pathed its way over the small river flowing from within the forest. Upon its landing, it branched out, the smaller route heading for fields that stretched into the distance whilst the larger stopped at the stone doorway of the manor house. There sat another guard, his spear lying lopsidedly in one arm whilst the other held a wooden tankard to his lips. He was lounging leisurely against the brick wall, illuminated by the torch light above which shone beside the ivy that crept up. Whilst the hedge flanking the path shielded myself from sight, crossing the bridge would draw to me too near for my liking. Observing them from the bank across, I could not hear the exchange that occurred between the group and the guard. A few words, and then he waved them in impassively. Even from here I could hear the raucous laughter emanating from the brightly lit manor house. A grotesque cackling of deprived revelry, disrupted only by the occasional scream which preceded another round of sadistic laughter. I gritted my teeth in anger. Despite the copious amount of death I had seen today, no sight had disgusted me more than what I had witnessed in this village. As the group let themselves in through the wooden door behind the gateway, a brief sober silence washed over the manor, broken only by words in a voice I recognised to be Gambeson¡¯s, although the words I could not make out from this distance. That was clearly followed by a dismissive remark, one from an unknown voice, and then the laughter continued, and with it the thud of wood as tankards smashed into tables. The guard sat there alone, his unbroken demeanor clearly of boredom. And so I lay there as well, hidden behind the hedgerow, eyes observing through the branches at the bank opposite, and waited.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. It took some time for the noise to die down. The guard dozed off first, his head slumped against the brick pillar with his arm around his spear, mouth half open in a gentle snore as the tankard lay loose in his unclenched hand. The rest of the manor soon followed suit, and the air that had been filled with vile laughter was now one of complete silence. It was obvious as to why security was so lax. The villagers who would resist likely lay dead in that square behind, the brutal treatment they faced undoubtedly discouraging the survivors. The arms and armour they carried with them were likely to ensure that effect as well. As for Albericht, no matter how much they feared him he still lay unmoving in that clearing twelve miles back. I was glad at least that I would not feel any guilt in the task I was about to perform. Although not entirely linked to my eventual goal, it would still prove beneficial; not only for my conscience, but also through what I could scavenge in its aftermath. My knife had not left my hand the whole time, I was not careless enough to sheathe it since my first meeting with the dead soldier in the forest all those hours ago. With it held behind my back, my other arm skimmed the cold stone in front of me as I made my way slowly across the bridge. My eyes were locked on the sleeping figure ahead, alert for even the slightest movement. Save for the odd muttering and scratching of neck, no signs came to indicate any waking. I found myself quickly in front of him, hunched over in the faint torchlight, my vision focused on his exposed neck in bated breath. And then in quick succession, my land hand slamming his nose and mouth into the side wall, the knife in my right slitting his throat in one fluid motion. He startled, his eyes bulging open, arms flailing in panic as he dropped his tankered. For a brief second he scrambled around, groping for my arm, his spear, his neck, anything to stop the blood flowing from his neck. But quickly unconsciousness took him, heralded by a sudden stiffness as shock overtook his body before he slumped back. Numbers emanated from the open wound, a successive flow of red integers flowing at an incessant rate. -12, -8, -10, -6. Although I knew it was coming, it was still a bizarre sight to see. An indicator of his blood loss, clearly displayed before my very eyes. Save for the brief gargling of blood as his heart desperately tried to nutriate his brain, he died without further sound. -9, -5, -0, -0. The 0s ticked thrice before disappearing completely, succeeded by a brief +26 exp which quickly followed suit. The number was not merely trivial. As soon as I saw it I could feel its affects rippling through my body. A uncle feeling, but when I clenched my fingers it was there. A hint of muscle memory, the confident understanding of what motions to do, if only slightly. Also felt a strengthening of my mind, if only a little. A steeling of resolve. It¡¯s feeling was almost euphoric in a sense. Still for a second longer I kept my hand firm on his face, feeling out for any form of breathing. None came, and I leant back against the wall, letting out a sigh of relief. not even a day, and someone¡¯s life had already been taken by my hands. Whilst it was not something I was unaccustomed to, the taste of blood which drenched my front left an unpleasant tang. he had deserved it, the dried blood which had previously coated his spear attested towards his cruelty towards the villagers. yet it was still not something i had fully accustomed myself to, the taking of human life. with the do, i felt my mental strength increase, alongside my understanding of knife slitting i guess idk. I spat it out, clearing my mouth of the unpleasant taste. Drawing myself up, I glanced at the wooden door which led into the manor house. I had managed to keep the noise subdued, but I was still wary of any unexpected soldiers stumbling out for any reason. Any that perhaps sensed something had happened. Fortunately no one came. Blood covered the sprawled figure beside me, a red dye smothering the exposed fabric. I took his sword, the one hung by his side, and strapped the belted sheath around my waist. A weapon for emergencies, one common to this world. An situation, I hoped, which would not arise. The weight beside me felt heavy, unfamiliar. I had no experience with it after all. Years of military involvement had developed for me a strong physique, alongside fluid knife skills and precise hand-eye coordination. Swordsmanship however, was an art wholly unfamiliar to me. His kettle helmet I lowered, covering his face and the knife slit that paved his throat. Another dry smile. As if the blood which covered his front was not clear to indicate something had happened. If not for that, he looked as if he had simply just dozed off. I left him there regardless, propped up against the stone wall of the manor. If I could I would extinguish the faint light above as well, although that would not be as plausible with the tools I had on me. The brickwork seemed more imposing up close, even if the building itself was not particularly large. Ivy spanned the walls, crawling up above me as I made my way through the archway. In that small courtyard, the main door that led into the house stood ajar to my right. The thick timber was imposing, dark iron nails studding planks of solid oak wood. From beyond it an orange glow, a subdued flickering light emanating from the rooms beyond. I took care to be light on my feet, wary of the scraping of gravel as I cautiously stepped towards the open door. I gently pried it further open, wincing at every creak of the rusted hinge. The foyer itself was not particular large, and the snoring and faint sobbing I could hear from the doorway to my right made it obvious that most of the bandits lay in the hall next to me. Bandits, and seized villagers. I set my bag to the side, placing the unwieldy sword next to it. Knife in hand, I walked forwards, and turned into the manor hall. Chapter 3 - The Twins [Chapter 3 - The Twins] Death was dealt, silent and merciless. Beneath my hand the man struggled, his eyes bulging as I slid the knife across his throat. I pinned his head against the floorboards, smothering his attempts to scream. A slight sense of satisfaction came to me, almost savouring the pain I was inflicting in a cold, sadistic way. The scene around me had caused this. Many of the bandits¡¯ victims lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies maimed and tortured while the marauders had laughed and drunk themselves asleep. I could see the numbers ticking away, a sight I had learned to feel gratification for. 16, -21, -19. They were higher now, likely because of the culmination of XP which followed them. I had killed over a dozen raiders in the same way. Trash. All of them. None deserved to live. Blood now covered my front, the black of the fabric long since disappearing beneath a layer of wet crimson. I felt his body go limp, and a gold +29 exp projected as he slumped motionless to the ground. I flicked the blood off the knife, the glow of the fireplace dancing across the black coating with the movement. The crackling of wood was all that could be heard, disturbed only by the occasional snore which my knife soon silenced. Food sprawled across the room, dampened by the pools of spilt wine and blood which ran across the table and wood floor. With each death, I felt a strange sense of growing confidence in my movements, a familiarity of where to cut, as if forging some new muscle memory. As I turned to move to the next bandit, I was met by a pair of eyes fixed upon me. A woman, her body battered and bruised, propped up on one arm in the far corner of the room. Eyes wide awake, open in fear. One of the villagers. I lifted a finger to my lips, and she nodded in understanding. I must have looked nightmarish, an unknown figure in that dimly lit hall, blood smothering my face and clothes. Still I continued my task. The numbers ran thrice more before I was finished, the bodies now slumped motionless against the chairs they had slept on. I felt a sense of almost relief when I stood up. I was not finished yet, but this room had been cleared. Some respite, however brief. As I walked back to the woman, I could see her shivering. Partially from the cold, but also from the fear.=¡°Is that everyone?¡± A question I already knew the answer to. Ansgar and Tedric were missing, they were not amongst the dead who now lay behind me. My voice spoke in a tongue unknown to me, yet the words were rendered in a confident, if exhausted, manner. If not for my encounter with the two earlier, I would have been surprised. Now I was just exhausted. Too much had happened today. She shook her head. ¡°One.¡± Her voice shook, a single finger pointing towards the stairs which spiralled upwards in the corner. And then it fell, drifting instead towards the door on the far left. ¡°More.¡± Judging from how they had scouted together, Tedric and Ansgar must have gone through there. The door itself was shut firmly, it would not open without sound. My gaze moved back to the banisters which ascended in the corner. I would head up first, and slowly clear every room as I made my way down. I was lucky that the manor was so quiet. It worked in my favour as much as it hindered me, yet I could not help but wince at every creaking of wood which sounded as I moved up the staircase. The blue stair runners which occupied the floorboards were of some help, dampening my footsteps as red boot marks followed me. At the top, the door lay half-closed, a faint orange glow emanating from within. I leant against the door, grasping the handle with my grip tight around my knife. A glance inwards confirmed my suspicions. It was the master bedroom, a colossal four-poster bed dominating the centre of the room with its oaken frame. The owner lay dead at the desk, a sword firmly buried halfway across his chest with his chair behind it. Judging from the blood, he had not died quickly, and the one who was responsible took great satisfaction in prolonging the pain. As I made my way through the books scattered across the floor, I appreciated my fortune that the bandits were so arrogant. Looking at the sword, it was clear the wielder boasted an almost inhuman strength. Along with its victim, it had cut through some half a metre of solid oak. If not for the bandits¡¯ arrogance, I would unlikely be here in the first place. It was clear I was no match for them in close quarters. That did not matter however as I dispatched the room¡¯s only living inhabitant. I gazed around briefly, marvelling at the furnishings. The owner had undoubtedly taken great care of his bedroom study. Yet as I made my way out, a small glint caught me from the corner of my eye. It peered out, tucked in within a fur vest which draped lazily across the table. I knew what it was before I had even picked it up. A vial of red liquid, carefully slotted into my coat pocket. I would come back to scavenge the rest of the areas later, but this I would take first. It would be handy should anything happen.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. The rest of the rooms downstairs were cleared without much difficulty. Soon there was only one left, its entrance half open amongst the stone kitchen tiles. Even here food was strewn across the floor, alcohol rendering the stone sticky to the touch. The bandits had clearly not cared for any sort of organisation. I made my way down slowly. Descending was not a comfortable position to be in. A grim sight quickly greeted me. The room was illuminated only by torchlight, save for a candle which flickered lazily upon the circular wooden table which resided in the centre. Three guards sat there, hunched atop wood stools with cards still in hand. And to the right were the cells. Beams of corroded iron latticed into a wall which spanned the length of the basement. And behind it, people. Rags draped across their bodies, their expressions gaunt and anguished. Some, those that had not slept either because of the pain inflicted or the trauma suffered, turned to look at me when I arrived in the torchlight. They were not alone, the bandits themselves were still awake. Shit. Instantly I leapt across, abandoning caution for haste. The knife was in Ansgars neck before he could even comprehend what was happening, and I pulled it out across the other¡¯s in one fluid motion. Tedric roared out, arms swinging to grab me as Ansgar staggered back, hands to his neck while the blood gushed forth. Their friend fell to the ground, their mouth open as they tried to speak, but nothing came save for the gargling of fluid. Even then I was still disadvantaged. Tedric had kept his gambeson even here, and the knife would not easily penetrate the jacket which reached up to cover his neck. Worse still, their swords lay only a metre away to the side, propped up against the wall in front of which they were playing cards.¡°Fucker.¡± A snarl, transitioning into a shout as he tried to alert the others. ¡°INTRU-¡±. I dashed at him before he could finish. His companions were all dead, a trail of blood I had left in my wake, but I didn¡¯t want him to know. I couldn¡¯t afford to be at any more a disadvantage than I already was. Ansgar stumbled forwards to stop me. The blood loss knocked him out immediately, but his presence for a second was all Tedric needed. He leapt across, grabbing the sword and unsheathing it all in one fluid motion. Fuck. It was getting worse. We gazed at each other, weapons poised, Tedric¡¯s spluttering body lying in between us. The tension lay heavy for a second, and then he rushed forwards. An arc bore down from above, his arm pulling the sword over as he pressed forwards. I pushed myself to the right, the sword narrowly whistling past me. The momentum carried it forwards, and it would take him a moment before he could recover. A moment which was all I needed. Just as I landed, I immediately swung myself around, launching myself off the far foot which had just landed on the cobblestone tiles. We collapsed into one another, a grunt of breath forced from his mouth as I slammed my elbow against his solar plexus. He fell to the floor, winded, the sword dropping to the side from his open hand. It was over. My forearm pressed against his windpipe, strangling him. His hands tried desperately to grasp at my face, but I ignored it as I brought the knife down into his chest. Once, -80, twice, -65, thrice, and it was over. Twenty six soldiers in total. A small group, all armed to the teeth. On the unknown bandit¡¯s body, I found the key tied to his belt. The prisoners were let out shortly, the serration on my Eickhorn made short work of the ropes which bound their arms. Some greeted me with tears, others with gratitude or silence. ¡°Take their weapons. If there are any others, you know what to do.¡± Murmurs of understanding and they slowly filed outwards, the ones at the front taking with them the equipment the guards had left behind. But before I turned away, I saw them. Two children, huddled together in the far corner. The girl was motionless, eyes closed, her back to the floor as she lay on the cold cobblestone. Her brother, matching silver hair, was on his knees, cradling her hand in his, a quiet sobbing reverberating from him. On the back of his neck, I could see a faint mark of black, peering out from the ripped tunic which covered his body.¡°Slaves, brought here by the bandits.¡± My eyes turned. The speaker was older, a man wrought thin by the treatment of the bandits. ¡°They were here before us. The bandits tortured her for sport, they beat her in front of him.¡± I looked back, and slowly walked closer.The boy looked up as I approached. Eyes of red and blue, they seemed dulled by the sadness which tinged them. As I drew closer, he moved himself between us. His arms were paper thin, he could not have been more than 15, yet his build made him look younger. His eyes darkened with an anger, his expression softened with surprise as I drew the health potion from my pocket. I placed my hand beneath her nose. She was still breathing, but it was faint, almost imperceptible. Tipping her mouth open, I uncapped the cork which sealed the vial, and poured the red liquid into her mouth. Vin had wrote about these. Health potions, a magical cure all to even the harshest of injuries. They seemed to render the antibiotics in my bag to be useless. The more vibrant the red, the higher the grade. What I was using was mostly likely mid-grade. Fortunately just enough to be sufficient. Barely. Steam emanated from her skin, and she writhed beneath the steam that was escaping. The healing process was not a pleasant one. Bones regrew and mended, flesh and sinew sewing itself back together. Sometimes the pain to heal hurt more than the injury itself. Her teeth were gritted, tears trickling from eyes still shut, and for a moment I feared the worst. And then she relaxed, her chest rising and falling. She was breathing, she would be fine.