The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 479: Today is the day

Night Eyes came for Mason at the crack of dawn. Lila was still sleeping, and as Mason heard the centaur’s hooves he carefully extracted himself and covered her in the warm furs. The urge to climb back into bed with her and spend the day getting to know her even more intimately was pretty strong. But he had a lot to do, and a lot of other people he loved who relied on him.

“Morning, shaman.” He stepped out in his summoned armor. Night Eyes stopped and bowed.

“Health and sun, Hunter. You slept well?”

“I slept enough. Ready when you are.”

The creature nodded and led him back towards the mountains, dark gaze sweeping everything as if he was looking for something on the plains. There were a few groups of centaur out already, maybe hunting, maybe just wandering in the early light.

Night Eyes looked uncomfortable. It was as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide. After a few more groups of centaur wandered by, and after a long sigh, he clenched his jaw.

“There was…hard feelings, last night. Some warriors might be out looking for trouble. I don’t expect…” he shrugged. “If we are confronted, I don’t want you to think it’s betrayal. They would be after me, not you.”

Mason’s brow rose with unwelcome curiosity. The shaman seemed respected, young enough to be a great leader in the future, no doubt. He didn’t really want to ask or get caught up in centaur politics, but he couldn’t help himself.

“What did such a wise and far-seeing shaman do to create…hard feelings?”

“I did nothing,” Night Eyes almost snapped, clearly fighting frustration. He took a breath and calmed his tone. “I apologize, Hunter. The Green Sea tribes have petty hatreds and ancient feuds. We are divided not just be tribe, but by blood. Mine—the Summer Wind Clan—is very old, but…we are out of favor.”

“And some of the other families don’t like such a young, powerful shaman of a family they don’t like, getting so much attention,” Mason assumed out loud. Night Eyes gave him a glance and a sharp nod, and Mason sighed.

“Humans are the same. We’ve tried solving it with…religion, nations. But sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.”

Night Eyes was watching him and he realized he should probably be careful what he said. The system’s fantasy world building didn’t exactly have representative democracy, or much of anything except bronze or iron age culture.

“I know you are a leader of men,” said the shaman. “You have a house and also a title. How do you balance between the two?”

Damned if I know, Mason thought. And of course right now his entire settlement was also part of his house.

“I don’t. I’m not in charge of anyone not in my house.” He shrugged. “But to be honest I don’t do much. I put people I trust in charge. I guess that’s my answer. I delegate.”

“Would that I could.” Night Eyes sighed. “But I thank you for your advice, Hunter. My problems are not yours.”

“Except for giant, evil, mountain dwelling bears.”

Night Eyes smiled a little. They walked on in much more comfortable silence, the healthy grassland turning to barren clay and rock with unnatural speed. It sent a shiver up Mason’s spine, and he was reminded he’d want to deal with this problem with or without the centaur’s asking. But they didn’t need to know that.

“There is a tunnel leading to the caves. My people are too large to fit, but a human like you might crawl easily enough. Or there is a larger entrance, but…it is guarded by ancient spirits of my people. They are angry and wild. They would attack even me.”

Dealer’s choice, Mason thought. He wasn’t much for crawling through narrow rock, especially after getting buried in the Devourer’s Lair. But then fighting ‘spirits’ might not be his forte, either.

Would they be immune to his weapons? Only killable with magic? He might have enough mana—if his lightning bolts actually worked. But he might not…

“Can you help me deal with the spirits?”

“I could. But…” Night Eyes shook his head. “It would be a blasphemy. Despite their suffering and rage, the spirits are not to blame. It would be against Green Sea law for me to…”

As Night Eyes spoke, Mason heard a whistle on the wind. He spun with his ever-increasing, inhuman speed, and snatched an arrow out of the air. The sharpened rock of the weapon’s head was maybe a foot from Night Eyes’ back.

Four centaur in dark colors stood a hundred feet away at the edge of the grass, as if unwilling to step onto the rockier ground.

“You are no longer on the Green Sea, Summer Wind,” shouted the centaur holding the bow. “There are no laws on blighted stone.”

The others laughed, and it wasn’t friendly. The arrow hadn’t been a warning or any kind of game. And they didn’t look ready to accept the failed shot, call it a day, and leave.

Night Eyes seemed furious, but also unsure what to do. His jaw clenched and he nodded to Mason in thanks for catching the arrow.

“I…should have asked for warriors. I didn’t think they’d go this far. It is a terrible crime to harm a shaman of any tribe.”

“I can kill them, if you like.” Mason snapped the arrow with a thumb and took a few steps towards the archer. “Or at least that one. I expect the rest’ll run.”

“No.” Night Eyes turned and kept walking towards the mountain. “But I cannot stay here. I will come with you into the mountain. We must face the spirits.”

Mason tried not to be disappointed. He decided to at least wait to see if they shot any more arrows. He’d catch them if they loosed at Night Eyes, but if they shot at him? Well. That was a whole different story. It would practically be an international incident. Someone would have to pay.

He stood and stared at the warriors as the shaman kept walking out of range. The centaur stared right back. Mason smiled as he waited, summoning his elven bow in one hand, the other itching to draw. It had been a pretty amazing night with Lila, but his day wasn’t quite complete anymore without a little violence.

The centaur apparently decided he wasn’t bluffing. The group turned back with a whistle, clomping off towards their tents, away from the human-shaped death that waited eagerly on the stone.

Mason sighed and followed Night Eyes to the mountains.

**

“There is the entrance.” Night Eyes gestured, and Mason couldn’t help but stare.

When the centaur had described a ‘holy site’ he’d kind of expected a pile of rocks with maybe a few drawings. At best he’d figured Stonehenge. Or maybe a nice big totem. Instead, it was a damn fortress.

Stone spires flanked the clearly crafted, flat side of a tall mountain. The busts of centaurs, or possibly elves (they just looked like men with pointy ears) had been carved above an ancient portcullis like Mount Rushmore. The gate had been destroyed, smashed by something and left in broken ruin on the side of a pitch black tunnel.

“Your people built this?”

“Before the doom.” Night Eyes stared with obvious reverence, and sadness. “Much has been lost. There is another fortress far to the south, but none of my kind has ever entered either. I hope, one day, to change that.”

“Today is the day.”

Mason stepped closer, not seeing any obvious problem if he just walked inside. Little hairs stood up on his neck and arms though as he moved closer, and he soon slowed and stopped as he waited for Night Eyes. When he looked back the shaman grinned.

“You feel them, don’t you? The spirits?”

He nodded, sure as hell feeling something. It was a bit like stepping into a wind tunnel, like the force of the world was pulling in and focusing on a singular point. In the old world he would have dismissed ‘ghosts’ as some local nonsense, but only an idiot would have assumed it wasn’t possible at this point in the game.

“What’s gonna happen when we get closer?”

The centaur shook his head, his dark eyes getting somehow even darker as magical energy swirled around him.

“I don’t know, Hunter. Not for certain. But my father tried and failed to enter this fortress. He entered the gates alone, and none with him heard any sound of battle, nor did he cry out or scream. But he did not come out.”

Mason nodded, believing the shaman said what he thought was the truth. But then Mason was a bit too paranoid to accept anything automatically. For all they both knew, Night Eyes’ father had enemies who killed him and made up a convenient story.

“How do you know?” he asked, hoping he didn’t offend the creature. Night Eyes came up beside him, dark gaze locked on the gate, not seeming bothered by the question.

“Because I was there.”

As the shaman came forward and stood nearby, the ‘wind’ of the tunnel seemed to ease. They walked forward together, moving slow as they watched and listened and felt the shifting power in the air.

Mason heard whispers on the wind. He couldn’t make out the words, but it sounded like someone trying to warn him. To tell him something urgently. He looked to the shaman to explain but the centaur tapped his long ears and shook his head as if not to listen.

They walked on, close now to the gate. Mason was starting to wonder exactly how this ‘bear’ had gotten into this place, or if it was somehow spirit approved. A spirit bear? Well there was an unpleasant thought.

“Does this creature we’re hunting have something to do with your spirits? If you know more than you told me, now’s the time.”

Night Eyes didn’t appear to be listening, or maybe couldn’t hear. Energy swirled around him, visibly blowing with whatever wind Mason felt, faster and faster as the purple and green colors clashed with a thick, dark blue.

The shaman looked lost in concentration, his mouth twitching with effort, eyes squinting as his hands clenched. He said something, but the layer of power around him seemed to be blocking sound and who knew what else. Mason felt kind of helpless.

He considered his few spells but didn’t see what difference they’d make. There was nothing to fight, nothing to kill. At least nothing he could see. A very obvious, Blake-shaped hole was suddenly forming at his side, and he trudged on battling with his own anger and sense of loss.

How the hell weren’t they together in this insane world? It still hardly made any sense. They should have been side by side, covering each other’s weaknesses, ‘smoothing each other’s edges’. And here Mason was in some damned magic-fueled holy site beside a strange creature, no God damned idea what or how or…

“I can’t…go on!” Night Eyes shouted, barely audible even to Mason’s ears through whatever power was pressing against him. He was looking down like some kind of wind assaulted his face, his big body leaned forward, the hair on his horse-flank blowing back.

Mason didn’t know if the shaman meant ‘physically’, or ‘magically’.

If he was pushed forward, would it make things worse or better? He stood there watching, counting the seconds and seeing no sign that anything was improving. He had to decide. Forward, or back?

Mason ducked under the centaur’s big body, gripped him with arms extended as far as possible to spread out the weight and pressure, and lifted him.

The shaman’s legs kicked in obvious surprise. He yelled something incomprehensible as Mason trudged him onward, the howl of the wind and a strange pressure striking against him until he saw Apex Predator flare.

[Affinity removed: Nature.]

[Affinity removed from allied Centaur Shaman: Arcane, Nature, Abyssal]

Abyssal affinity? What? There was no time to question that. But the magic eased, at least a little, and maybe not for long.

Carrying the damn centaur like a power lifter with an outstretched bar, Mason ran towards the tunnel.