The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 182: Destiny

Blake woke with Ilya asleep and naked, arm draped over his chest. He moved some of her dark hair from her forehead, smiling as he inspected her beautiful face. It had been the most meaningful, honest sexual encounter he'd had in his life, and the girl wasn't even human. Life in the post-apocalypse remained very strange.

Speaking of which...

Blake extricated himself from his lover and sat up to find one construct vaguely staring at him, like an extra creepy guard dog. The other sort of wandered the small cavern as if looking for more of the ‘large cave rats’. Though Blake still refused to believe that thing was any kind of ‘rat’.

Looking at them cooled any thought of waking Ilya for another round. He had unfinished business, and a considerable amount of work to do.

He quietly moved out of the furs and created himself a new set of orc clothes, then stared at his Adaptive Veil power. He still didn't know how it worked, but the idea that he couldn't look like a different orc made no sense. He wasn't a bloody orc at all. Looking like one was already an illusion. Surely he could just adjust it slightly...

First he wrote, well, created Ilya a note, and left one construct to guard her. Then he took the other back on the winding path towards her house. He waited until he'd reached the crack in the room covered by her family tabard, peeked through until he saw an orc vagrant inside, then re-activated Adaptive Veil. He sent his construct back to Ilya, then stepped out when no one was watching.

Whether he looked different or not he had no idea, but he'd just have to accept that. He walked through the rooms, ignoring the occasionally confused glare from the others, then went back out into the street.

He'd prepared clothes that made him look like one of the wealthier merchants outside. He figured that would let him go most anywhere, as surely trade and goods flowed from the city to the tower. He wandered towards the ramps and stairs leading up, mostly following a crowd of other orcs without concern of being noticed.

Warriors and guards mingled amongst them, seemingly just there as a presence more than anything. Only the guards at the actual ramp checked any wagons or goods, and it didn't seem like they checked them very thoroughly or with much interest.

Blake watched the merchants and other travelers move between, getting as close as he could to overhear any conversations. Most who went had actual goods with them, or else were warriors or a kind of low-born servant or slave. It seemed rare for someone like a merchant to go alone and carry nothing, so Blake soon wandered into a nearby alley.

A pair of young orcs stared at him with some mixture of fear and loathing, but he ignored them and stripped off his clothes.

"For you," he said with a wink, "trade them before tomorrow."

Then he created a new set of clothes that made him look like a slave for Clan Stoneblood, complete with the markings on his back. Then he stepped back out and wandered into the crowd, straight towards the ramp.

* * *

His heart quickened as it neared his turn. He still didn't know what he actually looked like. When he looked at himself he saw a human, and in fact had nothing to indicate anything else except for a lack of orcs murdering him on sight. Finally he reached the gate, and a large, pale-skinned orc with a milky eye grunted at him and waved him on.

And that was apparently that.

Blake nodded with as much servility as he could, shuffling through with head lowered and a desperate attempt to keep the grin off his face. Then he was free of the lower city and moving up towards the tower with a less cluttered crowd of orcs.

He spent the whole day wandering the path, exploring the different halls and rooms. There were plenty of other orcs looking as uncomfortable as he felt, wandering the halls to find other servants or make deals or run some mysterious errand for their masters. Blake was entirely ignored.

Only when he neared the exit of the tower—which was guarded by hundreds of warriors—did he get looks that seemed to indicate 'fuck off' long before he got close. He touched a few minds with Mental Influence just in case he wanted to see through their eyes, but then happily obliged.

He went to the 'cafeteria' he'd killed orcs in when he first arrived, seeing no sign of the previous carnage. Instead orcs sat around at tables eating and laughing, and Blake went so far as to get his own bowl of mystery slop and sit with them. He ate mechanically and listened, using more Mental Influence to hear them speak.

A quiet tension hung between the orcs. It was clear there was trouble between the clans and tribes and everyone expected violence. They spoke of the losses to the humans, and feared attack would come. They feared for their 'holy stones', and Blake resisted the urge to palm the one in his pocket. They grumbled about restrictions to their lives, worse food, less food, too much time at home with their mates and children.

Blake eventually tried moving higher into the tower. Again he was largely ignored, until he reached a floor where the guard held out his hand and sneered.

"No low born. Go back unless you've a writ."

Blake Mind Controlled the guard, making him believe he had the writ, feeling it was a very 'these aren't the droids you're looking for' kind of Jedi moment. Then he went on through like he had important business and belonged, and once inside was ignored again.

Above this level there were only well-dressed, clean looking orcs, warriors, and what looked like shamans or their servants.

Still he climbed, feeling sweat trickle down his armpits as less and less orcs were obvious from the lower levels and city, more and more from the warrior caste. But he wanted to see.

Finally he reached what must have been the peak of the tower, a final staircase winding up with several guards out front. The tabard of clan Stoneblood stretched overhead, but this one rested below another flag with a simple yellow crown dangling from a lone tusk.

Blake turned and slowly made his way back down the tower. His plan was either brilliant or insane, but that wasn't entirely new. He went without being bothered, none of the guards interested in someone leaving the tower, only entering it.

He knew he should probably do the same climb a few more times, or control some more minds to discover Gromsh's exact schedule.

But he had a feeling the new orc 'king' rarely left his tower now. After so long without even a trace of Blake the orcs under his command had become lax and probably not sure he existed at all. They likely doubted the king's words and commands, unsure why they were even trapped in the tower, except by their king's orders.

Without lifting a finger, Blake realized, he had already damaged Gromsh badly. Now it was time to finish him.

* * *

Ilya sagged with relief as Blake entered their little cavern. She came across as if to hug him, but stopped short and looked somewhat awkward.

"I got your note," she said, "welcome back."

Her tone was pretty cool, and Blake fought the impulse to use mind powers to understand what she was thinking. Mostly he was just glad roboGod's translation services included text.

"I learned a great deal," he said, deciding to just power through. "All I need now is a day to summon my constructs, maybe another to rest. Then we can go." He blinked and realized she'd known instantly it was him.

"Do I...look like the same orc as before?"

"Yes," she said, as if confused, then a little quieter. "I prefer you as a human."

He crossed the gap between them and took her in his arms, and she practically melted into him with relief.

"You're not...angry with me?" she said.

"Why on earth would I be angry with you?" he said, genuinely confused.

"I should have been awake…to make breakfast. To help you. I slept all day."

Blake laughed as the tension melted. "I deliberately didn't wake you." He breathed in her scent and whispered in her ear. "Anyway, you definitely earned some rest last night."

Ilya flushed a little and grinned. "Well I can cook us something now."

"That'd be great. I have work to do. I'll be just..." he gestured towards the middle of the cave. "I'll eat later."

Then he opened True Making and took a deep breath, scanning down the complex list and designs. No room for errors now.

A day, maybe two, and his little game with the system and with its unholy creation was going to end. What happened after that, he still had no idea.

* * *

By the time Blake was finished with his work, his head throbbed from concentration and manalessness, and he more or less collapsed and chewed Ilya's now lukewarm stew in silence.

When he was finished she helped him into his furs, where he half closed his eyes and stared at the dark roof, numbers and constructs still running through his mind. Ilya just cuddled next to him and stroked his skin until he slept.

When he woke he finished his final Construct—a much smaller Arcane humanoid with both arms melded into a single spike. It was his 'holy shit' plan if all else failed.

He Meditated, running through his Mental Partition to make sure everything was working perfectly again. It was, but it had taken a great deal of time. It reminded him that apparently Mind Rend was pretty good at fucking a person up, and he now had a gem of it on his amulet.

He fingered the item and grinned. Gromsh would no doubt be resistant as a 'boss', but likely not entirely immune. Blake would use it first and early and hopefully throw the creature off its game while the constructs attacked.

After that...well, he supposed he'd see. As usual, first things were first.

"We're going to have to make you look a bit less obviously radiant," he said to Ilya when his mana was full.

She smiled at the compliment, then frowned.

"What exactly does that mean."

He constructed her a brand new set of slave clothes, opting for as dirty and disheveled as possible on the outside, but scant and sexy underneath. Ilya scowled but put them on in silence, and Blake refrained from watching her undress to keep his mind focused.

Then he made himself a new set of merchant's clothes, and finally inspected his row of constructs. One Psionic Defender (made, somewhat reluctantly, with Duality of Ambition), three Arcanes with spears and picks, plus his back up plan, all set to permanent. They took basically half his mana to maintain.

He wouldn't necessarily need them long just against Gromsh, but he couldn't know what problems he might encounter, or what would happen after. He decided not to put himself in the situation of watching the clock and feeling rushed. Better to be careful.

They finally made their way through the tunnels and back to Ilya's house. There were two vagrants sleeping in the room, and Blake sighed. He didn't want to kill them, but he didn't want to waste much mana or risk discovery either.

He used True Making instead, then stepped out quietly and nudged the orcs awake with a boot.

"All of you! Out! I'm buying this house," he said. "Take this and go, or I'll call the guards."

He handed them several of the orc's bronze coins, and the squatters took them and bolted. He did the same with every other orc he found in the place, then debated if he should create or buy a cart.

Large things took considerably more mana, so 'buy' ultimately won out, and he went to the streets and spoke with a few merchants until he found one who'd sell. Then he pulled it back to the house, covered it with a giant tarp, and hastily snuck his constructs inside one by one.

He produced a series of items like the ones he'd seen in the upper tower floors—mostly pottery with elaborate designs, drinking cups and jewelry. Ilya grinned as she watched at first, then helped him pack it away and look somewhat natural.

Blake looked around to make sure they weren't being watched too carefully, which it didn't seem like they were. Finally he found a couple of the vagrants he'd chased off nearby, and offered them more coin to pull his wagon up to the tower. Two agreed, and he strapped them in.

They all walked with the crowd towards the gate, Blake trying to look confident and perfectly at ease, or slightly annoyed at the delays. His two wagon pullers definitely helped pull it off, and when Blake arrived at the gate the guards looked genuinely uninterested.

"Go on," one waved him through, not even bothering to flip up the tarp to take a look.

Then they were inside and moving towards the ramps, and the rest of the tower. And of course a vicious battle to the death.

Blake took a deep breath and trusted in his destiny.