The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 223: F around and find out

Blake was pretty sure he was lost again. It was embarrassing, really, considering Nassau wasn't that far from the orc towers, and since he was previously the patron of said settlement.

But it was bloody easy to get turned around in this endless woods, and the sky was so overcast Blake couldn't actually see the sun.

"God damnit." He stopped and turned in a circle. "Navi, which way is West?"

"Sorry, Master," the little familiar pouted. "I don't possess that kind of knowledge."

"Yes, yes." Blake mentally linked with his constructs. "Hired goons, go West."

They stared at him blankly and he sat down on a fallen log. "Well this is quite a mess. I'm glad I didn't bring Ilya, I'll tell you that, Navi. Not good for a woman to see you wandering like a lost puppy, or a..."

Blake blinked and thought about the little cat he'd created to amuse her with True Making, then realized he was an idiot. He opened the power, swiped to Practical Objects, then imagined a compass.

In less than 30 seconds he was holding a perfectly serviceable looking compass in his hands, though he had no idea if it worked. He stood and held it out, then watched the little needle swing until it pointed West.

"Ha!" He beamed then looked at his stone-faced constructs and sighed. "Next time I'm going to make you with more enthusiasm. The occasional smile wouldn't hurt, you know? Maybe a fist bump."

They said nothing, and he rolled his eyes.

"Yes I know I could have made you with wings and we could have just flown there. But I didn't want to re-make all of you, did I?" Of course his five constructs said nothing, and Blake shook his head.

"Come along, Navi,." He followed the compass at a leisurely pace, stopping now and then to drink or eat what he unenthusiastically called ‘orc trail mix', or swat at mosquitoes. "I'll be covered in red spots when I get to Nassau," he said. "It'll ruin the whole mystique."

Eventually he had to camp for the night, vaguely dreading it until he realized he could construct himself pretty much whatever comforts he wanted. Soon he was lying pleasantly in a double bed, completely surrounded by a plastic box, only a mosquito-net like opening at the top.

His constructs stood guard outside, vigilant sentinels that could surely stop most anything in the forest. He closed his eyes and slept, feeling completely safe and comfortable for the first time in the great woods.

The sun was rising when he woke. Despite his physical stats improving slightly, he still felt no enjoyment whatsoever for 'hiking', and thought of little besides the end of the journey.

Then there was all the time he was wasting when he could be experimenting with True Making. He made designs as he walked, at least, storing them in a kind of mental file marked 'for later'.

His most exciting prospect was a Defender with four arms and a head designed for ramming. But he'd also tried making standard combat models that could shoot spikes. At least that was the theory. It seemed equally possible it wouldn't be allowed or just not work, and that he needed some new archetype to create ranged versions.

Mostly he just tried to distract himself from the anxiety and excitement of seeing Mason and everyone else in Nassau. He'd have to figure out what to say to Seul-ki. How to convince them to play nice with the orcs, and even help them.

He winced slightly when he wondered how Annie was doing. She was the one person in Nassau who welcomed and indeed desperately needed his mind powers. Hopefully she'd figured things out on her own.

In fact Blake's mind was so busy, he hardly even realized the air had slightly changed. Only when he stopped for a drink did he realize he smelled smoke, then looked up above the canopy of the forest and saw a dark plume rising not far from the West.

He blinked and tried to think how close he should be now to Nassau. Could that be it? Yes. It certainly could. But the smoke was strange, and too thick. The buildings didn't have chimneys, except Billy’s restaurant. Unless they'd started some kind of big bonfire in town there was no way it would produce that much smoke...

Blake's intuition told him to take this seriously. And to hurry. He winced and looked at his constructs. It wasn't flying, and it wouldn't be comfortable, but he knew they could move a lot faster than him.

He willed the closest to scoop him up in a princess carry, then lumber forward towards the smoke.

"How embarrassing," he muttered. "My entrance will be completely ruined."

* * *

Mason charged through the trees with Streak and his pack of wolves like cavalry in formation. Before long he saw smoke rising in the distance, and he clenched his teeth with impatient rage. He tried not to let his imagination run wild.

Did smoke mean the settlement was already burning? What else could it be?

It could be Carl and the others were lighting the trees on fire on purpose, either to get Mason's attention, or to harass their enemy. It could be the attacker's had made a fire outside the walls. Or that they were using it in a fight and it got out of control.

Mason had to believe there was still time, that the enemy wasn't inside and destroying everything he cared about.

That it was goblins and not humans reminded him how brutal and pitiless this new world was. And how stupid anyone who didn't work together. It wasn't just the players who would die.

Civilians had no protection at all from the creatures of this world. Like so many times in history, Mason expected those without weapons would be killed, or enslaved when the fighting was over.

He increased his pace. The wolves were falling behind but they'd catch up. He hoped he wasn't putting them in too much danger, but the thought of Haley and Rosa hiding and terrified, or worse, temporarily stripped any concern. If he and Streak and every single wolf had to die to protect them, he would do it.

The smoke grew and Mason stared at his position again and again on Wayfinder. He was close now, only a few minutes of full speed through the woods.

He started to hear them. To smell them. There were goblins scattered throughout the trees. There were many more clustered around Nassau, and Mason could smell trolls. And magic. And burning flesh. He clenched the bow in his hand, and sprinted.

The first goblin entered his sight. A scout, looked like, hiding and watching from behind a tree. He turned and saw Mason coming, eyes widening as he reached for something on his belt. And died.

Mason didn't even slow down. He just took half the creature's throat with a slash from his off hand, his Claw summoning mid swipe as he charged straight past.

Another scout not far away made a shrill sound of warning like a bird call, then Mason loosed a Power Shot and watched blood splatter from the thing's back as it pierced.

More creatures burst into motion from several hidden positions. Darts and arrows streaked through the air, most missing but one dart burying into Mason's chest.

[Title activated: Poison Shmoison]

He flicked it away, then put an arrow in the shooter's gut and ran on.

The scouts didn't matter. Mason ran past them for the larger force, ready to start a lightning bolt the second he found a large group.

Killing them was useful, but not the purpose. He needed them to know. To know they were no longer alone in the woods, that they weren't the predator coming here to feast on their prey.

A thing seeped through Mason's veins, not hot and urgent like rage looking to be spent on the closest object or living creature that got in his way. It was more quiet, more final, more like hatred.

Whether the people of Nassau were alive or dead, whether the goblins turned and fled now, or fought, or tried to speak, it made no difference. Mason was going to find and kill every single one of them in his woods. Then he was going to go back to their mountain lair, and he was going to obliterate them from elder to child.

More arrows and darts followed him, one bouncing off his sleeve, another hitting his back but not even piercing enough to stick. He heard growls and screams behind him now as Streak and his pack leapt on the scouts. One ran before him, clearly trying to get word to the attacking force. Mason activated Aspect of the Cheetah and ran him down.

Then he was at the clearing and outside the walls of Nassau.

They'd grown somehow, and all around the sheer stone were writhing green vines. At least fifty goblins waited at the northern gate, which were half destroyed and revealed defenders inside.

Two trolls smashed at them with giant clubs like battering rams. All around their position the vines were burning with black smoke, a goblin in robes still spewing flames.

It wasn't over, then. Mason's spark of hope flared through the cold thing that he let take over. Later, if it was true, he would let that warmth and joy inside. But not now.

Mason charged his Sleeves with mana, and pointed at the largest cluster he could see.

Maybe these goblins thought they could destroy Nassau and somehow avoid him. Or maybe they didn’t understand patrons or players or what they were dealing with. But it was time they found out.