Gentleman's Wars 2: A Tower Defense LitRPG Series Read online

  My hand hovered automatically over the Tri-Beams option. Karrack Towers were mighty, able to wear enemies down quickly, but the trouble was a large group could just push by. Doubling their output had already worked wonders for my maze stratagems. Adding an extra beam per tower would significantly increase my ability to target golems, though the damage reduction was a bit heavy. Of course, when it came to fast moving, brittle targets such as flyers, damage didn’t much matter, did it?

  I’d upgrade the Karrack Towers with the Tri-Beams, then focus on improving another tower set, one that I hadn’t upgraded yet. I did consider for a short moment seeing what the License Level 1 towers were but reasoned that it would be better to get a return on my existing investments. After all, every standing tower would automatically be upgraded when I made the purchase.

  Damage was where I was hurting the most these days. I had many clever tricks to slow down an enemy force, but killing them? That took a bit of work. Increasing my overall damage per second would be the best strategy. Ballista Towers were fairly excellent at dealing damage, and their range made them useful for just about any battlefield. The 15 second shot time, however, was a bit of a downside. Reducing the timer to 10 seconds meant they’d be firing 6 times a minute instead of just 4 shots. And that upgrade was per Ballista Tower. Definitely worth the investment, especially if I could drop the timer down even more with later upgrades.

  A heavy bump caused me to remember the real world and I was quick to exit the Grid after selecting the last upgrade. I’d have to measure results later, but for now, I had business to attend to.

  The autocarriage began to shriek as it tried to push forward, but it could not. This squeal was not its normal, ghoulish cry that it uttered from time to time. Something was blocking my carriage from rolling forward. An ambush? No, if that were the case, I’d already be hauled out by thugs. There was probably some damage on the road.

  I climbed out of the vehicle to survey the area (though being careful to grab a hold of my rifle, just in case.) Before me was a long wheat field, golden and gently swaying as the sun began to rise above us. The autocarriage continued to squeal as it tried to roll forward, catching my attention. A long metal pole had been buried beneath the dirt road. Something had pulled it upwards, catching the front wheels of the carriage, forcing it to stop. The autocarriage didn’t seem to understand that there was a blockage, however, and it continued to push forward, endlessly spinning its back wheels.

  “What do we have here?” I muttered as I examined the metal pole. Nothing was attached to the item, but…it shifted as I grabbed hold of it.

  “Intruder,” the pole muttered in a gruff, metallic voice. “Blocking passage. Protocol 877 in place.”

  I rotated the pole slowly, to find the insignia of MM. Malphius Masterson’s signature! This wasn’t a random pole in the ground, but a type of golem, designed to stop vehicles from entering unlawfully! Interesting. It could apparently levitate itself. I tried to pull on it, but the golem refused to move, grunting the same words over and over again.

  “You don’t look like a bandit,” came a voice from the wheat fields. I looked up to see a tall, handsome-looking fellow. He had significantly darker skin than most folks in these parts and sharp, pointy ears stuck out from behind his white hair. An elf!

  “Er, I’m not,” I said, quickly putting the rifle against the carriage, to show I wasn’t interested in using the weapon. I did not, however, put the weapon out of arms reach. “Just a traveler in these parts.”

  “Commencing kill mode,” the golem said, prompting me to leap back. “Kill mode commenced,” it said after a beat. Nothing happened, thankfully.

  “Excuse the Stopper Golem, please,” the elf said as he strolled out of the field. He had a gentle demeanor and was dressed like a farmer, though the quality of his clothes was far higher than most peasants. In his right hand was a long scythe, with traces of wheat still on the blade. “We bought it a long time ago.”

  “Ah yes, I could tell by the fact that it could talk,” I said, bowing to the man. The first generation of Golems were all given the ability to speak, so they could properly communicate their plans. The unfortunate side effect to this was that the golems had no ability to understand what they were saying, as they were simply automatons, and so they just repeated orders incessantly. So much so that it drove everyone up the wall. I remember the marketing class I had taken at the college using the “Now Without Speech” slogan as an example of effective advertising.

  “We don’t get many visitors here,” the elf said as he knelt down to deactivate the golem. The pole gave up a fuss for a moment, but with the simple command word from the elven man, it ceased struggling and returned to its inert state. “And those we do get aren’t welcome.”

  “Bandit trouble?” I asked.

  The elf looked up at me and sighed deeply. I could see a great deal of weariness on his face. “Something like that. We elves don’t have hospitality rules here, so I think you should be on your way. Sorry for the delay.”

  “I’m here to speak with the elven Matron, actually,” I said. “I was on my way to her estate.”

  He stood up at that and dusted his hands off. “And who are you, to be visiting our Kinmother?”

  “Richard Blake, of the Blake Gentry,” I said. “I’ve come to conduct business in an official capacity.”

  The elf did not seem to like that. He crossed his arms and looked at me, suspicion in his eyes. “Official capacity? Without sending letters or gifts?”

  “Oh I have gifts,” I said. “And it’s a bit urgent, too urgent for post.”

  The elf glanced past me and at the carriage. “What kind of gifts, to be exact?”

  “Just a few jars of grape jam, and some jellies as well,” I said.

  A spark lit up in the elf’s eye, betraying his now hardened demeanor. He looked quite thrilled at the offering but kept his cool. “I see. I suppose we can afford some cultural insensitivity. Come, I’ll take you to meet the Kinmother.”

  At that exact moment, there was a rumbling in the distance, towards the rolling hills behind us. “What was that?”

  “Damn…” the elf swore. More rumbling, so strong that I could feel it in the ground. It was getting closer.

  “Are those the bandits you were talking about?” I said, grabbing the Karrack rifle.

  “Don’t bother with a weapon,” the elf groaned. “Is your vehicle fast?”

  Before I could answer the question, the source of the rumbling made itself present. A large, badly damaged wooden wagon came crashing over the hills, into full view. The wagon creaked a great deal as I saw the source of its stress. A large Karrack Golem was in the back of the vehicle, fully powered up. The long crystals on its arms were crackling to life, ready to shoot.

  “These bandits play the game too?” I asked.

  “Are you that naive?” the elf said, grabbing me and pulling me out of sight of the construct. I could hear the groaning of more wagons. “Some time ago a shipment of golems was hit by some maniac by the name of Blind King Ben or something like that. They stole all the golems and somehow gained control of them. Now he’s made a habit of sending his forces to hit our farm.”

  “Why not simply repel them with towers?”

  The farmer shook his head at that. “Because these golems aren’t targeting our buildings, but our workers. They don’t have to win. They just have to kill one or two of us a week. That’s enough to get us to pay them.”

  I frowned. “Surely this is something the Queen’s Men could handle.”

  “In our land, we have a phrase. The one you flee to is the one who rules you,” he replied. “And we are ruled by none other than the Matron.”

  “A proud position,” I said, glancing beneath the carriage, trying to get a view of the enemy. I could count six wagons in total. Was there any way I could help here? I couldn’t just throw down a swarm of golems with my Signet, could I? No, that would be nonsense. I had to fi
gure some other way to take down these golems.

  “What kind of fertilizer do you use?” I asked as I ran the calculations in my head.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “What brand?” I hissed. I could hear the sounds of men barking orders to unload the golems. We had precious little time before they came down to greet us. And with that Karrack Golem atop the hill, there was no way we could ride away.

  “The enriched kind…the uh, alchemically-infused herbal mixture,” he said after a moment of trying to remember. “It’s fairly cheap and doubles our growth.”

  “Do the bags come in burlap? Or in metal containers?”

  “Containers. Thick, heavy ones,” the elf replied.

  I let out a deep breath of relief, thanking the Stars. “Perfect. Then take me to them, as quickly as you can. I might have a way to solve your little bandit problem.”

  Chapter 6

  The elven farmer, Molen, watched in disbelief as I poured as much fertilizer as I could find into the wheelbarrow. We had retreated to a large shed that was chock full of the chemical compound known as Quickvine.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, watching as I hastily began to undo my fly.

  “Turn around,” I said. “This is going to be less than dignified.”

  The elf complied as I unzipped and erm, returned my water to the earth, as it were. “Pissing into a wheelbarrow is your plan?” he asked, arms folded. “Are you a madman by any chance? Your clothes suggested otherwise, but I may have been mistaken.”

  “Not quite,” I said, finishing my business and quickly grabbing a nearby shovel. I began to churn the mixture violently, thoroughly wetting the fertilizer. “Fun fact about this alchemical mixture. It contains 90% effernum. In a dormant state, effernum is perfectly harmless. But, when agitated, mixed with a certain chemical compound found in urine, it becomes what we refer to as catalytic.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning we really, really shouldn’t be selling this on the market,” I said. The fertilizer began to bubble and fizzle quite a bit, almost ready for its final transformation. I dug into my pocket and produced the final component. A small piece of pure silver.

  Silver, known as the Alchemist’s Knife, had so many uses that any alchemist worth his salt carried a few pieces with them at all times. In this case, effernum hated silver with a deep, burning passion. When in an agitated state, even a single piece could trigger a serious explosion. Such accidents were so commonplace in alchemy that you’re not quite considered to be a professional until you’ve destroyed your lab by introducing the two together on accident.

  I worked my alchemical magic as best I could, putting together the deadly explosive, all the while explaining my plan to the horrified Molen.

  “Why don’t we just leave? They aren’t here for us,” he had tried to say. “They just want to intimidate us into paying them.”

  “And have you paid them thus far?” I asked.

  “No, and we don’t intend to. We’d rather starve than pay these bandits.”

  “Then running won’t solve the problem. But this might,” I said. “Now throw a tarp over the wheelbarrow and let’s go meet this blind king.”

  Molen’s protests were half-hearted, for he was curious to see if I were truly a madman, or if I had managed to concoct a dangerous explosive with only three common ingredients. If only he knew the truth about how most potions and alchemical compounds were really just unprimed explosives, waiting for the right amount of agitation to go off.

  To his credit, Molen didn’t back down from my plan. Once it was clear I was committed to it, he grabbed a hold of the wheelbarrow and followed me as we returned to the road.

  By then, the bandits had already set up their little camp. These brilliant thieves had already knocked over my autocarriage and were leaping atop it like damned fools, ignoring the fact that this vehicle was probably worth a moderately-sized house. The bandits were composed of rough-looking men in various states of malnutrition, with ragged beards and tattered clothes. They looked to be a desperate lot, not the kind to be taken lightly.

  But they carried no weapons, save for knives and daggers. Who needed a weapon when you had a golem by your side? As we approached, these golems began to walk towards us, stomping loudly as the bandits whooped and hollered.

  “It’s about time!” one of the bandits shouted as he climbed out of the overturned wagon, a jar of jam in his hands. He was shorter than the rest, with a bushy red beard and a pair of goggles on his eyes. “We’ve been hitting you every week and finally, you send us something.”

  “I’m guessing that’s the blind king?” I asked as we stopped walking. The golems and bandits had surrounded us at this point, with the bandit leader eagerly approaching us, rubbing his hands together.

  “Indeed, be careful, he’s a bit…volatile,” Molen replied. He glanced at me for a moment and then shrugged to himself, realizing that I was probably just as dangerous as the bandit.

  “So, boys, what do we have here? An offering?” the bandit leader said as he strolled up to the wheelbarrow. “Or maybe there’s a little elf in there, waiting to pop up and stab me.”

  “No, not an elf,” I said, pulling the tarp aside.

  “Aw what the hell?” the bandit king grunted, reeling back and covering his nose. “That reeks worse than a corpse.” The offering was grotesque, to be sure, but it didn’t raise any alarms in the bandits’ minds. Instead, they were merely laughing, perhaps pleased that they’d get to kill someone today.

  “This mixture is known as an effernum bomb,” I said, casually tossing the little bit of silver I had kept between my fingers. The silver dropped into the mixture and immediately, it began to rapidly bubble. “Weapons that were once used to level entire cities at the behest of the Crown. A chain reaction has been started and it will explode within say…ten to twenty seconds at the most.”

  “What are you on about—” the bandit leader started to say, but the compound began to burst into flames, snapping, popping and hissing as the silver worked its magic. That, plus my warning was more than enough to convince everyone (myself and Molen included) to get the hell out of the area.

  Everyone scattered at once, everyone except for the golems, that is. Those large hunks of stone were barely able to register that trouble was happening and while everyone fled to save their own lives, no one bothered to order them to leave. They certainly had no chance against such a blast.

  The ground trembled violently and for a moment, my hearing faded as the explosion rippled through the atmosphere. There came a terrible ringing afterwards and I found myself on the ground, clutching my back. Something sharp had pierced me from behind and the pain was quite intense.

  Smoke billowed everywhere, obscuring my vision. Bandits were staggering past me, screaming in pain, many wounded by shrapnel. They were fleeing back to the hills, as quickly as they could, too panicked to try and attack me or my companion.

  I lay on the ground for some time, trying to recover from the intense pain of my injuries. I had not counted on the explosion being so loud, otherwise I would have put something in my ears. Ears! Was Molen okay?

  That thought was enough to get me standing up, despite the pain wracking my lower back. “Molen!” I shouted. “Are you alive?”

  “Yes, I’m unscathed,” Molen said, emerging from the smoke. He wore a great grin on his face and pointed behind me. “But I can’t say the same for their golems.”

  I turned slowly, trying to stave off the agonizing pain rippling through my side. The golems had been decimated by the wheelbarrow explosion. Chunks of stone, shattered mana crystals and even constructed limbs littered the ground surrounding us. Only one golem was still standing, but its torso had been blown out completely, leaving a large hole in the center. Golems might be tough, but an uncontrolled effernum explosion at that range would easily break them to pieces. Hmmm, I wonder if I could make some kind of effernum bomb for my mazes?

 
; Unfortunately, that was my last thought before the pain spread throughout my back even more, causing everything around me to go black in an instant.

  Chapter 7

  The world slowly faded back into vision for me. Minute by minute, I began to become aware of my senses, one at a time. First the smell of dandelions and lilac roused me, then the feel of pulsing within my flesh caused me to open one eye. I was in a medical facility of some kind, lying on a long wooden table. The bottom half of my shirt had been cut open and to my surprise, a large purple crystal was sticking out of my skin.

  Panic overtook me, at least until reason returned and I realized that this was a healing crystal, meant to repair the damage that the explosion had caused to my trunk. Moving was painful, but I managed to sit up to examine my stomach. There was quite a bit of blood soaking through the bandage wrapped tightly around my left side, but I wasn’t feeling too bad. If anything, the pulsing from the crystal seemed to be easing my agony.

  “You’re finally awake,” said a woman’s voice from behind. I slowly turned to see a tall elven woman, wearing a white doctor’s coat and a pair of thin spectacles that barely covered her eyes. They were gold-rimmed glasses and the way they sparkled in the light, I assumed it was real gold and not just gilding. “I was starting to worry.”

  “I feel stable,” I said, touching my wound. At once, pain surged through my lower half and I was forced to retract my hand. Stable but sensitive, it would seem. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “Don’t thank me just yet, Blake,” the woman replied as she approached me and knelt down to apply a salve to my injury. “You have a great deal of explaining to do.”

  I tried not to writhe as she pressed some foul-smelling green liquid against my bandages. This was no compound I was familiar with, but it seemed to be botanical in nature. “My name is Richard, Blake is my—”