The 'Extra' Lord - A Plundering Kingdom Building LitRPG

Four days had passed and nerves were pulled taut. Many had died. Many had turned back to the office. Jock was one of them. Owen had tried to convince him to stay, to argue that his family could be out there. But he wouldn't listen. His mind was slipping, and Owen couldn't even blame him; he felt it, too.

Now, only Caroline, Callan, Louis, and Hassan remained. They were ever closer to the station now. Along the way, with every day that passed, Owen found himself questioning his decision of avoiding all the other subway stops.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that it was the only way. On the second day, they met another survivor group. They were aiming for the tunnels. Hassan had convinced them to let him, and the others know if it was safe by coming up to the surface in 20 minutes. Four hours passed when Owen gave the call to keep going.

It took everything in him to make that decision, to not go in and see if they needed help. But the death of Frank was clear in his mind. It followed him everywhere he went. Although Jim’s death had affected him, it was nothing like this.

Frank had died because of his words. Because Owen had directly told Frank to go where he wanted. That feeling of having someone brutally killed because of his decision was difficult to describe.

On the first night, the hive unleashed the warriors. They awakened to find cars destroyed and toppled over, buildings ravaged, and the streets turned almost lifeless. Everyone was either deep in hiding, or dead.

Later that day, they fought a warrior. Three of them died taking it down. It was a massive loss, and the others wondered if they were making a mistake. That Chris was right, and that they should have stayed in the office and defended it with everything they had.

Two of them returned that day. Owen didn’t blame them. He couldn’t. If it wasn’t for Caroline, Louis, and Callan pulling him along with their expectant gazes, the hope that Owen would guide them to safety in hopes of seeing their family, he’d have given up on the first day.

After that, Owen realised that trusting his knowledge based solely on the book was an idea. On the 3rd day, he had made a crucial mistake. He turned on the wrong street and walked straight into two scouts. Callan was injured as a result.

His memory wasn’t flawless. The events he’d read about had taken place nearly two years ago—two whole years since he’d skimmed the beginning of the story. Details were hazy, and now, with the story blending into real life, there were no street names or landmarks to rely on. Owen navigated the city using only the faint recollection of the path he needed to follow, not by specific street corners, but by a general sense of direction.

Owen had also found four Lord Shards, one for each of them.

His mind, stricken with fear of loss, changed on the fourth day. Three days spent ignoring the lives of others took a greater toll than he could handle for much longer. He felt it deep within his core; his humanity was slipping. It was a realisation that frightened him more than seeing Frank die. It was the realisation that he was giving up.

It might have been stupid, and it probably was. If he wanted to survive above all else, then he’d have forgotten that boy hiding in the darkness, crying for help. But what was the point of survival if one turned into a monster?

***

Passing by a building, he heard a cry come from a nearby building. A convenience store. If it was any other day, he’d have ignored it. They were so close to safety. It was just around the corner. But Owen couldn’t refuse the call any longer. It nibbled and ate away at his thoughts until nothing but the need to help another was brought to the forefront.

Owen grit his teeth and stepped onto the broken glass that led into the small shop. Owen knew some like it. It was family run. It reminded him of the corner shop he used to visit before school every morning. He even remembered his order; a one pound sweet mixture and a packet of pokemon cards if he earned enough cutting the neighbours grass.

Louis pulled him back. “Owen, what are you thinking? We’re almost there. It’s just around the corner,” He said, desperately pointing at the sign noting the west station.

“I can't ignore the pleas for help anymore,” Owen said, eyes turning glassy. He looked at Caroline and she nodded with eyes that reflected his own. Maybe as a paramedic, it was eating at her more than himself, more than he knew. To her, a relief flashed over her being. She stepped up alongside him.

“Caroline,” Louis whispered frantically. “Your sister could be there. This is insane. We’ve lost everyone else. We can’t afford a fight with another warrior.”

Louis was right. They most likely wouldn’t win against a warrior with how they were right now, riddled with wounds and marred with exhaustion. Callan joined them. “I’m with you.”

“Shit,” Louis spat. He spun to Hassan. “What about you?”

“I’m not throwing my life away for a random person,” Hassan said. “I thought we had come to an agreement.”

The cry, almost a whimper, came from deeper in the shop again.

“Then this is where we part then,” Owen said. “The station is right round the corner. They’ll take you in.”

Hassan nodded. “You might not believe it yourself,” he said, turning around and talking over his shoulder. “But you’re a good leader. Until now, anyway.”

Owen ignored the comment, but nodded.

“Stay safe,” he said, then left.

“You too, Hassan.” Then he turned to his friend. “Louis?” he asked.

“Ah,” he replied quietly, nudging his arm and standing next to him. “I’m with you, obviously. Who’s going to keep you on a leash otherwise?”

Owen smiled and carefully crept into the shop, their figures reflecting against the fridges lining the wall. Owen’s shirt was tattered and barely covered his frame. Fresh wounds and cuts still healing were etched into his flesh. He was dirty, he stank something rotten, and deep bags under his eyes told the tale of the previous days more than any words could.

He stalked forward, the cries of a child grew louder as they neared. Entering the back office, a small kid, maybe 11 years old, was stuck to the wall, mouth barely covered by black goo. He was almost cocooned in the same black gunk that was peeling from his mouth.

Owen rushed forwards and tore him down with the altered chair leg he Callan had improved upon. It was now like a small sword. It was stronger, and the Iron Fortress had reinforced it with concentrated metal. It was now no different to a high quality blade. It was another reason they had made it as far as they did.

To think that Callan fought his way through the subway all on his own towards the station… Owen found it hard to believe, if he hadn’t read about it.

The child fell in Owen’s arms. He was weak and skinny. He had barely had anything to eat for days, most likely. Owen quickly gave him food to eat, and water to drink—not too much to make him sick—just enough to satiate the boy.

A sudden, low growl rumbled through the office. Owen’s body went rigid. He carefully set the boy down and gripped the makeshift blade tightly. From the shadows, a Dreadclaw warrior stepped into view, towering over them. Its muscular form was coated in dark, chitinous armour, its red eyes glowing with malice.

It was using the child as a lure. Owen didn’t remember that.

The Dreadclaw lunged at them with terrifying speed.

Owen barely had time to react, swinging his blade just in time to parry the creature's first strike. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through his arms, and he was thrown off balance, his back slamming into the wall behind him. His teeth clenched in pain, but he quickly retaliated, slashing at the Dreadclaw’s torso. The blade hit with a metallic twang, carving a shallow groove in its armour—not deep enough to hit flesh.

He didn’t have the strength to finish it. But Louis and the others did.

“Louis!” Owen shouted, his voice filled with desperation.

Louis burst through the door, wielding a makeshift spear. With a fierce battle cry, he charged the Dreadclaw, aiming for its chest. The warrior deflected the attack with a vicious swipe, but Louis had created the opening Caroline needed.

Caroline darted in, slashing at the creature’s exposed leg. It howled, dropping to one knee. Callan seized the moment. With a determined yell, he raised his blade and plunged it deep into the Dreadclaw’s neck. Black ichor sprayed from the wound as the creature screeched in agony.

But the beast wasn’t done. With a savage sweep of its claw, it sent Callan flying across the room, crashing into a shelf with a bone-rattling thud.

They fought in unison, desperate to take down the monster, but it was too strong. Even Louis, Callan, and Caroline—each with over 25 points in strength—couldn’t inflict more than minor wounds.

Louis charged again, slamming his shoulder into the Dreadclaw, sending both of them tumbling over debris. “Get the boy out of here!” he bellowed, grappling with the beast. But the Dreadclaw’s claw plunged into his thigh, ripping a scream from Louis’s throat.

“Take the boy and run to the station!” Owen shouted, shoving the child into Caroline’s arms.

“But—”

“Now!” Owen roared, charging to Louis’s aid. He drove his blade into a weak spot in the Dreadclaw’s armour. The beast rose, dragging Owen with it as he clung to his weapon. With a mighty swing, the Dreadclaw slammed its back—and Owen—into the wall. Owen felt his ribs crack, pain shooting through his body. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched his blade free and drove it into another gap in the monster’s chitin.

The world blurred as something struck Owen’s head. Dazed, his vision swam, and he struggled to keep his balance. Stars filled his vision, but he kept swinging, desperate to bring the monster down. He had no sense of time, or his surroundings.

He heard Louis scream in pain, Callan roar in fury, and then—a deafening crack like thunder.

Owen blinked through the haze, vision blurry but clear enough to see at least six soldiers storm into the room, rifles raised. They swarmed the still-moving Dreadclaw and unleashed a barrage of bullets, firing until the beast’s body stilled, lifeless.

Caroline, Hassan, and the soldiers had finally arrived.