Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 157 – Floor 15: Part 3

Mathew had never thought that he would choose the battlefield if he was given the choice between relaxing in a palace, with the finest foods and comforts imaginable and a combat zone.

His months in Londinium were spent avoiding the horde of young noblewomen who were determined to catch and conquer him. Every celebration, event or meeting he had attended was filled with his admirers, and Mathew was more uncomfortable than he had ever recalled being.

What made it worse was the attitude of the King, Queen and Alfred. They encouraged this behaviour, often leaving him alone in a social situation to allow them ‘privacy,’ always with a laugh or a smirk on their faces.

Mathew supposed that it was payback for the rudeness he had demonstrated when he first arrived, or maybe it was because of his flippant attitude toward the nobility and his temporary position within it.

He had thought to use Alfred as a shield or barrier against these women, redirecting their efforts toward the young prince in order to avoid dancing, parties or luncheons that he would inevitably be invited to and forced to attend by the King and Queen by a combination of guilt and incentives.

But the sickly prince was as slippery as an eel and seemed to have a sixth sense regarding danger. Every time Mathew was about to grab Alfred and hurl him into danger, he was nowhere to be found.

After attending another ball and then afternoon tea with the Queen and a select group of noblewomen all vying for his attention, Mathew learned a new, effective tactic against them.

Pit them against each other.

He immediately noticed that most of those who pushed for his notice despised each other, particularly Camille Rosen; she was the perfect foil against their attempts. Mathew would make an off comment, complimenting her while in the presence of someone else, or the opposite if required, and he would watch the eruption that ensued with amusement.

It came to a head a few weeks after New Year's when he was attending a dinner party with Alfred and a number of other young lords and ladies. It was something that couldn’t be avoided since many of those present would also be taking part in his expeditions against the Demi-Beasts in the spring.

He had been seated next to the beautiful Evelyn Toth while Camille Rosen sat across from him with an expression that alternated between the desire for him and hatred from Lady Toth. The two had been trading barbs for hours, disguising them as polite compliments that were anything but when Mathew interjected casually.

Mathew looked toward a third woman, Matilda, whom he remembered from the Christmas Ball and had met a few times since then. She seemed nice enough, although she was too obsessed with gossip and attending functions for Mathew.

“Matilda, you are looking quite lovely this evening. I look forward to seeing you again at the Rosens next week for their luncheon.” Mathew commented, and he leaned back slightly as the temperature of the room seemed to dip well below freezing.

That had saved him from hours more torture, and he had made his escape while everyone was too busy dealing with the fallout. When he took a last glance back, he half expected Evelyn and Camille to be combating.

But it wasn’t all parties, politics and polite company. Mathew spent most of his time training with his new sword. The Wrathful Blade was an incredible weapon, but it was as dangerous to everyone around him as it was to himself until he could learn to use it effectively.

Oddly, it seemed to grow even heavier as he got more comfortable swinging it around. Combined with his Blessing ‘Alter Self – Augmented Strength,’ he could control it enough that he might be able to use it in combat if his opponent weren’t agile enough to avoid his slow swings.

But it was ‘Alter Self – Iron Bones’ that was the most effective when combined with his new blade. The Wrathful Blade hurt to use, his muscles would tear, and the skin of his palms would bleed just from picking it up.

Even with Iron Bones, they would ache and creak with every movement. If he didn’t have the Blessing, Mathew doubted he would last more than a few minutes of training. He would be forced to rest and recuperate or use expensive healing potions to recover.

As it was, he could manage an hour or so before the Wrathful Blade was returned to his inventory and replaced with a lighter, more wieldy sword for his practice.

Finally, after months of inactivity stuck in Londinium, the snow cleared, and the weather warmed. It was time for the army and ‘Prince Aiden’ to travel to the Orkneys and hunt an Ancestral Beast.

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Mathew walked down the gangplank of the ship with a smile on his face and his arms held widely to the sides. The spring sun shone brightly above him, and he breathed in the warm sea air that blew up from the south.

Hundreds of ships landed on the island, offloading an army of thousands and enough supplies to see them fed and outfitted for weeks. This was one of the larger islands of the Orkneys, a heavily forested area that the Bearfolk had seized from the local humans generations ago.

After their losses against Mathew’s forces in the fall, they had retreated here to recover. They never expected the Anglicans to make landfall here and hadn’t even bothered to set scouts on the sea routes. It made it easy for the army commanders to organize their troops and set up a base of operations here.

“Only you would be excited to be away from Londinium.” Alfred commented as he walked behind him. The sickly Prince was looking healthier than ever; his skin had lost its extreme paleness, and he seemed to have filled out slightly.

Mathew laughed and nodded.

“I’d take an Ancestral Beast hunt over another party any day. Those noblewomen are vicious; I swear Evelyn Toth and Camille Rosen were going to duel.” Mathew replied. Smiling, he turned to look at Alfred.

“You can deal with that when this is all over with. You may even enjoy it, having many women clambering over you while you try to keep from tripping over your feet again.” Mathew teased, and Alfred scoffed.

“I’m a fine dancer, thank you very much.” Alfred retorted, and Daphne rolled her eyes beside him.

“You have two left feet, and you know it. But I think we have more important things to discuss than your ballroom abilities. There’s a reason we haven’t been able to liberate this island in the previous campaigns. The Bearfolk are formidable, and they still have significant reserves. We should be cautious.” Daphne advised.

“My apprentice is correct. You should not underestimate these foes.” Enalious commented as he joined them on the island’s shore. The archmagus wore thick robes and held a wooden staff that radiated mana in his hand. The focal point of its energy was a large black stone at the top that was bound to the staff with a golden wire.

“We’ll be fine. We defeated Rath; we won’t have any trouble with this one either.” Mathew replied.

“The Ancient Ogre was a challenging opponent, to be sure, but he was at a disadvantage. Rath lacked the connection to northern lands that this Ancestral Beast has developed over the decades. If Rath was in his homeland, with access to its spiritual energy, you would have found him to be much more difficult.” Enalious advised.

“But Rath had been in the north for years; I don’t understand how he could have not formed a link with it.” Alfred questioned.

“The northern lands of Alba were divided between many tribes, with their lines of control shifting and territory changing hands constantly. This island is exclusive to the Bearfolk, and has been for quite some time. No doubt the Ancestral Beast here can call upon powers that Rath lacked.” Enalious explained.

“It doesn’t matter. We don’t have a choice but to liberate this island and kill the Ancestral Beast. Regardless of what powers it has, it’s going down.” Mathew replied confidently.

It took three days for their camp to be constructed, with the trees used nearby to form a palisade with guard towers that afforded a view of the cleared lands around it. It also took that long for the Bearfolk to finally become aware of their invasion.

The first of the lumbering behemoths emerged from the trees, nearly twelve feet tall and decked out in heavy armour. Hundreds of the creatures made a line just on the edge of the trees, forming ranks and shaking the ground with their march.

The ensuing battle lasted for hours, with the Bearfolk throwing themselves against the human defenders. Well organized with a defensible position, the humans repelled them time and time again until the first wave fell, and the ground outside the camp was littered with the Bearfolk’s massive bodies.

As the fighting continued, the sky darkened with grey clouds, and an oppressive force descended on everyone present. When the last bearfolk that attacked the camp died, there was a roar in the distance that made many of those present in the camp clamp their hands over their ears to block it.

A figure emerged from the trees, leading a force of nearly a thousand. The Ancestral Beast of the Bearfolk had arrived.