Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) by Keith Ahrens (interesting novels to read .TXT) 📕

"You will continue to battle until you've won the square or until your squad is killed to the last man. Otherwise, you will remain in your designated area, waiting to be called to fight again. This will continue until one side cedes defeat, and a victor is declared.” He pauses once more, scanning the crowd anew. For the first time, a glimmer of humor, or perhaps zealotry, is clear on his face.

“Fear not, slave warriors, your deaths will not be in vain. Each soul released on this field of battle will be absorbed by the Aether and added to Under the Hill’s source of magic, deepening its pool and making our Fief and our Lord Dullahan stronger. In this way, you mortals may, in fact, live forever. This is a chance for your insignificant lives to achieve immortality!”

Dead silence answers his speech. I don't know if he thought the last part would cheer us up or give us hope, but damn, was he mistaken. Read the room, man.

I glance around me at a sea of grim and angry faces. A few have looks of despair or resignation. I can relate to all these emotions; I feel them happening to me all at once. But the overriding feeling is just anger. Plain, unadulterated anger.

It seems to occur to the elf that his speech is not going well. He finally discerns the crowd and doesn't like what he sees. He clears his throat and continues, “The second and third ranks will be issued 'Simuli Uti' just before the battle. Each will have a single use of a large fireball spell and a healing spell. It will be up to your discretion when to use these gifts. You will simply need to point it at your target and say 'Fire.'

"And lastly, a final warning. We will deal with any thoughts or actions of mutiny or uprising severely and without further warning. You will not be able to harm your Lords or your betters with magic or with your steel, and you can easily be cut down where you stand, like wheat in a field. That is all! Be prepared to assemble before first light on the morrow. Dismissed!”

He closes his visor as he reseats himself in his saddle. Shouting a loud order in Elvish, he whirls his steed about. The rest of the knights follow suit, galloping back across the field in a 'V' formation once again. They thin to a single line as they pass through the gates, the sounds of hoofbeats fading into the distance.

The horn blows again, but this time it’s the sound that signals the end of the practice day. I guess we get a day of rest before we get to fight to the death. Yay.

We all begin to make our way back to the arming rooms. From the west, I notice heavy, black storm clouds beginning to drift rapidly in. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Everyone starts to move a little quicker to the tunnel entrance. The lightning attack is still fresh in my mind. And probably most of ours.

“This feels like a natural storm, folks, no worries,” Des answers to our unspoken fear.

“Not entirely natural, but 'tis going be a nasty one at that.” We are surprised when Thorn falls into step with our group. “It seems the Terrestris Laminis is aware that you all are being given Globus Ignis spells. The heavy rains will lessen their effect. This storm has blown in from their direction instead of where it should have originated.”

“Great. There goes our slight advantage. I'm guessing they're gonna have something that works well with water or mud, then,” I say.

“Hmm, maybe ice spells or some kind of earth spell involving mud, possibly?” Des offers.

“Thorn, not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you here?” asks Haynes, changing the subject.

She smiles through her veil, her eyes seem to glow a little brighter. “Grá2, I need to make sure all of my charges are in fighting shape.” She lowers her voice and leans into Haynes, speaking softly, “And I wanted... needed to see you, just in case things don't turn out well tomorrow. There is so much left to chance and so much more that could go wrong.”

“And nothing we can do to change any of it at this point. We planned as much as we were able and trained as hard as we could. It’s all up to fate, luck, and your friend’s scheme now. Any further news on that front?”

“Yes, but not out here. I will meet you all in your cell. I have other coteries to go to as well, but spread the word—look to the eastern wall for the sign to act; the time will be apparent.” She squeezes his hand and moves off into the crowd.

The tunnels are damper than usual when we get out of the rain that had already begun to fall on us. Rivulets of water are forming and running down the grade toward the cells, making the footing a little slippery.

We split up into the crowd, sharing what little info we have, apprising anyone and everyone wearing a visible blade of grass. Of course, this just leads to more questions, none of which we are able to answer. I tell them more details are coming, though I don't know when. This doesn't satisfy anyone, least of all, me.

Personally, I'm beginning to hate this entire plan even more. The less organization, the more likely this is gonna go bad for all of us. 'Look to the east’? What kind of cryptic crap is that? Like there's just gonna be a line of taxis idling outside the gate and waiting to take us home? Are we just supposed to stroll out of the yard during the battle and jump on some bus? Tomorrow should be interesting, to say the least.

The hallway to the arming rooms is more crowded than usual when we get there. Not everyone here has