Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

see Ash listening attentively to the lights resting on his shoulder. The green sphere, which had acquired several appendages, looked like a pot-bellied man telling a story to an old friend. The forest fairies couldn’t abandon their “lost brother” (as they called the forest). They couldn’t leave that which had long since died, trapped by the blackest kind of magic.

“He’s here,” the fairy whispered, tugging on the boy’s scarf. “The great horror is at hand! Helmer is on your trail!”

The light blinked and faded away, mingling with the others. Ash removed the staff from his ear as he felt his heart skip a beat.

Chapter 34

27th day of the month of Tamir, 318. A.D., Kingdom of Arabist, somewhere in the forest

H undreds of fires turned the dark evening into a summer twilight. Myristal shone brightly in the night sky, rivaling in its brilliance with Irmaril. Among the trees and the gray, mended tents, one could hear fervent laughter, the quivering strings of cheap lutes, the beating of old, thinned-out drums, shouts, hums, clinking of metal, and the splashing of cheap booze.

The Seventh Legion was celebrating its last night under the same banner. Tomorrow, the general and the lieutenant would go to the capital for orders, and the soldiers, having received a good pension, would retire and finally return to normal life. The invincible army, of which only one thousand one hundred and thirty-seven men remained, although disbanded, would forever be remembered.

Ash, sitting by the fire with the rest of the officers, rubbed his chest. Something had been stirring there for a while, something he didn’t understand. A smile stretched his lips. Never before had he heard such genuine and merry laughter. In honor of their service, each prisoner was released, given one gold coin, and a skin of water. He didn’t understand why he had decided to do that, but everyone supported him, so he didn’t think about it twice.

“So, Vaha…” Racker nudged one of the officers, a tall, young man with a lot of scars on his face. A former thief, now the captain of a group of hundred. “What are your plans for the future?”

“Well,” the young man muttered, looking at the fire, “I was thinking of opening a tavern somewhere near the Seven Seas. Smugglers always need safe houses, so I thought…”

The officers burst out laughing. Vaha had always had a keen eye for business. He’d be able to sell sand to a nomad if he so wished.

“I thought about going north,” Ergbek joined the conversation, clutching his huge ax. “Nords will begin their campaigns soon. I’ll go to them as a mercenary. My guys are also thinking about it.”

“A band of mercenaries, huh?” Racker asked. He took a bite of his rabbit and washed it down with some booze.

“It’s an idea.” Ergbek nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep a spot open for you, lieutenant. If you ever go north…”

“Nah! Too cold for me!” Racker laughed. “And I’ve heard that Northern women have thicker beards than their husbands and sons.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, lieutenant!” Raylan and his group of archers laughed. “You’re thinking of dwarves! The Northern women, ah… Waists as wide as your arm, skin as white as the first snow, cheeks red as the dawn, and―”

“―and hands so skilled in combat that they’d wipe the floor with you before you could even begin to court them!” sneered Skosi, the cavalry leader. He was a young lad, even younger than the general himself.

“So, what are your plans?” Vaha asked, narrowing his eyes.

Skosi hesitated to answer at first, but then he shrugged off his shyness.

“I’ll get married and raise horses.”

There was a moment of silence and then the crowd roared with laughter. It was both difficult and funny to imagine someone like him getting married. No woman in the thirteen kingdoms would marry such a thug and a marauder.

“And you, general?” Erbgek asked. “What are your plans?”

Ash looked up from the dancing flames. What did he want to do? He didn’t know. Ultimately, he’d do what the king told him to do. All he could do was hope that Garangan wouldn’t tell him to continue studying. By the Gods, he hated studying.

“I…”

“The general,” Racker interrupted, “will busy himself with exploring the deepest depths of magic, in order to one day steal the Archmage’s cap.”

Ash rolled his eyes and the officers laughed. By now, everyone probably knew how much he hated anything related to studying or training.

The fun continued until late at night, but after Myristal began to lean toward the west, there wasn’t a single person left in the camp that could stand on their feet without leaning against a tree or a friend.

Ash, hardened by drinking strong rum, looked suspiciously at the translucent liquid in his mug. In his opinion, the booze was far too watery and weak, so why he was so dizzy? Why did his eyelids feel like steel curtains and why was there a fog enveloping everything?

He tried to get up but instead fell face-first to the ground. The last thing he saw was Racker smirking, swinging an empty vial in his hand. Ash glanced at the empty barrels and instantly understood – they had been given a sleeping potion.

***

Ash awoke abruptly. His eyes shot wide open and his hand immediately reached for the staff, but found nothing except cold air. The king’s gift hadn’t been able to survive the siege of Zadastra, leaving its master defenseless.

“What the hell is this?” he croaked.

During his slumber, the forest had been turned into a nightmare, created by the imagination of a frightened boy huddled at the hem of his mother’s skirt. A bloody bacchanalia, an orgy of mad demons – those were just some of the comparisons that surfaced in his mind.

He was sitting in the midst of a forest fire, watching