Alpha Zero (Alpha LitRPG Book 1) by Arthur Stone (top 5 books to read TXT) 📕

Despite the generous absurdity of the scene, I still couldn’t process the thought that these twelve figures, shrouded in black from head to toe, had died while upright yet somehow remained standing. The narrow eye-slits in their masks were barely visible in the dark. I thought I could see their inhuman eyes flash sporadically with a ruby light, though that could easily be just my horrified imagination.

I needed neither trial nor jury to surmise that they were, in fact, the killers. Not only were there simply no other candidates present in the yard, there wasn’t a troop for miles that could rival these guys in killing efficiency.

These weren’t brigands that would turn up in our lands from time to time. A proper warrior would deem it beneath himself to eke out a living with petty crimes in destitute lands. Only the worst kind of riffraff would resort to such iniquities—the kind that couldn’t twist the head off a baby chic without rousing the whole neighborhood.

Our people, in contrast, had been sleeping peacefully. Or, at the very least, had been in a peaceful enough state at the moment of death that not a sound was made.

Which meant that these black figures were dangerous. And the fact that Camai didn’t attack them straight away only cemented that assessment. Fighting off a crowd would be easier here, on the terrace. If I were him, I wouldn’t have even left the house, which offered the best protection under the circumstances.

As I was reflecting on these thoughts, Camai began to act. Only he acted with the kind of foolishness I would expect of night guard Dumonuro driven to imbecilic bliss after imbibing too much at a rye moonshine tasting party. And mother was ready to match his folly. The two descended from the terrace, calm and surefooted, and started toward the row of killers. But rather than immediately surround and pounce on the reckless couple as they approached, the figures in black dispersed with the swiftness and plasticity of professional dance instructors.

In the span of three seconds the faceless figures lined up in two rows, forming a wide corridor. On the one end stood Camai and Treya, still at last; on the other end stood hell knows what. Another black figure, its head uncovered by the local combat variety of motorcycle helmet. That didn’t make the figure any lighter, however, as the man’s wavy, luxurious hair was raven-black, matched by an equally black, neatly trimmed beard.

My body must have been compensating for my useless legs with eagle-like eyesight to be able to make out such details on a moonless night.

Blackbeard spoke in a plummy, slightly condescending voice. “Greetings, Mistress Treya of the Crow Clan. And Camai, the Crow Clan’s last warrior of the first circle.”

I couldn’t be sure whether I’d recognize the man if I saw him unshaved, but if ever I heard that voice again, I’d know it was him in an instant. He spoke like a professional actor out of a romcom. Definitely a noble, no doubt about it. The upper crust of the local feudal realm adhered to their own codes of conduct, the highest among them being the call to maintain a bombastic manner in all situations. Especially in conversation. Even a friendly chat with a loved one was almost certain to include phrases pulled right out of a B movie villain’s final speech. The kind in which the villain stands in front of a bound and helpless hero, then proceeds to gloat and call him a loser instead of slitting his throat—all the while the hero listens intently while cutting through his bonds with a nail file he had judiciously stashed away beforehand or otherwise procured in an adequately heroic fashion.

And this particular stranger was bombastic enough for three. No commoner spoke this way, even when trying to mimic gentry.

Resting on her bladed pole nonchalantly, mother replied in an icy tone.

“And greetings to you, Master Pence, exile of House Folle who has sided with the Faceless Shadows. I’m surprised that you’ve deigned to pay us a personal visit.”

Even an ignorant observer would pick up the fact that Treya knew this... guest. Whereas I nearly gasped at the implications of not only what she said, but how she said it.

Above all else, this wasn’t how you talked to a noble. Though it couldn’t be construed as an outright insult, neither would it be deemed good manners. Besides, this man or his followers were responsible for killing our subjects. And if the flames breaking out from the direction of the windmill were any indication, our losses wouldn’t end there.

The upshot was that mother’s disparaging reply was addressed to an enemy. And this enemy was devilishly powerful, as evidenced by the begrudging manner with which she had forced out the word “master.”

“Master” was no joke. Camai wasn’t a master. He wouldn’t even make apprentice, to use Earthly terminology. He was a damn fine fighter for the impoverished northern region, but a big fat nobody in the south.

All this meant that mother and Camai were facing a figure of very considerable power. I shuddered to imagine the degree of enlightenment this monster had attained. It couldn’t be less than thirty-five, and that was a scary thought. Assuming he wasn’t omega—which was a safe assumption—Camai wouldn’t stand a chance against him, let alone my mother.

Though she never publicly disclosed her degree, I was clever and perceptive enough to be certain that it wasn’t higher than twenty-five. As befitting most nobles, she was probably full alpha for at least the first degrees, back when life was good, and no lower than beta for the higher ones, completed somehow or other while battling life’s adversities. She may well be a match for Camai, but against a true master? Not likely.

And said master wasn’t even alone, but accompanied by a crowd of clearly hostile individuals. I couldn’t begin to