The Grand Game 472: A Decisive Turn (Patreon)

Malikor and his Riders had not stood idly by while the enemy ran amok with their spells, of course. 

But the castings of lower-ranked Riders were less… effective than those of the Blade elites. And unfortunately for the Riders, they had only one elite in their own ranks—Malikor himself.

Mammon’s Sworn did his best to restore the balance, but he fell far short. 

Malikor has cast demonic fury, doubling the damage dealt by all allies in a 150-yard radius.

Malikor has cast chained-to-combat, revealing all hostiles in a 100-yard radius and preventing them from retreating or hiding.

Admittedly, I felt a moment of trepidation as the paladin’s spell washed over me, but my void armor was equal to the task of repelling it.

You have passed a magical resistance check! 

Malikor has failed to reveal you! 

Malikor has failed to afflict you with the debuff, no-retreat.

The Blades themselves were not as fortunate, and nearly all seven hundred of them—and their accompanying images—were revealed. This did not daunt Tyelin and the others, though. The odds were firmly in their favor now, after all.

“Attack!” Auris yelled.

“Kill them all!” Bern shrieked.

The rooms devolved into chaos as the Blades and Riders threw themselves against each other. 

“Time for me to go?” Ghost asked.

“Almost,” I replied, unable to tear my gaze away from Haiken and Tyelin. 

The pair and their images had engaged Malikor. Tyelin was even faster than Haiken, and although the envoy had been stripped of his stealth, his eight copies made it almost impossible for the paladin to strike the real Tyelin.

Malikor fought alone—his remaining guard already having been cut down by Haiken and Tyelin—but despite this, he was doing surprisingly well. Trusting his armor to turn away the Blades’ attacks—which it mostly did—he fought offensively. 

There was no blocking the paladin’s massive broadsword either. Each time a Haiken or Tyelin failed to dodge, they were brutally chopped down. But it was anyone’s guess as to who was actually winning.

Turning away, I studied the room at large. The rest of the Blades were faring much better. Dozens of Riders were down already, and those that remained all looked hard-pressed.  

The Blades have this, I surmised. It was a view that was only further reinforced when a Game alert unfurled in my mind. 

Control of sector 75,172 is being contested!

The current owner’s defensive strength around the safe zone has dropped to below 1,000, leaving it vulnerable to takeover by a rival faction. The Devil Riders have 1 hour to reinforce the safe zone’s defenses, failing which the sector will revert to unclaimed. 

To claim sector 75,172 on behalf of the Forerunners, fortify the safe zone with 1,000 or more of your faction’s soldiers. Note, your occupying force must remain in place for a minimum of 1 day before ownership can transfer to you. 

A smile slipped onto my face. The Adjudicator’s message was… illuminating, and I didn’t fail to register its implications.

One hour from now, nothing would stop me from using my aetherstone bracelet—assuming, of course, the Blades’ fortune didn’t change, and they maintained control of the battle.

Theoretically, I could also force the sector to stay unclaimed. 

However doing so would require me killing a large swathe of both Blades and Riders. And even if I managed that, eight hours from now most would only be reborn once more—requiring me to repeat the difficult feat again. 

And again. And again. Theoretically possible, but practically… not so much.

Then, too, there was the matter of my new task, the tenets of Wolf. I’d already resolved how to go about it. Tyelin’s betrayal would not go unpunished. 

But my response would be measured. 

And killing every Blade in the room was hardly that. It would only earn me Blythe’s enmity—and another enemy I didn’t need. 

But if I let the Power claim the sector while still punishing her subjects… that was a justifiable compromise, and I could only hope Blythe saw it that way too.

Yes, I thought. This sector is best left to the Blades. 

Closing down the Game message, I began sliding along the wall at my back. “Alright, Ghost. Let’s get you on your way.”

✵ ✵ ✵

It took me almost a minute to work my way around the room to the north entrance. I managed the task successfully though, and none of the players locked in combat noticed my invisible presence.

Peering through the doorway, I confirmed what my mindsight was telling me. The corridor was empty.

“It’s clear,” I informed Ghost. “Go.”

Ghost has taken the form of a level 224 stygian pyre wolf.

The pyre wolf wasted no time in manifesting. Emerging unseen from coils of darkness, she bolted up the empty corridor and into the fort above. 

“Be careful,” I couldn’t help calling after her. 

“Always, Prime,” she replied in an amused tone before disappearing from sight.

Alone once more, I spun about to face the room. 

Aided by Bern’s traps and Lune’s dispelling spell, the Blades had slain fully a third of the Riders in the opening seconds of the battle. But since then, the tide of slaughter had waned, and the survivors had rallied.

Somewhat, anyway. 

The Riders had restored their defenses and recast their buffs and were no longer easy targets. But their morale remained shattered, and while most still fought on, they did so in a lackluster fashion.

Malikor himself remained the only true obstacle to a Blade victory. 

Propped up by his rage, the Sworn fought on with a viciousness that was unrelenting, and despite everything Tyelin and Haiken were throwing at him, he appeared in no danger of falling soon.

Yet he would fall. That much was inevitable.

Especially once the Auris, Lune, and Bern joined in. The trio were presently stalking the chamber, aiding the other Blades with their kills, but soon, I expected they would turn their attention to Malikor.

For a moment, I was tempted to take a hand in the fight myself, but I held myself in check. The time to strike would come soon enough. For now, I had to remain a spectator. 

Crouching down small, I renewed my buffs and kept silent watch on the battle while I waited on Ghost’s return.

✵ ✵ ✵

“We have a problem.”

For a split-second I nearly responded before realizing that the mindvoice disturbing my vigil was not Ghost’s. It was a voice I didn’t recognize, and it was coming from the farspeaker bracelet on my left wrist.

Frowning, I scanned the storeroom, trying to identify the speaker. Who is—

“Tell me,” Tyelin ordered tersely, even as he ducked and weaved around Malikor.

“The patrols are on the way back.”

Patrols?

“Which ones?” the envoy demanded.

“There’s no way to tell, but at a guess, I’d say all of them,” the unknown player responded grimly. “Malikor must’ve issued the recall order the moment the communication lockdown was lifted.”

They were discussing the river patrols, I realized. The unknown speaker was a scout, one Tyelin apparently had the foresight to post outside the fort.

“Damnit,” Tyelin cursed. “How long do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes before the squads I’m watching land,” the scout replied solemnly. “As for the rest, who knows?”

“Auris, you heard that?” Tyelin asked.

“I did.”

“We can’t afford to drag this out any longer. I’ve deactivated the traps in the secret tunnel. Open the trapdoor.”

A pause. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, it’s time to commit the reserves,” Tyelin replied curtly. “We have to finish this now. Bern, Lune, to me, quick as you can. We must kill Malikor before the patrols arrive,” he finished grimly.

Tyelin was right, of course. The Blades had to kill Malikor—and fast. 

Given everything I’d overheard and seen of the Riders, I was fairly certain they had more than one thousand players out on patrol—and the same number of hellbats, too. Then, there was Zultan and Leafbright to consider as well. 

Once the Riders’ elites returned, the Blades would definitely lose any advantage they’d managed to retain thus far. Tyelin’s only hope for securing a victory was to kill Malikor and as many other Riders as he could before the incoming players reinforced them.

But what were the ‘reserves’ he’d spoken of? And how would they factor into the equation?

“Alright, boss. I’m on it,” Auris said, darting across the room in the direction of the trapdoor while Lune and Bern cut straight for the center of the room and the epic fight raging there. “I’ll have it open in a—”

An explosion rocked the room.

Auris has died.

My head whipped around to the right, my gaze not going to the messy remains of the former Blade elite but to the shimmering curtain of white that had appeared not far off from her. 

A portal had been opened.

And standing before it was Zultan.

The first Rider elite had arrived.

✵ ✵ ✵

In hindsight, I realized it was glaringly obvious that the Rider elites would teleport in. Of course, the pair would come by the fastest means possible once Malikor contacted them. And not just them, every Rider patrol with a mage capable of opening a portal would do likewise.

And indeed, all around the storeroom, more portals were opening.

That I had not predicted such, was perhaps excusable. It was not my battleplan controlling things, after all. But why had Tyelin not foreseen this? Why had he not guarded against this eventuality?

I had half a mind to ask him, but before I could do, his voice hissed through the farspeaker bracelet again. “Hells, Lune, why is your disruption field not up?” the envoy growled.

“You said to join you—” the elite began.

“Hells,” Tyelin swore, cutting him off. “Just get it up. And quick!” 

“Working on it,” the spellblade bit back.

More Riders stepped out of Zultan’s portal, an entire squad’s worth and their hellbats. They did not immediately move to attack, though. Instead, spreading out, they formed a defensive cordon around the Rider elite—who was chanting furiously.

That can’t bode anything good. 

Drumming my fingers along the hilt of my sheathed blades, I wondered if I should intervene, but before I could decide how to act, another familiar voice tore my attention away. 

On the other side of the room, standing in front of yet another open portal, was Leafbright. And she, too, was chanting. 

Both Rider elites had joined the battle.

Yikes.

“Lune!” Tyelin rasped, sounding half-strangled with frustration. 

“Almost there,” the elite replied. “Another five seconds and I’ll be—” 

Lune has imploded.

I lowered my head into my hands. The battle had turned in the Riders favor—decisively, I thought. 

And from the stunned quality of the silence emanating from the farspeaker link, I suspected the surviving Blade commanders thought so too.

✵ ✵ ✵

“I’ve found Jone.”

Given the unnerving happenings of the last few seconds, it took a moment for the sense of Ghost’s words to penetrate. 

“You have?” I asked, straightening. “Where is he?”

“On the ground floor,” she replied. “In what looks to be the fort’s kitchens.”

The kitchens, I mused, locating it on the mental map I had of the fort. That’s not too far.

“Do you want me to stay and keep an eye on him?” Ghost prompted, no doubt sensing some of the chaos in the storeroom through our familiar bond. “Or should I return to you?

I inhaled deeply, considering and discarding a variety of options. 

“Return here,” I said finally. “We have work to do.”