Grand Game 365: Court of the Dead (Patreon)

Day Twenty-Seven in Draven’s Reach

It took me two days to reach the southeastern corner of the dungeon, and by the time I did, I had five more stygian seeds stored in my bag. In the process, I killed hundreds of stygians—which advanced my skills greatly and gained me a few levels too.

You have reached level 190!

Your Mind has increased to rank 100 and your Dexterity to rank 59.

Your telepathy and meditation have reached rank 20.

Your sneaking and channeling have reached rank 18.

Your shortswords has reached rank 17.

Your dodging and chi have reached rank 16.

Your light armor and two weapon fighting have reached rank 15.

Unfortunately, I ran across no opportunities to train my void Class resistances and only managed to maximize two other skills. Still, I was pleased with my overall progress.

All my core fighting skills were at tier four or higher. Most importantly, my telepathy—which I had worked on improving with almost single-minded determination—had reached tier five. It would play a significant role in the forthcoming battles, I expected.

The harbinger had turned up at every one of my forays into the fog banks but had only bothered landing twice more. Wary of a repeat ambush like the one I had fallen victim to the first time, I made sure to vary my path and leave some of the seeds along my route untouched.

In the end, I reached my destination without mishap.

✵ ✵ ✵

Waking up on the morning of my twenty-seventh day in the dungeon, I emerged from the cave in which I had rested overnight and peered southwards. An elegant compound sat there, a mile away from me and backed up right against the dungeon’s rim.

It was the archlich’s complex. The so-called Court of the Dead.

There were no walls, towers, or parapets. The possessed had little need for such. There was a fence, though. Only three feet high, its primary purpose appeared to be demarcating the boundaries of the court. Skipping over would be laughably easy, but I was not about to do that. According to Adriel, a tier five ward circled the entire compound.

My gaze drifted to the iron wrought gate at the main entrance. That would be my entry point. Removing my scabbards, I extracted a blue robe from my backpack—another gift from Adriel—and donned it over my leather armor.

Many of the possessed in the court were not mages, and they even usually went about without robes. But Adriel had assured me that newcomers to the court were typically seen wearing the New Haven mages guild garb and I would go unremarked in it. The guards at the gate would still be suspicious, but they should already have been dealt with.

Taking out another bag from my backpack—an oversized mage’s satchel—I shoved my backpack and swords inside, then slung it over my shoulder. I had only one final preparation to make. Closing my eyes, I drew on my stamina.

You have cast facial disguise, assuming the visage of Castor, a level 209 human. Duration: 3 hours.

This disguise shouldn’t be necessary, but there was no point taking unnecessary chances. In case everything didn’t go according to plan, at least I would have an alternative to fall back on.

Finally ready, I pulled the cowl of the robe over my head and marched across the canyon, making my way to the court’s entrance.

✵ ✵ ✵

There were six guards on duty at the gate. Judging from their many deformities, they were all possessed. Four were heavy fighters and two were rangers. All six guards had their hands on the hilts of their weapons, but none had drawn steel yet.

I had approached openly, and while the appearance of a lone stranger would have raised the gate guards’ suspicions, the blue robe I wore should have allayed their fears.

Multiple entities have failed to pierce your disguise.

“Stop right there!” a one-eyed orc growled.

Ten yards from the closest guard, I drew to a halt.

“Who are you?” the scarred elf next to him demanded.

I scanned the guards but didn’t recognize any of their faces. Damn, I cursed, wondering if the plan was falling apart already. Where was my contact? With no other choice, I improvised. Drawing back the cowl over my head, I rasped. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Castor,” one of the human fighters greeted in surprise when he caught sight of my bald head. “Aren’t you supposed to be in New Haven?”

“It’s a long story,” I coughed. “Open the gates. I need to see Loskin. He is expecting me.”

A ranger’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing out in the dungeon alone?”

You have passed a mental resistance check! A hostile entity has failed to pierce your disguise and has been fed false analyze data.

I kept my expression bland, showing no sign that I’d caught the ranger’s attempt to analyze me. “Didn’t you hear me?” I sneered in Castor’s exact tone. “The archlich wants to see me.”

Letting my gaze skip from figure to figure, I analyzed each in turn. None of the six were elites, and all were lower leveled than me. If this went pear-shaped, I knew who to attack and in what order.

“But why didn’t you use the tunnel?” the orc asked in a puzzled tone.

I opened my mouth, ready with what I hoped was a plausible lie, but before I could speak, another intervened.

“Don’t answer that!” a red bearded figure ordered, striding through the gates as if they were not there. A telekinesis ability or mage one? I wondered.

Closing my mouth, I studied the newcomer. Unlike the others, he was unscarred and, judging by his appearance, he was the one I’d been told to look out for. To be certain, I reached out and analyzed him.

The target is Regus, a level 179 human.

It is him, I thought, exhaling in silent relief. Adriel’s contacts in the court had come through. Regus swung on the orc and elf. “Did I not tell you two knuckleheads to let any visitors straight through?” he yelled in their faces.

The two shrank back from the thickset man, too fearful to even wipe the spittle spraying on their faces. “You did, but—” the orc began.

Regus leaned closer to the orc. “And did I not specifically request you not question him?”

The orc shrank even smaller, if that was possible. “You did,” he said glumly.

“Then what are you waiting for, you miserable sods?” he roared. “Let him through!”

Accelerating into motion, the six guards rushed to the gate and threw them open. “Better,” Regus growled. Throwing me an indecipherable look, he said, “Come, this way.” Not waiting for a response, he stomped through the gates.

Pulling the cowl over my head again, I followed wordlessly on his heels.

You have entered a tier 6 protection field. Only entities who have been granted access by the ward’s controllers can pass through.

On the other side, Regus paused and swung around to face the guards. “I will deal with you lot later,” he said ominously.

The elf gulped audibly, and the others appeared too afraid to speak. Satisfied they were cowed, Regus swung around and headed away with me striding along next to him.

“Hopefully that will scare them into keeping their mouths shut,” he muttered when we were far enough from the gate to not be overheard.

“Will they be a problem?” I asked.

Regus glanced at me sideways. “That was foolish.”

“Not showing them my face would have been even more suspicious.” I protested.

“Not that.” He threw me a hard look. “I meant taking Castor’s face. Whose daft idea was that? The elite is well known in the court.”

“Mine,” I growled. “Would you rather I wore Avery’s face? I don’t know any of the other possessed well enough to mimic their voices.” Although in hindsight, I suddenly recalled there was one other possessed whose visage I could have used—Davin’s. Better keep that to myself.

“Why wear anyone else’s face other than your own?” Regus retorted.

I blinked. “Wouldn’t a stranger have been more suspicious?”

“No,” he bit off angrily. “A stranger I could have explained away more easily than a damn elite who is supposed to be on the other side of the dungeon!”

“Oh.”

“Bloody deception players, always complicating things needlessly,” Regus muttered under his breath, but still loud enough that I was sure he meant me to hear.

“Well, perhaps if you had been at the gate as you were supposed to, there would’ve been no reason to show them my face!” I snapped back.

Offering no excuse in return, Regus merely grunted.

I forced down my anger. This was not the time to be picking fights with my allies. “Where are we going?” I asked in a more even tone.

“Somewhere we can talk,” the red bearded man replied, his tone less aggressive.

Refraining from saying anything else, I gave my attention to the surroundings. The compound was replete with expensive-looking villas, paved roads, and manicured hedges, and was nothing like what I expected of a lich’s lair. Obvious care and attention had gone into its design.

Only one building was multistoried—the mansion in the very center of the court. That, I knew, was Loskin’s residence. His phylactery was stored in the vault directly opposite and, from all appearances, it was the only structure that had been designed with defense in mind.

The squat stone building looked like it could withstand an all-out assault. Turning away from the buildings, I studied the passing people.

They contrasted sharply with the idyllic settings.

Nearly every person bore some form of deformity or scar. Some were missing limbs, others had open sores running down their faces or arms, and a few even looked... partially decomposed. Only a lucky few were as unsullied as my companion.

“Stop staring,” Regus said. “It’ll give you away.”

I tore my gaze away from the court’s gruesome residents to find that Regus had come to a stop outside a tidy-looking building. “Whose home is this?”

“Mine,” he replied and pushed open the door.

After I followed him inside, the big man locked the door behind me, and turning to the large ornamental statue in the foyer, pressed a hidden stud on its rear.

You have been enclosed in a ward of silence that will prevent any sound from escaping.

“Now we can talk,” Regus said with grim satisfaction. Leading me into the next room, he sat down on a large couch. “So, tell me, what is this plan that has gotten Farren and Adriel all fired up?”