“Hold up!” Drake said. “We can’t just kill Valentia.” He looked around at his stone-faced battle maids and his violently homicidal catgirl. “Can we?”
“It will be better for her,” Lydia said quietly. “Kinder. If she can’t escape.”
As Drake remembered the manacles and restraints in Lord Dickcheese’s dungeon, and the gruesomely bloody corpse of Samuel the butler beneath that sheet, he believed Lydia. Other lords must have their own torture dungeons. Lord Gloomwood wasn’t alone in that.
“Just when I thought we were out of the woods,” he muttered.
“We are still in the woods,” Sachi reminded him tartly.
“It’s an expression.”
“It is a silly one.”
Drake gave her a hard look. “Can you really find Valentia?”
Her ears twitched. “Of course I can.”
“Then go, Sachi. Rescue Valentia or ensure she does not suffer.” He still wanted that magical axe back, but an actual person had to come first.
“I was going to do that anyway.” Yet his huntress might have nodded before she once more vanished once more into the trees. How would she even find Valentia? Drake supposed she’d head to the spot of the ambush, the lakeshore beneath Skybreak Manor.
Could Sachi really track whoever had attacked Valentia and Nicole after a full day? Emily had said she could sniff things out. Maybe she had a nose like a... hunting cat.
“Hey, eyes open!” Emily demanded of Nicole. “You have to meet the new lord first! You won’t believe how crazy this one is!”
Drake rose and spoke loudly, not caring who heard. “By our sacred pact, I ask you. Open a path for us back to Gloomwood Manor. Move fast.”
As branches twisted before them, Drake looked to his battle maids. “Take her to Raylan.” That was his shaman/healer. “Don’t wait for me.”
Emily picked Nicole’s limp body up with a huff. “I’ve got her. Stay with him!” She dashed off down the freshly forming stick tunnel, not even wobbling somewhat with the full weight of her fellow battle maid and her armor. Maybe she really was an Amazon.
Lydia glanced at him with visible frustration. “Lord, please.”
She would worry endlessly if he didn’t let her watch over him. She didn’t need the additional stress. “We’ll stick together on the way back. Don’t let me slack off.”
He jogged after Emily, who was already far ahead and gaining distance. Lydia silently fell into step behind him. He did feel better with her watching his back, and it wasn’t like they could both carry Nicole. Emily was also the strongest among them, or close.
What was Skybreak Manor? Why had his maids been there? Who were the Redbow? He’d worry about all those questions once he was back at his manor. Hopefully, Nicole could answer more questions about her mission once they healed her.
If they could heal her. Lydia hadn’t sounded too optimistic about that.
They got back to the manor shortly after midnight. There were a few stressful hours where Drake didn’t dare sleep, Emily paced about feverishly, and Lydia vanished to see to all sorts of manor matters. Despite her visible worry, Lydia always took care of business.
Drake was even more glad to have her as his steward. It was incredible how she could focus on the mundane matters of running a manor full of people with so much else going on. He wouldn’t have the first clue how to do that... though he should probably start learning.
Finally, sometime shortly before sunrise, Raylan, Gloomwood Manor’s shaman, informed everyone waiting that Nicole would make it. It had been a near thing, and Raylan made everyone promise not to bother her. Nicole had slipped into a “deep sleep” that could not be interrupted if she was to live. Drake suspected it was actually a coma.
They wouldn’t know more about the ambush for days.
Being kept in the dark about whatever his other two battle maids had encountered out by Skybreak Manor was frustrating, but maybe they’d know more when Sachi returned with Valentia. If she returned with her. Drake hoped Sachi was as good as she claimed.
For her part, Raylan was another interesting manor denizen. He was a stern-looking man whom Zuri’s roster said was 32, and was also some sort of demihuman. He had legs and not a tail, thankfully, but his arms, bared midriff, and sandaled feet all bore scales.
He wore light and frilly clothing that looked designed for a tropical climate, which made no sense in this cold. At least that meant he couldn’t be cold-blooded. It also made his unusual attributes even more obvious, which might have been the reason he wore it.
Gloomwood’s shaman also had faint green scales along his cheeks and under his chin, and no hair to speak of. His bald head had what Drake could best describe as folds. Finally, whenever he spoke, Drake noticed his tongue was visibly forked.
It was almost dawn by the time he got out of his armor, bargained Emily into standing outside his master bedroom instead of in it, and realized he might finally be able to sleep. Could he? He was mentally and physically exhausted. He had to sleep sometime.
He was fine taking a night to let the dust settle on his new life. He’d nearly been tortured, murdered, and convicted of an unforgivable crime in twelve hours. He needed to recharge.
He’d been able to bluff his way through Westin’s knights easily enough, but Nicole’s fate and Valentia’s (which remained unknown) had been a wakeup call. It was so easy to die here. He couldn’t simply depend on his battle maids and others to keep him alive. He had to learn to keep himself alive and figure out if his rarity... whatever it was... could do that.
Once he was finally alone, he paced off his master bedroom and verified it was easily the size of his entire one-bedroom apartment. It had a huge four-post bed against one wall that looked big enough to sleep eight people. There were more pillows than he could ever need.
There were also a few plush couches, chairs, and fine wooden tables, which was more furniture than he knew what to do with. He had a private bathroom off the back which, fortunately, included indoor plumbing. If he had to wander off to an outhouse in the chilly woods every time he had to take a piss, he’d likely just let some asshole kill him instead.
And that big, fluffy bed looked inviting. So inviting. He didn’t even bother pulling off his hoodie and jeans, which were both sweaty from the night. It was chilly in this room.
As crappy as his day had been, he couldn’t deny parts of it had been thrilling. He’d saved a whole goddamn manor today, and that sort of success could be addictive. As addictive as winning a huge manor, freeing its slaves, and then enjoying a delicious burger and a hot bath.
He tumbled onto the big fluffy bed and confirmed it was as soft as it looked. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, after which a loud knock roused him.
No. He wanted to sleep now. Yet when he peeked his eyes open, daylight filled the room. Was it all over? Had it all been a dream?
As his eyes focused, he found the canopy of that massive four-post bed above him. The bed beneath his back was far too big and soft and grand to be his little single back in his crappy apartment. He was still stuck in fantasy murder world, but! He had a really nice bed.
The knock sounded again. It was insistent enough that Drake doubted whoever was knocking would go away. “Enter!” he called.
He doubted either Lydia or Emily would let anyone who intended to kill him into the bedroom. Also, assassins generally didn’t knock. This had to be one of his maids.
The door opened, and Emily—of course it would be Emily—strode in with a big smile. She carried a silver platter piled with grapes, cherries, and what smelled like freshly-cooked sausage. All of it smelled awesome.
Didn’t the woman ever sleep? Did they have cocaine here? If so, Emily must be mainlining the stuff. Drake had only managed to sit up before Emily plopped down on the edge of his bed and crossed her legs one over the other.
She set the platter between them. “Afternoon, lord! I brought lunch!”
Drake suppressed a yawn and rubbed his eyes, all too grateful he’d fallen asleep in his clothes last night. At least there was no awkwardness like the bath. “What time is it?”
“Just past midday, lord!”
He grimaced. “I slept past noon?”
“You needed your sleep, lord. You had a hard day yesterday!”
“So did you. What did you chug, ten Red Bulls?”
“I don’t know what that means, lord.”
That sausage smelled insanely good, and Drake’s stomach growled as it craved food. He sat up against the headboard and then reached for the platter. He found a tiny golden fork waiting, used it to spear a tiny sausage, and popped it into his mouth.
Amazing! Delicious. He was going to give Meryl a fucking raise.
Emily sprawled sidelong across his bed like it was hers, not his. She grabbed a cherry, which she popped into her mouth without asking first. It seemed Lydia had passed on the directive about not asking for permission to eat. Or Emily was just like this.
She offered a wide grin. “So what do you intend to do today, lord?”
He didn’t need anyone to be this cheerful. Still, he didn’t want to do anything to upset Emily right now. She had looked truly devastated when Nicole almost died, and if Valentia didn’t make it back, that would probably hit her hard as well. He needed an update.
“Any word from Sachi?”
“Not yet, lord, but I wouldn’t worry. She’ll find Val and deal with those Redbow jerks. Nicky was just being dramatic last night, you know. She’s always eager for attention.”
Drake wondered if Emily was trying to convince him or herself. “Sure. But you’re sure there’s nothing else we can do for either of them?” He had also asked Lydia that same question last night before he slept, but it wouldn’t hurt to cross reference the opinions of his maids.
“Nope! Sachi’s already on the prowl. I’ve generally found it’s best to let her do what she does and clean up the mess after.”
“What mess?”
“That huntress drops bodies like you wouldn’t believe, lord. She’s so bloodthirsty. I love her, and those Redbow soldiers are going to not.”
“Right.” These Redbow soldiers were enemies of Gloomwood Manor, and they’d attacked his people. Sachi would now murderize them... but that was just the way it was here.
People fought in this world. People died all the time here, and while he’d expected that to bother him, he found it didn’t as much as he’d feared. Sure, he didn’t want his people just massacring peasants, but they had a right to defend themselves. And him. Especially him.
This wasn’t Earth. This wasn’t a land where laws and civilization kept the murders to a minimum, though to be fair, Earth hadn’t done that all that well either. As Drake reconsidered all he’d done last night, he realized he felt no guilt for killing Dickcheese. None.
That asshole tried to compel him to carve up Westin and summon a leviathan, and then he tried to tear Drake apart when that failed. He’d also tortured his own butler to death, terrorized the people of this manor, and killed countless others the same way.
Drake had done this world a favor when he stuck a knife in that old prick. Fuck him. Still... why didn’t killing his first man bother him?
He’d never killed anyone before he arrived here. He had a sample size of one. He supposed he’d wait until he killed again and see if that bothered him.
If it didn’t feel guilt then? He’d reassess. If he did? No worries.
Author's Note: Have a great weekend folks, and thanks for all the comments/support. There's also some cool character art (on the Patreon for free, under Character Art, and on my Discord) if you want to check that out.
Read Ahead on the Patreon
Chat on My Discord
“Hold up!” Drake said. “We can’t just kill Valentia.” He looked around at his stone-faced battle maids and his violently homicidal catgirl. “Can we?”
“It will be better for her,” Lydia said quietly. “Kinder. If she can’t escape.”
As Drake remembered the manacles and restraints in Lord Dickcheese’s dungeon, and the gruesomely bloody corpse of Samuel the butler beneath that sheet, he believed Lydia. Other lords must have their own torture dungeons. Lord Gloomwood wasn’t alone in that.
“Just when I thought we were out of the woods,” he muttered.
“We are still in the woods,” Sachi reminded him tartly.
“It’s an expression.”
“It is a silly one.”
Drake gave her a hard look. “Can you really find Valentia?”
Her ears twitched. “Of course I can.”
“Then go, Sachi. Rescue Valentia or ensure she does not suffer.” He still wanted that magical axe back, but an actual person had to come first.
“I was going to do that anyway.” Yet his huntress might have nodded before she once more vanished once more into the trees. How would she even find Valentia? Drake supposed she’d head to the spot of the ambush, the lakeshore beneath Skybreak Manor.
Could Sachi really track whoever had attacked Valentia and Nicole after a full day? Emily had said she could sniff things out. Maybe she had a nose like a... hunting cat.
“Hey, eyes open!” Emily demanded of Nicole. “You have to meet the new lord first! You won’t believe how crazy this one is!”
Drake rose and spoke loudly, not caring who heard. “By our sacred pact, I ask you. Open a path for us back to Gloomwood Manor. Move fast.”
As branches twisted before them, Drake looked to his battle maids. “Take her to Raylan.” That was his shaman/healer. “Don’t wait for me.”
Emily picked Nicole’s limp body up with a huff. “I’ve got her. Stay with him!” She dashed off down the freshly forming stick tunnel, not even wobbling somewhat with the full weight of her fellow battle maid and her armor. Maybe she really was an Amazon.
Lydia glanced at him with visible frustration. “Lord, please.”
She would worry endlessly if he didn’t let her watch over him. She didn’t need the additional stress. “We’ll stick together on the way back. Don’t let me slack off.”
He jogged after Emily, who was already far ahead and gaining distance. Lydia silently fell into step behind him. He did feel better with her watching his back, and it wasn’t like they could both carry Nicole. Emily was also the strongest among them, or close.
What was Skybreak Manor? Why had his maids been there? Who were the Redbow? He’d worry about all those questions once he was back at his manor. Hopefully, Nicole could answer more questions about her mission once they healed her.
If they could heal her. Lydia hadn’t sounded too optimistic about that.
They got back to the manor shortly after midnight. There were a few stressful hours where Drake didn’t dare sleep, Emily paced about feverishly, and Lydia vanished to see to all sorts of manor matters. Despite her visible worry, Lydia always took care of business.
Drake was even more glad to have her as his steward. It was incredible how she could focus on the mundane matters of running a manor full of people with so much else going on. He wouldn’t have the first clue how to do that... though he should probably start learning.
Finally, sometime shortly before sunrise, Raylan, Gloomwood Manor’s shaman, informed everyone waiting that Nicole would make it. It had been a near thing, and Raylan made everyone promise not to bother her. Nicole had slipped into a “deep sleep” that could not be interrupted if she was to live. Drake suspected it was actually a coma.
They wouldn’t know more about the ambush for days.
Being kept in the dark about whatever his other two battle maids had encountered out by Skybreak Manor was frustrating, but maybe they’d know more when Sachi returned with Valentia. If she returned with her. Drake hoped Sachi was as good as she claimed.
For her part, Raylan was another interesting manor denizen. He was a stern-looking man whom Zuri’s roster said was 32, and was also some sort of demihuman. He had legs and not a tail, thankfully, but his arms, bared midriff, and sandaled feet all bore scales.
He wore light and frilly clothing that looked designed for a tropical climate, which made no sense in this cold. At least that meant he couldn’t be cold-blooded. It also made his unusual attributes even more obvious, which might have been the reason he wore it.
Gloomwood’s shaman also had faint green scales along his cheeks and under his chin, and no hair to speak of. His bald head had what Drake could best describe as folds. Finally, whenever he spoke, Drake noticed his tongue was visibly forked.
It was almost dawn by the time he got out of his armor, bargained Emily into standing outside his master bedroom instead of in it, and realized he might finally be able to sleep. Could he? He was mentally and physically exhausted. He had to sleep sometime.
He was fine taking a night to let the dust settle on his new life. He’d nearly been tortured, murdered, and convicted of an unforgivable crime in twelve hours. He needed to recharge.
He’d been able to bluff his way through Westin’s knights easily enough, but Nicole’s fate and Valentia’s (which remained unknown) had been a wakeup call. It was so easy to die here. He couldn’t simply depend on his battle maids and others to keep him alive. He had to learn to keep himself alive and figure out if his rarity... whatever it was... could do that.
Once he was finally alone, he paced off his master bedroom and verified it was easily the size of his entire one-bedroom apartment. It had a huge four-post bed against one wall that looked big enough to sleep eight people. There were more pillows than he could ever need.
There were also a few plush couches, chairs, and fine wooden tables, which was more furniture than he knew what to do with. He had a private bathroom off the back which, fortunately, included indoor plumbing. If he had to wander off to an outhouse in the chilly woods every time he had to take a piss, he’d likely just let some asshole kill him instead.
And that big, fluffy bed looked inviting. So inviting. He didn’t even bother pulling off his hoodie and jeans, which were both sweaty from the night. It was chilly in this room.
As crappy as his day had been, he couldn’t deny parts of it had been thrilling. He’d saved a whole goddamn manor today, and that sort of success could be addictive. As addictive as winning a huge manor, freeing its slaves, and then enjoying a delicious burger and a hot bath.
He tumbled onto the big fluffy bed and confirmed it was as soft as it looked. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, after which a loud knock roused him.
No. He wanted to sleep now. Yet when he peeked his eyes open, daylight filled the room. Was it all over? Had it all been a dream?
As his eyes focused, he found the canopy of that massive four-post bed above him. The bed beneath his back was far too big and soft and grand to be his little single back in his crappy apartment. He was still stuck in fantasy murder world, but! He had a really nice bed.
The knock sounded again. It was insistent enough that Drake doubted whoever was knocking would go away. “Enter!” he called.
He doubted either Lydia or Emily would let anyone who intended to kill him into the bedroom. Also, assassins generally didn’t knock. This had to be one of his maids.
The door opened, and Emily—of course it would be Emily—strode in with a big smile. She carried a silver platter piled with grapes, cherries, and what smelled like freshly-cooked sausage. All of it smelled awesome.
Didn’t the woman ever sleep? Did they have cocaine here? If so, Emily must be mainlining the stuff. Drake had only managed to sit up before Emily plopped down on the edge of his bed and crossed her legs one over the other.
She set the platter between them. “Afternoon, lord! I brought lunch!”
Drake suppressed a yawn and rubbed his eyes, all too grateful he’d fallen asleep in his clothes last night. At least there was no awkwardness like the bath. “What time is it?”
“Just past midday, lord!”
He grimaced. “I slept past noon?”
“You needed your sleep, lord. You had a hard day yesterday!”
“So did you. What did you chug, ten Red Bulls?”
“I don’t know what that means, lord.”
That sausage smelled insanely good, and Drake’s stomach growled as it craved food. He sat up against the headboard and then reached for the platter. He found a tiny golden fork waiting, used it to spear a tiny sausage, and popped it into his mouth.
Amazing! Delicious. He was going to give Meryl a fucking raise.
Emily sprawled sidelong across his bed like it was hers, not his. She grabbed a cherry, which she popped into her mouth without asking first. It seemed Lydia had passed on the directive about not asking for permission to eat. Or Emily was just like this.
She offered a wide grin. “So what do you intend to do today, lord?”
He didn’t need anyone to be this cheerful. Still, he didn’t want to do anything to upset Emily right now. She had looked truly devastated when Nicole almost died, and if Valentia didn’t make it back, that would probably hit her hard as well. He needed an update.
“Any word from Sachi?”
“Not yet, lord, but I wouldn’t worry. She’ll find Val and deal with those Redbow jerks. Nicky was just being dramatic last night, you know. She’s always eager for attention.”
Drake wondered if Emily was trying to convince him or herself. “Sure. But you’re sure there’s nothing else we can do for either of them?” He had also asked Lydia that same question last night before he slept, but it wouldn’t hurt to cross reference the opinions of his maids.
“Nope! Sachi’s already on the prowl. I’ve generally found it’s best to let her do what she does and clean up the mess after.”
“What mess?”
“That huntress drops bodies like you wouldn’t believe, lord. She’s so bloodthirsty. I love her, and those Redbow soldiers are going to not.”
“Right.” These Redbow soldiers were enemies of Gloomwood Manor, and they’d attacked his people. Sachi would now murderize them... but that was just the way it was here.
People fought in this world. People died all the time here, and while he’d expected that to bother him, he found it didn’t as much as he’d feared. Sure, he didn’t want his people just massacring peasants, but they had a right to defend themselves. And him. Especially him.
This wasn’t Earth. This wasn’t a land where laws and civilization kept the murders to a minimum, though to be fair, Earth hadn’t done that all that well either. As Drake reconsidered all he’d done last night, he realized he felt no guilt for killing Dickcheese. None.
That asshole tried to compel him to carve up Westin and summon a leviathan, and then he tried to tear Drake apart when that failed. He’d also tortured his own butler to death, terrorized the people of this manor, and killed countless others the same way.
Drake had done this world a favor when he stuck a knife in that old prick. Fuck him. Still... why didn’t killing his first man bother him?
He’d never killed anyone before he arrived here. He had a sample size of one. He supposed he’d wait until he killed again and see if that bothered him.
If it didn’t feel guilt then? He’d reassess. If he did? No worries.
Author's Note: Have a great weekend folks, and thanks for all the comments/support. There's also some cool character art (on the Patreon for free, under Character Art, and on my Discord) if you want to check that out.
Read Ahead on the Patreon
Chat on My Discord
