Herald Of The Dead: Herald, #2

By George T.K.

Barely living through the Brotherhood's plans, Arin must survive in a city teeming with intrigue and schemes that rarely include his well-being. More and more of his memories bubble to the surface, making him question whether he genuinely wants to know the truth about himself.
On the other hand, the Church strives for its own goals, ignoring the main danger and pushing the world a step closer to catastrophe. Ambition and prophecy will collide in a battle of wills that will determine the fate of many.
Matters get further complicated by Arin's lack of magic and the horde of undead about to end all living things in their path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George T.K.
• Release date: May 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223034087

Book preview

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Herald Of The Dead

A LitRPG Adventure

George T.K.

Copyright © 2023 George T.K.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or either electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

All characters and events depicted in this novel are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Prologue

Death. The absolute comforting grip at the end of the road waiting for everyone in its cold embrace to end sorrow, fear, joy, terror, expectations, and dreams. The last solitary judge to pass judgment and punishment, accepting the subdued, tired soul, freeing it from its mortal coil. Real and final. Until it wasn't.

Monstrous, ugly forms vaguely reminiscent of their former bearers strode along the once-crowded and rowdy street. Souls anchored in a silent cry before their last step towards oblivion now desired even more than ever. Their formerly proud owners, reduced to thralls, paraded on the pavement once laid by the then-free people who now desecrated it with every step. The terrifying blue flames in their empty eye sockets stared with cold hatred. And they searched. Tirelessly. Relentlessly.

Liam Campbell, Mahara prince and the youngest runt of King Vincent Campbell, was not easy to find. As a fourth child, he had spent most of his nineteen years in drinking, women, and questionable activities throughout the city he knew so well. They called him scoundrel, brat, immoral, and laughed, and now they were out looking for him, bony forms of a perverted sculptor gone mad after seeing his latest work. And yet he was alive. Maybe a little more.

It was noon when it all started. Liam was basking in the delight of Baronet Joel's wife's company, letting her give all the satisfaction her body was capable of when the shouts came. Considering his location, namely the slums, he initially ignored them, focusing on the pleasures of the flesh. Liam couldn't remember her name even if his life depended on it, but he certainly remembered every curve of her body.

Then the chorus of horrified voices multiplied, and the sound of marching soldiers drowned out the daily din of the streets. Instead of greasy shopkeepers ready to take every last coin from the people who ventured into this run-down corner of the city, sergeants could be heard barking orders. Young men who entered the military life, lured by the glory it promised, hurried to fulfill them.

Liam finally looked through the ornate window, entirely out of place in the gray, featureless room containing only a bed and a wardrobe with a mirror. Thick streaks of smoke rose from several places in the city, slowly climbing toward the cloudless sky. Fires? An attack? From whom?

Come back to bed, dear. It's getting cold without you. The young woman's seductive smile made his blood boil again, but the ringing bell thwarted his lustful passions.

I'm sorry, my lady, but heroes must respond to those in need. O, the regret my heart feels at the untimely obligation to leave you. Liam deftly pulled up his pants, bowed profoundly, and thrust the jeweled hilt rapier into his leather belt. With a precise movement, he took the white silk shirt with one hand, and with the other, he opened the door and waved dramatically. The woman watched his performance with shocked eyes and an open mouth that closed only to start spewing curses at him.

Liam, you son of a bitch! Where are you going?! You said you'd take me to the palace, didn't you?!

He certainly had no intention of taking the landless baronet's wife into the palace, and his quick steps down the stairs confirmed this repeatedly. A feeling of gratitude for what was happening outside filled Liam, saving him from a further altercation with the already raging woman upstairs.

No one was on the first floor in the tavern, and he bolted out without parting with any valuable silver. Luck kept on smiling!

As soon as he stepped outside, Liam knew something much worse than what he had imagined was happening. A heavy stench of rottenness wafted from the wind, hit his delicate nose, and made him vomit.

People ran in panic, trampling over corpses of fallen men, women, and children, shouting incoherently, eyes wide open. Blood filled his gaze wherever he looked. And the fog. A dirty gray mist laid low, creeping past the buildings and wrapping around the bodies.

The tears of a woman were slumping over a child in her lap. The little body moved. But not in the dying agony of the departed, more perverted one. Far more distorted. Small teeth dug into her trachea and tore flesh hungrily, chewing sweetly. The woman's glassy eyes remained fixed, horror filling her soul in a dying plea that would never be heard.

A man in a guard's uniform jumped out of a nearby corner, chased by skeletons straight out of the Six's worst nightmare. With the muscles and organs still hanging from their bodies, they caught up and knocked him to the ground. Sharp fingers dug deep into the flesh, pulling out eyes and brain as if searching for something long lost and necessary. The man screamed, but not for very long, and soon joined them as an undead. The woman too. Eye sockets filled with blue fire turned toward the only survivor on the street.

Liam was paralyzed with fear, disbelief, and denial, his legs refusing to move to make that much-needed effort to carry him away like the wind. Very far away.

Some unsuspected power, at last, made him run, and he drifted down the street. Terrifying footsteps clattering on the stone pavement added to the panic. Close. They were too close. There was no way he could escape.

Liam made a sharp turn to the right towards the palace, walking directly into a melee between the Guard and more undead. Steel cut through bone, and more bodies fell but soon rose, their death denied. The horrified eyes of the soldiers searched for a way out of the alley. Out of the city. Out of the horrors. Out of this nightmare. And there was none. Only death and despair.

Liam desperately pushed his way through the melee dodging swords and bony limbs.

That's where it was! The sewers entrance! With a few leaps, he reached the rusted irons in front of the small entry and kicked them. The neglected construction yielded to the force, and he hurled himself inward, falling face down into feces and urine. Barely raising his head, he threw up again, emptying the last remnants of food from his stomach. The smell of rot combined uniquely with the fecal fumes, giving a whole new dimension to the word unbearable. No one followed, and it was time to move.

And so, Liam started running without any rest so far. Had no idea where he was. The dirty, damp walls of the sewers seemed to press against him, threatening to crush the last vestiges of sanity. His new leather shoes were soaked in a liquid, the type of which no one would dare to identify.

Liam continued down a fork leading to the right, with no idea where he was going or what he was looking for. Maybe he should go to the palace. To find his father and his brothers. Yes! He had to find a way out and wait for the night.

Lost in his thoughts, Liam didn't notice the undead skeleton behind him. Bony hands dug into his shoulders, pulling him back as jaws snapped inches from the neck. His attempt to unleash the rapier from his belt only caused him to lose his balance and fall on his back, losing the weapon in the fecal water. Acute pain shot through his upper body, and he cried out. Liam tried to keep the rattling hungry jaws away from himself as the sharp bones dug deeper and deeper into his shoulders. Tears filled his eyes from the effort and the desperate situation he was in. The skeleton pushed harder and harder, submerging the Prince's head under the disgusting liquid flowing in the canals. Panic gripped Liam as his lungs screamed and fought for air. Tossing and turning wildly, he felt his strength leave and weariness pressed upon him. Everything began to turn black and somewhat distant.

Strong hands grabbed him like a child and pulled him into the dry part of the tunnel. Liam coughed and expelled muddy water from his lungs, looking up at his savior.

A huge man, at least six and a half feet tall with muscles like an ancient god, stared at him with a strange look. A look filled with hope. Next to the massive hammer he was carrying, pieces of the unpleasant skeleton that had almost finished him off could be seen.

Prince Liam! Thank the Six, you are alive! By now, we thought everyone up there was dead. The man spoke simply but clearly. His high-pitched timbre echoed like thunder.

We? And who are you? The shitty taste in his mouth was still strong, and he spat out the words rather than speak normally. The man in front of him was startled, which puzzled the Prince even more.

My name is Randham Thompson, my lord. Excuse my simple speech. I didn't mean to offend you.

It's fine, Randham. You didn't insult me ​​in the slightest, and I even have to thank you for saving me. Liam's eyes returned to the bony pieces floating in the dirty water. He didn't notice the proud smile of the man. Did you say we?

Yes, my lord! Some survivors are in an empty section of the old sewer a mile from here. When the undead entered the castle, we knew we had to save ourselves as fast as possible. Gard, the gravedigger, said he knew a safe place, and we got as many people there as possible.

A lump seemed to get stuck in Liam's throat. When did this happen?

Half a day ago, my lord. We thought the nobility were all dead. The army failed to stop them.

His plan to return to the castle was becoming meaningless. All?! Liam had said to his father that he would live as he pleased. And he turned his back on him for the last time.

Come with me, my lord. I will take you to our camp. We need a man of authority to lead us.

A man of authority. It definitely didn't sound like him, but Liam followed. There was nowhere else to go. There was nowhere to hide.

After half an hour through dark, smelly tunnels and more turns than he could remember, they came to a large, almost dry hall hidden behind a dilapidated wall. Surrounded by complete darkness, more than a hundred people in the room huddled around the few torches that threw meager warmth and hope onto the frightened children's faces in the crowd. On the other hand, the adults had the signs of the bleak burden of the last hours, which the small flame could not melt away.

The cold bit the badly wounded lying in the far corners of the hall. There was no hope for them. Why waste heat? Abandoned men and women kept the corpses of their neighbors company. Little compassion for the departed once the right of the strong had obsessed the greedy eyes of the heartless. And soulless they were in the center of the hall, beside a fire, surrounded by supplies away from the rest. Yellow teeth were digging hungrily into freshly roasted meat when two men entered the hall. Rows of starving eyes stared hopefully at the newcomers.

Who did you bring, Randham? I told you we don't have any room left for strays. It's not enough that I brought you all here! How dare you disobey my orders?! A short man with dirty thinning hair barked out the words through two bites of the juicy meat. Drops of grease fell into the fire and ignited it playfully.

Mr. Gard, this is...

Who told you to speak back to me, boy? I might rethink my good attitude towards you. Gard casually drew a few inches of the sword from his scabbard as his three companions sitting by the fire laughed loudly.

Teach him some manners, Gard! He's mocking you! One of them shouted.

Are these the people you wanted to introduce me to, Randham? I see you used the term people in its broadest sense. I have never seen a more pitiful excuse for human beings. The whole place fell dead silent after Liam's words. A dozen wide eyes stared at him in disbelief while Randham was too shocked to respond.

Son of a bitch! Gard yelled red with anger and charged at the newcomer as he drew his short sword. The dirty blade came out with a clang, heading for the soft neck of the person in front. A trained move that had been applied countless times.

Much to Gard's dismay, against him was not a local drunkard but a duelist who had trained rigorously, urged by the deficiencies of his own ego. Liam took a step to the side, avoiding the short sword as he pierced holes in his opponent's throat with two quick movements of the rapier. The gurgling corpse fell a step away from him with horror frozen on its face.

Gard! The other three ruffians drew their swords. How dare you challenge The Broken Crest?!

I'm Prince Liam Campbell, and I'll challenge you as much as I want! You're starving people while oppressing them in the darkest moment in the city's history! How dare you!

The city has fallen!

As long as at least one Campbell is alive, the city will never fall! His voice boomed, causing his enemies to cower before him. Where had the self-assurance in his words come from? Until now, he had thought only his brothers and father could say such a thing. Rise up, proud citizens of Mahara. Dig up the embers of your anger and stand as one! Go with me, Randham!

Without thinking, the blacksmith went after his Prince, and the two rushed the three bandits. Shouts of encouragement came from behind them, and soon others joined the duo. In a minute, the enemies were disarmed and bound.

I knew you'd make things right, Sir!

Liam nodded and cursed his big mouth. Not only Randham, but hundreds of eyes looked at him with hope and expectations. What the hell did he get himself into. Well, it could have been worse, and the number could have been...

I know at least a few more places where desperate people hide, Sir. You have to help them! The Broken Crest has taken all their food under the pretense of protecting them! It's terrible! Randham's eyes read a thousand pleas, and Liam cursed his big mouth again. He should have just left this place while there was still time. But no. He had to be a hero. And the heroes always died first, damn it...

А dozen men were seated in a medium-sized room in an unknown location. Masks of various animals hid their faces lit by a single candle burning on the old wooden table. The curtains, drawn tightly, hid even the light of the outside world to such an extent that one could not tell whether it was night or day. The pendulum of a clock somewhere in the room measured a prolonged silence.

Soril failed. A man in a wolf mask stated. The others turned to him but did not respond except for one.

It was stupid, as I told you from the beginning. You chose an unstable idiot as your Commander. Half of our people are dead as a result of incompetence. What did you expect? The lion-faced mask looked at them all one by one, keeping his gaze on the wolf the longest.

He was the successor of the last Commander. Bear mask protested.

Who let the Empire fall? A hundred years, and we still can't shake the incompetence of this lineage! But enough already! We know where the leadership of our Vanguard division has gotten us.

You forget yourself, lion! Who prepared the fiasco of twenty years ago? Where did that lead? You just want the Ghost division to take over! The wearer of the wolf mask had stood up with his hands on the table. His evident hatred did not move the rival in front.

And what happened? If you had kept your mouths shut, we would have made it. Someone had betrayed us and obviously came from the Vanguard division. The lion mask smiled at the corner of his mouth.

How dare you!

The wolf mask cried out and grabbed his sword, but a dagger's edge appeared from his throat in a split second before he could draw. He fell back into the chair, making gurgling noises. Lion mask patiently waited for him to quiet down and looked around at the others. There was fear. Very good.

Other objections? The room remained silent. The ticking of the clock sounded more hurried. Good. The Ghost division is taking control from now on. As you noticed, my associates here are very eager to work, so let us proceed with this plan of mine.

We were humiliated. There must be revenge. The sudden interruption from the bear mask unnerved him, but he didn't show it.

Measures have been taken, and our people are on their way. We will wipe out all traces of anyone who was present or knew anything. Shame will be paid with the blood of our enemies. The lion mask looked at everyone one by one again. There were no more disagreements or interruptions, so he proceeded with his plan. There was so much to do.

Chapter 1

Arin Lokkar rode into the crowded square in triumph. The rise of the rebel army was short and bloody, and he had single-handedly brought about its end. Thousands had fallen at his hands, and he didn't even have to call out the legions for this minuscule threat.

The fleeting feeling of victory and ruin reminded him of the old days. When he fought, covered in blood with tears and claws, struggling, calling death to take him at every opportunity. 

It was a long time ago. Arin bled and shed tears for them. No. Never again. He already saw them as they were. They shouted and cheered his triumph, but inwardly they loathed him. They feared the power he possessed. They wanted to see him writhe and die in agony only the human mind could imagine.

After each battle to protect them, there was a new one. Over and over. And their hatred grew. He saw future enemies on the battlefield in the children who waved at him. Swords in the hands of their fathers and hidden knives in their mothers' skirts. They were all like that.

How many centuries had Arin protected them? How long did he have to sacrifice and receive their ingratitude? She kept whispering to him about a way to freedom, but he refused to accept it even though Arin listened to her. More and more lately.

The procession, led by his horse, reached the palace along the rose-covered pavement. The majestic building he saw as a symbol of his prison greeted him, calling for his return to its side. A structure of granite, the anchor of his chains, and the first and last stop of his burden. 

Out of the palace came running the first of the twelve lackeys, the lowest of creatures unequaled in their corruption. Sweaty armpits betrayed the enormous efforts made by the fat body to arrive first and offer its flattery. He was the advisor in charge of the treasury, and for some reason, he was equal to Arin, like the other eleven. Absolute nonsense. 

Herald, congratulations on your glorious victory! The people once again rejoice in the power and strength with which...

Arin Lokkar did not listen to him. His gaze was fixed elsewhere on something no one else could see. Something distant, forgotten, gone but returning. A smile spread across his face, and he nodded. 

Yes. Arin would help them. Save them from themselves! To change them into something more! Oh, how great it would be! To root out all evil and leave only the pure, the undefiled, and the untainted.

No one even saw his sword come out of its sheath, but everyone stared at the falling head. Its surreal flight and fall into the crowd caused panic and shouts, but they did not impress him. Arin was walking intently to make a dream come true. It would take time, but he had plenty. A new era of purity and greatness would come!

Off to the side, invisible to everyone else, Arin watched with mixed feelings. He felt rather than saw the presence beside him.

You're not happy with what you see. The woman next to him noted.

It's wrong. Everything is wrong. I remember it and still can't believe it.

You can't change the past, Arin Lokkar, but you can fight for the future.

What is your name? He asked once again.

I used to be called the Herald. Then they called the position of the one who could talk to me with that name. They called me God and Devil. You call me the System, even though I'm only a part of it. This fragment of mine does not remember my true name, lost in the ages. Her sad voice washed over him.

Why me?

I do not know. The more you level up, the more memories you and I get back. It shouldn't be possible, but it's true. The more you struggle, the more you take from my madness.

The little girl?

Partially. They are a part of you, and at the same time, they are not.

They? Arin asked, confused.

You'll find out soon enough. I have no idea how the madness fragments will affect you. You need to wake up now. Death is at your heels. Entities you have no idea about are on their way to collide. You have a certain book that you must give to the female knight, or the dead will rule over the living. Give her the path of the paladin, a class lost from the era when you were a ruler. The future is changing again, and even I can't see all its possibilities. Her eyes focused in the distance, not looking at him. And don't forget your promise Arin Lokkar.

I will not. He said as everything around him faded into blackness.

Arin slowly opened his eyes and met the world's scariest muzzle.

You're alive! The bass orcish voice shook the small room.

Kasil! You scared the shit out of me!

I had to be sure you were alive. All of you humans look like you are about to meet your ancestors any time. There was a distinct absence of any apology in his tone. Get up, something interesting is happening again, and it's time to earn some honor! There are no dull moments around you! The orc smiled broadly like a child receiving a new present.

Around me?! I just woke up! And where the hell are we?

The afternoon light coming in through the window of the small room illuminated beautifully crafted furniture with various ornaments. The carpet covering the stone floor had elements of hawks flying through hunting grounds. Several portraits adorned the walls in diverse heroic poses. Arin had yet to learn who these people were and doubted that the orc knew. If the general feeling of wealth was imbued in such a small room, they were hardly in some random place. The last thing Arin remembered was the demon in the sea of ​​madness...

We are in Lana's castle. My room is next to yours, and since I woke up a few days ago, I have checked on you regularly. I broke the neck of one of the guards. Get up. Let's go!

You did what?! Arin's jaw dropped.

He tried to kill me. Something is happening in the castle.

The orc headed for the wooden door, and Arin awkwardly followed. They were in underpants, without weapons, and had no idea where they were in the castle. Just great.

Kasil discreetly opened the door and went out into the corridor. Despite his imposing physique, he moved much more carefully than expected. Arin followed a step behind him and was greeted by the glazed eyes of a corpse on the floor. Darlon's colors were on his uniform, but something didn’t add up.

Are you going to interrogate the dead man, or we can finally move on? Kasil's impatient voice snapped him out of his thoughts. What the hell was going on in the damn castle. The dead man's sword now sat comfortably in Arin's hand.

"Death! Hahaha! Yesss, sweet death..." The crazy little girl's voice didn't take long to mark the memorable moment in his head.

The duo continued to the right along the beautifully decorated corridor towards the staircase at the far end. More unknown portraits hung on the walls, staring indignantly at their half-naked bodies. Their silent footsteps were suddenly halted by the raised fist of the orc. Voices reached them from somewhere down the stairs.

I hear at least two, but there could be more. Are you ready? The orc whispered tensely.

I'm ready like someone who just woke up. Kasil simply ignored the reply and ran downstairs. Damn it! Arin hurried after him.

Whatever plans the men below had, they hardly included the large body of an orc crashing into them with the force of a battering ram. The speed and strength of the collision directly sent them to the ground. Green fists descended on one of the men and his helmet bent. His comrade tried to stand up but was stopped by a sword, unpleasantly separating his head from his shoulders. 

Blood covered Arin's naked body, but ignoring the discomfort, he turned to help Kasil. As soon as he did, he realized how unnecessary that would be. The orc's fists had crushed the helmet to such an extent that thick fluids oozed from the eye and mouth openings. The bloody mess that had once been a head definitely showed no signs of life. The orc stood up as drops of blood fell from his fists.

I hope they are not from the regular guard. I don't feel like telling Lana why I littered her castle with corpses. Arin said as he stared at the dead. Since when did he feel nothing about taking another person's life? Was it like that since the tower? In the battle against the demon?

They are not. Kasil pointed to their wrists. Tattoos of a hand holding a dagger decorated them ominously. Also, you didn't litter her castle with corpses. You have killed one and I two. I have done twice as much littering of corpses than you!

Come on now, we won't count our atrocities half-naked. Arin raised his hands helplessly.

You humans are weird Kasil shook his head. Why do you have a label to count atrocities by?

I didn't mean... Never mind, let's move on.

Their footsteps echoed in the great hall. The light came playfully through the high windows revealing more portraits and statues. The eighty-foot long room had six ornate solid wood doors offering the duo a choice of direction. Kasil looked around and quickly solved the dilemma and opened the westernmost one. Arin hurried after him and nearly collided with