Crafter's Fate 1: A LitRPG Adventure, page 1
Crafter’s Fate 1
A LitRPG Adventure
DB King
Copyright © 2022 by DB King
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
v002
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Contents
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Contents
Series by DB King
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Summoner’s Shadow 1: Chapter 1
Summoner’s Shadow 1: Chapter 2
Summoner’s Shadow 1: Chapter 3
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Support DB King on Patreon!
Free progression Fantasy Novel!
About the Author
Series by DB King
Apocalypse Knights
Crafter’s Fate
Dragon Magus
Dungeon of Evolution
Elemental Mastery
Kensei
The Last Magus
Mage’s Path
Shinobi Rising
The Last Magus
War Wizard
Chapter 1
Blood and dust fell from the sky.
The village of Larisa shuddered. Panicked and pained screams echoed left and right.
Alastair’s vision dimmed and hazed as he fell on his back. His heart hammered in his chest, like drums in the deep; it echoed and blasted in his ears, drowning out all other sounds, save for the faint screams and the ghastly roars that rang in the air. The ground shook, and the sky trembled. And his mind dimmed and raced with fear. The smell of blood, gore, and filth permeated the wind.
An entire street exploded into pieces. Shattered bits of wood careened into the air, alongside bloody rivulets of flesh and bone and brain matter.
People died all around him—faces, bloodied, frozen, and dead, hung by the air.
It was hell.
And he stood there, watching—paralyzed.
Run!
His hands froze, and his legs refused to budge.
Run!
He wanted to stand, to flee, to get as far away from that thing as possible, but his body refused to listen.
His body would not listen.
Titanic booms shook the ground beneath him. Several buildings—workshops, and stores that had belonged to his neighbors—were trampled and ruined, cracked and shattered in an instant, years of hard work and memories ground to dust within moments.
And then it came, the monster whose footsteps brought the very earth to a blood-curdling quake.
It came smashing out of the ruins of the alderman’s manor, a mountain of muscle and fur.
Run!
Alastair’s mouth hung open as a hairy, towering, albino behemoth strode out of the cloud of dust and debris. Gore and guts lined its bloodstained maw. Entrails and bits of bone and flesh jutted from between its crooked teeth, a ringed finger stuck between its two front incisors. Its vaguely humanoid face seemed only to accent its malice. The creature was distinctly primate in appearance, like a monstrous offshoot of a silverback ape.
Run!
It stared him down for a moment, a lumbering giant of muscle, whose white bulk was marred with blood.
The monster’s bloodshot yellow eyes stared at Alastair as though he was nothing more than dessert.
Alastair gulped. The beast took a single, lumbering step toward him, its massive forearms carving furrows on the ground. Its mouth slowly opened as it snarled, greenish fumes gassing out its nostrils.
Alastair held back a scream as the remains of his neighbor, madam Lucenia, who sold apples and berries and all sorts of fresh produce in the morning market, hung out the monster’s maw, half-eaten and mostly crushed, but he recognized what remained of her face, regardless.
She was a kind woman, who often bade him a good morning whenever he passed by her store. All his neighbors were good and honest people who simply went about their simple lives, happy and content with their lot.
And now Alastair wasn’t even sure just how many of them were left alive. There were few children. Most folk were old or middle-aged, alongside a few youths—him and Damon, included. Everyone knew each other.
They couldn’t fight back.
They had nothing to fight back with.
Against a creature of such magnitude, it was futile.
Hopeless.
Oh, how he hated that word.
This town was founded by Hunters, my boy. His father’s voice echoed in his head—a moment in the past, filled with stories and wonder. Once, long ago, his father would take him to the center of their village, where a statue of the first Fated Hunter stood over the skeletal remains of what was once a mighty dragon. Our ancestors hunted these wild beasts and carved out their horns, their scales, their teeth, their claws, their bones, and their cores. Gwyn, the first of the Hunters, was said to have built a settlement right here—the place that would become our village.
Do you understand, Alastair? The power to hunt these monsters—these creatures—sleeps within our blood. We are fated to kill them.
Somehow, Alastair found himself on his feet, a single pebble clutched in his right hand. He wasn’t sure how or when he stood up, or why, but that hardly mattered as he stared down the white-haired, gigantic monster before him. His father’s stories resonated in his mind, telling him to fight back against this creature, to defend his home and his neighbors. His forefathers hunted down these beasts. It’d be shameful for him to run and hide when he could stand and fight.
Then again, my boy, his father’s voice spoke in his mind, our ancestors culled every single monster that dwelled in this region to ensure the safety of their children. My grandfather hunted down the last of the Primal Goliaths in a cave not far from here.
Alastair let out a roar of his own. The rampaging monster halted.
The creature tilted its head as though Alastair’s actions had amused it. Puffs of warm, putrid air steamed from its flat, humanoid nostrils. A malicious glint shimmered on the surface of the monster’s yellow eyes.
Alastair’s fists tightened.
His next course of action would either be incredibly awesome or incredibly stupid—both of which might still lead to his death, but that was neither here nor there. If he was going to die right here and now, then he might as well make this foul creature pay for it, even if only a little bit.
Just as the monster seemed to lurch forward, Alastair hurled the pebble right into the creature’s bloodshot eye. The massive beast screamed and stopped and tumbled to the side. A loud crack echoed as the monster fell over a building, toppling the structure, before flattening it nearly instantly. It thrashed, roaring as it flailed its arms to the side in anger.
Alastair eyed the monster.
It was struggling to get back on its feet, kicking and screaming like an angry infant that had lost its favorite toy. Spittle, blood, and gore flew out of its mouth as it raged on, shaking the earth around it.
Alastair stumbled, but kept himself upright as he took several steps back. I can’t believe I just did that.
Breathing in, he turned and sprinted away—far away from the raging monster.
Alastair didn’t bother looking back to see if it was chasing him or not. The roars and the shaking of the ground at his feet were incentive enough not to stop running, lest he join his neighbors as bits of flesh and bone in the monster’s mouth and gullet.
Beside him, several other villagers ran frantically—a few of the not-so-bright ones decided to hide in their hovels. Alastair grimaced.
Did they not see how easily that creature brought down the buildings around it? Were they trying to die?
Breathing in, Alastair halted, before turning t
Alastair sighed.
Heroes were stupid people who risked their own lives to save others.
Then again, he wasn’t exactly the smartest person around. Well, I hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.
The smell of smoked meats filled his nostrils as he entered. The child—pale and shivering—met his eyes for a moment before ducking back down. Alastair gritted his teeth. The roars and the gigantic thuds were getting closer with each passing moment. Why were these idiots still here?
“Hey!” he called out. “The monster’s gonna bring this whole place down!”
No response.
“You have to get out of your house before that thing gets here!” he screamed, the ground shaking underneath him.
It was getting closer with every passing moment.
The mother and her child did not budge. Instead, they retreated further into the many boxes and furniture. The child seemed to protest for a moment, before she was silenced by her mother. They were scared—terrified, even. Everyone was. But this… this was just stupid.
Fine.
“I’m wasting my time here,” Alastair growled before turning and running out of their house. If they wanted to die in there, it wasn’t his problem.
Alastair stopped right by the emptied bakery and looked over his shoulder.
It wasn’t his problem.
Right?
What the hell was he supposed to do?
Heroes were stupid.
“Drag them out of the house if you have to,” Damon’s voice broke through the chaos.
Alastair turned and saw his best friend suddenly arriving from… somewhere. Damon was ragged and tired. His clothes were torn, and a layer of dust settled over his skin and his short, curly black hair. He was panting, too, his olive-hued skin drenched in sweat, no doubt after running around playing the hero without thinking about it first. Not many things could’ve tired him out, otherwise. Damon was taller and stronger than just about everyone in Larisa, towering a whole foot over Alastair.
For all the strength of his muscles, Damon’s emerald eyes were exhausted.
“I’ve dragged as many people out of their homes as I can, but there’s still a few left,” he said. “I’ll distract that hairy piece of crap—you save Liv and her daughter.”
“What?” Alastair protested. “That’s stupid! We should get the hell out of this place, now!”
Damon smirked. “Yeah, is that why you stopped running? Come on, Alastair, we both know you want to save them. We’re the same, after all.” He looked over his shoulder as the thunderous thuds loomed ever closer. “We should try to save as many people as we can, while we still can.”
Just as Damon finished speaking, the gigantic ape-like monster burst through the bakery’s front wall, snarling, roaring, and gnashing its massive yellow teeth, debris exploding all around it. Its breath was foul—like the garbled fluids of a thousand vomits and the festering manure of a thousand bowels rolled into one awful odor.
The monster rushed toward them, its forearms raised to crush both under its great bulk.
“Hells!”
Alastair and Damon both leapt to the sides, just as the monster smashed the ground, sending chunks of earth and stone flying everywhere and causing the earth to shake and rumble. The foul creature roared in clear frustration as the debris blew upward and into its face, obscuring its vision.
Alastair landed on his face. A sharp pang of pain on his forehead, followed by a slight dizziness. Gritting his teeth, he crawled forward, hoping the smelly, giant ape hadn’t noticed him yet.
Was this thing seriously still chasing after him over one stupid pebble?
Probably.
Alastair forced himself up and wobbled, shaking his head. The monster roared behind him, smashing the ground in its rage. The fact that Alastair was still alive meant it somehow missed him. He turned over his shoulder, just in time to see Damon hurling a rock right into the giant ape’s right eye, causing the creature to roar in pain and annoyance. Alastair’s blood ran cold when it turned and focused on his best friend.
“Hey, come after me you big stupid monkey!” Damon yelled, before throwing another rock at the giant monster’s face and bolting away to the village outskirts.
The gigantic beast roared and followed after him, smashing apart hovels and stores that stood in its path. Alastair looked on as his best friend somehow evaded the monster’s rampage, leaping over fallen stalls and boxes, and keeping out of the beast’s reach each time the lumbering monster attempted to grab him. Damon reached the very edge of the village and leapt over the low palisade, before jeering again and running off.
No!
Alastair’s eyes widened as his best friend disappeared into the woods, the monster trailing closely after him in blind rage, leaving a trail of broken and shattered trees. A final roar echoed from the trees, before it trailed off into a ghastly silence.
“Damon!” Alastair absently ran forward.
He followed the trail of ruins and destruction, his eyes briefly hovering over the mangled corpses on the ground and the pools and blotches of blood that marred the soil.
Just how many people died today?
He shook his head and continued running forward.
“Someone help me!” a voice cried.
Alastair stopped. His eyes widened. “Damn it!”
A part of him wanted to chase after Damon and bring the idiot back to safety. Another part of him wished for him to stay and help as many people as he possibly could. There were many folk in need of help, and it seemed everyone who could help had already fled, every man for himself.
They were all neighbors, were they not?
Alastair’s hand shook as he closed his eyes and breathed in.
There really wasn’t much of a choice for him, was there?
He turned away from the trail of destruction and rushed toward the source of the voice.
There!
The voice came from underneath the rubble of a ruined house—one of the few stone-built houses in their village, likely belonging to Vardas, the merchant, and his household. Alastair never really liked the man. He was rich and pompous and arrogant, and so was everyone else in his damn family.
He sighed. But… that doesn’t mean they deserve to die.
He just hoped Damon knew what he was doing. That idiot almost never thought things through, unless it was to get in bed with a woman and, even then, his plans almost always went awry, unless Alastair helped him. Still, his best friend had good instincts. Maybe, just maybe, those instincts would be enough to see him through.
Alastair winced at the thought. What the hell was he doing, putting these people before his best friend? Damon was in danger! Why was he still here?
He turned again, but froze as the voice cried out once more. This time, however, it was a child’s voice. “Please! Somebody help us!”
Alastair grimaced as he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, hands curling into fists.
There really wasn’t much of a choice for him, was there?
Heroes really were stupid.
“‘Damn it,” he muttered before yelling, “Hold on, I’m here!”
* * *
Alastair sighed for what was perhaps the hundredth time as he read his great-great-grandfather’s journal.
He sat on the floor of his ruined home. The monster had torn off its roof and a few walls in its rampage. Fortunately, most of it remained intact. Alastair considered himself lucky in that regard. The fortune he’d been saving up to move out to the city had somehow survived, unscathed, alongside his many possessions—even the hand drawn portrait of himself and his parents still stood unblemished save for the few bits of dust that marred its surface.
His couch was still there, dusty and dirty as it was. His kitchen was undisturbed, alongside his pantry, and the bags of grain and lumps of air-dried meat. Food remained aplenty.
Unlike most of his neighbors who lost their homes and their loved ones and just about everything else they owned, the only thing clearly missing from his life was—quite literally—the roof of his house and nothing more.
