The Houndsman: A Base-Building LitRPG Adventure, page 1
THE HOUNDSMAN
©2021 J PAL
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Contents
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
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Thank you for reading The Houndsman Book One
1
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” The boy to his left asked, his voice cracking.
The boy wore the construction division’s colors, but he didn’t have any hair on his arms, let alone his lips. “Have you unlocked [Reinforce] yet?” Flint asked, gritting his teeth. The boy shook his head. “Then just stick close to me, and we’ll be fine.”
Flint’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene below. A young shield-bearer stood firm in a cave troll’s path. His chest tightened, knowing there was nothing he or his fellow builders could do to help. He raised his crossbow and released a bolt. The projectile didn’t deter the monster, bouncing off its hide. Flint knew it was too late, and the alchemists’ hide-melting concoctions were out of reach, but that didn’t mean he’d stop trying. The cave troll swiped its monstrous club and crumpled the shield bear’s chestplate, sending him flying into a neighboring construction site. Much to Flint’s disappointment, the young man didn’t reappear.
If they survived, Flint intended to have a word with the watch and his superior officers. The warning bells only started ringing after the outpost’s outer walls had collapsed. He and the civilians knew the Wyld’s forces were attacking when their bellowing horns shook every structure in the settlement.
What the hell were the fools doing? Playing cards?
Now, the war beasts and trolls were painting the streets red with human blood. If the fools did their jobs like they were supposed to, his men wouldn’t have to die. Unless something changed, the trolls would axe them into pieces too.
Much to Flint’s relief, the majority of the civilians were already within the inner defenses. He and the builders hadn’t yet completed the stronghold’s construction, but it was their best bet. He watched as the garrison’s surviving forces guided them within the iron-reinforced walls. The metal would protect them from fae-magic, but he doubted it would hold long against the Wyld’s physically oriented forces.
A shriek from the outer streets demanded his attention. The supply runner returned just then with a crate of crossbow bolts. Flint reloaded and fired at the war beast dragging a young woman by her arm, and his projectile found a crack in the bark-like armor. The creature roared, releasing its dinner; Flint held his breath as the woman got to her feet and ran. Unfortunately, she didn’t get far. One of the trolls swiped her off the ground, its giant hand covering most of her torso. Flint released another bolt at the creature’s head but failed to pierce the thick hide. The monster bit down on her head, ripping it off with a lazy tug.
“We’re all going to die!” Captain Ironheart yelled, reaching a pitch much higher than the boy’s. His copper hair stuck to his sweat-soaked face, projecting a visage unlike his usual picked and prune form. “Why is this happening?” He collapsed, even though he’d done nothing but drink tea and read a damn book while the builders worked. Captain Ironheart had gotten off his ass only after the first ear-piercing screams filled the settlement. “Father said there was no way the Wyld would attack this place. We’re a week behind the defensive line, in the Divine Smith’s name!”
“I don’t think heaven’s going to help a lot now, Captain,” Flint told him, watching the overrun streets below. He raised his crossbow, tracking the horned fae floating through the market. Golden light surrounded its hands and feet, marking the creature as one of the enemy’s leading forces. “The garrison is overwhelmed, and the inner walls aren’t going to hold for long.” He pointed at the war beasts pulling a monstrous battering ram through the collapsed gates in the distance. “We still have time before that thing gets here. Give us orders and tell us what we need to do.”
“I don’t know,” the captain answered, undoing his sword belt and throwing it off the walls. He stood up and followed Flint’s crossbow toward its target. “I’m going to surrender to that…thing. The fae like shiny things—”
“Look at the horns and hoofed feet. That’s a puck, sir.” Flint tried to maintain a calm tone for his men, but the captain’s nonsense was getting to him. “They don’t care how many gold mines your father controls. It would kill rather than listen to a man in uniform.”
“I’m taking it off then!” The captain’s pitch hurt his ears. He understood it was the younger man’s first term, but it was no excuse for the defeatist attitude. Flint looked at his fellow builders’ faces. They’d appeared hopeful earlier, but Captain Ironheart’s tirade had turned their expressions miserable and terrified. They all watched in silence as the captain removed his helmet and his gauntlets. He turned to the uniformed men closest to him. “Open the gates, you imbecile. I’m going to go reason with that horned monster. It’s less likely to kill us if we put down our weapons and—”
“That attitude isn’t going to do any of us much good,” Flint said, raising his voice. He handed the boy his crossbow, rushing toward Captain Ironheart. It wasn’t much use to someone untrained and lacking the [Marksmanship] skill stone, but it didn’t matter. He tried to pull the captain aside, planning on calming him down, but the man shook him off. “I shouldn’t be here either, you know?
“My second term ended three months ago. However, you decided to embezzle and bought shit iron. The section we spent six months building collapsed, and I’m still here because of you.” Flint lowered his volume, trying not to humiliate the man. It took every ounce of self-control in him not to insult Captain Ironheart or throw him off the wall. “You’re the reason most of us are still here, and the stronghold isn’t yet complete. Will you calm yourself down, sir, and take command? Or do I have to do it for you?”
“You can’t talk to me that way! I’m your commanding officer.” The quivering, overweight man turned to one of the builders standing next to him. “Open the gate now! That’s an order.”
Flint drove a clenched fist into Captain Ironheart’s stomach. Years of working as a builder for the army had hardened his shoulders, chest, and arms. Ten years with the [Building] skill stone in his [Power Node] had done wonders too. He didn’t know what the spoiled lordling had received from his family after coming of age, but he was sure the captain didn’t have many physical reinforcements. The punch folded Captain Ironheart in half, driving all the air out of his lungs. Flint ignored the spittle that sprayed on his face and followed up with a blow to the jaw.
None of the men said anything when their commanding officer fell to the ground unconscious.
“Alright,” Flint sighed, turning to his fellow builders. “If anyone asks, you guys tried to stop me. Understood?” A couple of them flashed little smiles at him. The rest just nodded. Flint turned to the boy working the supply role. “Please tell me you at least have [Builder’s Brawn].” The boy nodded. “Good. Drag the pompous asshole into the stronghold. I don’t care if he suffers bumps and bruises along the way, but try not to get him killed.”
“What would you like us to do, sir?” one of the builders asked after the boy left. “We don’t stand a chance against those…” The man looked at the approaching battering ram hesitantly, “…Things.”
“We don’t,” Flint replied, exhaling loudly. His racing heart and aching temples made it difficult to concentrate, but he reminded himself that he was the closest thing they had left to a commanding officer. “I may have served for quite a while, but I’m not a sergeant. Assholes like Ironheart’s father won’t ever let a Woodson gain rank.”
Flint tried using a light-hearted tone but failed to cut the tension. None of the men smiled. “You’re right, Tailor. We don’t stand a chance against the fae and their war beasts. The trolls make our chances nil.” Flint turned to the wall and pointed to the horizon. “My [Marksmanship] skill stone gave me [Keen Eye] not long ago. I don’t know if you can see it, but let me reassure you—I can see flags among the trees. Reinforcements are on the way. We don’t need to win. Just buy time.”
A whisper spread through the huddled builders. The few garrison forces still standing on inner walls glanced at them. None of them complained, though. The Builder’s Division ranked at the bottom among the Iron Army’s forces, but people knew better than to mess with them. Besides, unlike Flint, most of them didn’t have the [Marksmanship] skill stone. They’d do little more than waste arrows and bolts.
“I’m not going to give you orders,” Flint continued, picking up his crossbow and loading it. “Instead, I’ll ask for volunteers. If you have [Reinforce], you can help me hold the wall until the civilians are all inside the stronghold.” He aimed at a war beast, ramming its tree-branch-like antlers at the wall below them and fired. [Keen Eye] and [Steady Hand] helped him hit a crack in the bark armor once again. The beast roared and fell back. “Those of you with [Combat Skill] stones can help the garrison with their defense too. The rest can join the civilians or supply us with potions and bolts.”
Flint turned to the builders once again as he reloaded his weapon. Keeping his hands busy kept them from shaking; showing fear wouldn’t do well for morale. “I won’t think any less of you if you decide to leave,” Flint said. “I have no family, wife, or children. Most of you, on the other hand, do. Some of them might be here in the stronghold and terrified. If you can’t stomach combat, join them and give them strength. Anyone who dares to belittle you for it will have to answer to me. We’re not soldiers. Fighting isn’t our job. This is about survival. You can choose which you prefer: fight or flight.”
Only a third of the builders retreated. It frustrated Flint that most of them were veterans without familial ties. He didn’t say anything. It would set a bad example for the men. Even though he didn’t have rank, they listened to him due to his head for construction and ten years of service.
Once fewer people were crowding the walls, Flint whistled. His shoulders relaxed when the familiar clicking of claws on stone reached his ears. A white and brown sheepdog sprinted up the stairs, clutching a waterskin between her jaws. She stopped in front of Flint and dropped the container at his feet.
“Thanks, girl,” he said, falling to his knees and kissing her between the eyes. She licked at his face before sitting down and looking up at him unexpectantly. “Run to the stronghold when I tell you. Alright?” She barked, her tongue hanging out and tail wagging. Her smile and affection helped Flint pull himself together. “Good girl.” He smiled, scratching her head and returning his attention to the attacking army. The cool beverage soothed his calm, racing thoughts. “We’re going to get through this.”
Flint had lied to his fellow builders. He did have a family. The difference was that none of them were human. Most of the older builders joked that Flint couldn’t make it last with women because he preferred the company of dogs. Others believed that his last name, Woodson, turned most of them away. After all, no one wanted to risk mixing with dirty blood.
Personally, Flint wasn’t sure which of them he believed. Both were true to some extent. Most women got tired of him having a deeper bond with canines than with them. Flint couldn’t help it. Dogs understood him better than any human did. He didn’t have to tell Maya what made him uncomfortable; she followed his cues and understood. A scholar he once courted said it was a birth defect in his brain, claiming Flint had trouble understanding the emotions of people around him. He considered her hypothesis bullshit.
After repelling several approaching war beasts, Flint spotted the puck again. Its curling horns were now covered in blood. The high-fae had stopped floating, though, giving him hope. It stood holding a luminescent spherical crystal in its hand. Flint’s jaw clenched as he identified the object. It was a skill stone. He couldn’t tell what type of stone it was from atop the wall, but it didn’t matter. Even the most common kinds were invaluable. He had signed up for two terms with the Iron Army just so he could get them to fill his [Power] and [Control] nodes. However, now that the puck’s magic was inactive, Flint had a chance of hurting it. His iron-tipped bolts would interfere with fae spells, of course, but he feared alerting his target and facing its wrath.
Flint willed [Focused Shot] to activate and felt the bolt vibrate against the crossbow’s wood. Usually, he ensured no one was watching before using the ability. If any of the soldiers discovered that he had unlocked an offensive power, they’d report it to their superior officers. Then Flint would find himself reassigned to one of the more combat-focused divisions. He didn’t care for them and was content in his current position. It wasn’t the time to keep secrets, though—survival was on the line. So, he steadied himself against the ramparts and fired.
Time slowed as Flint activated the skill. If he placed [Marksmanship] in the [Power Node], he could’ve unlocked a more damaging ability. The [Mind Node] would’ve added magical effects to his shots. Flint wasn’t sure how it would interact with the [Aura Node], but barely anyone understood the mysterious fourth slot. Unfortunately, he got no offensive bonuses from the [Control Node]. [Focused Shot] sapped his stamina to increase his projectile’s flight speed ever so slightly. Its primary bonus was the ability to slow his perception of time for the split second before he released the crossbow bolt. It gave him a much-needed moment to aim for the puck’s eye before he fired.
The crossbow bolt flew true and struck the puck’s right eye. Golden light shimmered around the creature for a heartbeat before fading. Flint held his breath as the beast fell on its bottom, clutching its face, and roared. “Iron be damned,” he whispered as his target got back onto its feet and pulled the projectile out. The wound smoked as iron reacted to fae blood. It was blind in one eye now but not dead.
When the puck raised its giant hairy hands, the wind picked up. He pointed them at Flint, and a powerful blast of air struck the wall where he stood. The force knocked him off-balance, and he staggered backward, almost going over the side. Maya bit down on his coat and pulled, reacting much faster than any unempowered human. Flint grabbed the platform’s edge just in time and hung on for dear life. The fall wouldn’t kill him, but it would probably break one or more of his limbs, and he couldn’t afford to suffer such damage in the current situation. He released his crossbow, cursing himself for not slinging it across his shoulder, and climbed to safety.
