Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (essential reading .txt) 📗

old tavern ballad, and the corridor fell silent again. Everyone, even Tul, knew how the story ended. When the Old Kingdom collapsed, giving birth to thirteen new ones, the era of endless wars began.

But one day, as the half-forgotten prophecy foretold, the Last King would be born. His veins would be filled with black blood, his eyes, once red would be covered with an icy crust, once red, his hair will be darker than the abyss, and the earth would tremble under his feet. He would unite not only the Thirteen Kingdoms built on the ruins of the past, but also conquer many more lands, creating an Empire of a Hundred Capitals.

Evil would always live nearby, waiting for a good moment to strike. But the great evil... The great evil was born from the great good. The one who would be called the Star King and whose name would be given to his firstborn would become the terror of the unnamed planet. The first and only horseman of the Apocalypse.

The carved staff tapped steadily on the icy floor of the ancient halls. Once upon a time, here, among the tall columns decorated in the form of gigantic figures of great wizards, druids, necromancers, witches, and mages of the past; among the balustrades that overlooked the edge of the world; among the huge halls that were ready to accommodate dozens of balls; among all this splendor lived the mages of the past. They did magic, the kind of which would make a modern mage grimace as if they were suffering a toothache. But despite all of its sloppiness and crudeness, it was still beautiful.

The Order of Graven’Dor devoted itself not to fighting, but to science, art, and history. On the walls, though cracked and hidden in the shadows, you could still see the scenes of the past. Somewhere, a warlord was leading armies into battle, fearlessly looking into the amber eyes of a dragon. In other places, a robed figure, raising a magic sword and sphere above their head, caused the rain to fall, returning life to the dry earth.

Now everything was shrouded in mist and ice. However, wherever the sound of the carved staff was heard, there was also a trickle of drops. Melted water rushed somewhere through the gaps, cleansing the ancient castle of evil spells. Ash was aware of the danger of his actions, but at the same time, he couldn’t help himself.

The young mage, who had always valued beauty, couldn’t allow this place to be lost to witchcraft. Let his breath turn to steam, and legs and arms became blue, but the fire would continue to fight against the ice.

He could’ve cast a powerful spell and tried to win back Graven’Dor from the clutches of the Ice Queen, but sometimes it was better not to wake up a slumbering beast. Perhaps this is what the ballad of the Star King was supposed to teach. Sometimes, heroism led only to universal grief. Sometimes, you needed to look away and continue walking. Well, who better than Ash knew that by helping someone you only give another a reason to hate you.

“What is it this time?” Blackbeard sighed. “The crown has already been joked about. Will-o-wisps?”

“How about snow zombies?” Tul muttered through gritted teeth as he drew back the bowstring until it creaked.

There was a grating sound. A sharp, high-pitched, glass-like screech gradually approached, filling the hall. Ash felt the Stumps tense up, and heard the clanging of metal being drawn from its scabbard. He rubbed his hands together, trying to keep warm and keep out the growing cold.

The enchanted light shook and danced wildly, but it didn’t go out. To break a Master’s spell, it took something stronger than the dead, whose souls had long since turned to snow and whose eyes were now frozen wells.

Soon, the shadows seemed to spit out two figures — servants of Anna’Bre. Once fearless, glorious heroes, they now looked like an experiment of a young necromancer gone wrong. Dozens, if not hundreds of them dragged across the floor their weapons as they made their way to the Stumps. Dwarves and elves, humans and trolls, orcs, and other creatures who gave their warmth to the power of Anna’Bre found eternal life in eternal slavery. Weak-willed dolls, driven by the powers of a witch.

“This is awful,” Mary whispered, startled.

Ash couldn’t disagree with her. A man stepped into the light. Once tall, slender, and broad-shouldered, he was now hunched, blue-faced, and covered with frost. With a rasp, he eagerly reached for the only sources of heat in this abode of cold and darkness. His eyes, covered with a sheet of transparent ice, glowed with a blue haze. Behind him stood an army of people like him. All those who had once despised danger gathered for their next battle. Only this time, they weren’t led by their heart that pumped hot blood through their veins, but by a shard of ice of impeccable purity.

A group of them approached the travelers and then suddenly froze. They raised their enchanted weapons above their heads and opened their mouths in silent screams.

Blackbeard gripped his shield and covered his companions with Dragon’s Wing. Tul was already taking aim at the most dangerous enemies; Mary and Lari had drawn their blades, ready to cut down anyone who came within striking distance. Alice chanted and waved her wand every now and then. With each wave, one of the adventurers was momentarily enveloped in a golden or turquoise glow.

Ash did nothing, only observed carefully as the melted areas of the floor were covered with frost again. It could only mean one thing…

“You’ve come,” a high, beautiful voice rang out. It was as if a celestial nymph had picked up a harp and begun to sing. “Like he said... You came.”

“Who’s there?” Lari asked, swinging the blades in his hand.

Ash didn’t pay attention to the