Hive Knight: A Dark Fantasy LitRPG (Trinity of the Hive Book 1) by Grayson Sinclair (poetry books to read TXT) 📗

I reached over to the stone shelf and picked up my hairbrush to gently brush my hair, a process that took time if done correctly.

Once my hair was brushed, I caught a glimpse of wiry hair and ran my fingers over my prominent jawline, as the heavy prickles of stubble threatened to blossom into a beard. I’d yet again neglected to shave. Glancing at the sink, I thought about grabbing my razor and just getting it over with, but I didn’t feel like getting out of the bath. The heat from the water took away my will do anything else.

I sat under the water for almost an hour, my amber eyes staring back at me as I daydreamed. When my skin started to resemble that of a raisin and the heat from the water began to make me drowsy, I reluctantly climbed out of the bath and headed for the sublime comfort of my bed to catch up on my sleep.

Chapter 5 - Under Siege

I awoke to someone banging on my door. An occurrence I wish I could say was a rarity for me. Our guild's idea of politeness was knocking half a second before entering, not exactly the easiest people to live with at times. From the rhythm of the knocks, I could tell at once who was outside, rapping at my chamber door.

Without waiting for an answer, the door swung open, and Wilson stepped through, looking somewhat disheveled. His dark leather armor was oiled and silent, but his face was a mess. A sight that immediately put me on alert. His gray hair was tousled by sleep, and his usually perfect beard hadn't been combed. Wilson was such a fanatic about his appearance that anything that made him disregard his morning routine was cause for concern.

“D,” he called, as he caught sight of me, forgoing his usual polite greeting to get straight to the point, “Trouble on the home front.”

"Oh, by the nine kings of Hell, not again." I rubbed at my temples, wincing as the lingering headache pulsed through my skull. His words could only mean one thing. We're being invaded...again. I nodded at him. “All right, understood.”

We both knew the next move, and I hopped out of bed so I could change into more appropriate attire. Going into battle in my pajamas was a nightmare I’d stopped having after my first few months here.

“You don’t need me to give you orders. You know the drill. Get everyone ready.”

“Already done, before I came and woke you. I figured that would be your response.”

Wilson's cheeky grin teased my back as he spoke. As much of the boring, stuck up, and general pain in my ass that he was, he was damn good at his job. I had to admit, I couldn’t lead the guild half as well if he weren’t here to back me up.

“Thank you, Wilson. Did the representative from Aldrust happen to drop off a package when they were here? Please say yes.”

“Indeed, they did. You’re going to have to tell me one of these days how you managed to convince the dwarves to forge you a set of shadowsteel armor?”

“It’s a very long and painfully humiliating story that I’d rather not get into…besides, King Balthazar still refuses to let me live down the incident with the chicken.”

I walked over to my wardrobe. Sitting on the lower shelf was a thick wooden box wrapped in canvas. I unwrapped it to find my armor whole and completely repaired.

Wilson snorted and tried to cover it with a cough. “In any case, the bill was fifteen thousand gold. I deducted the amount from your savings and sent the payment back with the representative. That’s quite a hefty sum for simple repairs, Duran.”

“Yeah, well. Thrayl promised he’d make me pay the next time I damaged his precious armor. It’s just his way of getting me back. All right, get out there and see what you see. I want a report by the time I arrive.”

“Will do,” he said and departed, silent as a wraith. The emptiness in the room from his absence alerted me that he’d left.

Fifteen thousand, Thrayl? Really? Oh, well. Should still have close to a hundred thousand left, more than plenty. Not having the necessary information on who was attacking, I opted for overkill and donned the gear. I quickly changed into my shadowsteel armor by hitting the equip-all button on my interface.

The light metal settled comfortably around me as I equipped it. Shadowsteel had the look of lightweight plate, but rather than the blocky hunks of metal most adventurers strapped to themselves, my armor was a smooth, glossy black, which seemed to suck in light from any nearby sources. Anyone can buy hunks of shadowsteel ore, but it takes a master dwarven craftsman to forge something this spectacular.

Sliding it on, I knew it was worth whatever price Thrayl asked for. It’s almost as beautiful as Lachrymal’s Heart, if not nearly so terrifying. I shied away from thoughts about The Weeping God and its strange artifact. My one and only visit to witness it had left me running from the Iron Cathedral.

Thrayl had even taken my suggestion to heart and accented the trim of the umbrae armor with a splash of purple to reflect our guild’s colors. The royal purple complemented the stark black nicely. As soon as I was sure there wasn't an issue with it, I exited the room in a rush, donning my sword as I left.

I enjoyed the familiar weight on my hip as I strolled through the hall. Even more so than my armor, my sword was the most expensive item I owned by far. Crafted by a good friend in the noble district in the Central Kingdom, my sword was made of shiversteel, a lightweight and incredibly sharp metal that could cut through nearly anything but