Burnout Reincarnation [SLOW BURN COZY 'MAGIC CRAFTING' KINGDOM BUILDING PROGRESSION] (LitRPG elements) [3 arcs done!]

Three horses spawned out of the inky black of the Dungeon, charging to join the fray.

But a few more mooks wasn't really a problem. Even if they kept coming, Archmund could snipe them. Even as they came, he traced their movements and fired his Infrared Lance.

One horse fell.

But the Hundred-Eyed Centaur turned away from them, charging towards the Dungeon, towards the arriving horses. Archmund fired wildly towards the horses, but the Centaur swung out one black, meaty hand, taking the Infrared Lance to its own flesh. Though the beam would have killed the lesser Monsters, it only charred the Centaur's palm.

It swung its other sinewy arm at a sleek black horse, and clutched the horse's oblong skull in its giant hand.

The Centaur squeezed. The horse's head popped like a grape, darkness oozing out of darkness. The Hundred-Eyed Centaur drank of the horse, hand to mouth, even as the horse slumped, a puppet with its strings cut.

It looked like that portrait of Saturn Eating His Own Son.

And then it turned on the other horse, snapping its neck with a sharp blow from the bow. It took huge bites out of the flesh, tearing at it with teeth far sharper than any man's.

"Oh, goddess," Rory muttered. He looked a tad green.

Archmund took deep breaths.

This was a consolidation problem.

One or two Monsters were easy enough to kill. The first horse to be spawned by the Dungeon had fallen to his Infrared Lance. When he'd cut down the group of six, they were able to absorb the miasma of their slain comrades to become stronger.

Monsters would continue to spawn. And when they came, they would be eaten by the Hundred-Eyed Centaur. The Hundred-Eyed Centaur would get stronger and stronger and stronger.

They could wear it down between spawning periods, but they would get weaker while it healed by killing its comrades, which came infinitely from the Dungeon.

"We shouldn't have come down here," Rory said.

There had to be a clever way to end this.

He couldn't die here.

This was his own damn fault. He'd built a mechanism where the Monsters could get stronger, while he wouldn't have any real way to train. Nor was his County economically strong enough to attract others who could keep them down.

And then, instead of training within the Dungeon or soliciting for strong adventurers, he'd tried to take a middle ground and plan for the long term. Taking lessons on magic to develop his fundamentals and maintain his future flexibility instead of training in the Dungeon and mastering his weapons. Raising up his own personal army, taking steps to develop a fighting force loyal to him alone, instead of allowing outsiders capable of handling the problem into his lands.

There wasn't any way around it. This was all of because of his prudence.

All because of his long-term planning.

All because of his greed.

"Can you guard me for a minute?" he said to Rory.

"You better not be thinking of running," Rory said.

"We could," he said. "We could get our men out, run back to the top, and attack it from up there."

"It'd run us down if we tried."

"One minute," Archmund said. "I won't run. Just get me that much."

Rory nodded. He began spinning his staff like a helicopter blade. They were lucky the Hundred-Eyed Centaur was still in the middle of its meal.

Archmund pulled out his Gemstone Tablet and furiously tapped on Angelina's name.

A minute passed.

Then another.

"It's almost done eating," Rory shouted to him. "Really hoping it doesn't have any more nasty surprises for us."

After a second, he realized she might not have the context for what he meant.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

She didn't respond for another 30 seconds.

Great. He just had to survive for however long that took.

Maybe there was some secret.

The mythological weaknesses of centaurs were that they were horny bastards.

This guy seemed more like a guy who was so good at horseback riding that he was perceived as one creature.

But those eyes were definitely a weak point.

He might not have been able to burn through them effectively, but…

He just had to risk it all. Again.

He returned to Rory's side, letting his magic diffuse into his Gemstone Rapier. He slid his Gemstone Sword back onto his back.

"Changing tactics?"

Archmund nodded, focusing on the feeling of tension, the blade wanting to dance in his hands.

"Guard me."

Rory raised an eyebrow. "But—"

"Unless you've got a secret way of killing it?"

Rory glowered. "Alright."

The Hundred-Eyed Centaur finished eating, devouring the final horse that Archmund had slain with his Infrared Lance.

These creatures, no matter how intelligent or fearsome they seemed, were dead. They were beasts of regret and instinct and aversion.

The language they spoke was pain. Prolonged, ongoing pain.

And eyes were very soft pieces of tissue.

The Hundred-Eye Centaur beat its chest with its fists, and began galloping towards where its bow had fallen after Archmund had Disarmed it.

It was a coward after all, like all of the regretful dead. It wanted to avoid pain instead of chasing victory. It would much prefer a bow over any other weapon.

So Archmund and Rory charged forward again, swatting its arrows out of the air, until they were within melee range.

He let the magic bead within the Gemstone Rapier until it could only help but burst, and then his arms flew forward a man possessed, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing. He moved to the side until he was stabbing at the Monster's flank with his Flurry of Blows, poking an eye out with every stab.

The beast might have had a hundred eyes, but many were on its side, where it couldn't kick or easily reach. It bellowed in pain.

It was working.

Kind of.

The eyes he stabbed grew back anew, but with a thick and heavy eyelid above them. He targeted the easiest eyes, but a blow or two would go askance and hit the ones regrown. They closed on reflex when his blade approached; he stabbed through anyways. He felt resistance. His blade still pierced the eyelid flesh, but slower, gooier, and the blackened blood that spurted out ran thick like tar.

But it was working. The Monster grew more agitated, wilder, more reckless. The eyelids thicker and gooier, but still thin enough to pierce.

And its shadow fell over him.

Rory was supposed to be guarding him. Rory was a meter, two meters away. Rory hadn't expected his Flurry of Blows. Rory was doing the best he could.

Rory wasn't able to stop the Hundred-Eyed Centaur's fist from smashing against Archmund's Deflection. Rory wasn't able to stop the full force of the blow, which pushed the flat of Archmund's Gemstone Rapier into him. Rory wasn't able to stop the Hundred-Eyed Centaur's giant fist from hitting Archmund straight in the chest, sending him flying backwards, limbs flailing through the air.

Everything ached.

Everything was darker.

His ears were ringing.

His ribs felt like they were broken. His arms and legs, his whole torso, like someone had beaten him with hammers.

But he wasn't dead.

Why wasn't his chest caved in?

"Granavale!"

Someone was shouting his name.

"Granavale!"

He wished they would stop. His ears were ringing so loudly. So painfully.

Xander Cooper's tear-streaked face shimmered into a vision.

He wasn't crying for him, was he?

Archmund blinked a few times. Xander grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him.

Didn't he know you weren't supposed to shake injured people?

How was he alive?

He looked at his hands. He was seeing double from the impact — there was a thin shimmer around his arm.

No — the ground, the tent, the air, the sky — all those were single. His vision was fine. There was just a thin shimmer around his body, vibrating furiously, as if cracking, sucking power from his Gems and his soul to knit him back together.

The Skill, Bodily Barrier. That had to be the only explanation.

It didn't make that much sense — the Ghost of All Granavale had only used the Onyx Cube to deflect energy attacks like lightning or heat — but lightning was matter, not energy — it was plasma, deionized by electrical currents jumping through the air, wasn't it?

And any physical blow was kinetic energy.

Which could be transferred, but never created or destroyed.

Which could explain why he hurt all over, not just in his chest.

Xander had stood up, shakily brandishing his Rapier before him.

Archmund became vaguely aware of the scent of stone dust and sawdust, of lying on a bunch of rather unpleasant pebbles, of a splinter digging into his neck. A twinge of annoyance: his Bodily Barrier could save him from breaking his spine after smashing into masonry, but couldn't save him from a millimeter splinter? Absurd.

Add it to the pile, he guessed.

He forced himself to sit up. It hurt. It hurt a lot. He was amazed he could move at all. He was sure he'd have broken bones.

He gave a thought, and his Ruby Tetrahedron came flying back to him. It had dimmed slightly, the magic flowing out of it back into his soul and body. What power he had stored in it was now rushing violently back, keeping him healthy and whole.

The Centaur had gone wild. It was thrashing about, uncoordinated, unmeasured. Throwing punches every which way, not even thinking about picking up its bow. Rory fended it off skillfully, blocking one fist, dodging the other. But he was only defending; he had no capacity to attack.

But his plan had worked. He'd put the Monster in enough pain that it had reverted to base instinct, which unfortunately meant it unleashed its raw animalistic strength.

Xander wasn't standing between him and the Centaur.

Xander was facing the other way.

Archmund followed his gaze.

There was a corpse, its face covered with a hat, on the floor.

There were two bodies lying on makeshift cots. But they shifted, tormented, still alive.

There was a man pointing a spear at them. A rudimentary weapon. A Gemstone Dagger crudely bolted to a wooden rod, yet it glinted lavender with faltering unearthly light.

Xander lowered his Rapier, his voice breaking with relief.

"You're alive."