Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 139 – Floor 12: Part 8

The illusion shattered like a mirror being struck by a rock. Shards of magic struck the ground around the lake. The mirror-like surface of the water was finally disturbed; the mana Mathew was exuding pushed everything away, and large waves formed and crashed against the shore.

The Lady of the Lake had focused her mind and magic on forming an entire world in which to test Mathew’s character.

The power of the magical sword and what it symbolized could not be given to someone of unknown qualities. She was responsible for ensuring that anyone who took the throne of Anglia would do what was best for the Kingdom.

With her focus entirely on crafting the illusion, Mathew's resulting explosive outburst of mana took her entirely by surprise. Defenceless, she was thrown backwards and landed heavily on the soft, grass-covered ground.

Mathew opened his eyes, and the illusion that had clouded his sight was gone. In its place was the lake and its Lady. The air vibrated with the mana radiating from his body, and his eyes locked onto the Lady of the Lake just as she climbed back to her feet.

He was beyond angry, infuriated at this creature. It wasn’t just that she had ripped his consciousness away and locked him into some sort of dream world that he had no control over. Or the fact that he had lost his memories while he was there.

No, what pissed him off the most was that she dared to bring him home. It had been decades since he had been to his Earth, had seen his family or those closest to him. And now, the Lady of the Lake had dangled that life in front of him as some kind of test.

“How dare you!” Mathew hissed out through teeth clenched together in rage.

He could barely keep a reign of his emotions. He had been home, had seen his father, and it had all been a lie! She had used his own mind against him, sullied one of the last memories he had of Marshall Larson in order to test him!

The Lady of the Lake climbed back to her feet. If Mathew’s display of power scared her, she didn’t show it.

“I had to know if you were worthy. Anglia needs-” Mathew’s shouted response cut her off.

“Damn Anglia! You had no right! I should burn this place to the ground and you with it!” Mathew yelled, his hand clenched into a fist so tightly that his skin was white.

“Do that, and you will fail your quest. The gods have brought you here for a reason, and the test of Chivalry was the only way to fulfill it. You have passed the tests of Charity and Honour. Only the Tests of Kindness, Justice and Loyalty remain. You just need to submit to me.” The Lady said, her dress blowing gently in the wind from the storm that Mathew’s rage was generating. Mathew stared at her for a moment before shaking his head.

“Submit.” Mathew muttered, and the Lady nodded.

“It’s the only way that you may gain control of the Sword of Excalibur. I will not release my hold over it until I know that you can be trusted.” The Lady of the Lake said. Mathew thought for a moment, the rage burning inside him.

He kept thinking of home, of his father and mother. Would he see them again if he let her enter his memories? Would he see New York and his friends? Would he see Emily?

The thought of seeing her again was almost painful after so many years. He had entered the Tower to find her, to help her achieve her dream of saving her mother. It had been decades, and he was no closer to finding her. He didn’t even know if she was still alive.

“No. I won’t let you back inside my head.” Mathew said.

The Lady looked at him with a mixture of pity, sadness and understanding. She began to walk back toward the Lake; the water lapped around her ankles as she spoke to him again.

“Then you will never gain control of the sword. I find you unworthy to wield Excalibur.” She stated, and Mathew felt power enter the blade still buried to the hilt in the stone. It was a monumental amount of mana, a torrent that dwarfed what had been present inside it before.

She took a final look at Mathew before continuing to wade into the waters of her lake. It had reached nearly up to her shoulders when Mathew finally moved. He walked toward the blade and grasped the hilt once more.

A searing pain shot up his arm; the heat of magic inside Excalibur burned his palm. The force of mana inside the blade rushed toward him, intent on devouring anyone not worthy to hold it. The Lady once again stopped, her blue eyes staring at him. They matched the colour of the lake water.

“It’s useless. I do not approve of you.” She called out in a final attempt to dissuade Mathew.

“I don’t need, or want, your approval.” Mathew said as he let Excalibur’s mana burn his palm.

“You’re just like the gods, always needing everything to be on your terms. Wanting us to kneel and grovel, to beg for scraps like dogs. You act like you have the right to enter my mind, to change my memories and manipulate my emotions because you think I need you. That I need your ‘permission’ to take what’s already mine.” Mathew said, slowly reaching over with his other hand and gripping the sword.

The mana inside Excalibur, sensing weakness and a new opportunity to achieve victory, threw itself against Mathew once more. He didn’t move; he let It gather calmly while he focused on what he needed to do next.

The Lady of the Lake felt a chill travel down her spine as she watched the young man seize the sword without flinching or reacting. She knew how powerful the blade was, how her mana surged through it. It was a destructive force that not many in Anglia could use even with her permission. Without it, grasping Excalibur was madness.

“But I learned something during my time in the Tower, from observing the gods and their Apostles.” Mathew said, and the wind around him strengthened. A storm gathered in the formerly blue skies above the lake. The waves violently crashed on the shore and the Lady of the Lake could do nothing to calm them.

“I learned that if you want something that another doesn’t want you to possess, you can just take it as long as you have overwhelming strength.” Mathew whispered.

“Something like a sword. Or a life.”

Mathew’s mana, fueled by anger and determination, blazed through his chest and limbs as he cycled it to enhance his strength and protect his body from the effects of Excalibur. Planting his feet firmly, he tightened his hands on the hilt of the sword and pulled.

Mathew hurled his mana into the hilt as he tried to raise the sword from the stone it was trapped in. He pushed back the mana inside the magical object and ripped control of the sword from the Lady of the Lake. Her hold of the sword crumbled, along with her mana.

The Lady of the Lake stared at the storm in the sky and the man who caused it with awe and dread. A vortex of mana swirled around him as Mathew’s muscles bulged, his Blessing transforming his flesh to enhance his strength.

“That’s impossible.” The Lady whispered as the sword budged an inch in its earthen prison. The runes on the blade glowed, first blue to symbolize the Lady’s control, before turning red as Mathew’s foreign mana dominated it.

She felt her control loosen, and when she tried to recover, it felt as if she were trying to throw water against an iron wall. The young man was unstoppable. With a final pull, she lost complete control over Excalibur.

Mathew let out a roar that echoed across the lake; his face flushed red, and veins stood out as he pulled. Slowly, inevitably, the blade was drawn from the stone. The Lady had a final view of Mathew, the sword gripped in both hands before a flash of white light took him away.

‘What kind of monster had the gods unleashed onto Anglia?’ The Lady thought as she sank beneath the surface of her lake.

Page Break

The flash of light consumed the entire interior of the Grand Cathedral. A force of wind and mana blew through the building, shattering the stained glass windows. The storm raged overhead, the clouds as dark as night and rain pelted Londinium.

When the light finally faded, Daphne and the others saw Prince Aiden standing triumphantly before the stone holding Excalibur. The blade itself was in his hands, raised overhead as it glowed a bright red from the runes carved on the steel.

If there were any doubts regarding the Prince’s origins or strength, they were shattered by the display of power. The oppressive feeling he gave slowly faded as the rain stopped and the clouds overhead began to disperse. The crowd surged to its feet to get a better look at the Prince.

The Cathedral was stunned into silence; no one spoke until the King climbed to his feet. Looking at Aiden and the sword in his hands, he turned to the crowd and shouted.

“Behold, your Crown Prince. Aiden!”

Daphne was deafened by the roaring of the crowd around her.