Pincer tactics a litrpg.., p.1
Pincer Tactics: A LitRPG Adventure (Twelfth Cataclysm Book 2), page 1
PINCER TACTICS
©2023 VALERIOS
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CONTENTS
Also in Series
1. Salom
2. A Sneaky Mustache
3. The Spirit of Youth
4. A Crab on Fire
5. Fury and Honor
6. The King of Numbers
7. A Family of Red and Charm
8. Like Father…
9. The Struggles of Being a Doorman
10. Tongue Work
11. Pressure on All Fronts
12. Hats Maketh Man
13. Tough Calls
14. A Devilish Misunderstanding
15. Assault of the Phaclerones
16. The Antlet
17. Last Skill
18. A Historian’s Wet Dream
19. Man, Phac Side Quests
20. Otto
21. Rain and Meadow
22. The Great Crab Heist
23. Fated
24. Neville the Explorer
25. Phac’s Tunnels of Horror
26. A Series of Unfortunate Events
27. Crab Tactics 101
28. Running for One’s Life
29. Berserker
30. Who’s Weak Now, Bitch?
Thank you for reading Pincer Tactics!
Groups
LitRPG
ALSO IN SERIES
What the Shell?
Pincer Tactics
ONE
SALOM
The necromancer had been stopped, and the Corruption halted in its deadly steps. A mysterious mastermind had appeared, claiming that his evil supported the greater good. Phac and Oreg had told him off.
Unfortunately, his influence had been felt quickly. Phac and Oreg, along with the four people they’d rescued from the necromancer’s tower—Neville, Maylin, Ximea, and Daryll—had been attacked by adventurers, a newly formed mercenary organization. Oreg had chosen to fight. In the battle that followed, after burning his blood to give it his all, he fell to save Phac’s life.
It was devastating, at the time. He was mourned, honored, and buried. Phac swore revenge. But life goes on and, eventually, the rest of the group reached Salom, the main city of Dawn Island.
Phac opened his eyes wide to take in the sight. To his right, eastwards, a shoreline extended, probably the same he’d appeared on. Towering walls sprouted from the ground ahead, extending to the right until they hit the shoreline, and to the left until they circled around the city, eventually curving out of sight. Behind Phac was the forest they’d just gotten out of while, if he looked to his left, toward the west, sprawling fields stretched all the way to the far-off hills.
The sun hung high in a spotless blue sky, revealing a town in the height of its prime, a small but steady stream of people flowing in and out of its gates with carts interspersed among them.
Over the walls, the top of a strange monument could be seen. It was a tall, gray tower topped by a large metal ball painted yellow. Similarly colored rays of metal stretched out of the ball, making the monument resemble the sun. It was the Dawn Tower, the proud symbol of Salom.
Where the walls met the sea lay another type of sea, one made of poorly constructed huts. Dirty, rag-dressed people wandered near the entrance of the slums. Some headed toward the town, and some returned from it, but most just hung around, holding banners or begging for money from the well-off people who moved through the arching gap in the walls—the town gate.
“Wow.” Phac gaped at the sight, the colorful assortment of people numbering much, much more than he’d ever seen so far.
“Those are the slums,” Maylin explained as they slowly walked to the gates. “It’s where the poor and unwanted reside, with the guards rarely setting foot there.”
“How many people is that?” asked Neville, gaping right next to Phac. He had only been to the city once before, and the two of them looked like country bumpkins to the point where people stared with either amusement or contempt.
“A few thousands, give or take,” she replied. “It’s difficult to estimate.”
“Is that the half-blood settlement?” Phac turned to regard his companions, remembering Daryll’s words on half-blood discrimination and how they lived at the very edge of the city. Their group was made up of Neville, Maylin, Ximea, Daryll, and himself. Grief appeared at the thought of the green, tusked warrior who used to be the sixth member of their group.
At least you went down fighting, my friend. Are there any orcs here? thought Phac but, looking around, failed to spot anyone green enough.
“The slums are part of the half-blood settlement, yes,” Ximea stepped in to explain, interrupting Phac’s thoughts and receiving Maylin’s glare, “but most of the half-bloods live inside the city, right at its edge, just behind these walls.”
The walls themselves rose eight meters tall, towering over the people walking under them. The stone was only interrupted by a gate, an open arch allowing people to cross through the walls and enter the city, right into a wide road that curved toward the seaside. Two armed, serious-looking guards were stationed at the gate’s sides. However, contrary to what one might expect, they weren’t stopping anyone for inspection or to ask for a fee, lending the town a sense of safety and calmness. Only their eyes tirelessly darted around, checking faces for anyone suspicious.
As the group approached the gate, following a dirt road that passed by the slum area, Phac surveyed the impoverished group that waited by the side. It was made up of various races, including dwarves. What a name. He’d thought it just meant short people not an entirely different race!
Most of the slum people sat on the dirt, some looking at the passersby while others were in a bowing position, their heads touching the floor. Everyone had some sort of cup or box in front of them with a few bronze coins sitting inside. They made quite a striking contrast to the sense of security presented by the guards. Phac, smiling sadly, gave a beggar some bronze coins he’d kept as change from the adventurers.
A few of the crowd, however, were bundled up in groups, looking armed, armored, and dangerous. They held banners and offered protection to the passing merchants.
“Mercenaries,” explained Maylin. “Protecting the caravans from bandits and wild animals, though mostly from animals. The surrounding bandits are all in league with the slums’ mercenaries and don’t attack if they are the ones guarding, so the merchants are practically buying their free passage. The bandits only attack if there are other guard parties, or none.”
“Huh,” exclaimed Phac. “That’s smart.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “These guards and the bandits are often part of the same organization so…yeah. I don’t know if it’s smart, but it’s how things work.”
Looking around, a lot of glances were directed at them, drawn in by Phac’s weirdly shaped greatsword, Maylin’s red hair, Daryll’s plate armor, or the lithe Ximea’s form-fitting garments. They were by far the most eye-catching group around, almost resembling a traveling circus as Phac had noted.
Phac enjoyed the admiration-filled looks his weapon was receiving—at least, that’s what he hoped they were, since he liked Pincer and wanted other people to like it, too.
“Why do people become bandits? Couldn’t they make money in…less illegal ways?” asked Neville.
“Not if you live in the slums. The only legal options are farming and fishing, but not everyone can fit there. Most become highway robbers, in-town thieves, conmen, or beggars—and begging is everyone’s last choice.”
“That doesn’t sound like a good system,” Phac commented as they crossed under the arched gate, unhindered by the guards despite their group’s novelty. The tunnel’s ceiling was made of bricks, supporting its weight in a way Phac didn’t quite understand but, then again, he didn’t care much
He also noticed a plaque embedded in the ceiling of the arch. It read ‘Penville.’ Wasn’t Penville that Donald guy’s last name, the one who escaped the tower? He did say he was a builder.
“You’re right, this is not a good system,” Maylin said, shaking her ginger head with a sad glint in her eyes, “but nothing can be done about it anyway.”
Once inside the town, the scenery was different. The sides of the road were now lined with tall houses stuck to each other, with the occasional narrow, dirty alley snaking away from the main street. The wide, now stone-paved road, on the other hand, seemed to be regularly cleaned.
According to Phac and Neville’s local guides, this was the poor part of the city, where the lower class and half-bloods lived. Sailors, waiters, farmers, street peddlers, and laborers of all kinds made their home here, only having a roof above their head, a bed to sleep in, and some space to store what few belongings they might have. The buildings were crammed together, leaving as little room unclaimed as possible, and apartments were crowded inside the buildings, too. This part of the city occupied only a fourth of Salom, but it housed sixty percent of the population.
Phac’s main goal in the city was to find the location of Oreg’s tribe. He had to let them know of their loss; revenge would come after. However, he was also tired. He had gone a frantic battle, after all, and he could use some sleep, even if it was currently afternoon. Therefore, his first goal was to find a room, and then, after waking up, explore the city a bit before heading to Oreg’s tribe.
This road leads to the docks. Sounds like a nice place.
Maylin had offered to host them, but Phac preferred finding his own accommodation.
“This is where our paths split.” Maylin and Ximea stopped after a point. “We have to get back home, but…feel free to visit us, okay? My father would be happy to meet you, perhaps even reward you for saving me. Just look for the Avariel family.”
Phac smiled. “I’ll pass by before leaving the city.”
“Okay,” she muttered, pulling Ximea into a side street and only looking back once.
Daryll smiled. “I’ll walk you to the Fish Square, then head west for the church. As respected as my robes are,” he said, clad in his shiny plate armor that he’d taken the time to wipe on the way, “I’d rather avoid the lower district.”
Neville, on the other hand, had already declared his intentions to share a room with Phac if the Adventurer Guild didn’t offer him lodging when he reported back. They didn’t usually accommodate low-ranking adventurers, but his Elite class might just do the trick. Those things were pretty rare, after all.
Neville’s faith in the Guild had faltered after their previous encounter, but dreams didn’t die easily. Perhaps they’d only chanced upon the bad apples.
One thing Phac noticed was that, during their walk, Daryll received a lot of attention. People of varying wealth, race, and profession would occasionally stop to respectfully greet the priest, perhaps because of his attire.
“Are you famous, Daryll?” Phac asked, smirking, and the priest only shook his head in response.
However, as the three of them were walking, the road got narrower, and the crowd denser. Phac had to keep his mind on his toes, trying not to step on anyone, to the point where he almost didn’t register someone bumping shoulders with him.
Almost.
His hand snapped out and grabbed onto a thin wrist that reached into his pocket.
“Fuck off,” he growled, and the crowd immediately thinned around him, Daryll and Neville raising their brows in surprise.
Feeling the slight tingle that came with being Inspected, Phac found himself staring down a terrified little face. It was a boy; a half-elf, judging by his ear size. He was young and dressed in rags. Phac didn’t even need to Inspect the kid to know he barely had any strength at all as his casual grip faced no resistance.
As Phac wordlessly stared into the boy’s desperate, pleading eyes, he felt a heavy exhaustion washing over him. Damn. What am I supposed to do now? Take the kid to the guards, or let him go because he’s poor and young? A half-elf, too. Fuck me, I’m not getting involved in this shit.
“Fuck off, kid,” he said, letting go of the thin wrist. “And find a real goddamn job. Go to school or whatever.”
The boy, overjoyed at getting out of this unscathed, stepped back. Before anyone from the crowd did anything to stop him, he pushed a few colorfully dressed women aside and ran into an alley. Phac looked around. Some people nodded at him, while others stared accusingly. Look all you want, I wouldn’t give a second shit about any of you. I was enjoying this, and now my mood is spoiled.
Neville and Daryll were also observing him; one in wonder, and the other in indecipherable calmness.
“What does your church say about this, Daryll?” Phac mumbled angrily. He made his way out of the crowd, the other two following.
“The church says that criminals must be judged,” said the priest, still within earshot of the crowd, “but it also says that people have to eat.”
“Does it really say that?” asked Neville, looking surprised.
“No.” Daryll gave him a tired half-smile. “But I do.”
Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, Phac couldn’t help smirking. His mood, which had been spoiled by the young thief, got much better after the middle-aged priest’s cocky comment. This old man is more and more to my liking. Perhaps religion isn’t so bad after all. You may be doing something right, Dunce!
Following the street through the lower part of the city, they eventually found themselves walking next to the seashore. Here, the wind was stronger than before. Waves crashed against the rocks that formed the coastline, spraying water high into the air before falling back to the sea. Many people were walking about, with young couples occasionally making out and causing Daryll to shake his head in disapproval while Neville’s eyes sparked, prompting Phac’s smile.
I love teenagers. Good luck, Neville. I’ll be rooting for you!
Some hundred meters ahead, a big, bland building could be seen as the road curved away from the coast, ending at a busy square right behind the docks. Piers stretched into the sea with ships anchored beside them, constantly rocked by the waves but holding strong.
Phac’s sight was instinctively drawn to the wooden ships, sliding over their sturdy hulls, tall masts, and the men busily walking on their decks. As the eastbound wind ruffled his hair, he closed his eyes and slowed his steps. He inhaled deeply, the smell of salt and seawater invading his nostrils as lively curses and shouts could be heard from the docks. His previous bad mood was gone like the wind, a relaxed smile unconsciously appearing on Phac’s face as, suddenly, he felt home.
For the first time since he woke up on that crab-infested beach, Phac allowed himself to truly relax. Ahh…this is definitely where I’m spending the night.
While Phac admired the ships, Daryll’s eyes narrowed as he observed the weird, likeable man with the crab sword. Phac seemed aloof and occasionally lacking common sense but, if it weren’t for him, all of them would be long dead. Not to mention that, even with his high Wisdom, even having interacted with numerous Lost in the past, Daryll just couldn’t see through the man.
He was occasionally cold-hearted and occasionally sensitive. Oreg’s death had clearly touched him, but he was too optimistic to dwell on it. He was mature in some things and childish in others. This couldn’t be justified just by being a Lost.
Daryll specialized in judging people, but this nut was proving hard to crack. Was Phac a confused, desperate man alternating between extremes, was he merely an undecided child in a grown man’s body, or was there some deeper manner of thought that could consistently explain his actions?
