Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

was on Metverold, the alternate world he had entered almost a week ago, where his role as a Lorekeeper granted him extraordinary skills with a sword, he doubted he could have defended himself as deftly as the warrior who was now entering the tower.
    A few seconds later, Samuel heard a stream of curses and cries of surprise as the Briton warrior mounted the tower staircase. The players of the opposing team had absolutely no chance, and within a few minutes, he saw the archers fall one after the other at the top of the tower. He briefly saw the helmet of the Briton warrior over the small wall, but then it disappeared and silence reigned.
    After a few moments, the Briton warrior appeared in the tower door. He rapidly scanned his surroundings and then gestured to the other players inside the tower to follow him. He moved like a cat and quickly slid across the camp, parrying the strikes of Saxon warriors who were trying to prevent him from getting away. At the base of the tower appeared another Briton player, who wore a dirty gray robe and a fake black beard, which probably gave him a ton of zits. The newcomer started to shout unintelligibly while gesticulating wildly.
    “Fireball!” he shouted suddenly, as he opened his hand toward an incoming enemy, who pretended to burn up on the spot.
    “Shield of psychic protection!” the wizard cried, taking a piece of green cloth from his pocket and sticking it to his chest. “Come on, Malloy, follow me! We have to get out of here now .”
    Lucien appeared in the door of the tower and followed on the heels of the wizard. He was keeping his eyes on the surrounding enemies and held a gigantic sword in front of him. His entire body was covered with imposing armor made of realistic-looking foam, which looked to be more of an inconvenience than anything else.
    “Go ahead, Melrok,” said Lucien. “I’ll cover you.”
    Both boys advanced toward their freedom while trying to keep up with the Briton warrior who had rescued them. The wizard Melrok was casting spells in every direction, while Lucien was barking orders to the Briton team. No one was paying attention to him. When he turned around to make sure nobody was following them, he saw Samuel who was lying on the ground, his own weapon next to his motionless body.
    “Samuel? What are you doing there?”
    Samuel shrugged and cocked his head at his two companions who lay behind him on the grass. He wished he could tell Lucien that Thomas and Tony had spoiled their rescue attempt with their impatience, but he was dead and, unfortunately, the dead do not speak. Tony, however, seemed entirely unaware of this simple fact.
    “I think they may have caught your savior,” he said to Lucien. “You should hurry up and get out of here.”
    Samuel scanned the camp and spotted a small group of Saxon warriors. They had managed to encircle the Briton who had rescued Lucien and the wizard Melrok a few moments earlier. He counted five opposing players, who were all standing at a safe distance from the Briton. Rather than use their numbers to swiftly dispose of their enemy, the Saxons were all looking at each other and carefully staying out of the Briton’s reach. The mysterious warrior had picked up his second sword and was keeping both of them pointed toward the ground, patiently waiting for his foes to make a move.
    Samuel decided to ignore the rules of the dead and pulled himself up on his elbows. The fight promised to be a good one and he had no intention of missing a second of it.
    The Briton warrior glanced over his shoulder and then looked at each of the players facing him. It was evident that they had all witnessed his skills with a sword and none of them seemed particularly keen on being the first to attack. Instead, they just stood there, observing the Briton who patiently waited for them to make a mistake.
    All of a sudden, two of the Saxon warriors moved aside and revealed an archer standing behind them. He held a bow in front of him, an arrow notched. Taking a few steps toward the Briton warrior, he released the arrow, which hit its target square on the nose.
    “Ouch!” yelled the Briton as he removed his mask and helmet.
    Samuel had already been mesmerized by the warrior’s feats in combat, but now he was stunned.
    No sooner was the helmet off than the warm summer breeze picked up masses of red, curly hair surrounding a girl’s delicate face. She had almond eyes of a green brighter than the grass, and a delicate mouth with