Janus and
the Prince
A LITRPG Saga
Book Two of the Nightmares of Alamir
Noam Oswin
COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER
This publication is protected under the United States copyright act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state and local laws, and all rights are reserved, including resale rights: you are not allowed to give or sell this book to anyone else. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage or retrieval system without express written, dated and signed permission from the author.
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All characters in this work are a product of the mind and is a figment of the author’s imagination and therefore fictional, and make no reference to real people or situations and events, any resemblance to actual events, whether past or present, persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 Noam Oswin
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1: The Vulture
Chapter 2: From Oblivion
Chapter 3: Exploits
Chapter 4: Connection
Chapter 5: The Hunt
Chapter 6: Fort Zyvar
Chapter 7: Erzili
Chapter 8: Gatekeeper
Chapter 9: The Second Coming
Chapter 10: Survival
Interlude - I: Caution
Chapter 11: Ascension
Chapter 12: A King And His Kingdom
Chapter 13: Better Than One
Chapter 14: Sovereignty
Chapter 15: Antiquity
Chapter 16: Devotion
Chapter 17: Revelations
Chapter 18: Better Half
Chapter 19: Recruitment
Chapter 20: Destiny
Interlude II: Desires
Chapter 21: Secrets
Chapter 22: Amendment
Chapter 23: Camaraderie
Chapter 24: Player Versus Player
Chapter 25: Juma Al Amir
Prologue
Wukari disliked the act of killing the women he slept with. He was unsettled by how the surprise would illuminate their eyes and how they would claw at him like rabid felines at his hands tightening against their throats. Their purpling faces displeased the gentleman within him. Their tirelessly gasping desire for air brought him no satisfaction. Such beautiful women did not deserve to have their features marred by brutality.
The Alhamisian woman beneath him was breathtaking. Brilliant raven hair and soft ocean-blue eyes being blemished by her gasps and repeated strikes at his chest. He cared little for the fact that she was likely a spy working for the country, her beauty was all that mattered. Wukari had little doubt that her absence would be noticed by her superiors. Yet, there would be no evidence to trace her disappearance to him. He never left evidence.
He felt it a waste to kill beautiful women, alas, he was the Prince of Takum and the laws were clear. The seed of the Royal Line of Takum was never to be unmonitored. Never to leave Takumian control. No bastard children must ever be born of the Takumian Royal Line, lest the line fall.
All the women he bedded would carry his child because the Royal Line was strong. At ten, in his more careless days, one of his mother’s handmaids of fourteen caught his eye, and he took her as his. She was his first, and three months later, when the signs were impossible to hide, he confessed to his deed of being the one responsible.
His mother was still cross with him over the incident. The girl had not only been one of her favorite handmaids but her favorite seamstress. Once the executioner’s axe came down and her head rolled into a bucket, the Queen of Takum came in dire need of a new person to design her evening gowns.
Wukari smiled, lost in the memory. He stopped smiling when the tiny pats against his chest vanished. The raven-haired woman beneath him was motionless. Her face was an uneven shade of purple, no breath escaped her nostrils. Slowly, he released his grip from her neck, where imprints of his large palms were against her skin like tribal engravings against rock.
Gently, tenderly, he placed his lips against hers. “Forgive me, my precious.” He brushed aside her hair with his palm. With two fingers, he closed her eyes.
The world was less beautiful, and it was his fault.
“Brother, I need to speak with –”
The door swung open without warning. His sister stood, frozen at the door. Wukari muttered a silent expletive for forgetting to lock it. The Alhamisians used flimsy rectangular devices called ‘cards’ to lock their doors, and he was yet to master its usage. What was so difficult about making keys and keyholes? Had they no locksmiths in this country?
“Sann ’wo brother!” It was rare for him to hear his sister swear. Even rarer to hear her do so in their language. “This? Again?”
Wukari’s gaze remained on the departed woman.
“Muku! Muku! Muku!” she hissed. The Alhamisians had no direct translation for the insult in their language. The closest would either be fool, idiot, stupid or goat. As far as Takumians were concerned, it meant all four.
“You worry too much.” He patted the side of the bed. “Sit, let me ease you.”
“For once brother can you think without using that stupid thing in between your legs!” Kwana said. “We are in this country as honored guests!”
Wukari barked a loud, hollow laugh. He rubbed away at his chin, lips morphing into a smile. “Ever so courteous, my dear little sister. Yet, you are wrong. The Alhamisians do not care about us as guests. They did not break bread nor proffer wine. They did not invoke Visitor’s Right. We are not obliged to be courteous to them.”
Kwana closed the door behind her, slowly, she took a breath. “Their culture is not our own Wukari.”
“That is true. It is far inferior. Takum does not belittle others as savages. Takum welcomes strangers with food and wine and merriment. Takum does not treat those of royal blood
