The Frontier (Last Life Book #2): A Progression Fantasy Series

The Frontier by Alexey Osadchuk Last Life Book#2 Magic Dome Books Last Life Book # 2: The Frontier Copyright © Alexey Osadchuk 2023 Cover Art © Valeria Osadchuk 2023 Designer: Vladimir Manyukhin English translation copyright © Andrew Schmitt 2023 Published by Magic Dome Books, 2023 ISBN: 978-80-7619-853-1 All Rights Reserved This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental. New and upcoming releases from Magic Dome Books! If you like our books and want to keep reading, download our FREE Publisher's Catalog, a must-read for any LitRPG fan which lists some of the finest works in the genre: Tales of Wonder and Adventure: The Best of LitRPG, Fantasy and Sci-Fi (Publisher's Catalog) Table of Contents: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Interlude 1 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Interlude 2 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Interlude 3 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 About the Author Chapter 1 IT WAS EARLY MORNING on the day after my controversial duel with de Lamar and the departure of my “dear” relatives. Just as I was finishing breakfast, Madame Weber barged into my annex like a whirlwind of snow, sweeping away everything in her path. As it turned out, while I was busy handling my problems the day before, Leon Weber’s wife had kept herself busy with a flurry of activity surrounding my departure. In the morning, she stormed the main office of her husband’s trading house to prepare all their covered wagons for inspection, sent all idle staff out to purchase feed, provisions, and travel accessories, then dispatched couriers to all my creditors with bundles of cash. Overall, Weber and Sons’ main office spent the whole previous day preparing for my departure. It gave the impression that Madame Weber was more interested in my safe arrival at the frontier than I was. At any rate, I was not surprised by her enthusiasm — she was a doting mother who now saw a glimmer of hope to save her son Ruben’s life. Just one final step remained — for Chevalier Renard, i.e. me — to make it in one piece to Westerly Fort as soon as possible with a copy of our contract, notarized in Abbeville’s chancery, and present it to the commander, Captain Louis de Rohan. The moment I was entered into the rolls of the Shadow Patrol, young Ruben would be freed of his obligations. Essentially, he was free already, but only as long as I was still alive. In other words, if I now got shanked down some Abbeville alleyway, or on my way to Westerly Fort, the Webers would have to start over from square one. Madame Weber said as much to me openly while admonishing me to pack and get on the road quickly. I’d bet my hand if she had her way, she’d have personally escorted me out of town all the way until noon today. I had to put a slight damper on her enthusiasm, explaining that I needed at least one week before I could depart. First of all, I had to prepare diligently for my journey. And second, in one week, a caravan of several dozen recruits would be departing, and I was planning to go with them. Traveling with an armed group was much safer than going alone. I ended my speech with assurances that I myself wanted to leave town as quickly as possible, because the spring floods were right around the corner and would be turning all roads into an impassable swamp. Madame Weber, with a heavy sigh, had no choice but to agree with my conclusions. After that, she introduced me to a Monsieur Dormael who she claimed was one of the trading house’s best clerks and told me that he was mine to command until I completed my preparations. Beyond that, she loaned me a comfortable coach to facilitate my travels around town. Believing her mission complete, Madame Weber then returned home. The clerk, a short balding man of fifty years with intelligent gray eyes and a neatly trimmed wedge beard was on the contrary not planning on going anywhere. Serious, unsmiling, taciturn — he stood at the door patiently waiting. “Monsieur Dormael,” I addressed him with a nod at the table. “Have you eaten breakfast?” “You have my gratitude, Monsieur Renard,” he nodded curtly. “But I have already eaten and am ready to perform my duties.” “Good,” I said, getting up from the table. “About the coach...” “It is parked outside the guest house’s main entrance,” he got ahead of me and added: “You may take it wherever you wish, as Madame Weber said.” “Excellent,” I smiled. “Now as for your duties... Have you already been told how this will go?” “Yes. You call the shots; I take care of the rest.” “Superb,” I said. “Wait for me in the coach.” “Yes sir,” Dormael bowed and left the annex. “What a soulless puppet,” Bertrand snorted, saying about what I was thinking. “Oh well,” I dismissed it, throwing on my well-loved coat. “All that matters is keeping him from putting a spanner in the works and making sure he does everything I say.” I was about to follow the Weber clerk but remembered something and stopped in the doorway. “Old fellow,” I said to Bertrand, who was already