Chapter Fifteen: The Lich King's Retainers—Persecuting Tony [New Book—Please Add to Favorites and Recommend]

“Erika, do you think Prince Tony has gotten heatstroke in Afghanistan? Why haven’t the newspapers reported his kidnapping yet?”

Roald, holding the daily morning paper, grumbled to Erika as she busied herself behind the counter.

“Soon, soon… Vikaen said he’s already on his way.” Erika’s reply was weary.

This was already the one hundred and thirty-second time His Excellency the Lich King had asked her this question.

She felt utterly exhausted!

“I see…” Roald nodded.

Five minutes later, “Erika, do you think Tony…”

Erika: (ಥ_ಥ)!!!

Though only a day had passed, Roald felt that Vikaen had been idle for far too long.

Such laziness could not be encouraged—even if he didn’t pay her a salary, she wasn’t allowed to slack off.

On the one hundred and fiftieth time, Erika noticed a message from Vikaen. She felt as if she had finally escaped hell and reported to Roald with the utmost speed.

“Tell Vikaen to stop slacking off. If our little prince refuses to go, then hurry things along. There are still plenty of storylines he needs to follow.”

Roald ceased his villainous harassment of Erika, intending for Vikaen to personally go and prod the plot forward.

Meanwhile, in the deserts of Afghanistan, a convoy of military jeeps sped along the dusty roads.

Inside one of the jeeps, Tony sat grumbling as he tried to make conversation, “You know, guys, honestly, I really hate coming here. Seriously, listen to me—when we get back, we’ll all deserve a champagne celebration. I’m sick of these colors already.”

The soldier in the passenger seat, keeping an eye on the road, turned around at Tony’s complaints and could only offer a helpless shrug. “Well, since you put it that way, I guess we can’t refuse. You know, like you said, we really should find a place to enjoy ourselves for a night…”

“It’s fine, I get it. Hey, fellas, these things happen.” Tony, his tongue loosened, seemed eager for conversation.

“Hey, guys, maybe this is your first time riding with me, but I’m a good guy. Want to take a picture together, maybe post it on a blog or something?”

“Really? That’s great! You’re more approachable than I expected!” The soldier beside him, warmed by Tony’s friendliness, struck up a chat.

“Listen, you all really should visit Las Vegas. As long as you’ve got one of these—” Tony waved a wad of cash, “—there’ll be girls willing to talk with you all night, no matter who you are.”

Laughter rang out inside the jeep.

After arriving in Afghanistan, Tony had refused to stay at the base, choosing instead to demonstrate the power of his latest weapons in person.

The tests had gone superbly, his demonstrations flawless. The generals were impressed with his new missiles, and he secured another lucrative contract.

Having completed his showcase, Tony was already longing for a celebration back home, reminiscing about the pleasures of Las Vegas. He was utterly fed up with the endless sands of Afghanistan.

Far off from the convoy, Vikaen trailed them on horseback while receiving Roald’s instructions.

Though it had been somewhat troublesome, his unwavering loyalty to the Lich King had brought Vikaen all the way from Las Vegas to Afghanistan, silently following Tony’s trail. With Tony’s notoriety as a playboy, finding him in Las Vegas had been almost laughably easy.

“My lord, I’ve found the target. What are your orders?”

***

“Is that so? It seems you’ve done well.”

Sitting in his shop, Roald received Vikaen’s message and replied promptly.

For Tony to become Iron Man was essential to Roald’s requirements—or rather, the story could only proceed properly if it followed this trajectory. As long as the plot didn’t stray too far, he would always have the advantage of information.

If Tony didn’t become Iron Man, perhaps some other sort of ‘hero’ would emerge, and that was not Roald’s intention.

Likewise, Vikaen needed an appropriate entrance. Now, shadowing the jeep convoy, it wouldn’t be long before the attack on Tony occurred—he would then be ambushed, captured by terrorists, and gravely wounded.

Tony had to become Iron Man; the plot could not be interrupted, but Vikaen also needed to give him a push at the right moment.

“Follow him. Let him forge his armor. Then, before he’s rescued, take him away.”

“Yes, I understand.”

At these words, Vikaen straightened his back and nudged his Skeletal Nightmare forward, stuffing a prime carrot from his saddlebag into the creature’s mouth. Through their psychic link, he knew exactly what the great Lich King wanted him to do.

Once the Nightmare finished chewing its carrot, flames burst from its hooves as Vikaen spurred it onward.

The Nightmare galloped, quickly catching up to the speeding convoy.

“Oh my god!”

“What is that?!”

The American soldiers in the jeeps panicked at the sight of Vikaen, armored and riding his flaming steed, mistaking it for a terrorist attack.

Tony, in the midst of banter, instinctively glanced back through the window.

The armored knight, riding a horse whose hooves burned with fire, charged directly at them. Any jeeps in the way were effortlessly overturned by the warhorse’s impossible strength. Military-grade defenses, usually impervious to ordinary weapons, crumpled like paper before the knight. Bullets bounced harmlessly off his armor.

Comparing his latest missile with the destructive might of the oncoming rider, Tony realized the impact would be no less than a rocket strike.

Before he could say a word, the knight on the Skeletal Nightmare had drawn close, locking eyes with him.

In the next instant, the roof of his jeep was sliced clean off with a single sword stroke, leaving everyone’s heads exposed to the open air.

“Hey, kid, want to ride Uncle’s big horse?”

“Sorry, pal, I prefer different kinds of horses—not as weird as yours.”

Though curious, Tony couldn’t resist mocking the strange figure—helmeted, clad in pitch-black full plate armor, every inch covered.

“What are you, some kind of stage actor? Or did you come to share the joys of horseback riding with me?”

But just as he finished speaking—

“RPG!!!”

Through his headset came the desperate shout of the driver ahead. Tony and the others ducked, bullets clanging off the jeep’s sides, while the overturned vehicles in the convoy exploded in pillars of flame.

Though Vikaen himself did nothing, his presence proved the perfect distraction for the incoming turbaned attackers.

***

“Oh! Shit!”

Seeing the rocket-propelled grenade streaking toward them, Tony cursed and dove for cover.

The soldier who’d just been joking with him was struck by a stray bullet, slumping against the door. Tony, no longer caring about Vikaen, scrambled out the opposite side of the jeep and ducked behind cover, fumbling for his phone to call for help.

But the next second, a rocket buried itself in the ground right beside him, its fuse flickering erratically—about to turn into a flying inferno at any moment.

Tony could clearly see the markings on the rocket.

“Made in China!”

No, wait.

“Stark Industries!”

“Oh! Shit!” Tony hurled his wrecked phone away, only to see Vikaen ride up to him.

“Hey, kid, want to ride Uncle’s big horse?”

“To be honest, I just remembered—I actually share your tastes. Seriously.”

Lying on the ground, Tony spread his hands in surrender as the tip of Vikaen’s black-bladed greatsword hovered inches from his nose.

Though he still had no idea who Vikaen was, Tony knew when to back down—though that didn’t stop his sharp tongue.

“Mr. Stage Actor, you know that thing’s a Stark Industries product? I’d say the quality is top-notch. Shouldn’t we take cover?”

Speaking of his own inventions, Tony’s pride was written all over his face.

“Little Moustache Boy, trust me—you’ll never forget today’s flying sensation.”

The rocket was about to explode, but Vikaen showed no urgency. Instead, he patted Tony on the shoulder.

“Relax, Little Moustache Boy. My armor can withstand those weapons, so I have nothing to fear. It’s you who should be afraid.”

“I just came to see how you’d be blown up, and to snap a picture for the boss as proof that I wasn’t slacking off.”

“Come on, give me a big smile!”

With that, Vikaen pulled out a secondhand phone, threw an arm around Tony, and took a selfie.

“WTF!!!”

As the explosion roared, Tony stared at the battered old phone in disbelief.

He felt utterly disrespected!

“Hey, man, I hope you’ll use a better camera next time.”