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The Forgotten Faithful

Book Two of the UnderVerse

By Jez Cajiao


The Forgotten Faithful



Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven


End of Book Two

The LitRPG Guildmasters

LitRPG Guildmasters Titles:




Thank you

Copyright © 2020 by R J Cajiao

Editing by Stephanie of Lit Forge Edits

Cover by Chris Cold

Typography by May Dawney Designs

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author/publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction, all characters, places, spells, realities and secrets of the Upper and Lower Realms are entirely my own work, and if they offend you, it’s not intentional. Probably.


This second book has been a pleasure to write, but there’s no way it could have come about, if not for the love, support, and encouragement of my family and friends, so thank you all.

I’ll not mention everyone individually, as it’d take a month to write, and it’d be half the length of the book, but a few people have to be singled out…

First and foremost, my wonderful wife Chrissy; you’ve worked your ass off, looking after the house, looking after me, and looking after our Son Max, all while working part-time and being heavily pregnant… all so I could write.

You’re amazing, and I love you. Thank you, baby.

To our family, thank you all, you support me daily, a word, a gesture, the belief you all show, it really has helped, you’ll never know how much…

To my beta readers, Denny, Oliver, Shawn, Donald, and Brenden, you’re brave and selfless sacrifice has been noted! Thank you guys… really…

To Luke, Nathan, M.H., Aleron, Phoenix, Dawn, Tao and many other authors who are far more accomplished and skilled than I’ll ever be, thank you for your advice, your patience, and for keeping me on the right track.

To BF and our group of Guildmasters, TJ, Rob, Paul, Richard, Max, Sean, Aaron, Tim, Marcus, Troy, Grayson, Ed and Kevin, it’s been a hell of a few months, so thank you all, for your support and your friendship. (Let the second round of the race begin, Sean!) ��

To Stephanie, thank you, I know it was hard getting this done, I really appreciate the hours you put in, and your friendship.

To Chris, thank you for your amazing art, and May, thank you for your advice, your fantastic Typography, and your patience!

I’ll never be able to thank any of these people enough, and I know that 99% will never read this, but thank YOU for doing so, and for giving my dreams a chance to flourish…


Thomas sat back with a groan as the wagon bumped over yet another rut in the road, gloomily certain the bastard was actually aiming for them now. He’d been in the back of the wagon with seventeen other inmates for just over four hours, bouncing, juddering, and shaking their way across the entire goddamn city, and then out into the countryside. He’d occasionally smelled a hint of grass and heard the wind in the trees around them.

He’d actually seen fuck-all, because that bastard Boris, back at the jail, had put a blindfold on him before leading the prisoners out to the wagon. He’d fallen over, had things he’d rather not guess thrown at him, and groups of kids had been throwing stones at the prisoners on at least three separate occasions as they traveled. The guards had laughed and told the little shits who to aim for.

Thomas had given up months ago on plans of revenge… then he’d given up on hopes of escape…lately, he’d actually begun fantasizing about the guards going too far and beating him to death accidentally.

That had come to a stop yesterday.

He didn’t know why, but something had changed in the ongoing war that Himnel was waging with Narkolt. He’d heard that someone new had joined in against Himnel, so even the dregs like him were getting a chance.

He’d be used as fodder, good enough to soak up a few arrows, if that, but maybe, just maybe, he could use the chance to get away. Maybe the real soldiers would take pity on him; hell, if they killed him, at least it would be over.

Thomas fell forward as the wagon stopped unexpectedly, falling into the wagon-bed, and pulling others with him, the captives’ wrists and ankles chained together as they were.

“Idiot!” someone growled, and he felt a punch rock his head back, a mailed fist tearing the skin of his cheek, before someone else twisted his chain, and yanked him out of the wagon by it.

Thomas cried out in pain and fear as he fell forward with no way to catch himself. The cry was cut off cruelly by a mouthful of cobbles.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

He’d lost everything, and now he could taste blood filling his mouth from broken teeth.

He felt tears prickling his eyes, soaking into the cloth that blinded him, and the first spark of anger he’d felt in what seemed like forever kindled to life, fed on the shame of his own inability to escape.

This was that fat shit Boris’ fault.

Thomas had found Dirik’s family, taken his sword back to them, given them Dirik’s cut of the loot, and told them how their son had been a hero, about the times he’d saved Thomas’s life. He’d told them how they’d been friends…and how sorry he was that Dirik had died.

The last thing Thomas had seen as a free man was the look of cold hatred in Dirik’s father’s eyes, and the lead cosh that bastard Boris had swung into his face.

When he’d woken up, he’d been in a cell for ‘attacking a guard’, with—surprise, surprise— Boris as both the victim and his new jailor.

He’d still managed three escape attempts; during the

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