Room 13, Gaming Sanctuary

"You look like you just went through a spin cycle in a washing machine," Sherry eyes me up and down after helping me out of my capsule, "You gonna be alright getting home?"

"I should be," I groan, stretching myself out, "It's been a day. What time is it? Went straight to my room and logged out, didn't get a chance to check."

"Aboooout half eleven?" she hedges, "Was getting to the point where I'd have to eject you forcibly from out here. Though, strictly speaking, you were supposed to be out near to an hour ago. You're welcome."

Getting kicked out of the game in the middle of my Legacy Trial would have been....embarrassing to be sure. No guarantee I would've been able to pick up where I left off or try again without taking the penalty either.

"Thanks, I guess I owe you for overlooking it," I express my sincere gratitude.

"Yeah, well, remember it," Sherry narrows her eyes, "What the hell were you doing, anyway? Your VSTs have been all over the place and riding high all day."

"Did you not see the messages I left in the group chat this morning?" I question curiously, "I'm sure I mentioned it..."

"Talking to your Guide and a class change is what you said," Sherry recalls, "But you were pushing up against the record we set before our brains got cooked last week at points - not enough to trigger any failsafe or mess with the improved tech on these budget capsules the boss got in, but I've been hovering by the panel since I noticed in case you crashed again."

I frown, must have been when I was visiting with Lady Jannis, "Didn't realise it was that bad. Either way, it's over and done with now, shouldn't run across anything quite that serious for a good long while all going well."

"Yeah, so, what gives?" she folds her arms across her chest.

"As much as I might be willing to explain in detail," I yawn, my brain feeling like it's submerged in jelly, "I'm really not up for it right now. I just want to go home and pass out. Sufficed to say for now, that I've almost finished my business at Olton Mountain and I'll be heading back to Meteo tomorrow."

"Good," she grumps, "Town's gone to shit big time now."

I slowly reach down to pick up and shoulder my bag, "Mm. We can exchange stories in the morning. I really do need to go get some sleep."

---

 

The Next Day

Dining Hall, First Floor, Northwestern Wing, Olton Mountain Shrine

I logged in this morning to a wonderful headache and a feeling of disconnect with my movements even more pronounced than what I've become accustomed to over the last month and a half. I was too out of it to really pay it much heed yesterday, functioning mostly on auto-pilot, but I've a good idea of what the problem is: My new Attribute spread.

Setting down the ceramic tray on the table across from Horizon, I take a quick look at my Status.

• Strength - 234(+45)
• Agility - 125(+25)
• Dexterity - 127
• Resilience - 123(+25)
• Imagination - 25
• Wisdom - 22
• Charisma - 125 (+39)
• Perception - 90
• Willpower - 40(+45)
• Divinity - 1

Most of my physical-focused stats have practically quadrupled, leaving my mental attributes in the dust. Also appears as though it's counting Levels 1-9, for some reason, which is contributing heavily to the stat bloat. Ramming the lion's share of my reset free attribute points into Perception helps, but my Imagination and Wisdom are seriously behind the curve - I'm probably coasting by on the correction values of the B.A.S gained from my constant stresses of late, but with how many raw stats per level I get now, I'm going to need to look into solving the imbalance sooner rather than later. Not to mention my equipment is around ten levels beneath me on average, so if I were to duel that Viper-of-the-road again in this state, I'd still be forced into a corner again.

Two steps forward and one step back could be like my new life's motto, I swear.

As a quirk of my scheduling, what I'm eating is more of a brunch than breakfast, if I'm honest. It's not what I'd call the fanciest of fare, but it's definitely better than anything I could make, and the variety is more pronounced too. Mushroom soup with small meaty dumplings and a small berry and nut cake. They're both Copper-Tier meals in terms of quality that impart a minor stamina expenditure reduction and are quite filling - if a little bland. An improvement, nonetheless.

"How are you enjoying the Shrine?" I ask Horizon politely, spooning a dumpling into my mouth.

"It's neat," she smiles, twirling her spoon between her fingers idly, "I got to stand at the back of some ceremony they were doing at sundown last night. Definitely feels like its own thing - all in all, less derivative of Catholic-Gothic architecture than the Cathedral back in Meteo if that makes sense."

"It does," I nod, chewing, "Got an interest in anthropology at all?"

"Not as much as Win," Horizon wavers, "Though, I suppose I do. Can't separate the people and culture from the places they live in, really. Er, well, you can, but...erm...I don't know. You know what I mean."

"Somewhat," I shrug, "What are your plans from here on out?"

"Think I'll stick around for another day or two," she taps her lips with the end of her spoon before scooping up some more soup, "After that, nothing's changed. Heading west to the arbour stone place."

"'Arborstone Expanse'," I remind her.

"That," she nods, "Might cut through the Central Provinces to get there instead of going in a straight line."

"Not a terrible idea," I consider it from my perspective, "Keep us updated on what you decide on, might have some odd jobs for you depending on where you end up."

"If it's not a hassle, sure," Horizon murmurs, picking up her soup bowl and draining it, "Blech. Not a fan."

"It is what it is," I shrug, speaking as much to myself as to her, "You planning on watching my spar after?"

"Naturally," her interest picks back up, "Interested to see how dual-wielding chains in combat works."

"It's quite an intriguing sight to see," a vaguely familiar-sounding man's voice comments, "Surprisingly flexible, for as much of a brute as she is."

Peering back over my shoulder, a dashing thirty-something man in a brightly dyed robe with a spacey smile winks back at me, "Greetings, Lord Fander. Rea-Horolt Phon Levast, it's a pleasure to meet someone so beloved by their God - I almost tripped down the stairs under the sudden weight of that Divine Presence when you were taken to the Lady of Steel's Ambition's demesne."

"It's Nosster," I correct mildly, "Is there something you need from me, or are you just looking for some idle chatter?"

Rea-Horolt Levast chuckles nervously, "Oh, no, no. I dare not keep you from your meal and out of Ya- Rea-Horolt Vazlenore's eager embrace for long. I just wished to make your acquaintance before she does."

The casual implication that she's going to beat me so badly that he wouldn't be able to exchange hollow pleasantries is a little grating but I can't well find it in me to mount a serious objection. That I'm going to lose is a foregone conclusion, I just want to stretch my martial skills against a strong opponent in an environment that doesn't have my life on the line or impossibly high stakes.

"We'll be making use of the Illusory Tournament Ground," I say instead, shifting my posture to address him without craning my neck, "The difference between us won't be that stark."

"Perhaps, perhaps," he nods along, "Well, may Numh honour your earnest efforts to overcome the trial ahead. I'll be watching with, well, most of the current residents of the shrine - It's been quite some time since Rea-Horolt Vazlenore last took interest in someone, so it's got the pilgrims and her fellow perverts rather...excitable."

"Perverts?" Horizon frowns, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rea-Horolt Levast peers at her, tilting his head absent-mindedly as if trying to recall if he should know who she is, "Some of the more...passionate adherents of Jannis, Khire and Eiryu are paying close attention to this rare event. I'm...sorry, but may I know your name?"

"...Horizon Chaser," she replies slowly, her lack of understanding clear on her face.

"Aha," he smiles softly, "I'm curious, what brings you here? You don't seem like a Challenger - I would know, after all."

"Just a sightseer," Horizon shrugs, put off by his prying.

"A seer?" Rea-Horolt Levast goes from nosy to deeply concerned, "Of what kind?"

"No, like, a tourist," she tries to clarify, to no avail.

"I'm not familiar with that nomenclature, is that what prophets are called in your place of origin?" Confusion, curiosity and a mild disdain intermingle in his voice and features.

I decide to step in before the misunderstandings pile up too high and she gets locked in a cell for blasphemy, "She's a Cartographer, Rea-Horolt, one with an interest in awe-inspiring landscapes and regional alcohols."

"Ahh, I see, I see..." understanding flashes across his face, "My apologies, I've not heard those terms before."

"It's...fine..?" Horizon remains perplexed.

"Well, I've taken up enough of your time," Rea-Horolt Levast clears his throat and bows to me respectfully, ignoring her, "Stars Bless, and may Numh support your struggles."

Still weirded out by the exchange, Horizon waits until he's properly left to speak up, "The hell was that?"

"The concept of tourism isn't quite the same thing on Merrow, and doesn't use the same terminology," I explain simply, "Otherwise, claiming to be a prophet and espousing portents of the future is taboo amongst the worshippers of the gods. Only the gods themselves are capable of such a feat, and even among them, only a few have a relevant domain. Many Merrowans agree that most fates are as yet unwritten, and there are few certainties to be found in the face of one's own free will. Saying you know for certain events to come is like announcing you're equal to or better than those gods."

It's not exactly a universal attitude, since individuals have their own opinions and considerations, but saying it to a Horolt's face as anything other than a joke is unlikely to end well for you. To my knowledge, anything that meddles with prophecy or the like is extremely, extremely rare, and often self-contained to minor occurrences with no great significance such as weather forecasts. Players aren't really something that the world of Merrow can properly account for either, introducing an enormous amount of variables and chaos, as I can attest to.

Horizon bites her lip, "Noted, I suppose. Any other taboos I should know about before I get treated to a pyre?"

"Too dependent on the region and organisation to say beyond the obvious. As an outsider you might be afforded some leeway if you're proactive about asking in advance without being...well, rude, so use your own judgment," I finish my soup, "Religion on Merrow is just as much a hot mess as Earth, the only difference is that they know for certain that deities exist, and everyone goes out the same way when they die - their souls get eaten and broken down into raw magical energies by creatures called Flits. The closest analogue would be fairies crossed with janitorial drones - they're the reason that Merrow isn't completely covered in Reminiscences."

"Huh," she hums to herself, "No afterlife or anything? Odd."

"Common belief is that you only get one shot at walking your 'Path'," I take a bite of dry cake and wash it down with some water, "Probably a consequence of that is that the idea of a strong and memorable legacy being left behind is highly desirable. Since you effectively cease to exist after death, memories, heirlooms and stories are all that's left."

"Bleak," Horizon comments, "But I can empathise to a large extent with the sentiment since back on Earth not knowing for certain leads to much the same conclusion, in my opinion. In that regard, artists like you and me have something of an advantage when it comes to our impact on the years that follow our demise - after all, we're still talking about 14th-century painters hundreds of years later."

She takes a long sip of her own drink, "In a sense, without meaning to, they've become immortal."

Thinking back to yesterday, I quietly laugh at the irony.

---

 

Pilgrim's Pedestal, First Floor, Northeastern Wing, Olton Mountain Shrine

The training grounds of the shrine are appropriately massive and sprawling. They exist on two separate floors, with the training equipment, storage and private rooms - not counting the Meditation Rooms in the Southeastern Wing - held upstairs, while the ground floor is split into three different 2-Star Silver-Tier Training Halls. Truly lavish facilities, and a large part of what attracts people to the shrine in the first place. 

The one of concern to me, and the one I'm making my way toward, is the Illusory Tournament Ground. One of the two smaller arenas, its primary use is for small-scale team battles and one-on-one duels without needing to worry yourselves over concerns about permanent injury, death or difference in Level and equipment. At least to some extent.

It functions by shifting the consciousness of willing participants into illusory duplicates of themselves. These duplicates can only exist within the confines of the array and don't have any physical presence, nor can they interact with anything besides another of these avatars. Dimly, I recall that it can apply a Level correction value of 25 at an increased power cost, which would place me at up to 48, and Yanse to somewhere around 80.

Still not ideal, but it's the best we're going to get and it'll make it easier for her to moderate her strength with the gap lessened.

Opening a nondescript wooden door near the end of the long corridor, I descend a dimly lit set of stairs that lead into a separate, wider corridor around 40 steps down. Benches line the walls at random intervals, while an old metallic fountain that appears as if carved from a single giant ingot stands proudly halfway along. Atop the pedestal stands a figure of a warrior posing dramatically as a deep red liquid pours from a 'wound' in his side and into the basins beneath.

Rather morbid. I think it's meant to be representative of a famous, particularly favoured 'Fist' of Eiryu in his final moments, but I never bothered to learn the associated history in-depth. The liquid actually is blood, though. Or to be precise, an alchemical mixture of the blood of some monster with high fortitude or innate regenerative constitution, wine, and herbs - creating a liquid that's somewhere between a punch and a potion.

It's considered traditional to ingest a cup in reverence of the gods before entering the arena ahead to do battle. I don't relish the prospect of drinking that stuff, but it's a tradition rooted in a bit of pragmatism since it's considered a decent potion depending on which basin you drink from - the potency decreasing as it flows from a higher basin to a lower one through some kind of enchantment trickery. No idea what the Tier is or anything.

Eh, not my area of expertise. It's enough to sup from the lowest bowl at my Level, no need to be greedy or squeamish. I've had to consume far worse than a bit of blood in my time, and nothing will remove the memories of those experiences from my mind, I can be sure of that.

From a door along the corridor, an ordinary pair of Horolt emerge in the midst of a conversation I care little about, and notice my presence here with equal parts surprise and reverence, their voices lowering to hushed whispers traded behind hands raised to shield their lips from view. The pair quicken their pace a moment later, smiling eagerly.

"Most Honoured Blade!" the left Horolt exclaims, bowing deeply, "What a wonderful twist of fate to meet you here!"

"Mm?" I feel like this is going to be as pointless as it is annoying.

"We are Horolt in service to Lady Jannis-" the right one begins, interrupted when I raise my hand.

"Can this wait until after I'm finished?" I frown, not eager to get involved in the religious aspects of my position. I have no intention of actually worshipping my mentor, nor joining the priests that do - If I need something, I can pull rank and ask with her permission, but beyond that, we have nothing to do with one another.

"But-"

I stare them down. As befitting Lady Jannis' followers, they don't back down easily and stare back defiantly, but their will to question someone as lofty as myself is far weaker than their cowardice in the end, and I move past them without a word to the fountain, on the opposite side of which is another Horolt packed with excessive muscle kneeling in silent prayer to the edifice.

"Excuse me?" I clear my throat, "I'm assuming you're the one keeping the cups?"

The swarthy man's eyes snap open, "That I am, serte, that I am. You must be the one challenging our Guard Captain, yes?"

"To be precise, it was the other way around," I point out.

He snorts, "Semantics. Aye, I have the Meisben Horn. What of it?"

Last time I was here they only had some clay cups, "Well, obviously, I intend to drink from the fountain here."

"If you wish to partake of the blood of Eiryu's most noble, you must prove your strength," he declares boldly as if waiting for the excuse.

"...I can just go through and fetch Yanse if you don't hand over the cup now and you can explain why you're trying to extort a toll to her face," I offer bluntly, and his bravado noticeably drains.

"You would involve another in this sacred rite? Have you no shame?" he blusters, while the two Horolt from before hover behind me.

"Lokim, what do you think you're trying to do to our Lady's most favoured Blade?!" one demands.

"I wish to see the strength of one chosen by a Goddess, as fitting paym- Hey!"

Rather than get caught up in this squabbling, I just shove my cupped together hands into the fountain and drink. Spicy and kind of gloopy, but very warming. I feel oddly energetic all of a sudden. All my stats jump up by 30, and the cap of my Stamina also rises a bit. Good stuff, kind of want to dunk one of my empty waterskins in the pool when nobody is looking, but I doubt it'd preserve for very long.

"How dare you!" the muscled Horolt sputters and rages, jumping to his feet and taking a threatening step towards me, "You defile this tradition with your impropriety!"

"There is no such tradition, you blustering sack of muscle fibre!" the other of the Horolts shouts, "Stars Alight, you Eiryu meatheads are unconscionable!"

"The pursuit of Strength is an endless journey, why would I pass up such an excellent opportuni-"

"You cannot behave like..."

The argument that follows goes in one ear and out the other and inevitably devolves into a bare-fisted brawl between the three Horolt. It's a pretty common sight around here, and I'm consistently amazed that no major schisms ever occur as a result of these petty playground squabbles. Sure, every now and then someone dies as a result of the roughhousing, but it never escalates too far, that I've seen at least. Now that these idiots are preoccupied, however, I can continue on my way unimpeded.