“In any case,” he said, turning to look at the master, “we wouldn’t have lasted much longer if–”

Steel clashed, shattering the stillness as Drake barely managed to deflect Roy’s sword in time. His arms throbbed in sync with his rushing heartbeat. ‘What the fuck…?’

Laughter roared from the mage in front of him. “Yes! You’ll do nicely,” he said, slamming his hand on Drake’s shoulder. Noticing the other’s legs beginning to buckle, Roy eased up and continued. “You see, I’ve been searching for an apprentice. Problem is, we’ve gotten some pretty dainty initiates over the years. And the last thing I needed was Arthur hounding me for breaking one of his precious recruits. But given what he’s told me, you should be able to get through without any… lasting consequences.”

Shivers ran down Drake’s spine as Roy’s icy, blue eyes examined every inch of him. ‘Again… what the fuck?! And what sort of wording is this?’

“Yeah,” he sighed, trying to force a smile as Roy passed him, heading for the merchant’s body. The two NPCs that had saved him quickly got out of the master’s way, despite their injuries. In contrast, his left shoulder felt a bit stiff, but the wound he had gotten from Correy had vanished entirely.

“Well,” said the mage as he turned the dwarf’s corpse over, “should’ve accepted the Guild’s offer.” He then stepped into the cart, disappearing behind the curtains.

Drake looked away from the merchant’s lifeless eyes and focused on his breathing. He felt sick. So sick that it felt like a miracle that the system hadn’t forcefully logged him out until now. He brought his hand to his mouth and shuddered, trying his best to suppress a dry heave.

Meanwhile, Percy had also managed to regain his composure. Although the beads of sweat on his forehead still glistened in the caravan’s flickering light.

“I had my doubts,” he said, staring at Drake, “but you came through.”

“You really did,” said Hank, coming up beside him. “If you hadn’t evened the odds, I doubt Marcus and me would’ve made it. Again, we’re in your debt.” The blonde man then took a deep breath and sighed. “And… I wanted to apologize for the other day. Is… is the boy okay?”

Seeing Percy’s expression change from confusion to anger, Drake stepped in between the two, but remained silent.

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” Hank continued. “I never even considered that those stories were true. So then, seeing all those Strangers on Arrival Day…”

“I get it,” said Drake, turning around to grab Percy by the arms and lead him away. The young adept’s eyes seemed ready to pop out of his sockets. “But if you really are sorry, you should go and ask him for forgiveness yourself.”

Hearing his words, Hank froze for a moment. “I… yes. I understand…”

Flush with anger, Percy’s brow contorted. He shoved Drake aside, and glared at the blond man moping in the middle of the dirt road, having finally found his words. “So, he’s the one that attacked Liam? And you’re okay with it?!”

“Of course not,” Drake sighed. “I lost my shit back then and punched him in the face. But snapping at him now won’t do any good. If he truly is sorry, nothing you could say to him could possibly make him feel any worse. And if he isn’t, beating him up won’t change that either.”

Percy hesitated, his clenched fists trembling as his eyes drilled holes into the ground. “I know, but…”

“You should have seen him that day. He was scared out of his mind. And honestly, a bunch of people appearing out of thin air would’ve freaked me out as well.”

An exasperated sigh left the young mage. “Seriously, you should just let people vent…”

“So I’ve been told,” smiled Drake.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Marcus, approaching the two, “but what on Enoa is Roy Darkeye doing here…?”

Percy stared at the tattoo on the rogue’s cheek before answering. “Following up on a lead. I’m sure you can imagine, Mr. Finch.”

The thud of Roy’s heavy boots made them all jerk as he jumped out of the cargo wagon, a small wooden box in his hand. “Alright boys, time to go. The guards should be here any minute now. They’ll handle this mess. And we’ve got work to do,” he said, holding up a small, runed stone. The rune inscribed on its surface glowed softly as the air in front of them began to shimmer, akin to a mirage. Like a mirror suspended in midair, a portal had appeared, its interior showing the lush, green grass of the Guild’s courtyard. “Come on,” grinned the master, “it won’t bite.”

One by one, they stepped through, first Percy and then Marcus, followed by Hank. Drake hesitated for a moment, but then entered the portal. The tranquil sounds of the forest vanished, his boots making contact with the stone-paved courtyard. The spell had brought them near a runed obelisk, whose crystal-encrusted surface gleamed faintly in the moonlight. With Roy appearing next to them, the portal blinked out of existence.

“Now,” said the master, “you two are free to go.” Hearing this, Hank and Marcus nodded and left, making their way to the gate. The remaining three then turned and headed towards the Guild’s main building. In the arched doorway, waiting for them, stood Arthur and Liam.

When they got closer, the boy ran and jumped Percy, nearly tackling him to the ground as he buried his face in the young man’s robes.

Arthur smiled at the sight, and then addressed Drake. “Welcome home. I’m glad you’re alright.” Not even waiting for a reply, the mage turned to follow Roy upstairs, gesturing for Drake to come as well.

He followed the two upstairs, into a large, spacious room right next to Arthur’s office. The walls, lined with various pieces of armor and weaponry, tucked safely behind glass displays, reminded him of a museum.

Roy sat down at his desk, the chair creaking underneath the weight of his armor. He then touched a small lamp on his desk, causing the small crystal inside it to light up. “Take a look,” he said, placing the small box he got from the merchant’s cart in front of Arthur. “Kim was right. They’re making a move.”

The old mage removed the lid and frowned as he picked up the inscribed coin within the box. He turned it on all sides and then placed it back. “And they found this one, just like that?”

“No clue how they got wind of this, but I’m paying the manor a visit.” The master then stood up and glanced at Drake, grinning as he spoke. “And you’re coming with me, runt. What better way to learn than on the job?”

“Uhm, where exactly are we going?”

“Stills Manor. A quaint little place, haunted by the souls damned to endlessly roam its halls,” said Roy, the serenity in his voice scarier than anything else Drake had faced today. “But don’t worry about that. Just meet me in the armory in fifteen minutes. We’ll find something to go along with that sword of yours.”

Drake closed the door behind him, dismissing the quest prompt for now. He could still hear the two mages talking, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying. His steps took him down the stairs and, before he knew it, into the courtyard. Sitting down, the dewy grass felt alien to his touch, as if he was watching someone else go through the motions.

Leaning his head against the building, he looked up. The stars that greeted him seemed brighter than anything he had ever seen back home. And as he sighed, he felt tears flowing down his face, scorching his skin in their wake.

He wiped his eyes and opened the in-game chat window, his mind struggling to focus on his words. “Hey Dan… you got a minute?”

“I… I don’t know,” he said, squinting as the images of Hank’s mangled friends popped into his mind. “I feel… off. And I just wanted to talk.”

“Heh… how’s the dungeon going?”

“That’s awesome… Hey Dan…” He sighed again, trying to get rid of the knot he felt in his throat. It took a few seconds for him to calm his mind again, enough to concentrate on sending a message. “I saw three guys get killed… and I even offed two players myself.”

“Yeah… I mean, I know those guys were NPCs. I keep telling myself that. And the other two were just players in a game. But… it all feels so fucking real. Hell… you must think I’m off my case.”

“Heh… you wuss.” He closed and wiped his eyes again. “Dude, honestly… this game is fucked up. Be honest with me. Would you be mad if I were to stop playing…?”

Hearing his friend’s voice, he clenched his fists, the pain and anger bringing about a new stream of tears.”

“Sure, dude.”

With their connection terminated, he rubbed his eyes and leaned back against the Guild’s building. ‘How fucking pathetic is this? What sort of pathetic dumbass am I, that I can’t even help my only friend out, when all he wanted was for us to play a game, so that he could take his mind off of his dad’s situation…’

He felt so… spent.

“Is everything alright, Drake?”

Hearing Arthur’s warm voice, he snapped out of his haze and looked up to see the old mage. “Yeah… I’m fine. I’m just a little shaken, I guess.”

“Mind if I join you?”

He shook his head and scooched over, allowing Arthur to sit down next to him as the old man’s limbs creaked faintly.

“Oh, these old twigs aren’t what they used to be,” he said, rubbing his knees. “Drake, the master might not like it, but he will at least understand if you’re not feeling up to this trip. As I told you, we’re not all cut out for the same things.”

“Heh… thanks Arthur. But regardless of whether or not that’s the case, I just feel really shitty. I came here to… help my friend forget about his worries. And now here I was, ready to give up before we even get the chance to meet up. How pathetic is that?”

“There is a saying that master Roy is particularly fond of. If I’m not mistaken, it goes something along the lines of… ‘giving up comes naturally, but in life, anything worthwhile requires constant sacrifice.’ Now, I cannot claim to know what you are going through, but on some level, I think that you are already painfully aware of this.”

Taking a deep breath, he turned his head towards Arthur, struggling to meet his gaze.

“And that, my dear Drake, is that you do not have to bear such a weight just by yourself.” Seeing another tear well up in his young initiate’s eye, along with the sharp shift in his expression, the old mage placed a gentle hand on his back. “Now… I believe the master is expecting you in the armory.”

The cold ground felt heavenly against Drake’s back as the fire crackled next to them. He could still feel the taste of iron in his mouth, but at least his lungs no longer burned, starved of oxygen. Roy, however, hadn’t broken a sweat. Not even after running for a bit more than four hours. The master simply gazed at him and grinned that condescending smile of his.

“Screw it…” he mumbled, opening up his Heads-Up Display and navigating to his Inventory. ‘I can’t keep up with this guy like this, and I sure as hell won’t suffer that smug face of his without at least trying to do something about it.’ He sighed and inspected the items that Roy had picked out for him.

While armor and the new sword would definitely come in handy later, they did have one minor drawback. Namely, the status effect he got upon acquiring them a few hours ago.

‘Makes sense. With this, even regular mages need at least a passing level of strength if they want to carry more stuff around.’

Besides him, Roy had opened his pack, taking out a small pot, a knife and a couple of satchels of food. “Well runt,” he said, taking out some dried meat and mushrooms, “it seems like we’re going to have to work on your stamina a bit.” After adding everything to the pot along with a bit of oil, he suspended it over the fire and began to stir.

Drake had indeed noticed the difference between his actual physical condition and that of his avatar. But compared to his first day in Prism, raising his Vitality stat had drastically improved his endurance, bringing it more in line with his actual stamina. Drawn out by the smell wafting towards him, a long growl escaped his stomach.

Taking the pot off the fire, Roy filled it partway with water from a nearby stream. He brought it up to a boil and added a spicy-smelling powder from a jar he had fished out of his pack.

Drake got up and moved closer, watching the master carefully. “Dehydrated soup stock?” he asked, picking up the jar.

Roy paused for a second to examine him, his brow raised. “Precisely. I take it you know how to cook?”

“I do, but I’ve never actually cooked anything outside before.”

“Then on the way back, it’s your turn to cook,” he grinned, dragging his backpack closer. A moment later, he threw Drake a couple of items bound together by a piece of twine. “Should be easy enough for you to get a fire started with those, if you get some kindling.”

“But you’ve got to pay attention to the pot. See the flames rising all the way up to the rim? The food'll be done a whole lot quicker because—”

“The fire’s a lot stronger,” grinned Drake, “and it comes into contact a lot more with the pot.”

While the stew bubbled away, the two talked about cooking. They continued well after they had begun eating, pausing only as they slowly ate the fragrant broth.

Satisfied, Drake put down the small bowl that Roy had handed him and scanned the three notifications that had chimed into the corner of his vision. His eyes widened upon seeing the first one.

“That part of your abilities as a Stranger?”

“W-what?” Drake looked up and flinched when he saw Roy’s eyes. His glacial gaze had returned, bearing down on him.

“You had that look again. As if you’re reading something in front of you. Arthur filled me in on a few details, but I’d like to hear it from you.”

Cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. True, he was intimidating, but the master’s perceptiveness frightened him far more. Especially since he had tried his best not to fiddle with Prism’s menu while near others. “Yeah… it’s the system informing me of changes in the character’s status. They show up as messages for the most part.”

Roy simply raised an eyebrow, but this immediately promoted Drake to continue. “I mean… the technology that allows us to… move our bodies here in Enoa keeps track of stuff like our equipment, skills and level.”

“Level? You mean like spell ranks?”

“Something like that,” he sighed. Explaining this in no uncertain terms proved harder than he would’ve thought. “It’s a number attributed by the system, and you can use that to roughly estimate the power of people or monsters around you.”

“Oh? And what level am I?” he asked, twisting his lips into a curious grin.

Drake focused on the master and, sure enough, three bars appeared above his head, along with a level indicator. “I can’t tell… All I see is a question mark.”

“Heh, not much use if it can’t even do that much.”

“It might be because you’re a lot stronger than me. I mean… when I fought those Strangers, I could see it, but the strongest one was a level six, like I am now.”

“And how do you raise this level of yours?”

“Defeating foes or completing missions, like successfully defending the caravan, grants us experience. Once you pass a certain point, you level up and you can increase your status points.”

The master rubbed his temple as he stared into the dying embers. “Wait a second, what gives you these quests? Is it just this system? Or do you choose what you can do?”

“Well, yeah. If you discover something, you get a notification and the system asks you if you want to accept it or not.”

“So, you can at least choose for yourself. It doesn’t just decide for you.”

“Normally, yes…” he said, as Roy lifted his eyebrow again. “When you asked me to become your apprentice, the system didn’t really give much say in the matter…”

“Hah! Probably because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer!” A knot formed in Drake’s stomach and he forced himself to smile. The master, however, paid it no heed. “And what about these status points?”

“Well,” he sighed, taking a stick from the pile of kindling as he then scribbled his stats into the dirt. “These are the basic statistics that define our power. They each govern a certain aspect, like Intelligence increasing your magical damage. And you get ten points when you level up, or in some cases when you finish quests. You can then allocate these points into whatever stat you want. To begin with, you can level up quickly, but it then gets progressively harder.”

“So that’s the reason…” Roy got up and doused the fire, a low hiss rising from the glowing cinders. “If that’s the case, then quite a few Strangers will end up surpassing regular soldiers even by Harvest’s end. Tell me, how many are there in total?”

“As of right now, I’d guess around ten million. But I doubt every one of them will fixate that much on combat.”

“Doesn’t matter. Even if it’s just a tenth of them, that’s still more than the standing armies of Xeladia and Troria put together. Soon enough, everyone will scramble to get your kin on their side.”

“Yeah,” sighed Drake, getting up to help Roy pack. “But I wouldn’t lump everyone together. There isn’t one large, tightly knit group dictating the actions of everyone. They’ll spread out and join different factions as they see fit. Or make their own.”

“I assumed as much,” said the master, picking up his backpack. “That’s why the Conclave is our main focus for now, since they’re the ones making a move.”

“Before we continue, I wanted to ask you a couple of things,” said Drake, as he began to trace a line with the tip of his boot, circling the status points he had jotted down. “First of all, given these six statistics, could you tell me what you’d prioritize as a mage that likes to get… up close and personal?”

“I’d suggest that you concentrate on them in this order,” said Roy, pointing first to Intelligence, followed by Agility, Power, Vitality, Endurance, and lastly Strength. “However you choose to fight, magic is still our main trade. After that, you have to actually keep up with your enemy and dodge their attacks. Everything else is just there to help you last longer. Finally, you only need enough physical strength to comfortably use your equipment. Anything beyond that is probably a waste.”

“I see,” he said, scratching his head as he began allocating points into his stats. “It makes sense, but why Vitality over Endurance? What’s the point in being able to outlast someone if you just get hit and die beforehand?”

A throaty laugh escaped Roy and he then gave his apprentice the wryest of smiles. “Then just don’t get hit!” Seeing the perplexed look on Drake’s face, he nudged him forward so they could resume their journey. “What else did you want to ask?”

“I wanted to know more about the Stills. Why would the Conclave go so far as to hire Strangers to attack a caravan? All that just for an heirloom?”

“It lets them deny their involvement. Anyone figures it out, they just blame your kind. And it’s not the coin they’re after, but what it unlocks. People say that while building their keep, the Stills dug so deep into the mountains, that they unearthed an old tomb. Whatever they found in there, they ended up asking the dwarves to help them seal the entrance, not long before their fall. And this,” he said, holding up the small coin box, “seems to be the key to that seal.”

The idea of a forgotten tomb didn’t really frighten Drake. Rather, he smiled as he felt his hair stand on end at the prospect of a different sort of adventure. The old mage stretching next to him, however, sent another type of chill running down his spine…

“Now, get ready. We’ve rested enough,” he said, his lips curling into a devious grin. “No more stops ‘til we reach the Manor!”

Requizition

Hey! Hope you liked the chapter!

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