~chop*

There is a technique for cutting wood. I get myself into the rhythm as I chop off the wood into smaller pieces with an axe. I am wearing fur, instead of the familiar armor which is perfect for the environment. Snow continues to pour down, but not as much as before.

~chop*

While I don’t need the fur coat and can just brute force my way to chop the wood, I find no need to reject their kindness. From where I am chopping the wood, I see Kruff, the old hunter, butchering his game with skill.

“Do you want to learn how to butcher a deer?” He glances at me, and I pay him no heed.

In this world, I have not done any butchering yet, but I feel like I can do it. After all, my subclass is ‘Butcher’ which gives me a bonus score on item drops after killing monsters.

Speaking of item drops, none of the Lesser Wyverns has given me any which is weird.

“No, I am doing fine.” I reject Kruff’s offer to teach me butchering. For now, chopping wood interests me more.

“Well, with someone your skill, butchering a deer must be boring for you…” He comments, and I find his words strange enough to make me look.

“Why do you say that?”

“…”

Kruff ignores me as he focuses on working the deer.

Meanwhile, Pyla is hauling the wood that I am splitting. I return to chopping the wood, while I idly observe them from my peripheral vision. Everyone is busy and has something to do.

It has been a couple of weeks since I have been staying with them, and slowly, I am becoming attached to this place.

Companionship.

Their presence alone soothes my complicated emotions since arriving in this new world. My mind once more goes into the past when everything around me is only data of zeroes and ones. And thinking of the past, I start to understand the new things I am experiencing.

Emotions. Fatigues. Relief. Fear. Lost.

All of them are too foreign from the beginning, but at some point, I begin to build a tolerance against them. This must be what it means to be human. Coming to this understanding, I don’t realize what kind of existence am I even before.

“Is there something troubling you, young man?” Kruff pats me on my shoulder as he awakens me from my trance.

“Sorry,” I tilt my head to him while resting the axe on my shoulder. “Never thought splitting wood to be so calming. Better than fighting a flock of wyverns, I guess.”

Kruff good-naturedly laughs. His little beard shakes with energy finding my words funny and ridiculous. “Flock of wyverns my ass. There is no way any sane man will do that. Not to mention, fight a flock of them. You are lucky with that one wyvern, must have fallen asleep from the cold, and I bet killing it is still as difficult as they come.”

For some reason, the old hunter doesn’t believe my words. His assumption that I did fight a wyvern though is correct. Kruff ties his long white hair in a bun, and with another pat on my shoulder, he beckons me. “Let’s go. Help me cook the food.”

To my surprise, the deer’s carcass has long become smaller pieces.

The old hunter is not as simple as he looks.

I follow him inside the hut, while Pyla stays outside to finish with the wood and carry what remains to the shed. The insides are warm and homely. It is a welcoming, and lovable home.

Kruff is already working on a pot while he throws in various ingredients from spices of different regions, trying to create a base for a soup. In two separate pots, he carefully tends to a pot of vegetables and a pot of deer meat.

All of them are regulated on different levels of heat above the bonfire.

Through my extraordinary senses, I detect Kruff to be using magic to control the heat seeping into the pots. I look around the hut and detect various runes. This is my first time seeing all of this as this is the first time Kruff invites me to the hut.

From the start, I have been staying in the shed, which is the result of the old hunter’s wariness.

Even now, I have no access to my sword. Except for my armor that stays in the shed, I practically have no equipment except the fur coat.

The closest thing I have as a weapon is an axe that Krufff is lending me to chop wood.

At the back of my mind, I hear this cynic voice in my head tempting me to do the irrational.

But I know better.

“How can I help?” I ask him, curious whether he needs help, but I don't think he'll want any.

Kruff just looks at me, already done preparing the food, except being careful not to let them sit for too long or else they burn. “Hmmm…” He sits on a humble chair, and just like the hut, it has runes covering it.

“You can see them.”

“Excuse me?”

I don’t know what to tell him. I am very glad they show me kindness, despite not knowing what I am. But the longer I get to know them, the more distant they become as old hunter Kruff continues to build more walls against me.

There must be a story I don’t know.

“It must be a misunderstanding…” I explain.

Kruff shakes his head. “No, I don’t mean that. You see the runes, don’t you? I might not look like it, but I am a Magic Swordsman. A Knigic, they call me… And I pride myself on my runes… You, being capable of seeing my runes means one thing— it is either you are stronger than me or you possess rune-related abilities...”

“That is a rare hybrid class…” I mutter.

“Class?”

“I mean Legacy, a Magic Knight, or a Magic Swordsman is a rare legacy. I believe even Kings will do their utmost to secure such a rare hybrid legacy.” I analyze my situation.

My game knowledge flows into me naturally. The Data still exists within me, and I only need to focus allowing me to tap on this source. “You are wary of me because I might have greed over your Legacy. Is it not?”

Kruff nods at my words, and for a second, I sense him becoming tenser.

The reason he brings me inside the hut is to take care of me. I just hope he will choose to take care of me in a gentler manner.

I raise my hands, showing that I am harmless. I even go as far as removing my fur coat, revealing my well-honed body absent of any scars, unlike Kruff who is hiding a lot of injuries. I can tell from his gait, breathing, and shifting of his weight.

“Your Legacy does not interest me in the slightest.”

According to the game’s lore, Legacy is what the NPCs or denizens of Vanaheim call a Class. There are four starter classes, also known as Legacy Origins, in Vanaheim namely— Warrior, Rogue, Mage, and Cleric. Every 11^th level, a player’s class will evolve and transcend into a higher realm.

The Knigic is at [Tier 7], and this means, Kruff is at least Level 77.

“I am at [Tier 8], Peerless…” I lie to him when in fact I am at [Tier 9], ArcWarrior. “Its requirements are for me to dedicate myself on the path of the Warrior, and dedicate myself to battles.”

Kruff shows me a look of surprise and understanding. “Amazing. You are actually that strong. I don’t know about this Tier you speak of, but I know the Legacy of Peerless.”

I feel relaxed as the tense atmosphere becomes laxer.

“No wonder you are fighting a wyvern. You must want to advance your legacy further. Such an enviable young man. To be so alive and spirited…” Kruff smiles warmheartedly no longer the caution in his voice.

“You must be joking when you said you fought a flock of Wyverns, didn’t you?” He asks.

I shake my head, denying the truth. The white lie is necessary. I convince myself of this. I don’t want to appear bad to him, to them. I… I feel that I need to stay. I need this.

“You cannot stay.” Kruff cruelly tells me this.

I feel my heart wrench with pain. “Why?” I spit back at him almost hostile. This surprises me as I don’t mean to sound like this.

Kruff shows patience and simply smiles. “You just cannot.”

“I will not steal your Legacy. It has no use to me. Anyway, I already know the requirements for Knigic. You don’t need to be so wary of me. I… It… Its three lower tiers of Magic-based Legacy and three lower tiers of Martial-based Legacy.” I throw a tantrum like a child.

And desperately, I appeal to him. “If you want, I can tell you other several Legacy Pathways to advance…”

“I don’t even know what you are saying…” Kruff shakes his head with a bitter smile.

It hits me like a meteor from a maximized magic spell of a pure Mage-Build character. I have been talking with game knowledge, and none of this means anything to Kruff.

I feel so bad for myself. I guess… I just don’t want to be alone.

“You have to go…” Kruff reiterates.

***

Kruff carries the lump of an unknown metal, a sword so dull he cannot imagine it cutting anything. “This is your sword, I believe…” He hands it to the Warrior by stretching the hilt to him.

Wordlessly, the Warrior grabs the sword and lightly draws it from its sheathe revealing the sharp sword which baffles Kruff. He starts to understand more about the Warrior.

“Must be a legendary sword,” He comments, and out of guilt, he kindly offers the Warrior some ration to carry. “Here, you should bring this as ration. This jerky is from cured GoldRam. I swear it was a waste to make it into a jerky, but this thing is still delicious as it was…”

However, the Warrior rejects his gesture. “No, it is unnecessary.”

Just like a kid, the Warrior uselessly shows how petty he can be.

“No, I insist. This GoldRam meat is precious. With a small bite, it can relieve fatigue.” Kruff pushes the jerky to the Warrior.

But again, he rejects it. “Then the more reason you keep them. Fatigue means little to me.”

Turning around, the Warrior disappears from the door. He must be going to collect his armor to set off immediately.

Kruff feels tempted to activate his runes to stop him from leaving just to force the cured GoldRam meat.

But Kruff decides against his impulsiveness. “And here I am, thinking of the young man as petty…” If he is to force something on someone, doesn’t that make him the most petty of the two?

Young man. Warrior. Stranger.

Kruff knows too little of the man and still knows too little now. He recalls the few days and weeks of his stay. He, the Warrior, is closed and defended. That much, Kruff can understand.

These are not flaws. To choose to speak less is an admirable feat as it shows patience, and to only speak when needed is a more enviable trait as it expresses wisdom.

But as a person, this doesn’t say anything much about himself— that is why Van the Third is a closed and defended person.

He is a peculiar man.

Kruff remembers their first meeting. Lying beside the carcass of a wyvern. His subtle investigation of the scene suggests that the wyvern’s neck is broken by insurmountable crushing force… maybe from the fall… or maybe from strangulation.

At first, Kruff is reluctant to help the man, but at the insistence of his granddaughter, he just has to help. He cannot set a bad example for his granddaughter.

Then… for a very short time… They start living together. A day. Another day. Then slowly, it stretches to a week. Then a couple more weeks…

He is helpful, asks for nothing, and shows appreciation. He reminds Kruff of his youth when he was just a fledgling mage in the tower who knew nothing of materialistic greed.

Kruff knows that if he leaves it to its own, the weeks will become months, and months will become years. And he cannot have that. So he needs a reason to kick out Van.

So, he decides to tap into human greed by revealing his Legacy.

In the end, Van the Third proves himself to be pure… and might be a lot stronger than him…

“Sigh…” Kruff lies his back in a slump to the chair thinking of Van's sad eyes. “Two words describe him perfectly— a Lonely Warrior.”

The old hunter, Kruff, knows those eyes. Such sad eyes can only mean one thing… Loneliness…

Disturbing his contemplation is a loud kick from the door. “Grandpa! Why is Van leaving? Why!?” She angrily calls at her grandpa.

“Such an unfilial brat! What are you doing?”

Pyla tackles her grandpa with force, but clearly, she cannot even move her grandpa an inch from his chair. “Grandpa! You are a big meanie! Why are you kicking him out!? He is so nice to us! He is such a kind mister!”

Kruff stands up from his chair, lifts Pyla, and sits her in the chair. The old hunter kneels, leveling his eyes to Pyla. “Understand that I am doing this for us and him… You see, my baby girl, people hate me… They want to kill me… You already know this. All of them are bad people. When they come, how can I protect you when there is another guy I have to protect? We don’t want them to do anything bad to Uncle Van, right?”

Lies come out of his mouth so easily. Comes with his age is his slyness. There is no way Van will be a burden as the warrior might even be stronger than him, whose age is more of a deficiency than an advantage the longer time eats away at him.

But… Kruff just cannot bring himself to trust Van the Third, the warrior, the young man, the stranger.

And for Kruff, there is a simple reason to this— he is just as lonely as he comes… The Knigic is a mighty warrior and magic caster, yet he is alone. For a long time, he has fought betrayals and wars he cannot begin to imagine happening today.

He loves and treasures his current way of life.

Everyone has their stories. For Kruff, his tale doesn't matter. To him, only now, means something.

***

I sit atop the tallest tree in the Alps. I watch the hut of grandfather and granddaughter pair from afar. I ponder… How does the deer meat that Kruff is cooking taste?

I feel bitter.

But not so bitter, I will hate them.

So. I leave in silence.

“I don’t like this…”

But. I have to go.