Time of Report: XX/XX/XXXX @ XXXX hrs.

Unicorn Corporation normally has a spotless reputation within the VR gaming industry, with all manners of bugs and glitches within their only release, Royal Road, being handled by their AI. What is interesting is the way the AI does it - rather than eliminating the glitch from the systems entirely, it does its best to assimilate it into the game. This is where the word, ‘Magic’, comes in handy - you’ll be amazed at how it becomes a valid reason in a world where Magic is a major aspect.

NPCs suddenly becoming self-aware? Those NPCs are conveniently deemed as heretics by the churches for spouting off blasphemy of the highest order (SHE’S DEMON POSSESSED!!), and burnt at the stake (or on certain occasions, the AI takes pity on them - where else do you think the AIs manning the character creation area come from?).

A game-breaking exploit, in which castles are taken by flinging people into the castles with a catapult... Where they get off with nothing but fall damage and the term, ‘Defense’, suddenly becomes negligible?? Magic.

Landscape suddenly breaking up? Magic.

Landscape looks like it came out from a ye-ole-day 56-BIT game? Magic - Dimensional Magic.

In a sense, while the game looks amazingly realistic, you’ll be pleased to know, dear critics, that the game, Royal Road, is actually one of the most bug-infested games you’ll ever play... and it’s a VR game to boot, which adds on to the dangers...

- Adapted from ‘The Royal Tattler’, written by a certain Kina-san.

****

While the game Royal Road, attempts to simulate reality as closely as possible, this has not stopped many strange events from happening. This is due to its fantasy theme, which adds into the strange mix of life one particularly unstable element - Magic.

This particular tale began one stormy night at a Mage’s Guild some place, where they had the propensity of letting their tenants do whatever they wished, owing to the fact that there was now one overly nosy frog too many hopping around in the city. Its ‘inmates’ ranged from the geekish sort with glasses, to the mad men who laughed maniacally into the night.

There was also a room in the tower - the entrance was well-disguised, surreptitiously blended into the soot-marked walls. It stood undiscovered for hundreds of years, and in it was all manner of magical text and language, that spoke the wisdom of the ages. Part of that wisdom, at least.

A tiny wisp of candlelight illuminated the room, revealing several books unceremoniously strewn about. In the centre a desk stood, and at the desk, a young mage was busy at work.

This particular mage was of the bookish sort, and his tall lanky frame was bent over a particular tome. His hair was untidy and unkempt, and the only form of ornamentation was a clothes peg that kept his hair out of his eyes, which were framed by a pair of thick glasses. Unlike the geekish impression that one might have taken from this description, his expression was one of the utmost concentration as he pored over the contents of the tome.

While the room contained powerful forms of elemental magic, none of them was of interest to him, for he was practically inept with any of them, as far as he was concerned. His ambitions had little to do with the mere elements anyways, as he had set his sights on something much bigger.

His long thin fingers brushed over a particular portion of the text, the contents of which I won’t bore you with, but ended with a strange symbol which looked like it was scratched out by a child.

His eyes, tinted orange by the candlelight, seemed to glint at the discovery. The potential of this magic is unthinkable. In his mind, his thoughts seemed to fixate around a vivid image of a powerful undying army. The effects are phenomenal - to have an unstoppable army of monsters that would just never die at his bidding, his name shall be known across the land!!

At his side, a suit of armor stood, polished to a mirror’s gleam. The shell of what would be his first and finest work.

With trembling fingers, he reached for a brush and ink pad, and sketched a crude semblance of the rune on the inner portion of the chest plate. His hands glowed a sickly green as he carefully traced across the sketch of the rune, uncaring of the fact that his fingers were stained black by the ink.

As he busied himself with his work, he could have sworn that he heard a slight creaking as the armor twitched. The armor is beginning to show signs of life, he realised. Months of tireless work and research would soon come to fruition, and soon all of the Versailles Continent shall tremble at his name!!

Unfortunately, the formation of that army would never come to pass. At that very moment, lightning struck the Mage Guild, and all at once the magic and spells within the guild went haywire. Flocks of doves were formed at once, and the town added another half a dozen frogs to its burgeoning population.

And the mage felt a an inexplicable suction at his chest, felt a sharp pain on his right hand as his vision suddenly went black.

**

Time of Report: XX/XX/XXXX @ XXXXhrs

Rumors speak of people that are capable of wielding blades of light - as if out of a olden day Star Wars Movie. Each blade is unique according to their wielders; it is said that they are an extension of the wielder’s very soul.

In fact, the one top player which had stepped forth with that particular skillset was the “Swordsman of Light” - a warrior as fast as light itself. One flash of his shining sword was said to be able to cleave a Stone Golem in twain. With his deft footwork and mighty swordsmanship, he is said to be able to rival even top exponents in the frontlines. Even among his kind, he was deemed a prodigy.

Despite his glowing personality and dashing good looks, however, the “Swordsman of Light” is said to stay out of the limelight. He is not reported to have an affiliation to any guild, nor was he reported to participate in any mass player events. Any achievements is thus his own, his reclusiveness only serving to make him more attractive to his many fans, many among them female.

In conclusion, this is an enemy which must be killed on sight. Do not hesitate to sink a blade in his face the moment you get a chance.

- Adapted from ‘The Royal Tattler’, written by a certain Curve-sempai.

***

The moon shone bright above the night sky, bathing the forest in a dim silvery glow. The shadows danced along with the rhythm of the wind, creating a gentle scene.

Right now, that calming scenery was good cause for a well earned rest. Nevertheless....

A student-teacher duo was still practicing. Well, the student anyway. The teacher was slacking, much to the despair of the student. That meant he had to put in more work.

A lazy teacher can be scarier than a hardworking teacher, after all.

The teacher, a tall, black man with an afro, suddenly tensed up.

“That fool…”

The student, that had been swinging an enormous sword, stopped and looked at his teacher.

“Master, is there anything wrong?”

The teacher shook his head and gave a toothy grin.

“Nah brah, nothing is wrong. Keep at it.”

“But master, this sword is heavy…”

Despite this, the boy handled the weapon as easily as you would a twig, each stroke swung with a great deal of force, despite the obvious lack of finesse.

“You bear a heavy burden. The pressure of being the much vaunted 'Swordsman of Light' getting to you?”

"Master, that's not quite the point... Is there anything wrong?" The boy had a look of concern on his face.

"You are just thinking too much." the teacher laughed. "Nothing's wrong, except for the fact that you are not swinging that sword."

“Master, you just dropped your ‘gangsta’ inflections. And your speech just became more eloquent. Is there anything wrong?”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“Shut up and Concentrate. This sword isn’t going to get any lighter unless you do.”

“Uuuu…”

And that night, the student went to bed with a heavy heart, an even heavier sword, all the questions in the world, a lot of sweat and badly aching arms.

Time of Report: XX/XX/XXXX @ XXXX hrs

Kuruseo is seen by many as one of the many places where aspiring craftsmen are heavily recommended to visit at least once in their careers. With its vast facilities and access to knowledge beyond what is offered in the other towns, save perhaps the up and coming city of Morata, it is easy to oversee its many quirks and features hidden beneath the sheen.

Firstly, it is an unspoken rule that any artist or visitor which wishes to leave its walls must leave behind a contribution equivalent to their skill level. The council which is said to run the town are fervent believers of equivalent exchange: we give you the respective tools and training to raise your level, and you leave us your contribution in payment. As such, any craftsman would be careful not to bite off more than they can chew, lest they be saddled with a debt they can never return.

Secondly, what is interesting about the town of Kuruseo is the fact that it is the only Dwarven Settlement which does not pay tribute to the Great Red Dragon Akryong. Rumor has it that the town is under the patronage of a mightier force, one which Akryong fears. Residents whom I have interviewed have kept a tight lid on the identity of the patron, although I have managed to glean a moniker - the mysterious Mister W.B. Smythe. What is it about this secretive individual that would scare a dragon, one of the mightiest beings in the land?

Last, but of little concern, is the fact that the town is actually haunted; possibly a reason why Akryong avoids the town like the plague. Not out of fear, mind, but possibly out of natural instinct - the dead were never to be trifled with. I have heard stories of a Dullahan roaming its streets at night, the head under its arm aglow with fiery light. Possibly one of its many nightly denizens, my conjecture is that Kuruseo is possibly a resting ground for many of the glorious dead - that the Dullahan was not the only undead being to wander about its streets...

- Adapted from ‘The Royal Tattler’, written by a certain Ramses-dono.

*****

Kuruseo is known as a 'Craftsman's Paradise'. With shining golden walls and home to all manner of beautifully crafted artwork, the culmination of years and years of work.

It is also the only Dwarf town that didn't have to pay taxes and tribute to the Red Dragon Akryong.

It wasn't as if the Dwarf Liberation Association didn't try.

If there is anything you can give them credit for, they were leeches, but they were persistent leeches.

Needless to say, they stopped trying so hard after a particular event (they are still trying though!!).

It was twilight, about time for most of the stores to close for the day.

A group of Dwarves was sauntering about the Market as though they owned the place. Not that the residents gave a damn about this though - they went about on their peaceful business as per usual.

The leader was at a loss. He threw down his cap and said bluntly:

"Okay, this isn't working."

His cronies sheepishly nodded in agreement.

"We can't intimidate them because the top guilds will come after us, and you know how tight fisted we are as a species, so asking nicely doesn't work either. We need a new approach."

"Why not aim for residents that are non-dwarves?" One of his cronies suggested.

"Now that's an even worse idea." The leader fingered his beard as he thought to himself.

"But boss, we have to have something for the Big Boss. The Big Boss doesn't like it when we don't bring anything back." the crony pleaded. "Remember what he did to Oxtail? Snapped him up, bones and all."

"Yeah, I recall that." The leader said with a shudder. "Okay, we will try that once. Better to say that we tried at least."

"Boss, how about that guy over there?" The crony pointed, and at a fountain, a fully armored knight was sitting relaxedly. Next to him, a little girl in a red dress was nibbling on a giant cookie. Despite the lack of expression on her face, it was clear that she was enjoying said cookie.

The leader stroked his beard.

"A girl with her father on an outing... And from the looks of it, he has good armor as well." He cracked his knuckles lazily. "Should be easy pickings."

You should note that a couple of things was seriously wrong with the leader's analysis. Firstly, good armor also equates to excellent fighting skills, something that dwarves lack (being unable to achieve advanced or higher rank in any form of weapon mastery). Secondly, if they had looked any closer, they would have noticed that the armor looked suspiciously emptier than usual...

Lastly, there was a particular lack of a weapon. A knight never goes anywhere without one ever. It's just unthinkable.

However, what they saw was a knight and his daughter out together on a peaceful day. At worse, the daughter can be taken hostage, right? The shallow thoughts of kidnapping an innocent little girl who is clearly defenseless ran through their collective minds, neglecting the fact that the little girl might be a little bit more dangerous that she looked…

And that was not including the fact that the knight was there as well...

And thus as a group, they swaggered up to the fountain with the most intimidating expressions they can put on.

The girl noticed them and shrank away, attempting to stay close to the knight. The leader smirked as he sauntered up to the knight, who looked up. For some reason, the visor was down, obscuring the knight's features.

"Can I help you gentlemen with anything?" The knight spoke politely, his voice strangely clear. Now that the leader had a closer look, the helmet looked strangely empty within that visor...

He held back his reservations anyway.

"The Dwarf Liberation Association wishes for its due. You seem like a well to do person, so what's a short sum to you? We respectfully ask for it."

An awkward pause as the knight considered the leader's words. Finally, he said:

"Excuse me, are you asking me for tax money? I do believe that I'm merely a guest." The knight's tone was still polite, but things don't look good.

A drop of sweat slid down the leader's face as he considered the consequences of extorting from visitors who are exempt from the tax for obvious reasons (Not being a dwarf, hint, hint.).

The leader decided to press it.

"Yeah, and you're supposed to take off your helmet when you speak to others," he said, roughly smacking the knight's helmet, which came off surprisingly easily.

"Where are your mann- Oh, #@#%."

The leader's arrogant tone fell away. His cronies stepped back in fear.

What they beheld was too horrible to describe.

The leader, who was still frozen in shock, felt himself lifted up, and to his surprise he heard the "knight"'s voice, which was as cold as ice:

"Knocking off my helmet like that, where are your manners."

He saw a gauntleted fist being drawn back. The gauntlet was much, much larger than normal gauntlets. To his horror, he found himself fixated on the portion where the helmet should be, where -

His thoughts were interrupted by the knight’s words:

"Clench your teeth, cretin."

A loud throaty smack could be heard, followed by the shuffling of boots as the dwarves ran for their dear lives.

As they dashed off, a fire ball struck a shop sign, where it was nonchalantly put out by the shop keeper.