-oOo-

Chapter 1: Seeking the Path

-oOo-

The man standing behind in silence suddenly spoke out.  Lee Hyun could tell he was the leader of this squad.

"Make it simple and clear to this kid.  Stop messing around."

"Yes, boss.  I'm sorry," the fake blond man said.  "Hey, you kid, keep your ears open.  What we are doing is not breaking any laws.  We're only asking for interest within the legally set limits.  To begin with, the interest rate is fifty percent a year, simple math.  A hundred million goes up to one hundred fifty at the end of the first year, two hundred twenty second year, three hundred thirty third year, and almost five hundred million won at the fourth year."

Lee Hyun felt despair.  After years of being bullied he had finally glimpsed the light of hope.  Yet, on the bright morn of his freedom, these thugs had arrived to snatch away his good fortune.

But Lee Hyun was no fool.

Though his frame trembled with fear, he was not tricked by their words.  He knew every lie and every deceit.  What Lee Hyun struggled with was not ignorance, it was courage.  The courage to speak his mind.  The strength to face their inevitable wrath.

“We want the three billion,” the fake blond pressed.

With that push, Lee Hyun found his voice.

“Now listen here,” Lee Hyun demanded, his voice failing to show his shaking heart.  “I know my rights and I don't owe you a dime.  No matter how you look at it, the son does not inherit the debt of the father-”

An ugly expression shot across the fake blond's face.  With a sharp slashing gesture, the thug cut Lee Hyun off.  

“Kid, how many times do I have to tell you.  You were the one who failed to renounce the debt, so all this is all on your shoulders.  I know.  I know.  It is a sad world where a terrible thing like this can happen to a child.  But what are you going to do?  That's just the way the world works.”

“No court in the world would buy that crap,” Lee Hyun retorted.  “Three billion won?  Fifty percent interest?  The judge would throw your case in the trash before it hit his desk”

The fake blond laughter grew in volume.  With a dance like twist, the thug turned to his thug audience and said, “Can you believe this kid?  He actually thinks justice is on his side.”

“Justice?”  Lee Hyun let out a dull laugh.  Lee Hyun knew better than anyone that there was no justice.  In this world existed only greed.  “What does justice have do with anything?  With that three billion won, I can hire a dozen lawyers.  They will turn your case into a circus.  Thug versus Orphan.  Forget interest, by the time they're done you'll be lucky to see the principle.  And if they fail?”  A slow, a shark like grin spread across Lee Hyun's maw.  With cupped hands he made a motion as though pouring out water.  “You know what they say.  In a lawsuit, the only ones who getting rich are the lawyers.”

Bang!  A table shook when the blond slammed his hand onto the top.  The fake blond thrust his ugly mug up next to Lee Hyun's.  Not a trace of amusement remained.

“Listen here, pip squeak,” the thug spat.  “I don't give a shit about law or justice.  Let me explain how this works.  You pay me.  Now.  Or I start looking for suitors for that lovely little sister of yours.”

Lee Hyun flinched.  His face grew red with rage.  Without thought, he shot to his feet.  “Don't you dare lay a hand on my sister!”

The fake blond's jovial expression returned.  “Now, now kid.  Nobody was talking about touching nobody,” he said lightly, glancing about his fellows as though sharing a joke.  “As long as you pay your debt, everything is going to be rainbows and sunshine.”

Lee Hyun's hateful glare could have killed lesser men.  Behind his visage were hidden roiling guts.  Lee Hyun had spent years transversing the slums of Seoul.  The fake blond's threats were very real.  People who crossed men like him met with an ugly end.  Death was the least of Lee Hyun's worries if he raised their ire.

But that violence had a cost.  In money.  In years.  It was not a power to be wielded casually.  Lee Hyun was a lost cause turned into a jackpot.  Though the thugs were here to milk him for all that he was worth, the would be happy enough to get a bag full of cash.

“I never said I wouldn't pay,” Lee Hyun said grudgingly.  “But I'm not giving more than the principle.  You don't have a right to any more than that.”

The fake blond let out a heavy sigh and started rolling up his sleeves.

“Looks like we're going to have to do this hard way,” the fake blond said tiredly.  The thug shot a cruel smirk.  “Just so you know, I'm not going to enjoy this any more than you will.”

Dark suited thugs gathered.  A pair of hands seized Lee Hyun's shoulders.  Fingers dug into his flesh with vice like force.  The beat of Lee Hyun's heart raised to a rapid tempo.

Somehow, he kept the tremors of fear inside.

The Boss raised a hand.

Fear and terror backed away.  The thugs surrounding Lee Hyun retreated, vanishing against the edges of the room as dark suited wallpaper.  The Boss lowered his arm.  Everyone's attention remained on him.

“We are here to resolve an outstanding account, nothing more,” the Boss said in cold, crisp words.  Empty eyes shifted to Lee Hyun, made all the more frightful by their utter lack of empathy.  “2,857 million won is the precise sum owed.  I am willing to settle for that.”

Of course these thugs would round up to a full three-billion, Lee Hyun thought furiously.    And to think, if he had been a touch less courageous, they would have stolen an extra 143 million won.  Lee Hyun scowled, his right hand absently rubbing his bruised shoulder.  Ten percent interest over eight years came to a little more than twice the original cost so....

“250 million won,” he countered.  Lee Hyun raised his eyes and presented a stubborn look.  “That is a fair rate of return and is more than anyone could expect.”

The Boss's eyes narrowed.  Lee Hyun's mouth went dry.  He had to clench a fist to keep himself from shaking.

“I am willing to negotiate a fair resolution, but if you are going to toy with me, I will leave this matter in the hands of my associates.”

That simple proclamation was almost enough to make Lee Hyun break out in the cold sweats.  These were foes who did not need to fight fair.  With a gulp, Lee Hyun recalculated his offer, discarded it, and went with the lowest sum that would make them bite.

“A billion won.  That is more than thirty percent interest.  You will never see a return better than that for the rest of your life.”

“Two billion,” the Boss countered.  “That includes all credits from your prior contributions at a full eight years of interest.  That is my best offer.  Take it or leave it.”

And so the dickering began...

-oOo-

-Select the name for your avatar-

Royal Road, the world's first Virtual Reality Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game.  Developed by the Unicorn Corporation, Royal Road was already the single most popular video game in world history.

And that popularity was still rising.

Royal Road was a game that appealed to persons from every wash of life.  The detailed graphics drew reverence from world renowned artists.  The physics engine had been famously used by NASA to carry out simulated experiments.  The NPC interactions were deep and the social environment deeper.  Royal Road was chipping away at the web-based media titans, dragging them kicking and screaming into a brand new era.

None of this was what attracted Lee Hyun.

Several months had passed since the hospital encounter.  At first, Lee Hyun had lived in terror.  He had stayed, huddled in his room, clutching his check book as though to shield it from thieves.  Waiting.  Waiting for the dark suited thugs to change their mind.  Waiting for them to take revenge on him for daring to bargain with their ilk.

But, as time slipped on, the fear had faded.  With renewed rationality, Lee Hyun had settled his accounts.  He purchased their tiny house outright, refusing to place himself at the mercy of a creditor.  He had set aside a bundle of funds to care for his grandmother's health, his sister's education, and then – at Hayan's insistent prodding – his own.

After it was all said and done, Lee Hyun found himself with a fortune of over a billion won.  A billion won!  It was a sum of cash far greater than he had ever imagined.  It was freeing, exhilarating, terrifying, and...

… boring.

“As long as I make money, it will be okay,” Lee Hyun mumbled.  The words were a mere justification, but saying them eased Lee Hyun's heart.

The user interface flickered.

-Select your gender from–

The shift shattered Lee Hyun's reverie.

“Wait!  Back!” Lee Hyun shouted.

The character creation screen flickered and returned to the name selection.  With a fierce scowl, Lee Hyun focused on the game in front of him.  

“Force: command mode,” Lee Hyun ordered, seizing direct control of the system.  “Randomize all values.  Set name: Weed.  Set race: Human.  Set starting location: Citadel of Serabourg.  Force start.”

-Calibrating...–

Few of Royal Road's players moved beyond their first character.  This was not due to any sense of attachment.  Instead, this habit was born from Royal Road's annoying tutorial.  For the duration of a month, all new character were locked inside their starting city.  It was a hateful policy that had spurred endless rants all across the web.

Lee Hyun shared that displeasure.

“Idiot designers,” Lee Hyun grumbled.  “Making me replay the tutorial is bad enough.  But how dare they steal my appearance.”

Lee Hyun was not creating his first character.  He was creating his fifth.

And in his eyes, it was already trash.

Trash.  A useless mass of digital data.  His avatar deserved not a single consideration.  Still, Royal Road's thievery grated on him.  It was salt poured into an open wound.  The game allowed duplicate names, so why did it forbid characters with a duplicate appearance?

It was enough to make Lee Hyun seethe.

“It is trash.  Garbage.  I am just going to throw it away at the end of the month, so there is no point in caring what I look like,” Lee Hyun reminded himself.

In a burst of white, the world faded.  Once more, Lee Hyun entered the world of Royal Road.

-oOo-

Sensation struck Weed's brain in a blinding pulse.  A sea of colors flooded in through virtual eyes.  Chattering voices pressed against digital ears.  Warm wind brushed artificial flesh.  He was alive, aware, and standing in the cobbled center of the Citadel of Serabourg.

An entire world bustled around him.

Throngs pushed and shoved their way through the city streets.  Humanity flowed thick, with players indistinguishable from NPCs.  The traffic broke upon the central square, parting like a river around a rock.  Here was the place where new heroes were born, cast down from the heavens in columns of light.  One such flash appeared on Weed's left.  From it stepped a reedy, business man who looked rather odd in when wearing the ragged robes of a newbie character.

Weed ignored him and instead swung his head from side to side so as to orient himself.

“It is noon, so he will be at the Training Hall,” Weed muttered after noting the position of the sun.

Weed shoved his way into the living stream and rode the current toward the Training Hall.  The enormous building towered over the surrounding structures.  The Hall was a beacon, a landmark designed to capture the attention of new players so as to provide their first introduction.

And that allure fell upon deaf ears.

Worthless.  A waste of time.  The Training Hall provided a poor tutorial.  New players did not want to swing swords a straw dummies.  They wanted to battle titans.  So the Training Hall, for all its glamor, was neglected.  Few were those that entered the building, and those that did were high level players seeking to test their newest techniques.

For Weed, the Training Hall recalled bitter memories.  His first character had spent countless hours within that dojo, pounding away at straw.  Then he had wasted his effort by foolishly selecting a secret class without considering the consequences.

“I should have listened to the instructor,” Weed murmured regretfully.  “Nothing good comes from art.”

Weed circled the building and approached the rear.  Sharp clangs and meaty thuds sounded from an open air dojo.  Here knight struggled against knight in practice combat.  Some fought with dulled swords or blunted spears.  Others had stripped themselves of arms and armor, so as to duel with muscle and wit.

Presiding over them all was the giant Chuluun.

Chuluun was a mountain of a man.  The gray haired instructor was over two meters tall and was built like a tank.  His flesh was corded steel and his fists, weighted hammers.  Had Chuluun existed in the real life, Weed had no doubt that the monster could have moonlighted as a hydraulic press.

With a deep bow Weed addressed the giant.

“Oh wise and honorable instructor, would you teach this poor soul the secret skill Iron Soul,” Weed schmoozed.

The giant turned, sinew twisting beneath his skin.  Chuluun drew himself to his full height.  With furious gray eyes, he glared down upon Weed.  Weed's neck craned back.  For the first time he realized how utterly puny he was.  Chuluun was a leviathan, an almighty God of War cast in mortal flesh.  And Weed?  Weed was a pitiful child whose head barely reached the monster's chest.

It was struggle not to gulp.

“Hmph,” Chuluun grunted.  His eyes flashed with disdain. “Never before have I laid eyes on anything so pathetic.  But, if it is my training that you wish, then I will beat some strength into your fragile bones.  So, what say you, freeman?  Will you take upon yourself the path of the monk?”

Ding!

You have been offered the chance to become a monk.  A monk is a class specialized in unarmed combat.  As a monk, you will be a fearsome warrior that can kill an armed soldier with your bare hands.  Do you accept?

Yes/No

NOTE: By accepting this class, you will locked into this path baring special quests or offers

Monk.  A terrible class that suckered foolish players with its false allure.  Crush mighty foes with your fists!  Turn aside sharp claws with your flesh!  Weed's lips curled with disgust.  Lies and deceit.  A monk was a man cursed with mediocrity.  No matter how hard they strove, they were forever fated to wield a weapon no stronger than the average sword.

Better to be a Moonlight Sculptor.  Weed would die before he accepted that class.

“Great and wondrous Chuluun, though your offer is striking, look at me.  My body is small and weak.  How could a creature so frail endure the field of combat?” Weed asked, his silver tongue wagging with the skill of a courtier.  Blinking quickly, he drew false tears from his eyes.  “But alas!  Fate has doomed me to face great danger.  So I beg you, honorable instructor, grant me the knowledge to survive these terrible trials.  Though it is unimaginable, I know that this task is not beyond a legendary warrior like Chuluun, whose name is known all across the Continent of Versailles.”

“You have a honeyed tongue, freeman,” Chuluun said with a grunt of disapproval.  “But I have no time for those who disdain the path of the fist.”

With that, the giant man walked away.

And here was where things got tricky.

Iron Soul was a class skill unique to monks.  Chuluun would not share its secret easily.  In fact, it was absurd to ask in the first place.  If other players had been present, they would surely have had a great laugh at Weed's expense.  Stupid noob.  You'll never get that cranky old bastard to teach you that.

They would be wrong.

Royal Road was a game of many secrets.  The world was filled with forgotten classes, mysterious skills, and classified quests.  Within this endless list of undisclosed features was a well known but often forgotten fact, unclassed characters gained skills easily.  If an unclassed character cooked, they would quickly learn the Cooking skill.  If an unclassed character hammered a lump of iron, they would learn Repair or Blacksmithing.

Spontaneous skill generation.  It was an ability all characters possessed.  But, for unclassed characters, that aspect was greatly amplified.  As with many of Royal Road's hidden aspects, it was under appreciated.  Weed, when perusing forums and wikis, had seen an assortment of posts from players airing their frustration after missing this or that skill early in the game.  There were even veterans who made lists of skills considered must have.

But, hidden in plain sight, was a secret behind the secret.  The spontaneous skill generation of an unclassed character was not limited to basic skills.  No.  While unclassed it was possible to spawn any skill up to, and including, impossible combinations.

Impossible combination, an informal name granted by players to seemingly contradictory sets of skills.  A vile thief with the sword skills an honorable knight.  A heavenly priest wielding the blackest magics.  A barbaric swordsman with who mastered the painter's brush.

Despite the name, such combinations were not actually impossible.  Rather, it was that the game bent over backward to prevent a player from obtaining them.  If a player had one skill, the affinity with the opposing guild would be ruined.  Quests that would normally grant an opportunity to learn a skill would not spawn.  It was these walls and obstacles that made such combinations rarer than hen's teeth.

But using this advantage was far from easy.  Unclassed characters possessed a fatal flaw.  They were limited to ten skills and ten skills only.  After that, the magic vanished.  Short of skills granted by automated reward, an unclassed character could never learn a skill after the tenth.

“This avatar is trash,” Weed murmured.

To obtain the perfect skill set required careful planning and untold diligence.  It was not good enough to simply seek what he desired, Weed had to do so while studiously avoiding the spontaneous generation of everything else.

It was a uncut trail filled with traps.  Already, Weed had burned through three characters chasing this quest, and likely it would consume more.

“If my affinity is high, Chuluun will teach the skill,” Weed mumbled, recounting his prior experience.  His expression twisted into a nasty grimace.  “But he will make me learn three monk skills first.  I need a better path.”

Weed's eyes dropped.  The ground was beaten dust.  Years of abuse had pounded the training ground until there was nothing but bare, compacted earth.  Still, no matter how well cleaned, rocks and pebbles could be found amongst the dirt.

Stooping, Weed grabbed the largest.  He weighed it, the chipped gravel filling no more than a third of his open palm.  Then, with sharp resolution, he threw the rock.

Thunk!

A deep, painful impact resounded as though Weed had struck hollowed wood.  Chuluun's head twitched an imperceptible millimeter.  The giant froze in mid step.  He turned, slowly, like an ancient battleship correcting its course.  All kindness vanished from the instructor's eyes.  In its place was fiery steel and the promise of death.

“Do not test my patience, brat,” Chuluun hissed.

Weed ignored the threat and stooped down to pick up another rock.

WHAM!

Weed folded in half.  Breath exploded from his lungs.  His tiny frame floated three meters into the air, driven by the monstrous battering ram that was Chuluun's fist.  Water poured from Weed eyes, all but blinding him as he plummeted back down to hit the ground with a sickening thump.

“Gah!”

Weed gasped, trying to suck in breath.  His diaphragm stuttered, leaving him choking for air.  Spots danced in his eyes while his body trembled upon the earth.

“And stay there, brat,” Chuluun growled.

Weed ground his teeth.  With intense will, he forced his body to move.  This was not the first time Weed had suffered this kind of pain.  The vicious thugs in their dark suits had often planted their fists in his gut to remind him of his place.  

Compared to that, this was nothing.

Weed stood.  He forced his breath to even.  Air flowed once more.  Weed sucked in great gulps, the dizziness fading as oxygen permeated his lungs.  After allowing himself another second to recover, Weed faced Chuluun anew.

The giant met Weed's glare with furious malice.

“I'm warning you, brat.”

Weed adjusted his stance in answer, resting his weight on the balls of his feet.  His body dropped a few centimeters, lending a spring to his step.  All pretense of politeness was gone.

“Please teach me Iron Soul,” Weed demanded.

This was not madness.  With his previous character, Weed had wheedled and wooed Chuluun until the man yielded his secrets.  The old bastards answer to Weed's pleas was to drag him onto this field and beat him until every bone had broken.  It was by enduring that training that Weed had gained the yearned for skill, Iron Soul.

And if a beating was all it took, why bother with niceties?  Weed would make Chuluun teach him whether the instructor liked it or not.

“Ha!”  With a great cry, Weed leapt forward. His fist cut through the wind, flashing out at the perfect.

“Hmph.”

Chuluun floated around the strike with a disdainful huff.  His arm vanished.  The instructor's counter was blindingly fast.  A fist smashed into Weed chin, shaking his brain in its casing.  Weed's senses reeled.  Impact.  Pain.  Blindness.  Weed's body crashed onto the ground.

Weed blinked woozily.  His eyes regained their focus just in time to glimpse a meaty foot descending.  A pulse of force rammed down through his skull, driving Weed's face into the dusty earth.

Weed choked on the dirt.  With a twist, Chuluun drove his head down further.

“Little ant, you deserves worse than to be ground beneath my boot,” Chuluun declared imperiously.  With cruel casualness, Chuluun drew one giant foot back and kicked Weed in the ribs with such force that he tumbled for half-a-dozen meters.  “Now run along, brat, before you make me angry.”

You have taken a serious injury!

Maximum Life reduced by 3%

Injury level can be reduced with bed rest or treatment by a medical professional.

Weed let out a hissing breath.  A hand grasped his bruised ribs.  Even with that casual touch, he could feel a bone shifting underneath his flesh.

Which begged the question, why was he alive?

Dizziness and pain had left Weed's thoughts muddled.  But even his dulled mind knew something was wrong.  His eyes sought the red bar that represented his life.  His health read 93 / 97.  From Chuluun's attacks, Weed had lost a grand total of four hitpoints.

Impossible.  The Chuluun was a monster with a level was well above two-hundred.  A single strike should have killed Weed outright, and Chuluun was clearly not pulling his blows.

Which meant....

That bastard!

Weed's face contorted in rage.  Angrily, he pulled himself to his feet and hit the Instructor with his nastiest glare.  Chuluun was mocking him.  The giant instructor was using a hateful technique that reduced every attack to a single point of damage.  Weed had never imagined such cruelty could exist.

Grinding his teeth to quell his fury, Weed hissed his refrain.   “Please teach me Iron Soul.”

-oOo-

Weed woke in a pile of garbage.  He rolled from a bin to flop onto the cobble stoned streets of Serabourg.  A tonal ring dulled his ears while his bruised flesh sang a sonnet of pain.  He stood dizzily, sagging against a brick building.   With dull eyes he swept the ally, striving to find his bearings.

“What kind of game, renders so much pain?” Weed complained.

With a wrinkled nose, Weed dusted himself off. Assorted refuse was brushed from his newbie robes. He grimaced in disgust at the slimy texture that coated his hands.  The stench was stomach turning.  Royal Road the pungent stench of rot in exacting detail.

“That bastard,” Weed complained.  “He beats me to the edge of death then throws me out like garbage.”

Never, in all five of Weed's characters, had he been exposed to such indignity.  It was enough to make Weed growl with rage.  If his health was not one point shy of the ten percent boundary, Weed would have stomped his way back to the Training Hall and fought Chuluun again.

“I will get my revenge latter,” Weed murmured, calming himself.

Weed pulled a apple peel from his hair, stifling his anger.  Fighting Chuluun would accomplish nothing now.  To absorb Chuluun's 'lessons' Weed needed an abundance of health.  It would be better to focus on his next task.

Course decided, Weed eyes flicked to the window obscuring the edge of his vision.

New Stat: Perseverance

Perseverance, an extra attribute that was amongst the first that spawned for a warrior.  Perseverance increased whenever a character endured the pain or adversity and grew fastest when a player survived blows while their health was low.  Since perseverance had the effect of increasing a character's defense, it was an worth its weight in gold.

“It was not all a loss then,” he murmured.

Weed's fingers itched, straining to open his status screen.  How many points did he gain?  One?  Two?  Maybe three?  Weed resisted the urge, knowing that a glimpse of his progress would make it harder to abandon this character.

“This avatar is trash,” he reminded himself.

With a heavy limp, Weed passed through the streets of Serabourg.  He stopped briefly at a small park and knelt before a bronze statue.  The Goddess Freya gazed down upon him with a magnanimously smile.  In her left hand, the goddess held aloft a bundle of wheat while in her right she carried a naked blade.  The two items served of as symbols of Freya's dominion, fertility and war.

“Bountiful Freya, please grant upon your poor servant the blessing of health,” Weed sang in prayer.

At that moment Weed's life rose by a single point.  Perhaps it was chance, or maybe, just maybe the goddess herself answered Weed's prayer.  Whatever the case, Weed bowed in thanks before taking his leave.

Prayer was not an idle thing.  By diligently tithing and prayers a player could generate or raise the faith stat.  The gods rewarded the faithful.  But they were also fickle creatures and quick to anger.  If Weed were to pray too often, his faith would fall instead of rise.

In Weed's case, his prayers were driven by pure greed.  Divine Healing!  

Divine healing was a core skill of the priest class.  In all of Royal Road, there was not a magic more wondrous.  Healing magic was incredible.  With it Weed could hunt longer and faster.  He could face foes more ferocious.  Less time spent waiting for his life to recover meant faster leveling and larger piles of loot.  And, if that were not enough, healing magic restored stamina.

An unlimited running distance!  A higher effective carrying capacity!  It was no wonder that Royal Road players all agreed that a single priest will double the power of your party.

“If I had Divine Healing, I could have completed the Training Hall in three weeks instead of four,” Weed grumbled, reminiscing on how long hours spent swinging his sword had left his arms feeling like lead.

If there was a skill all players should have, Divine Healing was it.  That leveling the skill would open up half the priest skill chain was icing on the cake.

“Divine Healing, without a doubt, is the best skill in the game.”

After having learned Divine Healing with his third character, Weed could not imagine living without it.

Finally, the Great Library of Serabourg came into view.

There were three libraries in Serabourg.  The Great Library was the largest.  Built adjacent to the Mage's Guild, the Great Library dominated the crest of a hill forming one of the twelve icons defining the Citadel's sky line.  Marble arches, born by thick roman pillars, soared three beautiful stories above Weed's head and all along the stone framing were carved the account of some ancient saga.

All that majesty paled before the knowledge held within.  Lofty shelves filled the interior, stuffed to the brim by thousands of books.  The libraries collection ranged from pencil thin novels to thick tomes and the subject matter covered everything from childish romance to magical theory.   In terms of scope the Great Library compared to a major library in the real world.

But when it came to books, appearances were deceiving.  What seemed to be a giant codex could have as few as ten pages.  The library was an illusion cast by the game developers.  The assorted engines and engineers had better things to do than scrawl out stories running on for millions of words, and nor would the players wish to read such lore either.

Weed stepped into the library.

A handful of people were scattered throughout the interior.  Some sat and read.  Others browsed the shelves, searching for a secret book that would reveal to them a hidden quest.  The Great Library was, all in all, an unpopular place, securing less interest than the Training Hall.  The few players gathered here were doing research projects for their party or scoring reputation points with the Mage's guild.

Squeak.  Squeak.

Weed's eyes were drawn to the side.  In a lonely corner and aged librarian pushed a poorly oiled cart.  Stopping near a tall shelf, the ancient woman hunched down over the container.  With quivering, wrinkled hands she lifted out a heavy book and slowly returned it to its home.

Squeak.  Squeak.  With sluggish steps, the old woman continued on her way.

Weed glowered.  His gaze swept the library.  Not a single person rose from their seat to help.  They ignored the old woman's laborious trial, not even noticing how she struggled with her task.  And why not?  Players cared nothing for the NPCs.

“Leaving an old woman to work,” Weed spat under his breath.  “Despicable.”

When looking upon the aged woman, Weed could not help but be reminded of his Grandmother.  Brittle.  Weak.  Dependent on his strength.  Seeing her suffer stirred Weed's heart with anger.  With furious steps, he approached.

“Honored grandmother, allow me to help,” Weed said somewhat forcefully.

“What was that, deary?” the old woman asked.  Her eyes slowly veered to the side, then lowered slightly to find the tiny person at her side.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Weed knew well enough how the old could be, so he was not put off by her poor hearing.  Instead, he politely bowed in her direction and repeated his words.

“Lifting those books must quite straining, honored grandmother.  Please allow me to do it in your stead.”

“Ah.  What a kind child.  Your parents must have raised you well,” the old woman said with a frail smile.  “If you want to help, deary, then I supposed I can find something for you to do.”

Ding!

A Librarian's Mess

The librarian of the Great Library of Serabourg is in need of assistance.  Help her restore the books to their rightful place and earn her favor.

Difficulty level: F

Quest requirements: None

A quest!  Though Weed had not intended it as such, the game had transformed his offer.  For a brief moment, his lips pressed in consternation.  Then he bowed his head low to the librarian.

“I would be glad to help, honored grandmother.”

You have accepted the quest.

Though Weed's heart was filled of greed, it was impossible for him to refuse a request from an old woman.

“The other carts are over there, deary.”  The librarian gave a soft smile.  Stepping away from the cart, the old woman began to shuffle her way back to her desk.  “Take your time.  There is no need to rush.”

The other carts?

Weed froze.  His eyes traced the librarian's finger to the four wooden carts parked in darkened alcove.  Unlike the half empty container before him, these carts were overflowing with ancient books.  The stacked tomes formed mountainous spires that towered over Weed twice over.

Gulp.

This was not a mere hour of work.  There were thousands of unsorted books in each of those carts.  Not only that, the library was huge.  To find a book's home would be an adventure in and of itself.

Weed's expression soured.  “I've been swindled.”

With a heavy sigh, Weed trudged forward.  Not once did he consider abandoning his quest.  There was no task so laborious or tedious that it would make him shy.  Nor could he imagine dumping the quest back upon the old woman's shoulders.  Surely, if made to carry out such a labor, her heat would give.

“If I work through the night, I should be done by the time the sun rises,” Weed concluded wearily.

Come morning Weed would have no choice but to log-off and cook breakfast for his little sister, Lee Hayan.  So he wanted to be done before then.  Sleep was an unnecessary thing.  Weed was fine on four hours a day and there were times where he went without rest for an entire week.

But how would this effect Weed's training with Chuluun?

“There's no helping it,” Weed murmured with a groan.  “I have four weeks.  I can ignore Iron Soul for a day without harm.”  

Weed was already suffering from severe injuries.  If his arms or legs were broken, moving the books would be impossible.  So, rather than split his time between the library and Chuluun, it was better to resolve this quest first.

“There are a lot of books.  I must do this efficiently,” Weed murmured in consideration.

The first thing Weed did was commandeer a long table.  Instead of pushing the cart around, he sorted books into stacks.  Hours passed.  The stacks grew larger, forming into colossal spires.   Only when their height reached the point were Weed could place no more did he move onto the next phase.

He loaded the sorted stacks into a cart.

Squeak-Squeak.  Squeak-Squeak.

With wearing force, Weed pushed the heavy cart toward its destination and began to unload the mass.  The constant shuffle was back breaking work.  Often Weed was forced to scale a rolling ladder so as to reach the upper shelves.  Sweat covered his frame.  Muscles protested every movement.  But Weed endured.   Compared to hauling bricks on a construction yard this was nothing.

The sheer scale of the task, however, was incredible.  The labor was slow, exhausting, and mind numbing.  The Great Library of Serabourg followed an ancient sorting system the logic of which escaped Weed.  He spent hours seeking out homes for books on the rarest of subjects.  The task dragged on for hours.  The sun dipped below the horizon, rose, then fell again.  A day in Royal Road lasted a mere six hours.  Weed had been sorting books for twice that time.

But it wasn't all a loss.

Strength raises by 1 point. (+1 STR)

Vitality raises by 1 point. (+1 VIT)

New Stat: Endurance

Endurance

Reduces the loss of stamina when involved in laborious tasks.  Stat points distribution is possible and depending on the character’s actions, it can increase by itself.

Hard work had its own rewards.  A player could gain power through a variety of mechanisms.  Character level rose with combat.  Skill level increased with practice.  And attributes advanced with training.  Strength and Vitality!  Valuable primary attributes.  Seeing them rise was enough to draw a giddy feeling from Weed's heart.

“Compared to the Training Hall, this is three times slower,” Weed reminded himself.

Completing the Training Hall rewarded a player with forty points of Strength, Agility, Vitality, Endurance, and Fighting Spirit.  With an intense regime, it was possible to generate stats at a rate that compared favorably with raising one's level.  When put beside that reward, the attributes Weed obtained by lifting books were far smaller.

Nevertheless, the reward quickened Weed's step.  The surge did not last long.  Soon enough, he was trudging through the great morass once more.

“A game shouldn't make a player suffer,” Weed grumbled, the tedium of the task weighing upon him.

Finally, Weed emptied the fourth cart.

Ding!

New Skill: Seeking

At a fork in the road, the falling stick shows the path.  Seeking is a skill that guides you to your destination.  As skill level rises, range will increase and new things can be sought.

Weed froze.  His expression turned into a fierce glower.  

“A useless skill,” he spat.

The appearance of Seeking was a knife to Weed's gut.  The twisting pain was almost enough to make him exit the game and delete his character.

“This avatar is trash,” Weed reminded himself, his limbs trembling in anger.  “Unexpected skills cannot be helped.”

The class feature of an unclassed character was to gain skills easily.  Because of this, it was impossible to avoid every unintended skill.  This was an inescapable truth that had made itself apparent through all five of Weed's characters.

“Iron Soul, Divine Healing, Runic Knowledge, Water Elementalism, Meditation, and Necromancy,”  Weed murmured.  “There are six skills I desire, so it is okay if three or four slots are wasted.”

If the number of skills Weed coveted was one or two, there would be no need to put forth much effort.  But since he desired six, he had to take great care with his harvest.  Two of the skills were especially impossible to obtain.  Iron Soul, a unique skill associated with monks and Necromancy, a magic spoken of in ancient lore but thus far beyond the reach of any player.

Weed, for all his effort, had yet to find a way to generate the last.

Lifting another tome, Weed shook his head in frustration.  “I should have stuck with a fighter.  A warrior does not need a wide selection skills.  All he needs is the ability to swing his sword.”

After his first character met with disaster, Weed had asked his little sister what kind of character he should play.  Lee Hayan's answer had been instant:  'Big brother should play a wizard.   An omnipotent wizard that can drive a country to its knees'

What impossible expectations!  But how could Weed defy the dream filled eyes of his little sister?  Bereft of all choice, Weed had thrown himself into the task of creating the perfect magic using character.

“Elemental magic to rain down destruction.  Divine magic to provide buffs and support,” Weed mumbled, returning a book to its shelf.  He twisted on the ladder and grabbed a second from the cart.  “Meditation to provide mana flow and Necromancy to supply meat shields.”

Weed listed his thoughts as he worked.  Left unmentioned was Iron Soul, a skill that would boost his pathetic defense and raise it to a level where Weed could endure repeated blows.

It was a necessary skill.  Wizards were innately fragile and thus near impossible to play solo.  While Weed would not mind the support of a party, Weed had yet to find a group of players that were not so lazy that they did not require constant supervision to keep them on task.

“Playing a wizard is tough,” Weed lamented.

Though he complained, Weed's soul was whirling with excitement.  There was no greater feeling than ascending a mountain through great suffering.  Weed was sure that, if he poured his heart into it, he could stand astride this world as he had in Continent of Magic.

“Worthless skills.  It is always the worthless skills.  If not for worthless skills, I would be killing monsters and collecting japtem already.”

Still, it was not so easy to move past the frustration of being cursed with an unwanted skill.

“If I have to waste a slot it should be for something useful like Cooking or Repair,” Weed continued to grumble, while sliding another book onto a shelf.  “Seeking?  What is the purpose a skill that helps you find things?  Maybe if I could seek undiscovered dungeons then-”

Ding!

Weed's tirade cut off by the sudden appearance of a window.

Undiscovered dungeons cannot be sought until Seeking is Advanced.

“...”

Weed stared at the window.  The Seeking skill allowed such a thing...?  Greedy self-interest refocused Weed's eyes.

“Seek: gold.”

A pale blue line shot across the ground, twisted through the aisles, then stopped at the feet of a hook nosed wizard.  The small leather sack on the robed man's belt glowed briefly, haloed in white.

Weed's shoulders sagged in disappointment.

“Of course not.  That would be too easy,” Weed mumbled to himself.  He shook his head and returned his eyes to the final cart.   Holding a thin novel in his hands, he paused and considered.  “Seek: this book's shelf.”

Again, a glowing blue line shot out.  This time, deep within the library, a thin rectangular space was illuminated.  The glow pierced all obstacles, revealing a location that could not otherwise be seen by the naked eye.

“At least this will save a few hours,” Weed said, reluctantly admitting that the skill might have some worth.

Time passed.  The sun rose once more, painting all of Serabourg with its golden glory.  The final book found its shelf.  With a weary grunt, Weed approached the library's front.  There he found the old woman, just settling in to start her day of work.

“I have finished your task, honored grandmother.”

Ding!

Quest Complete: A Librarian's Mess

A month's backlog of books has been restored to its rightful home.  The patrons of the library will thank you.

Reward:  Library card, good only in the Citadel of Serabourg.

“Ah yes, you were the kind dear who offered to help.”  The old woman's eyes drifted to the empty carts.  “Done already.  What a diligent child.  Though it is not much, please have this library card.”

A library card!

Weed's eyes lit ablaze.   A library card commanded an outrageous market price of two gold and thirty seven-silver.   At first blush that valuation seemed absurd, but the price was more than warranted.  Books were high priced items.  A common book sold for no less than twenty silvers.  Rarer volumes were worth scores of gold.

And players were unrepentant thieves.

Weed resist the urge to snatch the card from the old woman's hands.  His feet itched with a need to liquidate his find.  Money!  The reward from this quest was far outside of proportion.

“Now, deary, as long as you have that card, you may check out as many as three books any time you wish,” the old woman promised.  “I know it is a little much, but you are such a wonderful child and I feel that I can trust you to be responsible.”

Weed painted on a friendly smile.   “Of course honored grandmother.  I will take good care of it.”

His mind was awhirl.  Where was the best place to sell the card?  Who could afford to buy it?

“Oh, and deary, I put the card in your name so that only you can use it.  That way you won't get into any trouble if it stolen,” the old woman added as an afterthought.

Weed's smile turned brittle.  His fragile dreams cracked and shattered.  It was all he could do not to let his head drop in disappointment.

“Thank you, honored grandmother,” Weed replied with false politeness.

With soulless steps, Weed stepped out of the library into the morning sun.  The crisp, cool air rolled over him, stealing from him a small shiver.  While his eyes took in the golden light, his mind turned toward the rest of his day.  Eggs.  Eggs and bacon.  Bacon was not cheap, but Weed's sister deserved the best.

-oOo-

“Where is it?”

Weed's entire arm was shoved into a darkened gap.  He patted around for a few more seconds before drawing back.  With a black scowled, he scanned the dirty alley.

“This is definitely the place,” Weed murmured.

That landmarks were exactly as he remembered.  Across the street and nestled between brick buildings was a tiny, three table tavern.  Directly behind was another, abandoned store with its unforgettable, bronze sign hanging from a rotting jut.

“I've been robbed,”  Weed concluded, with a nasty expression.  

Shortly before creating his fifth character, Weed had put aside a small slush fund collected by his forth.  Low level armor.  Cheap weapons.  A bag stuffed with cash.  A literal gold mine for a low level player.  Weed had intended to use the resources to progress through his first few weeks.

All of it was gone.

Weed groaned in aggravation.  “What am I supposed to do now?”

Continuously fighting Chuluun was impossible.  The injuries Weed sustained were too great.  So he intended to use his free time in pursuit of the other skills on his list.  His next target was Runic Knowledge, a skill an unclassed character could easily learn by translating one of the many runic books scattered across Versailles.

To that end, Weed had searched the library for an untranslated tome.  The fruit of his labor, Fort on the Mountain rested in his pack along with A Field Guide to Runes.  Except now Weed found himself one item short.

“I need ink and paper.”

Writing supplies were not cheap.  Weed would need a grand total of two silvers to acquire the materials he needed.  And, as with all newbie characters, he had none.

“I have to take a quest,” Weed murmured remorsefully.

He was hesitant.  Capital was easily obtained, but quests were dangerous beasts.  If Weed was careless he could find himself afflicted with several useless skills.  His avatar would be ruined before it could even begin.

“What a hateful system!” Weed growled in frustration.  “If I had paper, money would be no problem.  If I had a money, paper would be no problem.”

Translating a runic works was an extremely enterprise.  Players who could translate runic works were rare and the NPCs with Runic Knowledge were invariably high level.  Because of this a newly translated work could be sold for as much as three or four gold.

“I see.  This is what people mean when they say you have to have money to make money,” Weed lamented.  He closed his eyes and pondered the suffering of the world.  “Seek: quest.”

A blue line shot off into the distance.  Weed traced the path, following the winding street until he happened upon a stand.  A plump cook worked hurriedly behind the counter, his knife falling in a blinding ch-ch-chop.  Severed vegetables were split into a minced chunks only to be poured wholesale into a bubbling pot.   With nary a glance the cook stirring his stew.

“There is no use waiting,” the chef yelled over the sound of sizzling onions.  “I won't be ready until late morning at the earliest.   Unless....”

Suddenly the chef stopped.   Keen eyes fell upon Weed.

“You there.  Are you willing to help?  Tend the pots, slice the vegetables, and serve my customers.  If you do this I will pay 30 coppers an hour.”

Ding!

The Harried Cook

Assist the cook and earn a fair day's wage.

Difficulty level: F

Quest requirements: None

Weed grimaced.

The scent of barbecued meat was alluring.  For too long his tongue had been afflicted with the flavor of rye bread.  If Weed took this quest, not only would he be rewarded with delicious food, Weed would gain the Cooking skill.

And that was why Weed, to his regret, was forced to refuse.

“Find someone else.”

A great frown marred the chef's face.  “Then run along brat and don't bother me.”

Weed walked away from the booth with a pained expression.  Food was life and death in Royal Road.  Players underestimated the value of cooking.  Weed, who had suffered years on little more than cheap rice knew how privileged were those who ate well.

“When I get a class, Cooking will be the first skill I learn,” Weed promised himself to stifle his sorrow.  “Seek: next quest.”

The blue way maker twisted through a roiling crowd.  Weed followed the path, shoving through a torrent of humanity.  He burst from the flow to step out into a side alley.   The path continued from there, taking Weed through quiet streets and into a small courtyard.

It was a lonely place.  A single tree rose from a plot of green grass cut into the cobble road.  Sunlight filtered down, past the stone buildings that seemed to crowed upon the small space.  In the far corner was a well.  An wooden awning passed over the top, supporting cord and bucket.

Sob.  Sob.

Soft cries arose from a set of stone steps.  There Weed found a crying woman.  A frayed dress hung off her heavy frame, the cloth covered in patches.  What color remained had long since faded, leaving behind an image as worn as the fabric itself.

Weed nose rose in a sneer.   A score of copper at best.   He strode by.  Cold hearted Weed had no time for those without money.  The poor should die in the streets for all he cared.

Sob!  Sob!

The woman's cries grew louder.  Weed's brow twitched.  His pace grew quickened as he reached the steps.  Stubbornly, he continued on his path unwilling to veer off his way.  But the weeping continued to rise in volume until, as he brushed by the woman's side, it became a full out shriek.

It was too much for Weed to endure.

“Quiet woman!” Weed snapped.  “Can't you see that your wails are annoying the locals?”

The woman's tear ladened eyes glinted.   Like a wolf, she pounced upon Weed's weakness.  Dirty hands seized Weed's wrist, dragging him closer.  He jerked back on contact, but her grip was that of a vice.

The woman titled back her head.  With the innocent eyes of doe, she gushed her feelings.

“Oh, brave freeman, please listen to my plight,” she begged.  “My daughter, Hailey, has gone missing.  It was just yesterday that she vanished and already I feel as though my heart as been torn out.  Please, great adventurer, save my daughter.”

Ding!

The Missing Daughter

A young street urchin named Hailey has gone missing.  Find the child before time runs out.  If Hailey is not returned to her mother within 30 days, you will fail this quest.

Difficulty level: F

Quest requirements: None

With a powerful tug, Weed wrenched his hand free.  His lips curled as he glared down upon the woman who had assaulted him.  A single mother!  Forget a score of coppers, Weed would be lucky to earn ten.

“Your daughter has gone missing and you wait here upon these steps?  What kind of mother are you?”  Weed berated.  “Useless.  You should be running through the streets screaming her name until your voice gives out.  I feel sorry for your child.  A mother that waits for a stranger to do all the work.  Bah!”

He had no sympathy.  Who would have helped Weed, had Lee Hayan vanished?  No one, that was who.  The world was a dark and cruel place.  Those without money received nothing but spite.  There was not a scrap of food nor a drop of kindness to be found anywhere.  If a poor man were to lay bleeding on the streets, the 'respectable' would step over the cooling corpse without a single thought.

If this woman wanted Weed's help, she could start by pouring silver coins into his hands.  Nothing less would move Weed's shriveled heart.

“Please,” the mother cried.  “Please, brave adventurer, I will do anything.”

Weed, who had turned his back on the woman, paused in his step.  He looked back with a strange glint in his eye.

“Anything?”  Weed voiced.  Greedy eyes swept over the woman's poverty stricken form, cataloging every detail.  “Pots, pans, knives and silverware, give all of them to me and I will find your daughter.”

There was the poor and there was the destitute.  From the mother's weight, Weed knew that this woman was the former.  If he emptied her house, he was sure to find several silvers of value.

Besides, with Seeking, how hard could finding a lost girl be?

“But....” the mother cried in shock.

Weed folded his arms.  “If you want help, you have to pay for it.  That is how the world works.”

The mother lowered her eyes helplessly.  Tears dribbled from her eyes, but Weed was unmoved.

“I- I see.  Then, brave adventurer, please find my daughter,” the woman whimpered.

Ding!

You have accepted the quest.

Weed nodded with a grunt.  “Fine.  I will your daughter right away.  Seek: Hailey.”

Bzzt!

At your current skill level, the quest objective must be within 100 meters to be sought.

“...”

Weed stared at the message.  His expression twisted into a grimace.  After a long moment, he arrived at a decision.  

“Cancel quest.”

Canceling the quest: “The Missing Daughter” incurs a penalty of 10 fame and 1 silver.   Do you wish to cancel this quest?

Yes/No

WARNING: You lack the funds to cancel this quest.

What was this!

A fierce scowl spread across his face.  Rather than making money he losing it.  This was luckless fate of those who helped the poor.  Weed should have known better than to question his instincts.

With a dark glare, Weed returned his eyes to the Hailey's mother.

“You.  When did you see your daughter last?”

“Yesterday morning.  She went out like she always does to gather flowers from the nearby park.  But, this time, she never returned,” she answered.  The mother's visage was struck by a sudden fear.  “You- you don't think she is dead, do you?”

“Hailey is alive,” Weed said with authority.

It was not a matter of compassion or faith, Weed had deduced his answer from the facts presented.  If Hailey was dead there would be no sense to the quest assigning a time limit.   Hence, the girl was most certainly alive.

The mother breathed a sigh of relief.  Her gaze turned up with hopeful eyes.  “You will find her quickly, won't you brave adventurer?”

Weed glowered.  Whose fault did she think this was?  If this woman had not let her daughter run around unattended, something like this would never have happened.  If anything, this woman should be grateful that Weed was helping at all.

With a huff, Weed left the small courtyard and sought the nearest park.

The prosperous streets Citadel of Serabourg were punctuated by scores of plazas.  These nature filled parks ranged in size from that of a small garden to sprawling plots that covered kilometers.  The closest was five minutes away.

As Weed traveled, he marveled at the dense city.  Serabourg was a thriving metropolis.  Clothes lines, pots, and flowers filled window sills.  Children ran about cheerfully, playing games in the open streets and dancing through the legs of rare adventurers.  Hundreds of people moved through this world, chattering, working, following their own independent schedules.  This was a living, breathing city that defied the label virtual.

Then, all at one, Weed stepped from the narrow alleys and into an inner city park.  Freed from the crowding buildings, sunlight poured down like a river onto lush leaves and grassy courtyard.  A burbling fountain occupied the park's center, casting up prismatic sprays of glittering water.   Benches traced the park's exterior, providing rest to passing pedestrians, while other crisscrossed the interior giving easy access to those who wished to view the flowers.

“Seek: Hailey.”  

Bzzt!

A dull buzz signaled the skill's failure.  

“Worthless skill,” Weed grumbled.  “What use is it if it cannot find a lost girl?”

Bereft of Seeking's boon, Weed resorted to the tried and true tactic of asking the town's folk.  He moved about the visitors of the park, querying each about the missing girl.

“Hailey?” A man in a wealthy suit adjusted a pair of glasses.  “I am afraid that I pay little mind to the gutter trash.”

A young woman raised a hand to her mouth and gasped.  “Hailey is missing?  Oh my.  What a poor girl.  I feel for her mother.”

“Hailey you say?  Ah, what a sweet child she is.  Why, there was that time that...,” an old woman rambled.

After an hour of questioning, Weed dropped onto a bench in frustration.  Most, it seemed, knew of the girl.  However not a single one remembered seeing her disappear.

“I should never have taken this quest,” Weed lamented, cursing himself anew.

While Weed stewed in his vexation, a daughter grandfather pair strolled by.

“It was quite strange,” the old man murmured.

Weed's ears perked.  He leaned in, tracking the conversation.

“That again father,” A woman said, exasperated.

“But it was strange,” the old man insisted.  “Why would a young noble woman be in these parts?  And that dress....  Surely a girl of fine birth would never wear something-”

“I said leave it alone,” the woman pressed.  “Nothing good will come from stirring up stories about the noble folk.”

“Excuse me, Sir and Ma'am,” Weed interjected.  He stood and approached the pair.  “But I would like to hear your tale.”

The old man nodded happily.  “It was early morn.  I remember it well, because there, tending the flowers I saw the loveliest young woman.  She had hair of shining gold-”

“What father means to say, is that just yesterday the Coleman's found their missing daughter,” the middle aged woman interrupted.  “Such a a dreadful thing for a girl to go missing like that.”

“Yes, and that was what was strange.  The dress she was wearing, I am sure it belonged to Hailey.  Why, I was about to call her when-”

The woman let out an exaggerated sigh.  “Enough father,” she snapped.  “Hailey is a dark haired girl.  I cannot see how even you could mistake her for Anastasia.  Your head must be muddled from age.  I swear...”

Ding!

Quest Update: The Missing Daughter

Hailey goes missing and Anastasia is found.  How are these two events related?  Search the Coleman Estate and find the answer.  The time limit is 30 days.

Difficulty level: E

Quest requirements: None

Weed's eye twitched in irritation.

“This quest is becoming too much trouble,” Weed grumbled under his breath.  “All I wanted was a couple of silvers, not to save a kidnapped princess.”

For an F ranked quest to suddenly become E rank was unusually, to say the least.  The Missing Daughter now promised a delicious adventure.  But adventure was not Weed's goal.  His avatar was trash.  What he sought were skills, not epic quests.  There was no profit in this pursuit.

“If I keep following this thread, I will surely encounter nothing but headaches,” Weed deduced.

Turning away from the park, Weed retreated toward the city's center.  The Missing Daughter had a time limit of thirty days.   Even if the quest could not be abandoned, it could be ignored for now.

“If I get the skills I want, I will consider it,” Weed decided.  “Seek: next quest.”

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