-oOo-
Chapter 3: Class
-oOo-
Black blanketed all of Serabourg. The moon's silver light was blocked by a shroud of clouds, leaving the city's depths filled with impenetrable shadow. Only the roads were well lit. Warm lanterns hung from the interspersed poles, beating back the darkness with their orangish hue.
It was a perfect night for skulduggery.
Weed's skill slots were full. The task he had set for himself, accomplished. No longer had he any reason to ignore the quest left behind.
“Show.”
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 13 days.
Difficulty level: E
Quest requirements: None
“A dangerous mission,” Weed mused.
The Coleman Estate loomed before him, a darkened mountain that stood three stories high. The manor was thick, its breadth equal to four houses and its grounds wider still. A brick wall, covered in ivy, surrounded the Estate – the sole opening a wrought iron gate sealed shut for the night. At that door a pair of armsmen, dressed in blue livery, stood guard.
Challenging the soldiers was suicide. The Missing Daughter was an E ranked quest. A monster suppression task of similar level would have set Weed against a hundred scattered enemies with an average level of 50. Though a stealth mission did not convey the same level of force, it did imply an equal level of danger. For Weed, who was level 1, battle was synonymous with death.
T-t-t. Claws scampered atop ivy covered wall.
“How many?” Weed demanded.
Weed did not so much as glance at the squirrel astride the brick barrier. Over the last two days, he had found that he could sense Bemju's presence. The spirit exuded a weight on his mind. A vague pressure that revealed the direction and distance of his servant.
“Two at the door and one inside,” Bemju offered, with a lazy wave of his paw. “You aren't planning on going in there, are you master? Because that sounds like a quick way to get dead, if you ask me.”
Weed shot a nasty glare. “I can take care of myself,” Weed snapped in retort. “Keep an eye on the guards. I will worry about dying.”
“Heh. I guess it was stupid to think that death would dissuade a freeman,” the squirrel joked. “The path's clear, master. For all the good it will do you.”
Ignoring his servant, Weed tested the weight of his grapple. The heavy metal claw swayed back and forth, dangling from the rope held in his hands. The walls of the Coleman Estate towered over Weed's diminutive avatar and the ivy enshrouding was far too weak to bear his weight. To climb, Weed required assistance.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
Grapple began to spin.
“Seek: guards,” Weed whispered.
Though it was an obvious abuse, the game did not refuse. Blue trails shot out and every guard within range shimmered. Weed counted the haloed outlines, checking both number and position.
One. Three. Seven.
Weed growled. “That spirit. Is he trying to lead me to my death?”
The Weed mouthed the words, he heart wasn't in it. Four of the guards were laid out on their backs, secure in an outbuilding. The day crew, and no threat to Weed unless roused by the alarm. Instead he focused on the others. Two guards rested on stools, watching the gate from the front porch of the Coleman mansion. A third moved through the house, completing a steady patrol.
It was the last that Weed feared the most.
“Did you say something, master?” Bemju asked. “Oh, and it is still clear, in case you were wondering.”
Weed threw the grapple. Chink! The metal claw gripped stone. Weed tested the cable before crawling over the barricade. Pausing at the top to throw the rope onto the otherwise. He dropped, landing in thick brush. The loud rustle caused made him tense.
Nothing answered his intrusion.
A small weight hit Weed's shoulder, causing him to start.
“I would hurry it up if I were you, master. You are not exactly hidden where you are standing,” Bemju commented with a bored yawn.
“Quiet,” Weed hissed. He adjusted the rope, hiding the line amongst the ivy. “You'll give away our position.”
“Uh master? You do realize that you are the only one who can hear me, right?”
Weed glared but otherwise failed to acknowledge his mistake.
With low, creeping movements, Weed slunk his way across the grounds to press himself against the manor's wall. Securely hidden behind a bush, he checked both directions before whispering a command under his breath.
“Seek: Hailey.”
A line of blue shot across the Coleman Estate, burst through the mansion's back door, spiraled up a set of stairs, crossed a hall, then finally stopped on the third floor. The ghost of a sleeping girl came to life. She was in a far room with one wide window fully exposed to the outside.
“Tch! Glass. I have to go in through the back,” Weed grumbled to himself. “Bemju, check the rear entrance.”
“On it master.”
The squirrel pattered forward. Weed followed on Bemju's tail, sliding around the mansion while keeping his profile low enough so that he would not be visible through the manor's windows. When Weed reached the back door, he cracked it open.
Bemju flashed inside.
“Clear,” the spirit answered a second later.
Weed pushed into the manor's kitchen-
“Wait! Duck!”
-then whirled behind a counter. A maid stepped into the room from the hallway entrance. Th-thud. Th-thud. Weed's heart beat heavy in his chest. A warm glow filled the kitchen, the scope of the illumination spreading as the woman reached up and hooked her lantern onto a high beam. Weed shrank into his hiding place. With the whole room bathed in light, the only thing obscuring him was the vantage.
♫Hmm-hm-hmm♪
As the cheerful maid moved amongst the cabinets, she hummed a simple melody. Somehow she failed to note his presence. Weed quivered in place. One misstep. Once glance. One turn of fortune and the venture would meet its end.
“Sorry about that, master,” Bemju said, landing softly on his shoulder.
Weed met the spirit's eye with a hateful stare. He dared not open his mouth and share his spite. A fact Bemju seemed smugly aware of.
“What? That was an honest mistake,” Bemju retorted. “And I even went and apologized too. Yeesh, how did I end up with such a terrible master?”
Weed's glare grew stronger. If anyone had the right to complain, it was him. He was the one cursed with a vile servant.
Thunk-Thunk-Thunk. The maid's knife landed on a cutting board. Though each blow was light, they rang heavy in the deathly silence of the night.
“So you're the one they put on the graveyard shift.”
An estate guard leaned against the wooden framed portal that marked the kitchen's entrance. His dark eyes drifted downward to ogle the maid's buttocks.
“Dinner will be ready in five minutes,” the maid replied with a prim tone.
“Oh, there is no need to hurry on my account, sweetie,” the estate guard drawled while wearing an ugly leer. “I am perfectly happy standing right here.”
An annoyed expression shot across the maid's face. The woman turned and shook her knife at the man.
“Any more of that and you will be going without.”
The guard laughed and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I hear you, I hear you,” he said while retreating.
With the guard gone, the maid finished the meal. Against all odds, she never so much as glanced in Weed's direction. When the lantern was unhooked, the room fell into darkness. Weed waited a few minutes beyond that before allowing himself a breath of relief.
“Bemju, scout,” Weed ordered. “I'm headed to the third floor.”
After breathing a quick seek, Weed shot out into the open. He scrambled for the stairs, ascending the spiral as fast as he dared. Only when he reached the third floor hall did the fierce beating of his heart slow.
“Seek: Hailey,” he whispered.
A blue line led Weed to a bolted door. The brass lock shinned in the darkened night, reflecting faint embers of light. A recent procurement. A bar to hold a prisoner inside. Weed threw back the bolt and stepped inside.
Hailey's cell was far from a dungeon.
It was a room fit for a lady. A desk occupied the far side the room, its polished surfaced covered in ointments and jewels. An expensive dress was displayed on the side, its elegant form reflected by a full length mirror. Dominating it all was a giant bed. A canopy of soft, white curtains hid the occupant from sight.
Weed swept those sheets aside.
There, an angel slept. Her long, blond hair was splayed across a pillow of the purest white. The girl's face was adorable. Her sculpted cheeks and dainty nose perfection.
The sight drew a frown. Didn't the old man say Hailey was a brunette?
“Seek: Hailey.”
The sleeping girl glimmered. This was most assuredly Weed's target.
“How interesting,” Bemju murmured, stirring on Weed's shoulder. “That girl is under a glamor.”
“A glamor?”
“An illusion,” Bemju supplied. “You can tell by the color of.... Oh. That's right. Humans can barely sense the flow of mana. I forgot how pathetic your species was.”
Weed's frown deepened as he gazed upon Hailey's sleeping form.
“How do I break it?”
“Magic of course,” Bemju said, offering a squirrel's equivalent to a shrug.
“I'll deal with it later,” Weed decided.
Gently, Weed stepped onto the bed. His knee sank into the cushions, causing Hailey to sway with the dimpled weight. But the girl did not stir. So, with his right arm, Weed shook her shoulder.
Hailey woke with a start.
“Eea-”
The shrill cry was silenced by a cupped hand.
“Shh,” Weed hissed. He glared, eyes deadly in the darkened night. “I was sent by your mother. Are you Hailey?”
Hailey's eyes widened. She nodded eagerly. Weed cautiously removed his palm.
“M-mother sent you?” the girl whimpered.
“Yes,” Weed said shortly. “Get dressed. We're leaving.”
Weed waited long enough to see that Hailey was moving then threw open the window. A quick glance outside revealed that the immediate area was clear.
“Bemju, get out there scout.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” the squirrel grumbled. Bemju hopped onto the window sill then scampered down to the ground below. “Bemju do this. Bemju do that. Yeesh. And what thanks do I-”
The spirit's complaints faded into inaudible whispers as the gulf between them yawned. Weed paid it no mind. Instead he busied himself by tying a length of rope to the feet of the giant bed. After firing off a quick Seek to verify the area was clear, Weed dropped the coils out the window.
The night was growing brighter. The clouds that had blanketed the heavens had broke. What were once slivers of moonlight had become great rays of silver illuminating the shadowed earth. An indiscernible glow gripped the distant horizon, the first breath of the coming sunrise.
The shroud of black would soon unravel.
“I'm ready,” a shy voice said.
Weed looked over his shoulder to inspect Hailey. The girl had abandoned her night gown, trading it for a light, summer dress. The pale fabric all but glowed in the glimmering moonlight. Weed glowered, but a glance toward the closet revealed that the dress was the most practical thing Hailey owned.
“Good.” Weed leaned out the window. “Bemju,” he hissed under his breath.
“Looks good to me,” the squirrel called back with a bored tone.
Weed grunted then faced Hailey again.
“I will go first. If you fall, I will catch you.”
Hailey gave a nervous nod, but eyed the cable with trepidation.
Gripping the rope, Weed repelled down to the first floor. This degree of labor was easy. In Royal Road, even a level one avatar had the endurance and physique of a fit human. It was enough to make Weed drool in anticipation of the future where he would reach superhuman status.
Weed touched ground. Glancing up, he motioned for the girl to follow.
Hailey gulped and slid out the sill. With trembling arms she lowered herself. She barely made it a single story before she fell.
“Eeep!”
“Oooff!”
The girl's weight crashed into Weed's chest, driving him into the ground. His vision darkened and his life bar sagged by half. Dazed, Weed fought for breath while Hailey sat on his gut.
Hailey's burning cheeks were clear even in the shadowed night. With embarrassed hurry, she pulled herself to her feet. “S-sorry.”
Weed gasped out a Seek and staggered upright.
Ghostly echoes gave but a moment's warning. Weed threw himself to the side, dragging Hailey with him. Belatedly, he remembered the rope. Not a second too soon, he jerked it aside.
The window's shutters exploded open. A lone guard leaned out, his dark gaze sweeping the grounds. But as the seconds ticked by without revelation, the guard's suspicion faded.
“I swore I heard something,” the soldier muttered to himself.
Pulling the shutters closed, he turned away.
Weed let out a tense breath. In the blink before the guard's arrival he had plastered himself against the wall of the Coleman manor. Shielded by the window's open shutter, he had somehow escaped the guard's pursuit.
“This way, quick!” Weed hissed under his breath.
The two shot across open ground, heading toward the three meter wall that blockaded the Coleman Estate. Once there, Weed pressed his back against the stone and held out his cupped hands while indicating that Hailey should jump.
“Master!”
Weed's eyes went wide. A shrill cry split the night a second later.
“Thief on the grounds!”
The guard had returned to the first floor window. His head twisted up, tracing the dangling rope to open portal of Hailey's room.
“Kidnapper! Anastasia has been kidnapped!”
Weed all but threw Hailey over the wall. The girl shrieked as she tumbled over the side to thud heavily upon the grass below. Weed wasted no time on sympathy as he desperately scrambled up his hidden rope and over the ivy covered wall.
“To the rear! The kidnapper is fleeing over the wall at the rear of the estate!”
Chung. Chung. Chung. With an enormous, metal clatter, the guard charged. But Weed was a fraction too nimble. The guard's gauntlet brushed the back of his cloak as Weed flopped over the top and onto the other side.
Weed let out a grunt as his legs absorbed his momentum. Shaking away the shock, he seized Hailey's arm and jerked her forward.
“Run!” he shouted.
And so they ran.
Hailey and Weed flashed through the alley's of Serabourg. The first guard crested the wall in pursuit and was quickly joined by two others. Kidnapper! Kidnapper! The racket and cries drew the city watch. Lantern's were lit all across the neighborhood as dozens of patrols joined the chase.
But Weed did not slow.
“Freya, bless this girl with everlasting breath,” he incanted between burning breaths. “Gentle repose!”
Golden light wrapped their bodies. Weed called upon divine magic to restore their stamina as they rushed through the night. Bemju crisscrossed the roofs overhead, calling down directions as he ran.
“Guards approaching from the right, master!” “Another group is blocking the path ahead.”
Weed charged through the Citadel of Seraboug without missing a step. He wove through the alley's relying on instinct and area knowledge. Hailey trailed at his back, her frilly dress fluttering in the wind. Hailey did not pause to rest. If anything, she was driven by a desire greater than Weed's.
They lost their pursuers just as the sun crested the horizon.
Weed slumped against a wall. His stamina, both mental and physical, had been drained to the breaking point. The frosty air of the new morn seared his lungs with every breath. Pain, exhaustion, hunger, Royal Road assaulted him with them all.
“Did we escape?” Hailey asked with a wheezing whisper.
“Bemju?”
“Looks clear to me, master,” the squirrel replied, dropping from a roof to join them.
Weed eyed the creature suspiciously and kept an ear open for danger signs. It took a handful of minutes before he was satisfied.
“It seems they have given up,” Weed answered.
Fear fled Hailey's frame. The girl set her rear on an empty barrel. Her dangling legs swung with childish ease. In the rising light, Weed caught glimpse of her full features. Golden hair washed down the girl's back, stopping on a perfect rump. Her eyes glittered in the sunlight, brilliant blue that they could have been cut from sapphire. Hers was an angelic face, the kind that inspired poets and moved a painter to tears.
She was the very image of an aristocrat's daughter.
Yet there was a slump to her shoulders, an inattention to propriety, and a cadence to her voice. The quirks of a street urchin slipped through the veil of magic.
There was no doubt in Weed's mind that this was Hailey, not Anastasia as the guard's had claimed.
But Weed's lips curled in a grimace nonetheless.
“I cannot return her like this,” he murmured.
Hailey's head turned. “Did you say something?”
“No,” Weed dismissed. He scrutinized the girl. “You have been placed under a glamor. How did it happen?”
“I-I don't know,” Hailey said, shaking her head sadly. “It was so confusing. I was in the park, then before I knew it, I was being dragged to the Coleman Estate. I tried to explain that I wasn't his daughter, but the Count wouldn't listen. He insisted I wasn't right in the head.”
“Bemju?” Weed asked.
The squirrel approximated a shrug. “If it is unwanted, it counts as a negative status. You've got Divine Magic, right? So cure it.”
Weed frowned. Raising a hand he incanted the prayer. “By the power of Freya, clear away all that ails this girl. Purify.”
A brilliant column descended on Hailey. Pale embers washed over her form in a fountain of light. Briefly, her shape shimmered. Golden hair retreated into a short bob of black. Angelic features become cute and squat. Crystal clear eyes dimmed into dull brown.
Then, in a snap, the illusion returned.
Ding!
The curse has resisted. Try stronger magic, or consult a priest to shatter the spell.
Weed's face took on annoyed expression. A priest? If he had to beg a priest for a cure this quest would end up costing a hundred times what it granted.
And that was to say nothing of the legal troubles that might result.
“By the power of Freya, clear away all that ails this girl. Purify,” Weed incanted again. “Purify. Purify. Purify!”
But repeated castings did not change the result. Hailey's image warped again and again only to snap back into that of Anastasia Coleman.
“It is not an accumulated effect, master. You either break it or you don't,” Bemju commented with dry disinterest. The squirrel flicked its tail, but otherwise remained curled on a weathered, wooden box. “Maybe you should try a spell specifically designed for breaking illusions?”
“If I had a spell like that, I would have used it already,” Weed snapped.
Weed could almost feel Bemju roll his eyes. “You do have Runic Knowledge, master. Pull up the Purify spell, rip out the runes related to general ailments, and replace them with ones aimed at illusions,” Bemju said with a tone of exasperation. “It doesn't get easier than that, master. Yeesh. How did such an incompetent wizard stumble upon spirit binding anyway?”
Weed shot a nasty glare, but settled himself on the ground anyway. Removing the supplies from his pouch, Weed prepared himself for work.
“C-can you really do it?” Hailey asked with a desperate tone. “Please. The Count is not a bad man, but I want to go home.”
Hailey had remained quiet while Weed tried his magic, but with each failure her expression had fallen until she was on the verge of bursting into tears.
“Quite,” Weed snapped callously. “I'm working.”
With a quill pen, Weed quickly scratched out the runic script underlying the spell Purify. It was an easy enough task. Since Weed already knew the spell, all it required was copying the symbols from a window the game provided.
The next part was trickier. Though Purify's incantation consisted of thirteen words, the runic script ran on for over two-hundred. Worse, near a quarter of those runes where ones Weed did not know.
“Ailment. Malady. Curse. Why can't everything be written in Korean?” Weed grumbled as he scanned over the page.
Reading the contents of a spell was fascinating. There were runes, forms, structures, and grammar Weed had never seen before. Most of it was beyond him. But though Weed could barely comprehend the runic script, scanning the symbols for a handful of words was more a matter of patience than expertise.
“There you are. Now, if I replace this one with a rune for illusion then-”
Ding!
Spell Created: Disperse Impure Deception
Arcane Value: 50
Magic that will cast aside an illusion is well known throughout Versailles, however the formation of this spell as a healing magic is unique. Though the spell is of limited use, it is not without value.
Number of spells created: 2
Fame rises by 10 points. (+10 Fame)
Runic Knowledge rises to basic 2.
Divine Healing rises to basic 3.
Faith rises by 5 points. (+5 FTH)
Wisdom rises by 2 points. (+2 WIS)
Learned Spell: Disperse Impure Deception
Mana: 100
Cooldown: 10 sec
Requires: Divine Healing [basic 1]
Incantation:
“Goddess Freya, clear from my sight this profane illusion. Disperse Impure Deception.”
Removes malicious illusions, but only if they are attached to a target in the form of a curse or ailment. For powerful glamors, this may instead erode the malady's duration or fail altogether.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
In an instant, a new spell was created. Not only was the magic added to Weed's spell book, but a host of rewards followed in its wake. It was enough to make Weed giddy. In a bare hour of work he had generated a profit in excess of gaining an entire level.
“Maybe I should....”
Weed shook his head. No. The amount of time he had spent in the dark alley was already in excess. If the wrong person found them here Weed would be tossed into prison so fast that he would hardly have time to hear the door slam shut behind him.
Nodding in resolution, Weed faced the patient girl. “Goddess Freya, clear from my sight this profane illusion. Disperse Impure Deception.”
A ring of light encircled Hailey, tightened, then exploded into fragmented motes. Her image shattered into a thousand pieces. In place of the golden haired girl stood a child. She was short, smaller even than Weed himself. Between her cherubic cheeks and wide eyes, Weed guessed her age was no greater than thirteen.
Hailey's true figure was nothing like the one the curse had inflicted.
The girl gazed upon herself, peering at every aspect of her body. A broad smile formed on Hailey's lips as she took in her image. Her joy baffled Weed. Weren't girls supposed to be obsessed with their appearance?
The girl rushed forward and seized Weed's hand with her own.
“Thank you!” Hailey chirped.
Weed jerked his arm free then snagged Hailey's wrist.
“Enough. It's time to take you to your mother.”
As the Citadel of Serabourg woke, the noise of the city rose to a festival roar. Players cared little for the day night cycles of Royal Road. Students and office workers played whenever time could be alloted. Avatars did not require sleep. So, if a player had to adventure in the darkness, they would do so without hesitation.
But players were but a fraction of Serabourg's population. The NPC majority observed the passage of time more strictly. Each NPC had a home and schedule. For such a massive game, the depth was amazing. For Weed, who had spent years on Continent of Magic, the sense of reality conveyed by Royal Road was nothing short of incredible.
“Mom!”
Hailey let out a cry the moment she spotted the older woman. The young girl was halfway across the cobble courtyard before the her mother could turn. The ragged woman caught sight of her child, her brown eyes widening with joy.
“Hailey!”
Mother and daughter joined in a loving embrace. They clasped of a long minute before the mother let her daughter go. With Hailey at her side, the woman approached Weed.
“Thank you kind adventurer. To see my daughter again is a godsend.” The mother gave a small bow. “There are no words to express how happy I am.”
Ding!
Quest Complete: The Missing Daughter
Hailey had been returned. A mother's love is with you.
- You have leveled up!
- You have leveled up!
- You have leveled up!
Though the experience reward was not lacking, the quest provided little else.
“Happy?” Weed questioned with a scowl. “Isn't it impolite to talk of happiness with a destitute man? Do you know how hard I worked to save your daughter? If you want to thank me, give me cold hard cash.”
Even if Hailey's mother had forgotten the deal they struck, Weed had not.
The mother's eyes shifted to the side, her gaze suddenly growing evasive. “Ah. Of course. I did promise something like that....”
Weed's harsh expression turned into a furious glower. “You promised me money.”
The mother threw herself onto her knees and grasped Weed's arm. “Please, kind adventurer, give a poor woman a few days reprieve. I cannot give up everything. How would I take care of my daughter?”
“No,” Weed spat, tearing his arm free. “We will go to your house now. I am sure that if I sell everything, I might scrounge up a pittance.”
None were crueler to the poor than the poor themselves. Weed, who had been forced into hard labor at an early age, had no sympathy. Had he not been made to suffer? Did he not work hard? How could he have any pity for someone who had suffered the slightest bit less than himself. Hailey's mother could crawl through the dirt for all he cared, and he would not shed a single tear until her pain exceeded his own.
It was a harsh view that allowed no bettering the world. But Weed's shriveled up heart knew no other.
“Please,” the mother begged again.
Weed's nose crinkled in disgust.
“You have your health. You have your home. You have your daughter. Compared to that, what are pots or pans?” Weed lectured callously. “Are you looking down upon everyone else who suffers? What of the old man who lost his legs to war? What of the children who's parents died from the plague? Why should I give you pity when the world gave them none?”
The woman sagged, each word a blow to her soul. At her side, Hailey's grew more and more distraught. Finally the girl could take no more.
“P-Please,” she cried, tears forming in eyes. “Please don't be so cruel to Mother. If anyone is to blame, it is me. I was the one who was kidnapped.”
Weed's furious expression turned soft. Hailey's childish face drew from him memories of his sister, her eyes filled with tears as dark suited men came to take everything he owned.
“This world does not run on kindness. It runs on money,” Weed recited. “If you don't have money, you don't have anything. It is only natural to pay those that help.”
Though Weed's words were harsh, he spoke them with a caring tone. Hailey had been born into a cruel world. It was best she learned its nature quickly, or she would be made to suffer unnecessarily.
“Then please take this.” Hailey pulled from her hair a small, butterfly clip. She offered the glittering ornament with with cupped hands.
Her mother's expression darkened at the sight.
“Hailey, you didn't-”
“At least your daughter knows how to pay a person properly,” Weed scolded, snatching the item before the mother could say a word more.
Weed held the butterfly clip high. Sunlight danced upon delicate wings. Brilliant rays filtered through stained glass, casting out a rainbow of colors. With sharp eyes, Weed calculated the clip's value.
While Weed gazed, the woman glared at her child. Hailey's cheeks flamed red under the accusatory pressure.
“I-I didn't steal it!” Hailey cried at last. “I found it. In the park. It was buried in the bushes.”
The woman grimaced then sighed. “Kind adventurer, though my daughter means well, that item will surely bring trouble upon your head. If you would return it, I will find the proper owner and-”
“No,” Weed said instantly. “This is my pay, and I will keep it.”
Hailey opened her mouth to say more, but the mother quickly pressed her child's head down in a bow. After indicating her thanks, she dragged the girl out of sight.
Weed saw none of it. His gaze remained fixed. Along the butterfly's silver wings were runes. The sigils were writ in a golden script so fine as to be all but invisible. It was only because of his translating experience that he knew what they said.
I am the apple of my father eye.
His perfect princess, though a lie.
“This. What is this?” Weed mumbled. His gaze grew intense. “Show!”
???'s Butterfly
Durability: 998/1000
A precious ornament that was once the well loved treasure of an unknown woman. Faint runes have been carved into the wings, imbuing it with a mysterious magic.
Item Effects are unknown.
Weed quivered. An enormous durability. A hidden runic phrase carved into the surface. This was a Quest Item. Weed held it with reverence. He had stumbled upon a chained quest. The adventure that started with his search for Hailey had barely begun.
But...
“If the last part was E ranked, then what will the next be?” Weed asked himself.
Though he had gained three levels, Weed's power was still that of a beginner. If he was forced to fight in a dungeon filled with E or D ranked monsters he would definitely die. The butterfly ornament was an instrument as terrifying as it was exciting.
With a heavy sigh, Weed lowered the item then placed it in his inventory.
“I should ignore it for now. Who knows what time limit this quest may impose,” Weed murmured with a shake of his head.
Though it was regretful, the accessory was best forgotten. Perhaps when Weed's level was 50 it would be worth his time to seek out that which was hidden behind the mysterious butterfly.
-oOo-
“Seek: books on classes.”
Once more Weed had secluded himself in the Great Library of Serabourg. This time he searched the mountainous shelves not for secret skills, but rather for the last thing needed to complete his character.
A class.
But not just any class would do.
“A great character needs a great class,” Weed muttered.
Royal Road allowed player's broad choices in how their character developed. A player could assign attribute points however they wished. They could learn numerous, cross-classed skills. But, for all that freedom, the game was wrapped in chains.
A warrior would always strike harder than a wizard, just as a wizard would command spells more potent. Class features were an invisible wall. But, with dedication, that wall could be surmounted. If a player was willing to invest enough time, he could increase his attributes without limit.
The skill cap, however, was an obstacle far more daunting.
For every skill category, a class defined set limits. A wizard could never raise his weapon skills beyond the threshold of Intermediate. Nor could a warrior master a magic greater than the same. For an ordinary player those limits were hardly an issue. But Weed's list included a wider variety than usual. Iron Soul, Elemental Magic, Divine Magic, Spirit Binding, he desired a class that would maximize his potential.
Thud.
Weed dropped a heavy stack of books onto one of the library's long tables. Bemju's head shot up, his rest interrupted. The squirrel's head quirked in the direction of the noise. After ascertaining the source, Bemju closed his eyes once more.
Weed shoved the topmost book in the creature's face. “Read.”
“I'd rather not,” Bemju answered.
“The lazy do not eat.”
“And hard workers die old and bitter having never found happiness.”
Weed glared. “I can make you die right now.”
Uncurling, Bemju let out an exasperated sigh. “What a cruel master I have been cursed with. Why, oh why must I endure this abuse?” With some effort, the squirrel pried the book open. “I suppose I can't sleep forever.”
Easing himself into his seat, Weed started his research.
Nobel warriors that stride across the...
Masters of the elements who...
Skillful adventures that can slip through the darkest...
Hours passed as Weed scanned endless passages. The pile of books grew into spiraling towers. Bemju's whines fell upon deaf ears. Weed continued to shove books toward his servant and could not help but notice that the squirrel gobbled up tomes far faster than himself.
But for all his effort, Weed found not a scrap of insight.
His time, however, was not wasted.
Intelligence rises by 1 point. (+1 INT)
Wisdom rises by 1 point. (+1 INT)
The library taught those who sought wisdom in the same way that the Training Hall empowered those who learned of war. If a player diligently devoted himself to studying the books every mental attribute could be raised by as many as 40 points.
Still, that tiny gift was not enough to assuage Weed's frustration.
“A waste. All these classes are worthless,” he grumbled.
“Sage would work.”
Sage. The profession of professors and philosophers. The sage's merit was that it could develop any mental skill to the rank of master. Wield any magic! It was an incredible gift that came with the curse of frailty. A Sage could not advance a physical skill beyond the rank of Basic.
Weed was loathe to accept such a class after having obtained Iron Soul.
“A sage has poor spell power,” Weed noted. “Their magic is weak.”
Bemju gave a shrug. “As long as you have a big mana pool, anything is fine.”
Weed shot the spirit a nasty look. “And how is that fine?”
“Fine for me,” Bemju corrected. “Master's troubles are his own.”
Weed scowled but returned his gaze to the remaining books. After thumbing through a few more pages, Weed leaned back with a tired sigh. This was not going to work. Weed wanted an exceptional class, not an ordinary one.
“Rather than books on classes, perhaps I should read books on heroes?” Weed mused. He contemplated the angle for a moment. “Seek: books on legendary wizards.”
Weed flowed through the library, tearing from each shelf the myths of Versailles. The continent was filled with legendary figures. Mages who toppled mountains. Priests who reached beyond the veil of death. Weed gathered all their literature and piled it up in a giant heap.
The sun fell, then rose, then fell again. Weed's eyes burned with weariness. Bemju slept at his side. Still, Weed scoured through the thousand titles. As he read, he strove to discern the abilities and origin of each hero.
Weed read of the great necromancer Balkan, his apprentice Shire, and how they threw the world into an abyss of darkness. He studied the legend of an ancient wizard king, born of the south, and learned how that mythical ruler mastered the scattered tribes and forced the efreet to bend their knee. He reviewed the life of the Serbian Witch who's magic, even now, left the northern half of Versailles a frozen hunk of glacial ice.
Intelligence rises by 1 point. (+1 INT)
Intelligence rises by 1 point. (+1 INT)
Wisdom rises by 1 point. (+1 WIS)
Attributes piled on. Weed continued to turn the pages. He filled his stomach with rye bread and water never letting his gaze waver. The letters squirmed in front of his fatigued eyes, but Weed refused to let them escape.
Then something unexpected happened.
New Stat: Knowledge
The message made Weed pause. “Show.”
Knowledge
A deep understanding that reveals the secrets of the world. This attribute improves when you discover new places, learn new things, and uncover lore related to the mysteries of the world.
Weed's nose crinkled. “A worthless attribute.”
There was a hard limit to the number of additional attributes a player could gain. Fifteen was the maximum allowed. No more. But, unlike skills, controlling which attributes would spawn was a near impossibility.
“If it grows it grows,” he said dismissively.
Weed opened the next book.
This one told the story of the Archmage Seulroeo. Seulroeo, it seemed, was the last notable figure before the fall of the Niflheim empire. As a wizard, he was without equal. The book went so far as to claim that Seulroeo tore the stars from the sky. But, for all that the myth was inspiring, it drew none of Weed's interest.
“A typical, high-level wizard,” Weed said disparagingly. He tossed the book to the side where hit the table with a loud thump. “A wizard needs some physical abilities to be of any use.”
While Weed opened another tome, Bemju stirred. Propping open one eye, the squirrel peered at the pages splayed before him.
“Ah. How interesting. This one was a master swordsman.”
Weed froze. His gaze turned toward the book he had just discarded. An eager hunger gripped him and Weed ripped the tome away from the squirrel. It took no more than half-a-dozen paragraphs before he found it. Nestled between the praises of Seulroeo's magic was a line that altered Weed's perception.
One of Seulroeo's more famous exploits was the duel of the rose, where he defeated a skilled knight in a contest of swords. This victory would not only rewarded Seulroeo the title – Swift Sword of Love – it earned him a date with the woman who would later become his fiancée.
Weed's hands trembled. A wizard that was not a wizard. A man who had mastered a skill completely outside the scope of possibility.
This was clue he had been searching for.
“Seek: books on Seulroeo.”
In the Great Library of Serabourg there were no more than three books that focused on the Archmage Seulroeo. Weed devoured them all.
He had been wrong. Seulroeo was not a mere legend. He was one Versailles greatest. Seulroeo was a mirror bookend to the great Geihar von Arpen. It was Geihar who gave birth to the Niflheim Empire, earning him the highest lauds of all the heroes of Versailles.
Seulroeo ended it.
Seulroeo genius knew no bounds. He was a expert swordsman, a skilled doctor, a brilliant general, and a master alchemist. There was nothing he could not do, whether it be working a forge or playing a harp. Every skill was his to command, earning him the envy of all his peers.
An envy that turned to fear and hatred when Seulroeo turned the continent into ash.
Weed read all three books thrice, scratching out notes onto a sheet of paper as he went. He recorded every title by which the man had been called. Wizard. Sage. Archmage. Genius. One in particular struck him. Sage of the Stars. It was not a name by which others called Seulroeo. It was the name by which he called himself.
“This is the class I have been searching for,” Weed said with an eager smile. “Seek: books on the class, Sage of the Stars.”
Bzzt!
The system buzzed. No message was provided. No warning was delivered.
There was simply, nothing.
Weed frowned. Though the title had stuck in Weed's mind, it was possible that Seulroeo's class was something else entirely.
“Seek: books on the class, Sage. Seek: books on the class, Archmage. Seek: books on....”
Weed ran down his list, collecting tomes for every title by which Seulroeo had been named.
But another day revealed no new truths. There were no secrets hidden behind the class Sage. Archmage was both a title and prestige class which opened only to wizards of the highest rank. Seulroeo's other titles shed little light, many of which were stricken from the list when it became clear that they labeled Seulroeo's accomplishments rather than his profession.
When the library darkened with the dying day, Weed shoved the pile aside.
“These books are worthless,” Weed grumbled. “I will never find anything useful within them.”
Items of great value were not hidden the library, Weed realized. What the library gave were hints. If Weed truly desired a hidden thing, he would have to step from the halls and seek it himself.
But where would he start?
“I don't have enough information,” Weed lamented. “Maybe in another library? If so, it would be best to ask the Librarian.”
Weed approached the old woman's desk. The grandmotherly figure greeted him with a smile.
“What do you want, deary?”
“I'm looking for books on the Archmage Seulroeo. Specifically, stories that identify how he came about his profession,” Weed answered.
“The Archmage Seulroeo you say?” The old woman pursed her lips. “I believe we have three books on that-”
“I've already read them all,” Weed quickly interjected.
“Oh. Oh dear, that does make things difficult, doesn't it?” the librarian murmured. “If I remember correctly, the Royal Library has two additional titles, but I don't believe that either covers Seulroeo's early life. Then there is... well....”
As the old woman trailed off, Weed's eyes sharpened.
“What is it?” he demanded.
The librarian let out a weak sigh. “A few years back, Seulroeo's Autobiography was put on auction. The Great Library of Serabourg put in a bid, but I am afraid we lost to a private collector.”
Weed felt a stir of excitement. Seulroeo's Autobiography. If the Seulroeo's legend truly hid a great secret, it would surely be found in there.
“Who?” Weed asked eagerly.
The old woman grimaced. “Counselor Rodriguez.”
Counselor Rodriguez. The Dead End of Quests.
In all of Serabourg, there was no NPC more hated. A disturbing number of D and C ranked quests led straight to the Counselor's doorstep. And that was where they ended. Rodriguez, it seemed, derived a sick pleasure from stopping a player's progress.
And he was the one who had the book Weed desired.
“There is a copy in the Kingdom of Haven,” the Librarian offered, as though sensing his worry.
Weed shook his head. “If it is Seulroeo's Autobiography, then it has to be the original.”
Beyond the time and effort it would take to reach Haven, Weed had other concerns. An item as rare as Seulroeo's Autobiography was certainly a quest trigger. A mere copy was a poor substitute. It would be pointless to spend months traveling only to learn that the book he found could not replace the original.
“Counselor Rodriguez, he works for the court does he not?” Weed mused out loud.
The librarian nodded. “Yes. The Counselor provides advice to the King and Nobility. It is for his great insight in all things that he was named the Star of Wisdom.”
Counselor Rodriguez would not talk to Weed. The Counselor had no obligation to treat players with dignity and Weed lacked the leverage to meet with a man of such prestige.
But a twisted smile grew on his lips nonetheless.
From his inventory, Weed drew an ornamental butterfly. He held the hair clip aloft, admiring the graceful workmanship.
“You can say no to me,” he whispered. “But can you say no to a Count?”
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