Chapter 3

Katherine Walker looked down at the Dive-Set (a.k.a D-set) cradled in her hands, deep in her own thoughts. This helmet was exactly like the one she had strapped to her brother’s head. If she put it on, she would be able to access the game installed in the main console nearby. She could start looking for Isaac and see his face once more.

And finally, finally she could apologize for the pain she had caused.

Maybe she was being bullheaded or just plain stupid, but nobody she talked to ever convinced her that what happened six years ago was not her fault. She still saw the moment her brother fell into a coma, in her nightmares. If she didn’t take sleeping pills, she’d see that moment and wake up crying again. A deep, dark part of her was glad for those nightmares. It was a reminder to never, ever forgive that man for destroying her family.

In her opinion, there was never a Katherine Gunther. She was a Walker and proud of it.

But some of that burning hate was spilled onto herself. If she had done better on that test, then maybe Isaac would be sitting next to her right now, trying this very game together.

Her feelings regarding the events last week were still mixed. On one hand, she had successfully provoked a reaction out of her comatose brother, putting any discussion about pulling the plug on his life support to an abrupt halt. She would not see him die and know that she would never be forgiven. But on the other hand, the doctors had very firmly drilled into her head the possibilities of what could have happened if things had gone wrong. There were consequences that had made her turn green with dread, one of the which involved total brain death.

Kat was aware that her brother had suffered minor brain damage from the blow to the head so long ago and it had devastated her when she first found out. If she had murdered her own brother while trying to help then she might gone utterly insane afterwards.

She had to admit to herself that her emotional state had not been exactly stable when she cooked up that half-baked plan to save Isaac. Although she had gone for counselling sessions for a few years, she had pretended to be farther on the road to recovery than she actually was. She only did it because her mother was straining to make ends meet with all the bills she had to pay. Kat had been forced to watch her Mom’s health slowly wither away as she bounced between two different jobs, only returning home late at night. So, she learned to fake a cheerful attitude and blamed her eyebags on last-minute studying. It got even easier to fool everyone once she was allowed to use makeup.

Then, as years passed with no sign of improvement in her brother’s condition, resentment began to bloom towards the medical sector. She began to nurse a suspicion that they were milking her family for money, even though she herself had decided to study medicine in hopes that one day, she would be able to do something about Isaac’s coma. This started her on the track of pursuing alternate methods of curing coma patients. The rest is history. She was not able to give anybody an answer as to why she would believe such vague rumors.

In the end, she was signed up to counselling again.

One of the good things that came out of the whole mess was that the hospital had to consult with WORLDTREE about any potential dangers their D-set console might pose to Isaac. Once they were made aware of this situation, they came to the Walkers and offered to pay for the medical fees out of their own pocket. Kat was cynically certain that both the company and the hospital were quietly gathering data, treating this case as impromptu medical experiment. The possibility that this might be the very solution to waking her brother helped her to keep that particular opinion to herself. Surprisingly enough, the WORLDTREE reps - an average-looking man and a pretty woman - requested a meeting with both her and her mother after negotiations with the hospital were done. They had given each of them a D-set along with a copy of Myth/Real Online. When asked for the reason why they were given these things, they replied;

“It’s possible that Isaac Walker may be inside the game right now. We can’t confirm it at this moment, but we will record the model number of the console and use that to track down which particular ID he is using. We’ll be able to tell then.”

“Wait, if it’s that simple then why don’t you pull it up right now?”

“It’s not really as simple as I make it sound like. Even if we do have the most advanced computers in the industry, most of the computing power is dedicated to running the game. Myth/Real is so huge that we need to comb through immense amounts of data just to find one person, let alone know what he is doing. That’s also why we have GMs and a player report system as a precaution against in-game crimes. It’s still going to take us a week at minimum to find your brother."

The woman smiled, not unkindly. "Look, if you’re willing to wait a little longer, though, we can give you not only his location, but also his in-game appearance. Please understand that we’re only permitted this action just this once due to the circumstances. Normally, we would simply log him out of the game, but the doctors are advising against it because that may do something we can't reverse.”

“Y-Yeah. They’ve already told us about that. Nothing like has happened before, so…”

“For what it’s worth, you have my sympathy, Ms. Walker. For now, we can allow all of you to reunite in-game. It’s the least we could do until something better comes up.”

There was really no other option than to put aside her misgivings and wait for further information. Even so, Kat was not going to remain idle for all this time. She had already decided to play Myth/Real Online whenever she had the time. She had given more thought about it all and came to the conclusion that there was a worrying possibility that Isaac would not recognize them even if they created avatars that were carbon copies of their real appearances. She had to be prepared that her brother might need some convincing to accept them. She had learned her lesson. No more half-baked ideas. She needed to plan thoroughly and execute that plan decisively.

With that thought, Kat put the headset on and lay back on her bed. Her finger found the (CONNECT/ON) switch and pushed it.

Katherine Walker has entered the game.

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Thistle

Isaac peered through the borrowed loupe, carefully scrutinizing the rune sequence he had just finished carving. His right hand, which held a silver runecarver’s stylus, gently dug into the iron. He felt a pull in his fingers as he carefully put the last touches on the ‘Ray’ Rune. He put the stylus down and placed his hand flat on the thin sheet of iron. With a little effort, he let his magic flow and bathed the piece of metal with his magic, ‘setting’ the enchantment.

Picking the iron sheet up, Isaac activated the runes, causing the entire thing to glow like a flashlight. He waved it around, watching as the light cast a rectangular spot the size of the sheet on anything it landed on. With a sigh of relief, Isaac de-activated the iron’s runic enchantment and placed it back onto the table.

Runecarver ApprenticeshipDruid Kiernan, your Runecarving master, shall test your skills!

Complete a Rune Sequence that incorporates [Five] Runes total with [Three] Intermediate Runes!

3 Intermediate Runes - Complete

[Control] Rune

[Face] Rune

[Ray] Rune

5 Runes - CompleteTask Complete!

Submit your work to Advance to Apprentice Runecarver!

Absently, Isaac closed the notification screen. That message told him nothing new. He had already memorized the basic elemental runes, so when the Druid handed him three new runes with more abstract meanings and effects, Isaac already guessed that he was being prepared for more advanced studies. At the same time, he was experimenting with different rune combinations he had come up with on a whim.

It had been almost two weeks since the Rothound attack and Isaac had been busy for almost every hour since then. True to his word, Kiernan had put him into training with Thistle’s Man-at-Arms, a hulking Poukha named Nils O’Farr, who could not be described as anything other than a bear walking on its hind legs.

Only his five-fingered hands and slightly different lower body structure even hinted at his Svartalfar origins. Clad in heavy half-plate armor and wielding a massive two-handed sword, the man imposed discipline by his sheer presence alone. Nobody sane wanted to piss off a giant bear who could and did casually lop trees in half with a single strike.

Isaac was also introduced to Sage Ulrym, a human mage from the Adventurer’s Guild who had chosen to set up the one magic shop in Thistle. The old woman was primarily an alchemist, but she did not get to her rank merely by academic efforts. She often collected her own ingredients, which involved exploring very dangerous places. Currently, she was enjoying a vacation from adventuring and store-ownership alike, leaving the day-to-day business in the capable hands of her former apprentice.

Isaac ended up waking up early in the morning to train at Thistle’s barracks until the afternoon. After lunch, he would head to Ulrym’s shop and attend private tuition with the Sage herself. At night, he would head back to the Hospice and Kiernan would share his runecarving tools while they worked together on enchantment and repair of magical items. The lessons only ended late at night. Isaac was thankful that his body was a virtual avatar, or he would surely be utterly exhausted at the end of each day.

At the beginning, Kiernan mentioned that he signed Isaac up for two entirely different courses for self-defence so that they could see which one he favored the most. Three days later, the Druid was most amused to receive glowing reports from both teachers almost at the same time. Isaac was actually quite conflicted about it. The problem was that he needed combat training and he liked learning magic. Nils was terrifying to behold, but he was always fair and never raised his voice in anger. Patiently, he corrected each mistake his students made and attended to them all equally. Ulrym was cranky and exacting in her standards, but she was incredibly knowledgeable and had a wicked wit in class, often punctuating her lessons with personal anecdotes and dry humor while using her own youthful misadventures as precautionary tales.

Isaac’s memories only ever had teachers who were burnt out, or barely showed interest in their students. His father was always disappointed and angry no matter what his scores were. His Mom did praise his effort, but it always felt hollow after his father’s disapproval. Isaac found himself dreading the thought of letting either one of his teachers down now, should he tell them that he was withdrawing from their lessons.

So, he had told Kiernan with as much passion as he could muster that he wanted to continue with both. The Druid merely laughed and said, “If you are so eager, who am I to refuse? Besides, you barely look winded at all at the end of day! If only I was as energetic as you are when I was your age…”

A parched feeling in his throat, accompanied with a little icon popping up above his health bar, jolted him out of his musings and warned him to quench his thirst. After checking the jug on his table and finding it empty, he slipped out of his room to refill it from a barrel of boiled water in the kitchen. On the way back he saw Riselda, also with jug in hand. Given that his new room was next to hers, he should have seen her more often if she had not been avoiding him recently. He caught a glimpse shock on her face before it shifted to a complicated expression. Riselda hurried past him, face lowered and with a quiet “Excuse me” trailing in her wake. Isaac had no idea what she was thinking these days. She no longer gave off a cold vibe, but there was a strange tension whenever they interacted and she seemed unwilling to stay too long around him. It was a little hurtful that she would still treat him this way, but there was not really anything he could do about it. Thinking so, Isaac put this event behind him and went back to his room to sleep.

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Happy times do not last. That is a fundamental rule of the world. Isaac had overlooked this rule in his single-minded pursuit of skills, just like he overlooked the mood of the other trainees in the barracks. At first, he had been a novelty. The lackwit? Training to fight? It was a laughable concept. Even if every trainee was only allowed to handle a dulled wooden blade, it was almost certain that the witless fool would hurt himself for their amusement.

Then the so-called lackwit actually showed up for training. At first, they had been laughing as they had expected. Within three weeks that laughter was silenced. He had gone from inept to their level at a frightening pace, along with a body that seemed to be blessed with unending endurance.

‘Who is he?’ someone had asked.

‘Isaac. His name is Isaac’. Another person had replied.

Near total derision turned into a mess of differing opinions. There was quite a bit of shame to go around, along with alarm at his frightening rate of improvement. Some whom were silently reserving judgement had changed their stance to cautiously approving in respect to his earnest effort. However, there were those who saw such progress and could not help but nurse envy in their hearts. From envy, anger and contempt grew.

This was the environment that Malcolm, Riselda's unwanted suitor, entered into. He, the Alderman’s son. Once the ruler of his own little kingdom here in the straw of the barracks training grounds. He returned from his 'family visit' missing his prized sword as well a large chunk of his once-great reputation. His charisma could not completely cover up the rumors of cowardice. No matter how much his followers swore up and down that he had fought off the Unborn and broke his sword in the process, there was no hiding the heated scorn that the very girl he was wooing sent in his direction every time she saw him. There was no way to prove his story true or false as Unborn corpses faded into light soon after their deaths.

However, in the barracks, there suddenly appeared one person who knew the truth.

Riselda was rather infamous in Thistle for being utterly frigid to anyone she was not familiar with. But the newest trainee had no such reputation. What was more, people were beginning to doubt that he was truly a lackwit anymore. Even among the Alfar, gossip was a national sport…and there was a prime source just right there.

This was why Malcolm’s face paled the moment he laid eyes on Isaac. This was also why the look in his eye grew venomous, under the shade of his blonde hair.

Quietly, Malcolm gathered the disquiet. ‘Let’s bring him down a notch’ was his honeyed whisper.

Isaac was not aware of any of this, focused utterly on his lessons. That was why he was completely blindsided by the ambush set by his fellow trainees. His arms were seized and he was lifted off the ground by taller, brawnier youths who wore ugly smiles. They quickly carried him to a nearby clearing in the forest. Isaac had no weapon to use outside of training, so he lashed out with kicks as he struggled in their grasp. After he successfully hooked a foot into the soft inside of a knee, he twisted out of the hold only for another one of his captors to slam her fist into his face with a crack.

Stars bloomed in his sight and he staggered back into waiting arms.

He was thrown on the ground in front of golden-haired, leonine Malcolm. There were no threats, nor was there an order from the ringleader. Isaac had no time to open his mouth before the beating began. He was kicked, punched and smashed by branches in a ring of jeering young men and women. And there on a stump Malcolm sat, watching in silence, a smug smile on his face. Eventually, they grew tired. Isaac lay face-down on the ground, twitching weakly. A hand seized by his hair and drew his head up roughly.

“You know, I have so many reasons for doing this.” Malcolm whispered menacingly. “You aren’t a lackwit after all, so you could guess a few of them, hmm? Let me drill a few of it into your skull.” He slammed Isaac’s face in to the dirt. “Don’t say anything about the Unborn. You can’t prove it anyway.” Lift. Slam. “Don’t think you’re better than me. I’ve had several years to polish my skills. You’re scum. You’ll always be scum.” Lift. Slam. “Hands off Riselda. Forever. She is mine. She will always be mine.”

The hand let go of Isaac’s hair. A boot stomped onto the back of his skull. He choked into the dirt as his hands scrabbled for escape. Just as his consciousness began to fade, the pressure lifted, leaving Isaac to gasp weakly for life-giving air. The last sliver of his health bar pulsed red under his eyelids. He did not hear Malcolm and his thugs leave.

It took him almost two hours to summon the strength to move. By that time, Ulrym had gotten worried and sent a message to both the Hospice and the barracks, asking for his whereabouts. Isaac staggered his way back to the village, only dimly aware of where he was going. His face was almost untouched, save for the twin trails of blood from each nostril. The rest of him was a mass of pain under his padded trainee’s armor.

“Isaac? Oh, gods! Isaac!” Someone’s arms steadied him. He blinked blearily, recognizing Riselda’s face after a few long seconds. They went straight back to the Hospice.

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Isaac sat as still as he could, while Riselda dipped the brush back into the pot of {Wound Salve}. He was only half-dressed at the moment. His body was so bruised that the parts that were skin were ugly splotches of yellow, red and purple. It was a horrid sight that gave Riselda pause when she first saw it. With each careful stroke of the brush, his health bar grew bit by bit.

“…Ah? This is peculiar.” Riselda commented from behind him.

“P-Peculiar?” Isaac asked. “Um…is something wrong?”

“Oh, it’s just…you’re healing before my very eyes. Master Kiernan already told me that Star-people had miraculous constitutions that healed with potions and salves just as easily as any spell. Seeing it in person is quite startling.” She explained.

Isaac felt that this was the longest speech he had heard from her. “Ah. Um. Okay.” He answered lamely. “Didn’t you heal me back then? After the…Unborn?”

Riselda hesitated. “I wasn’t the one that healed you first. Master Kiernan restored you with his magic before bringing you back to the Hospice. All I did was-” She fell silent.

“You still looked after me. Thank you.” Isaac replied. He had wanted to say that for quite some time now. It was a weight lifted off his shoulders.

“…Ah? N-No thanks are necessary. It was…my duty.” Riselda looked away. A hint of shame was on her face.

This was the scene that Kiernan the Druid walked into. He stood in the doorway, surprise written large on his face. A wide, benevolent grin replaced it and he said. “Oh, my most sincere apologies. I do believe I’m intruding!” He stepped backwards through the doorway. “Don’t mind this old man and carry on…”

Riselda shot the Druid a glare. “Excuse me, Master Druid. Are you implying that I am anything less than professional?” She demanded frostily.

“Hm, well, that blushing face of yours is rather hard to miss.” Came the mild reply.

The brush dropped from her fingers as the catgirl’s hands shot up to her face, only to stop, twitching, just before contact. “W-wait! This is a trick!”

“You’re right.” Kiernan admitted. “Your tail, not your face, is the one betraying you.” He pointed lazily at the appendage flailing behind her.

She shrieked and threw the bowl of medicinal salve at the Druid, who escaped into the hallway with hearty laughter. Riselda, flushed crimson, pursued him.

Isaac was left sitting stock still on the chair, still slathered with paste. He cocked his head in confusion. “Uh…so do I finish putting this on myself?”

-----------------------------

After that bit of play-fighting, Riselda returned to the room, her brows still drawn together in a frown and her posture stiff. Kiernan, who had accompanied her, was utterly fine and still had that infernal grin on his face. Isaac looked little glum. Riselda had been friendlier to him than before, but the old man had to ruin the moment.

The Druid’s expression sobered, however, when he unslung the wrapped bundle on his back and dropped it onto the table. Flinging the cloth back, it revealed a very familiar sword.

Riselda’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “This is Malcolm’s precious sword, isn’t it?” She inquired.

“Indeed. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled across this on my patrols.” Kiernan answered sagely. “Now, I might be going senile, but I seem to recall Malcolm claiming that this weapon was broken in a fight against a certain Unborn.”

“A liar and a coward. How shocking.” Riselda commented, her tone utterly dry.

“The Unborn may not have left a corpse, but this is damning proof indeed.” Kiernan mused gravely. “Words are cheap. If we show this, he is doomed with no recourse.”

Riselda gave a thin, razor-sharp smile. “Well now, may I have this honour, Master Kiernan?”

“…Um, Wait.” Isaac spoke up, eyeing the blade.

Two pairs of eyes turned on him. Isaac swallowed hard. “N-Not yet. I know he can’t get away with lying, but…”

He took a deep breath. He clenched his teeth. He made his hands into fists. “Riselda, are you willing to wait just a bit longer? I want to beat him first.” He looked up into their eyes. “I must. I’m sorry. I have to beat him on my own. I can’t keep relying on other people. This way, he won’t have any excuses...and that goes for myself too.” Isaac’s words tumbled out of him in a rush, leaving him breathless.

Riselda’s gave him a long look, frowning “…Okay, I will not pretend to know what you’re trying to prove, but it’s just as personal for you as it is for me. I can wait for a bit.” She conceded in the end. Kiernan said nothing, his expression neutral.

“I-I won’t disappoint you!” Isaac promised. He still felt an echo of that booted foot pushing his face down into the dirt. It was more humiliating than anything he had ever felt before. Even if he did not understand that last part about Riselda, he was just plain fed up with meekly bowing his head. Mom was not here. Kat was not here. The person he had to fight for now was himself. No more failing. From now on, I want to win!

He swore it both out loud and in the silence of his heart.