Chapter 6

In a small village like Thistle, word travels incredibly fast. With all the other healers present in the Hospice, it took only one excited individual to spread the word that foundling youth was challenging the Alderman’s son to a duel. The crowd formed swiftly, consisting of everybody from adventurers to the Alderman himself.

Nils was present in the back of the crowd, arms crossed and face grim. He might as well be a foreboding statue looming over everyone. He had arrived together with his trainees, who had dispersed through the crowd and were keeping a watchful eye over people whom they knew were Malcolm’s supporters.

Isaac was one of them now. They had not forgotten the beating he had been given.

Nyakka, Narghel and Bara-thon had also wandered over, curious about what the commotion was all about. “Hm? That’s the Isaac kid we met earlier. Is this a quest?” Bara-thon wondered out loud. The other two shushed him.

There was a large circle clear of all people save for two.

Malcolm, his blonde hair shining gold in the dappled sunlight, clad in a breastplate over chain and cloth, appeared every inch the rugged folk hero. He had a finely made longsword and was working the crowd up to a fever pitch. “Good folk of Thistle! I implore you to see the truth! This villain in the guise of a boy has hidden his true intellect all this while, all the better to corrupt the maiden Riselda! Alas, it is too late for her…she is no longer pure! And this is the foul scum that first defiled her!” He pointed savagely at his foe. The crowd jeered, caught up in his rhetoric.

“Eh? What the hell?” Nyakka exclaimed, her eyebrows rising. “That can’t be true, right?”

Narghel rubbed his jaw. “…True or not, we don’t know the whole story. I wouldn’t take blondie’s words at face value right now, though. He’s giving me a ‘douchebag’ vibe.”

Isaac, on the other hand, was silent as the grave. However harmless he normally looked, now he was wearing a full set of scale mail, hard leather boots and long leather gloves. His wide, innocent eyes were now narrowed in quiet fury. He was a warrior at the moment, with all frivolous parts carved cleanly away.

The saber at his side was sheathed in an unusual scabbard and worn almost horizontal to the ground. Its pommel was a hollow oval broken by a wide gap. Its unusual appearance was commented on fairly often. Isaac himself knew that it was a [Mage Knight]’s weapon, with a rune foci circuit he had personally inscribed down the length of the blade. Aside from that, its hilt hid the finished version of a rune array he had been working on almost constantly for three weeks.

However, whatever special functions the sword had would not be used today. The third and final rune circuit still needed to be engraved into the sheath. That was fine. He did not intend on using magic in this duel anyway. For now, his unnamed saber still made a perfectly fine sword.

Isaac remembered a day like this, so long ago. Back then, he saw a kid the same age as him being kicked around by a group of bullies. He had tried to do the right thing and yelled for a teacher, but it just ended up with the bullies switching targets to him. The rest of his school life was miserable thanks to that and he had become accustomed to keeping his head down and ignoring everything. But that was not a solution, in the end. Even in this virtual world, he had been beaten down.

Because he did nothing.

He never had friends, so he was not so sure if the relationship he had with Riselda friendship or not. He was unsure and a little frightened that her moods affected his. Right now, his worries were scoured away. Malcolm had hurt her. Out of petty, stupid reasons, he had done something unforgivable to her.

This time, he will not do nothing.

Stupid or not, reckless or not, Isaac had enough of pretending that the hurt of others did not matter to him. If he got hurt in the process, then so be it.

This. Will. Stop.

The crowd noticed his silent intensity. It was a counterpoint to the fiery passion of Malcolm.

“Now draw, knave!” Malcolm shouted as he turned to face Isaac, unsheathing his weapon with a resounding ring. “I shall punish you for your misdeeds!”

Isaac clasped the hilt of his sword with a firm yet gentle grip. He drew the saber soundlessly out. No sense harming the edge of the blade, even if [Wishblade] protected the steel. Both combatants fell into neutral stances, their swords in front and ready to defend. Malcolm was using a different style, Isaac noted. It seemed to favor a more upright posture than the one Nils taught. Isaac was holding his saber one-handed, his free hand hovering near the wand holster he had strapped off-center to his chest.

Malcolm was the first to move. He stepped forward, firm and steady, his sword probing in short series of jabbing thrusts and quick slashes. Isaac deflected the first strike and shuffled backwards, putting himself out of reach. Malcolm did not pursue, drawing back as well.

The way the Lion Poukha fought had indeed changed from his time in Nils’ training, Isaac noted. Those movements were fast and strong.

“You are outmatched!” Malcolm announced in triumph. “Did you think that I was idle at home? Since young, I’ve been receiving private tutors at home! This is the sword style of a Royal Guard!” He raised his sword back into neutral guard. “Yield and spare yourself humiliation!”

The crowd muttered, impressed. The Royal Guard was made up of only the best and brightest. No wonder, then, that he had such confidence. Yet, Isaac remained silent and unmoved.

Without a word, Isaac went on the offensive. His feet glided across the ground, his saber twisting in short, sharp slices. Even as the first cut was deflected by the longsword, he let the momentum flow into a cross-cut from the opposite direction. A sudden turn of the wrist revealed a strike to the ribs as a feint – the real target was Malcolm’s thigh.

None of the blows reached their targets. Malcolm’s defense was solid as his longsword deflected them all away. Isaac pressed in with a stronger slash. His opponent’s longsword easily caught it. He did not intend to turn this into a blade lock, so Isaac simply leaned into the strike, his free hand pushing against the dull back of his saber as he slid past and away from Malcolm.

The combatants separated once more, now standing in each other’s initial spots. “Weak!” Malcolm laughed. “Your blows have no conviction! Do you understand now?” He began to pace, while Isaac mirrored his stride. “I am the hero here! What need do you have for this needless struggle? Just admit your crimes and seek forgiveness!”

Letting out a breath, Isaac slid his saber back into his sheath. The ‘click’ as the hilt met the metal lip of the sheath rang out in the sudden silence in the clearing. Malcolm smirked victoriously as the crowd began to mutter in disappointment.

“Did that private tutor of yours teach you to fence with your tongue?” Isaac’s retort was the first words he had spoken since the start. His boots scuffed the ground as he lowered himself into a new, strange stance, his left hand holding the sheath firmly and his right hand hovering over the grip of his saber. “Shut up and fight.”

Bara-thon felt his own eyebrows begin to rise. “Oi. That’s…Is that what I think it is?”

Malcolm frowned in confusion. “What on earth are you doing?” He asked, incredulous. “Bah, nevermind. I’ll put an end to this farce!” He stepped forward, exerting great strength in an overhead strike.

In the back of the crowd, Nils scoffed quietly. “Hrm. He never did come back to watch the training, huh?”

Isaac’s saber hissed as it was pulled out of its sheath in a [Drawing Slice]. Arm and sword blurred from the speed of the blow.

Malcolm barely reacted in time. He aborted his attack and wrenched his sword down to parry the strike, succeeding only partially. Stumbling backwards, his hands numb from the force, he looked down to see a smooth gash in his iron breastplate

*Click*

Isaac’s sword was back in its sheath. The crowd had fallen into a dead hush. Malcolm looked up, caution and alarm finally penetrating his shell of confidence.

Isaac lunged forwards. His saber left its sheath again with a near-silent hiss in a diagonal upstroke. Malcolm’s longsword rang as he blocked, only to suffer the second strike of [Mirrored Moon] after Isaac dashed past and pivoted on the balls of his feet, his saber flashing as it dealt a descending slash to Malcolm’s back. Slender twin crescents, joined together at the arc, hung in the air - the visual effect of the Skill.

Once again, Malcolm proved to be more than a blowhard as he stepped forwards, turning a clean hit into a grazing blow that tore chainmail and scraped across his backplate Recovering quickly, he spun around and thrust twice, his longsword leaving sullen red stars. [Serpent Jaws]. For the first time in this fight, Malcolm used a Skill. It forced Isaac to retreat as he deflected the deadly points

Their blades crisscrossed furiously, trying to prevent each other from unleashing yet more deadly Skills.

Malcolm overextended on a lunge, discovering that Isaac’s unusual sheath could also be used as a bludgeon when it was swung hard into his breastplate . He choked from the force and staggered away. Isaac was gripping the sheath by the extra handle attached near the opening. As they watched, he placed it back at side where the sheath re-attached itself to a metal plate with a sharp ‘thunk’.

The Lion Poukha snarled inaudibly. Suddenly, he let his longsword fall to the ground. As the point of the weapon hit the dirt with a ‘clink’, Isaac’s instincts flared up in warning.

“[RIP WAVE]!” Malcolm shouted as he dragged his blade forwards in an upward strike, unleashing a churning blast of light at Isaac.

The crowd screamed behind him. Isaac’s eyes widened. If he dodged, the attack would hit the bystanders! His mind was blank only for a split second. Regaining reason, he did the first thing he could think of. He ripped a wand off his holster.

“Frozen jaws devour the earth – [Arctic Bulwark]!”

He threw as much magic as he could into the spell even as he omitted the second verse. The wand cracked and burst into splinters in his hand, unable to withstand the barely-controlled magical surge even as a thick wall of ice erupted from the ground in front of him. The [Rip Wave] met ice as hard as steel and ground furiously against it.

The wall split with a resounding crack, but the energy wave had already spent its power and dissipated in flash of steam and light.

Sensing the wind shift, Isaac spun around only to see Malcolm, his face distorted in rage, with his hands over his head already swinging his longsword down to cleave his foe into two. The moment seemed to stretch into infinity.

He was roaring wordlessly, his voice thundering in Isaac’s ears.

(The Unborn Rothound’s tortured shriek tore drilled into his head.)

Malcolm’s wrath was nothing.

The wooden splinters of the wand had dug through leather and into the flesh beneath. Blood was welling in his glove.

(Feet and fists hammered into his body. A whiskey bottle broke, and a skull broke beneath it. A stone thudded off his forehead, yet the teachers averted their eyes.)

The pain from mere torn flesh was nothing.

The longsword gleamed sinisterly in the light as it fell.

(Nils raised his massive greatsword over his head. Isaac raised his own saber, though his hands trembled. How could he hope to deflect this huge slab of steel?)

This flimsy sword was nothing.

Isaac’s saber tapped almost gently into the side of the falling longsword. One hand pulled, the other pushed. With that gentle tap, the attack was levered aside. How could it not? Malcolm’s attack was light as a feather, after all.

Isaac took a step forwards. He saw Malcolm’s face slacken in surprise just before the pommel of the saber broke his nose . His longsword fell from his grip as he fell onto his rear

*Click*

The man sitting on the ground before Isaac froze at the sharp sound, his eyes popping open to stare at the armed warrior before him. Isaac saw the realization take hold, the pupils of Malcolm’s eyes constrict to tiny pinpricks in fear. Even though Malcom's HP is not empty, he was utterly vulnerable. All Isaac had to do was to hit his neck, where he had no armor. With a single [Drawing Slice], he could kill this man. He could send this cowardly lion’s head flying off for the pain this scum had caused to Riselda and himself.

For several heartbeats, he considered this decision.

Would he kill? Would he not?

…No. Isaac never felt pleasure after a kill. Only numbness during the act, and a pang of remorse after. He was still feeling the scalding fury in his veins, but he wanted justice more than he wanted blood. His crime did not warrant death. Not this time.

The sheathed saber slammed into the man’s jaw. Malcolm fell to the earth, unconscious and defeated.

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Looking down at Malcolm’s unconscious form, the adrenaline rush of the fight left Isaac. He drew in deep breaths of air, feeling mentally drained. He distractedly noted the soft chime and flashing icons in his HUD that indicated the new skills and attributes he had gained.

“AHAHAHA-! THAT WAS AWESOME!”

With a yelp, Isaac’s head was suddenly caught by what felt like steel cables. Then, he felt leather on the opposite side of his face. His eyes instantly glanced to that side and-

“Ghk!”

Nyakka had him in a headlock. “DUDE! You went all samurai on ‘im! Where the hell did you learn that, huh?” She demanded boisterously.

The crowd was muttering, cheering and booing all at once. Opinions seemed very divided. From his viewpoint underneath Nyakka’s arm, Isaac could see his fellow trainee Mikkre in the process of staring down a raccoon Poukha.

“Move. Aside.” A voice cracked above the crowd’s noise.

The sheer frozen threat in that one voice caused people to hop aside obediently, leaving a clear passage in the crowd of Svartalfar. Riselda stood there, framed by suddenly nervous villagers. Her face was an emotionless mask, but her eyes glowed with leashed magic. Normally a deep green, the glow turned them into bright warning beacons. She held her mage’s staff in a white-knuckled grip, her other hand clasped around a dirty, sheathed longsword.

She strode into the center of the clearing and struck the butt of her staff into the ground with a loud ‘thump’. The earth rose, bearing her aloft on a platform shaped by magic. Riselda stood on a podium, looking down imperiously on everyone. Her eyes sought targets in the crowd, pinning them with a lambent stare.

She raised the dirt encrusted sword above her head. “Folk of Thistle. Do you recognize this?” She asked, her voice low and trembling with suppressed wrath. “Come, tell me. Does this blade look familiar to you?”

She let go of her staff, leaving it standing upright in the dirt, before ripping the sheath off the longsword and hurling it over the heads of the villagers. Several people yelped and ducked to avoid the flying leather missile.

“What’re you playin’ at, you scarlet woman?” A rather plain girl shouted. She had an ugly frown on her face.

Riselda ignored her, even though several people in healer uniforms let out an outraged shout at the plain girl’s words. She continued casting looks around. “Anyone? Surely you must have seen this at some point? Why, only last month someone was waving it about, bragging of how he’d be a knight with it!” She held it out towards them, drawing attention to the gilded hilt. “Look! A hilt shaped like a Griffon! How eye-catching! How splendid!” She sneered.

Isaac saw rabbit-eared Jacine shade her eyes with one hand. “Aye, that’s Malcolm’s old sword, as I breathe!” She drawled. “The Griffon an’ all. ‘Twas the mark of some renowned blacksmith from Mercia…so he claimed!”

“Hogwash!” Seamus the blacksmith bellowed. “Ah made that blade meself! Ungrateful brat! Ah’ll swear it ‘ere and now, that’s the sword ah forged fer ‘im!”

Adelaide’s voice rose from the opposite side of the crowd. “Hey! He said it was broken when he fought off the Unborn!”

Before now, many member of the crowd had already recognized the blade. It had spots of rust, but it was most glaringly unbroken. An angry mutter was building up.

“Lies! Lies and slander!” a voice shouted. “’Tis fabricated! A sham!”

“YER CALLIN’ ME A LIAR?” Seamus roared. “YER CAN’T FAKE RUST LIKE THAT! AH’M THE SMITH! AH SHOULD KNOW, IDIOTS!” The villagers around him had their hands clamped to their ears.

“Enough!”

Kiernan the Druid pushed past the crowd. He held a staff that looked like many vines twined together and wreathed with green leaves. The crowd’s noise dipped instantly. That staff meant he was now exercising his official authority as a Druid. The stag Poukha’s face was set in a solemn scowl. Raising his hand, he began to speak.

“I, Kiernan Arllown, Druid of the Thistle Leystone Circle, hereby declare my words to be inviolable truth. Under the eyes of the Greenmother, over the veins of the Land, may they strike me down should I utter falsehood. Thus witnessed!”

The earth let out a deep rumble. “I so swear that this longsword was personally found and retrieved by my hands from a pothole half a day’s walk away from Thistle, towards the South! I so swear that, upon the moment I fully laid eyes on this weapon, I recognized it as former property of Malcolm Kerns, son of Isaiah Kerns, the Alderman of the village of Thistle! I so swear that, on the date of the discovery, no more than seven days had passed! Thus I have spoken, thus shall I be judged!”

For a long moment, there was no reaction. Then, a ring of white flowers rapidly sprouted around the Druid’s feet.

Riselda’s stoic mask broke at this sight, revealing a truly vicious smile. “You should not have escalated, Malcolm. I am much better at it than you are.” She hissed to herself, even as the crowd erupted into utter bedlam.

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Victory was a bittersweet thing, in the end. Alderman Kerns had finally become so outraged he had charged into the clearing to gather up his precious son and deliver a thundering ultimatum.

“OUT! I WANT YOU TWO OUT OF THIS VILLAGE! NEVER RETURN AGAIN, YOU MISERABLE VERMIN! I CAST YOU, ISAAC AND YOU, RISELDA, OUT OF THISTLE!”

Kiernan’s expression had instantly gone utterly black, while Farah had gone to argue their case with the Alderman. That had been hours ago and she had yet to return. It was probably not going well at all.

Right now, he was lying in bed, checking his status. Doing anything to avoid thinking about it.

Name:IsaacRace:Svartalfar (Poukha)Titles:Puppy, Duelist, Reckless Savior, Wrongful ExileSatiety:64/100HP: 620/620 (Base Armor: 200)SURGE: (o)==(o)==(o)Vigor: 27(+14)Reflex: 34(+12)Intellect: 24(+10)Charisma: 15Spirit: 20(+5)Virtue: 5Traits:Leyline Essence, Lost Child, Wishblade(Rank 1), Style Pioneer

Spoiler: Titles

DuelistYou have fought and won against a Player/NPC. Glory to the victor!

You gain the title [Duelist]!

You are eligible for the Imperial Colosseum!

Vigor +1

Spirit +1

Wrongful ExileYou have been exiled from a settlement. The reasons in this case were dubious at best and everyone knows it!

You gain the title [Wrongful Exile]!

You cannot enter [Thistle] openly!

Virtue Loss Negated!

As long as this Title remains, the Community Leader that exiled you will continue to take a -5 Virtue penalty until he revokes

the decision! Each time he refuses an official petition to do this, the penalty grows!

Reckless SaviorJumping into a fight to save someone is a pretty good start for a Hero. Doing it without any weapons and armor though...are you aware that people die when they're killed?

You gain the title [Reckless Savior]!

+50% speed when your companions are in danger!

Take 20% more damage when your companions are in danger...

Spoiler: Passive Skills

One-Handed Proficiency Lvl.19PassiveMastery over single-grip weapons including shortswords, handaxes, maces etc.

Unlocks One-handed Skills.

+95% Damage.

+19% Attack Speed.

+9 Reflex

+4 Vigor

Mailed Coat Lvl.14PassiveYour preferred armor is strong, yet supple enough for you to move quickly and speedily. You are a versatile survivor!

+420 HP

Mitigates 7% of Speed Penalty

+3 Reflex

+3 Vigor

Arcane Warrior Lvl. 15Passive (Discipline)You have studied the disciplines of the Mage Knights. Everytime you strike, your magic ignites in your body and gives you more power!

Replaces [Practiced Caster Lvl 18.], [Tireless Lvl. 20]

Replaces your MP and SP with a tiered Charge gauge - It always has 1 Tier Charged, hits increase Charge. Any Charge above Tier 1 slowly drains if not used.

3 Charge Tiers

+5 Intellect

+5 Vigor

Spell costs are now Verse = Tier to cast

*Only one Discipline skill may be in use at a time. The original Discipline will have a 1 hour cooldown once you switch.

Sword Style: Argent Glint Lvl.6Passive/ModeA Sword Style pioneered by a relatively unknown Mage Knight, who sees potential in utilizing both a focus weapon and its sheath together in combat. Emphasizes drawing strikes from the scabbard. It was inspired by Mage battle staves, hich often include solid metal cores so that they could withstand the rigors of battle.

In the future, a Mage-Knight skilled in this style can smoothly switch between melee and fully powered spells in pitched combat.

+1 Vigor

+1 Int

Develop this style and spread its fame to unlock more bonuses.

Spoiler: Active Magic

Student of Frost Lvl.12ActiveYou command the biting cold of Ice Magic.

Unlocks up to 2 Verses of the Rime Chants. Next Unlock: lvl 20

You may Silent Cast up to 1 Verse

+14% Ice Damage

+1 Intellect

+1 SpiritFrozen Jaws Devour the Earth,

Agony before the Silent Sleep,

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Chant of WrathWhite Fortress in unending Vigil,

Twin Crowns at World's End,

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Chant of Calm

Student of Flame Lvl. 14ActiveYou command the devouring rage of Fire Magic.

Unlocks up to 2 Verses of the Incarnadine Chants. Next unlock: lvl. 20

You may Silent Cast up to 1 Verse

+14% Fire Damage

+1 Intellect

+1 SpiritA Wrathful voice, thus Engraved,

Ashen Dust is my Wake,

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Chant of Wrath

Memoirs of Lovers in Red,

Thy Embrace wards the Dark,

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Chant of Calm

Student of Wind Lvl. 13ActiveYou command the howling chaos of Wind Magic.

Unlocks up to 2 Verses of the Sky-Song Chants. Next unlock: lvl. 20

You may Silent Cast up to 1 Verse

+14% Damage to Wind Spells

+1 Intellect

+1 SpiritIn Warring Skies dwell Unseen Blades,

Flow, Scatter, Blood and Song,

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Chant of Wrath

Weave a Cloak of seamless Thread,

Start to end, Encircle the World,

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Chant of Calm

Student of Storm Lvl. 13ActiveYou command the bright death of Lightning Magic.

Unlocks up to 2 Verses of the Fulgurous Chants. Next unlock: lvl. 20

You may Silent Cast up to 1 Verse

+14% Lightning Damage

+1 Intellect

+1 SpiritPure lance! Bright lance! Five-pointed Brionac,

Aim once and strike true,

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Chant of Wrath

Chariot of Iron and Shade,

Heed now this adamant Command,

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Chant of Calm

No use, he still felt a sullen knot of unspent anger in his chest. This was obviously an abuse of power. Even though his son had been in the wrong, the Alderman had chosen to punish the victims instead! His Mom had never tried to coddle him when Isaac himself made mistakes. His old teachers at school, though…they played favorites. In fact, this situation was pretty similar.

The most infuriating thing about this whole outcome was being unable to prevent the harm being dealt to Riselda. Isaac never saw the foul plots coming. In the end, they would have to leave Thistle the next day. He had been planning to leave all along…

But Riselda had been kicked out of her own home.

Such Stupidity.

…With Farah and Kiernan still out dealing with that idiot of an Alderman, there was nobody with Riselda. Isaac knew how it felt. He hated it, the times when nobody would even try to help.

But the other unpopular kids were just the same as him. Nobody came to help them either. It did not ‘make them tough’ like father had said. It just made all of them, Isaac included, cold and bitter inside. That was not the same as tough.

That was the thought that drove Isaac from his room. He knocked gently on Riselda’s door.

“Who is it?” came her voice. It sounded a little hoarse. He could hear the coldness in it, just like he expected.

“It’s me, Riselda. C-Can I come in? Just to talk for a while?” He asked hopefully. He felt a strange anxiety grow inside.

There was silence. “…No, I don’t think so.” She replied. “Just leave me alone.”

Isaac was also expecting this, but he had no idea how to resolve this. He could not just walk away, either. “I know you’re in a bad mood, but…give it some thought, please?”

“Go away, Isaac.” She replied.

…He had to give it one last try. “Okay, I’ll go. But…would you mind if I brewed some tea for you?”

“…Fine.”

Isaac made the tea and left it outside her door. Returning to his room, he heard the door to her room open and shut.

Nobody won today, Isaac realized. Everybody lost something because a man wanted petty revenge for things that he wrongfully blamed on others rather than admit he was wrong. Did Isaac’s actions cause everything to get worse? That might very well be true. But then again, he knew that Riselda would have exposed Malcolm’s lies anyway. What if…

The night wore on. Isaac, full of doubt, did not sleep a wink.