Runeguard 012

With a wistful gaze, I watched the young dragon fly away. “Will she be alright, Adi?”

“It is likely, Dace. Very few creatures would dare to take on a black dragon—even one that is only a hatchling.”

I nodded and swung back into the cave. I had done what I could for the hatchling, and to honor her mother’s wishes. Now it was time to see to my own wellbeing.

I strode through the darkness towards the cave’s rear. As I had thought, there was a tunnel opening there, one that delved deeper into the earth.

I could make out very little of the tunnel though. Its black depths were opaque to my sight. Even the light streaming through the cave mouth failed to illuminate the tunnel’s interior.

It would be foolish to enter the tunnel now, I thought. It was already late in the day, and I didn’t want to risk spending the night in the valley. Besides which, I would need torches if I wanted to explore its depths properly.

I’ll come back tomorrow, I decided.

About to turn away from the tunnel mouth, I paused as a glint of light on the nearby wall caught my attention. I stepped closer towards it. 

I had not imagined the glint. The rocks in this part of the cave had a faintly metallic sheen to them.

I rubbed my hands over the spot.

You have spotted a hidden deposit of ore!

Your detection skill has increased to rank 4.

I smiled. “Well, isn’t that useful.” Now there was no doubt of me returning tomorrow.

With my mind full of plans, I exited the cave.

✵ ✵ ✵

I made my way out of the valley and reached the cobbled highway without mishap. Crossing over the road, I followed the trail on the other side to the river and dived into its inviting depths. 

By god, I thought, that feels good. 

With a vengeance I scrubbed at the blood caking my skin and the bits of gore stuck in my hair.

Thirty minutes later, scoured clean, I was marching south along the cobbled road and back towards town.

As I walked, I reflected over the day’s events. The encounter with the black dragons had been as confusing as it was surprising. Setting aside the wonder of meeting a creature as incredible as a dragon, I was still not certain what to make of what I had learnt. 

I had little doubt that Nightstalker had been a powerful creature, perhaps one of the mightiest in this world, yet… the System had slain her so easily. And for something so trivial. What did that say about the world I found myself in? Or for that matter, my future in it?

Then there was magic. 

It had been both wondrous and… disappointing. The healing power of the two spells I had cast was breathtaking, yet I was not blind to their limitations.

Casting the spells had taught me that magic had to be spoken aloud. Which was a vulnerability, perhaps even an easily exploitable one. But I still had to learn more of magic before I could say that with any certainty.

There was the long casting time too. It had taken a good amount of time to vocalize the words of each spell. Time, I likely would not have in battle. Another vulnerability.

Finally, there were the spells themselves. How could I not understand the very words I had spoken? Being unable to understand the innate nature of my spells did not seem wise to me.

It left no room for innovation or experimentation. And it meant I was highly dependent on finding spellbooks and scrolls.

“Adi, when I was spellcasting,” I asked slowly, “what did those words mean?”

She didn’t answer.

“I mean,” I said, thinking perhaps the question was too vague, “I knew what words to say to invoke the lesser heal spell, but when I try to fathom their meaning, I draw a blank.” I paused, contemplating the mystery further. “Even worse,” I continued, “I can’t even picture what the words would look like. All those odd curves and strokes, they defy understanding.” 

The silence in my mind grew. 

“Adi?” I prompted.

She was not absent. I knew that. I had learnt to recognize the texture of her presence. She had heard my query. She just wasn’t answering.

Finally, she spoke up. “I don’t know, Dace.”

I blinked. “What? How can you not?”

“Spells are written and spoken in the Creator’s own language: the language of Runes. It is a lost language that no one understands anymore.”

“But… but…” My brows furrowed. “That doesn’t make sense, Adi.” I shook my head. “Someone has to have created the spellbooks and scrolls.”

“Those items are generated by the System using its stored copies.”

I frowned, perplexed. “Are you telling me, no one in the Proving Grounds understands any of the words to the spells they cast?”

“Correct, Dace.”

“That would mean… that no new spells are created. Ever.”

“Again, correct.”

But surely someone has tried studying the Runes in spellbooks and scrolls?”

“Many have tried, but all have failed. It is impossible.”

“Why?”

“You yourself have felt the effect of reading the Runes. They compel the reader to voice the words they form. And once spoken, the Runes vanish. The Creators’ language seems to resist understanding.”

I fell silent, thinking upon Adi’s words. She had given me a lot to ponder on.

✵ ✵ ✵

The mystery of the Runes preoccupied me all the way back to town. I arrived on its outskirts just before nightfall. Even so, I saw that campfires already dotted the fields bordering the town.

My tall half-naked frame—shirtless and with pants cut short at the knees—attracted more than its fair share of attention as I strode through the field. I had stored my gloves and weapons in my inventory when I had neared the town. 

Undoubtedly, it added to my air of noobishness, but after the incident with the thieves, I was doubly wary about attracting the wrong kind of attention. 

Better to be underestimated, I thought, than be targeted as a rich mark.

Hoots of laughter, catcalls, and derisive remarks about clueless noobs followed in my wake. I ignored it all and looked neither left nor right. I wondered if they would have been laughing as much if they had seen my begrimed form earlier. 

Somehow, I doubted it.

“Hey, look who it is! Lauren, Beth, isn’t that the noob you two helped yesterday?”

The familiar names caught my notice and despite my determination not to indulge any of the hecklers, I glanced involuntarily at the speaker.

It was Jorge. Seated next to him were the other three I had met last night—Beth, Lauren and Bayan. There was also a scar-faced youth I didn’t recognize.

In stark contrast to my own appearance—and that of many of the other people nearby—the five were well-outfitted in royal blue padded silk shirts and form-fitting black pants.

Hmm, I thought, my interest piqued. Whatever the group had been doing, they seemed to be faring well.

I made a beeline for their campfire.

The scar-faced youth groaned—a trifle dramatically I thought. “Now, Jorge, look what you’ve done. The lumbering fool is heading our way.”

My lips tightened at the insult, but I didn’t respond in kind.

“Oops, sorry, Gavin,” Jorge said. “Look, don’t hurt us,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender as he turned toward me. “We didn’t mean anything by it. Promise.”

Ignoring the two jokers, I fixed my attention on the sisters. “Good evening, ladies,” I said politely.

“Evening,” Lauren said. “Don’t mind them. They’re idiots.” 

Jorge rolled his eyes, but didn’t retort.

“Dace, isn’t it?” Beth asked.

I nodded. 

Her eyes roved over me. “Whatever have you been up to, Dace?” she murmured. “And how did you manage to lose all your clothes in the process?” she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

I grinned. “It’s a long story.”

“And not one we want to hear,” Gavin said, breaking in. 

Before he could go on, Bayan, the bearded man who appeared to be the group’s leader, waved him to silence. He turned to me. “What did you want?”

“Nothing really,” I replied with a shrug. “I was just curious about your clothes. Where did you get them?”

Bayan stared at me expressionlessly for a second. “The Weavers,” he said shortly. “You will find them in a building next to the tavern.”

“Not that they will sell any of their goods to the likes of you,” Jorge put in. “They will only take hides in trade.”

“Oh?” I remarked. Then unable to help myself added, “Do you think a bear skin will suffice? Or a timber wolf’s?”

Jorge scoffed. “No way, you’ve killed a—”

Bayan raised his hand and Jorge broke off. The group’s leader considered me again. I could see a glint of curiosity in the bearded man’s eyes, but when he spoke it was not to inquire after how I got the hides as I expected. 

“I believe the Weavers will find that acceptable,” Bayan said. “Now if that is all?” Not waiting for my response, he turned his back on me.

Huh. Looks like I have been dismissed again. With a cheerful wave to the sisters, I left the group to their discussions and headed into town. 

✵ ✵ ✵

Despite the somewhat grudging manner of its delivery, Bayan’s information proved accurate.

Walking a slow circle around the tavern, I eventually spotted a building on the east side that sported the symbol of a spindle with the words, ‘Tailors’ Workshop’ beneath.

Changing direction abruptly, I made for its open doorway—only to be nearly bowled over by two people going the other way.

Ooof. I stumbled backwards and nearly fell. At the last minute, I caught my balance. The pair with whom I had collided sprang back. Their eyes widened as they took in my appearance. 

“Sorry, fella, didn’t see you there,” the first said. His voice had a nervous undertone. I ignored it. My stature could be intimidating at times.

I glanced at the second. He seemed to have been struck speechless. “No harm done,” I said, then tilted my head to study the pair again. “Do I know you two?” They looked oddly familiar.

The first shook his head vigorously. “No, don’t think so.” He pulled his friend along. “Bye. Sorry, we have to go now!”

In bemusement, I followed their retreating figures with my gaze. I was sure this was not the first time I had run into the pair. I had seen them before. But where? 

When nothing came to mind, I shrugged and entered the shop.

 A strange sight greeted me. Like the smithy before it, the tailors’ workshop was laid out with crafting items, only this time they were those of leather workers and seamstresses. That was all as expected.

The occupants, however, were wholly unexpected. The shop was filled with women. Old women. The majority appeared to be over fifty, their faces lined by age, and hair gone gray and silver.

This can’t be the right place, can it? I thought, standing frozen in the doorway.

A dozen pairs of eyes swung my way, pinning me in place with their hawkish stares. I beat back the urge to retreat. The gaggle of women were nearly as intimidating as Nightstalker. No, that wasn’t right. They were worse.

The crowd parted and a matron—I could think of her no other way—with a stern gaze, tightly coiled bun, and immaculately tailored clothes glided towards me. “Young man, this is no place for ruffians. Best you leave this instant.”

I scowled, immediately annoyed by her attitude. “Is this a tailor’s shop?”

“It is, but—”

“Then, I am in the right place,” I said, cutting her off rudely.

Her eyes narrowed. “You will not touch anything.”

I said nothing.

“And you will be polite and respectful.”

I remained silent.

“And you will not ogle any of the ladies.”

With difficulty I kept myself from snorting in amusement. Ogle old women? What does she take me for? 

The matron’s lips thinned. Clearly, I hadn’t disguised my amusement as well as I thought I had. To head off further superfluous instructions, I said, “Is this how you treat all your customers?”

She sniffed. “That is yet to be determined.”

I frowned. “What does?”

“Whether you will be a customer or not.”

I gave her a hard stare of my own, then willed all the skins out of my inventory.

You have removed 19 x wolf skins.

You have removed 1 x bear skin.

The heap of hides materialized at my feet. Gasps and titters broke out across the room. I smiled. I was right. The hides I brought were a sizable haul.

The matron struggled to keep her own face impassive. But despite her best efforts, her eyes were drawn to the pile at my feet.

“Will these suffice to qualify me as one?” I asked, not attempting to disguise the smugness in my tone.

The matron’s eyes flew up towards my face. Then, contrary to my expectations, she smiled. “Of course, young man,” she murmured. “They will do quite nicely indeed.”

Raising her hands, she clapped them together. “Let’s get to it ladies. It looks like we have some work again.”

✵ ✵ ✵

Ten minutes later, I was surrounded by an army of women, all measuring, picking, and prodding at me, and of course, whispering behind raised hands. It almost led me to regret entering the shop. Almost.

But my need for clothes was dire. And walking around town half-naked was embarrassing.

“Alright, young man,” the matron declared, “we’re done measuring you. Now tell me, what is it you want?”

“Call me, Dace,” I said.

“And you may call me Grandmother Evelyn. Welcome to the Weavers Guild.”

“Guild?” I asked with one raised brow.

Evelyn gestured to the rest of the woman in the shop. “That means everyone you see here.”

I scratched my head. “But a guild? Are you sure?”

She looked at me primly. “Aren’t you—what do they call it?—a gamer? All you young people seem to be such these days. Don’t you know what a guild is?”

“I know what a guild is,” I said, exasperated. “What I don’t understand is how you formed one.”

“Ah,” she said. “The townhall contains a guildstone. It is a System device for creating guilds. Many players in town have already used it to band together and form their own organizations.”

“Is what she says true, Adi?”

“Player Evelyn is correct, Dace.”

Hmm. It seemed I had been a little too hasty in dismissing the other buildings in town as being of little use. I would have to explore the town further at some point, I decided. Who knows what else I was missing out on?

“Dace, are you listening to me?” Evelyn asked, her tone sharp.

“What? Sorry,” I said, refocusing on her.

“I asked what exactly is it that you want us to make for you.”

I shrugged. “Clothes mostly. The hardwearing kind preferably,” I said. “I am a bit tough on my garments at times,” I explained.

“I can see that,” Evelyn said wryly. “Are you sure you want clothes though? What about leather armor? You’ve brought enough skins to make a few sets at least.”

I shook my head. I had thought long and hard about my future advancement on the trip back to town. Given what I had learnt of magic, I decided not to absorb any of the other magic Essences—not anytime soon anyway. 

So far I had been faring quite well as a fighter, and I saw no need to divert from my current path just yet. Also, assuming I acquired the guardian Class, there was no downside to me wearing heavy armor—and lots of upsides.

Maybe with it, I won’t end up such a bloody mess after every battle, I thought wryly.

“No leather armor,” I said. “Maybe some padding to wear under plate armor. But that is about it.”

 “So not a mage then?” she murmured, more to herself than me. “I didn’t think so.” She glanced at the hides still lying on the floor. “What about the rest of the skins?”

I hesitated. I needed the money, but I was sure everyone in town did. It didn’t escape my notice that Evelyn had made no mention of price yet. “Keep them,” I said. “Consider them a gift.” 

I didn’t think the Weavers could afford to pay me much for the hides anyway, and besides earning their goodwill would likely prove more valuable to me in the future.

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I am. Will you be able to have a set of clothes ready for me by tomorrow morning?”

The matron smiled. “For you, of course.”

✵ ✵ ✵

My next stop was the smithy. 

The building was eerily quiet as I approached. I didn’t hear the clang of hammers or the hiss of cooling steel as I had on the first day, and for a moment, I worried that the workshop might have been abandoned.

But as I entered, I saw that was not the case.

A group of men, larger than the one I had witnessed on the first day, occupied the room. Yet they all stood idle. 

I pursed my lips. It seemed the smiths were having the same problem as the Weavers: not enough resources. 

A familiar shape separated itself from the crowd and hurried my way. The hope on his face was painful to watch. Before the big red-haired man could open his mouth, I shook my head. “Sorry Gorman, I don’t have any ore.”

The smith’s face fell.

I leaned close. “But I may have a lead on where to find some,” I whispered.

Hope rekindled. “Where?” he asked eagerly.

“In the forest,” I said vaguely. “But I need something first.”

Caution crept onto Gorman’s face. “What do you need?”

“A pickaxe.”

“Ah,” he said. “You plan on mining it yourself?”

“At this point, I am not sure there is much ore to be had at the location. I only spotted a single vein of the stuff. Let me investigate further first. Do you have a pickaxe?”

“I do,” Gorman said, his face troubled. “But only one.” He scrutinized my face. Deciding how far I could be trusted, I thought. “Alright,” he said at last. “But you bring the ore to me.”

“I promise.”

He hesitated. “And I get half of everything you mine.”

I studied him for a moment. “Now that is getting greedy, Gorman,” I said reproachfully. “After all, I am taking all the risk here.”

He shrugged sheepishly. “I didn’t think you’d go for it, but you can’t blame me for trying.”

I just shook my head. “I tell you what, you can have twenty percent of any ore I collect if you craft me whatever items I need.”

He whistled in appreciation. “That is a better deal than I hoped for, but I’m sorry, Dace, I can’t accept.”

“Why not?”

“Any crafting I do has to go through the guild,” he said.

I pursed my lips. “So, you smiths have organized yourselves into a guild too?”

He nodded. “We’ve had to. For our own protection. Safety in numbers and all that.”

I didn’t understand what he was getting at, but let the matter be. “Alright, how about you take the same deal to your guildmaster? And in the meantime, you sell me your pickaxe for one gold.”

His eyes widened. “One gold? Are you serious?”

I nodded. It was probably more than the pickaxe was worth, but I didn’t want to quibble further.

“It’s not a System item,” he warned. “I crafted the axe myself.”

I frowned. “What difference does that make?”

“You don’t know?” he asked, surprised. “System generated items appear near indestructible. Leastwise I haven’t heard of one breaking yet. Our crafted items on the other hand… they tend to break after hard use.”

I needed to spend more time in town it seemed. There was a lot of knowledge already amongst the townspeople that I had yet to learn. “I’ll still take it—if you’re willing.”

Gorman was, and we quickly made the trade.

You have bought a pickaxe crafted by Gorman for 1 gold. You have 6 gold, 1 silver, and 3 copper coins remaining.

“I am not scamming you,” he assured me. “It’s a well-made axe. You’ll see.”

Something else occurred to me. “Oh, do you have any torches?” I had nearly forgotten about my need for light.

“Torches?” asked Gorman with a frown. “No, but I have a fire starter kit and some wood you may use.” He raised his hand before I could ask how much. “It’s free. Here you go.”

You have bought 1 x fire starter and 12 x pieces of wood for 0 gold.

I nodded my thanks. “Will your guildmaster go for the deal?”

Gorman shrugged. “It’s a sweet trade. I don’t see why not.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow then,” I said in farewell.

✵ ✵ ✵

My last stop for the night was the tavern.

It was empty. Not a soul occupied the common room. Which perhaps was not all that surprising. The tavern prices were excessive. 

In fact, the cost of all goods sold by the System vendors seemed to be. I wondered if that was not a deliberate attempt by the System to force a player-driven economy.

Whatever the case, the tavern offered me something that I couldn’t get anywhere else in town: security.

I was not going to sleep in the streets again.

I strode up to the tavern vendor on the bar countertop and purchased a room for the night.

You have rented a small room for 1 gold per night. You have 5 gold, 1 silver, and 3 copper coins remaining.

You have received a room key. Proceed to the first floor to find your room.

Wincing slightly at the cost, I strode up the stairs to the next floor and found myself in a short passage with twelve doors set along its entire length, eight on the left and four on the right.

I walked up to the first door on the right. A label on the door read, ‘Large Room One.’ Turning around, I checked the label on the other room. Sure enough, it was called, ‘Small Room One.’

Finding the door marked with the same number on my key, I unlocked it and stepped inside. The room contained only a single window, bed, and bathing facilities—which were a welcome surprise. 

I would be sure to make good use of them tomorrow, but for now, I was only interested in sleep. Shutting the door behind me, I threw myself onto the bed and let oblivion claim me.