The caves underneath the Stranded Graveyard are silent, nothing but the low howl of a distant breeze and the constant drip of accumulated condensation.
These expansive tunnels, filled to the brim with pots and trinkets and bonfires, are devoid of life. It doesn't mean there used to be life. It did three hours ago, it did before I returned for the seventh time.
Now, corpses lie silent through the first mile, each and every one of them brought low by my blade. These wanderers, for how much they terrified me at the beginning, have become nothing but a chore for me. I go about this chore silently, until a clash of metal on metal rings through the caverns, the tunnels, the cliffs, the caves. It's joined by another, until that telltale noise of a blade slicing through flesh -that sound of suction followed by a squelch- echoes.
I backstep, fighting to keep my breaths even. I need to quickly readjust my helmet, but I never lower my sword.
I square off in a rather cramped part of the cave, where the walls and overlapping stalactites threaten to trip me up. Under the shadows of the unseen ceiling, a wanderer collapses with a harrowing wail, its passing's confirmed when runes leech out of its skin. The other three wanderers take a reclusive glance at their fallen comrade, groaning in null fashions.
Melina's aura flies up next to me, giving a dull glow and a small twinkling noise.
Are you alright?
I take a cautious glance down at my breastplate, where I can spot a new gash in the moldy leather.
I'm fine, it didn't break the skin.
We exchanged blows. The wanderer slashed me below my sternum; I took its arm at the socket. Wouldn't be the closest a blade has gotten to wounding me, yet it makes me shiver unintentionally. Just a bit deeper, and my guts could've come leaking out.
The three other wanderers stumble after me, drifting about like physical ghosts. I slowly back away, circumnavigating the horde. I wait, I stay patient. I keep what Melina taught me to heart, letting her words run through my mind over and over. Stay composed, be patient. Keep up your guard, wait for an opening. They're similar tips to what I learned from fencing, they hit the same beats.
But it's different this time around, it's more serious. I'm not just trying to tag my opponent; I'm trying to kill them. And they're trying to kill me. What's more, this sword is far different from the mock rapiers I'm used to. I need to slash, block, parry, feint, evade. I need to stab, I need to switch up my methods, keep my opponent on their toes. If fencing were like a proper duel, this feels like street rules. Half-strokes, murder-strokes; pommel strikes, I even need to use my hands sometimes in a form of grappling. I'm glad I know karate, I'm glad I somewhat knew the basics of swordplay. Melina has been drilling so much into me this past week, I'd feel overwhelmed if I didn't know anything about melee combat.
There.
Melina says, it sounds like she's whispering in my ear.
The wanderer to the right.
I spot it, and I change my stance accordingly, just like Melina taught me. Switch up my hands, twist my sword so my tip leans to the right. Put my weight on my right foot, lean in, don't let my legs extend further than my blade. I watch the wanderer on the right, who has drawn the closest as I circled the horde. It begins to move irregularly from the usual shuffle, it's thin arms seemingly becoming animate again. Telltale signs of an attack, but I don't panic. I don't let myself become fixated either; I keep an eye on the other two. I wait, and wait, no longer retreating or moving. I wait until that wanderer raises its sword, until that thin brass blade points toward the sky.
Deflect the right. Melina says, her aura staying close behind me. Slay the middle before circling around the left. Slay the left. Watch your footing, stay low, eyes out for a counterattack.
Just like my instructor back home, I give myself a small smile. The fear hasn't yet left me, even after a week of putting my life on the line.
There's something about this moment that makes my veins go cold. The calm before the storm, the silence before the clash. I have begun to enjoy it, even when the rest of my body disagrees.
I'm excited.
I rock forward, putting my weight on my left foot.
Rodger.
The blade falls, and it begins to feel like I'm at the starting line of a race.
Begin.
I explode forward, leaving my fears behind.
My sword meets the right's blade halfway, and I arc my handle upward. The flat of my own blade lands on the back of my helmet, covering my rear as that sword threatens to hit my nape. The attack deflects, falling away to my right and behind me. I'm not strong, at least, not yet. I still haven't been able to completely block a wanderer's attack, I've received a few gashes from my own sword for trying. I've had to rely on quick movements, and a defense that aims to redirect the energy of an opponent's blows. Melina coached me accordingly; I feel more like I'm dancing than fighting.
I allow the force of the first attack to drive my blade nearly behind me, and I even join with it, allowing me to transfer into a spin. My world becomes a blur; it takes everything I have not to fall. My sword comes about face and revolves around my helmet, like I were a Beyblade with a knife strapped to it. I strike the middle wanderer in the torso with a diagonal cut on the second revolution, cutting deep into its rancid flesh. My sword goes all the way through, and I don't stop. a flash catches my eye, and I duck out of the way, just as the left wanderer tried to take my head. I dance around to its back, before plunging my blade in with both hands, shoving violently against the pommel. I nick the spine, causing a brutal jerk that makes my forearms go numb. The tip collides with the ribs on the other side, and I feel something snap.
Your sword has broken. Leave it.
I obey, and I give the skewered wanderer a hook kick to the side of its head. My loose chest piece restricts my movements somewhat, by my foot makes it, effectively sending the new corpse into a stumbling corkscrew.
The left is dead, the middle slowly loses its grip on life. Only the right remains. It all felt slow to me, but in the time it took me to dispatch its comrades, the right wanderer was only able to turn around. I must be jacked up on adrenaline, the whole exchange only took three seconds.
I quickly pick up one of the new swords off the ground, this will be my thirteenth replacement. Not one single blade down here is in fair condition, they are all as frail as twigs. But they're still sharp; they can still kill.
The lone wanderer looks about, I can only assume it's moaning in confusion. I give it a shrug.
"Sorry."
I lunge forward, spearing the wanderer at the base of the neck before it can react. I make my new sword take the hard way out, drawing it out to the side; nearly decapitating the creature. The wanderer falls, twitches, and goes still. I take in a huge breath and fall out of my stance as I sigh.
That makes nineteen today.
I spin my new sword to flick off the blood, giving it a little flair. When I'm satisfied, I grab the base of the blade with my left hand, on the other side of the hilt to hold it, making sure not to let the sword slide. It's a bad habit I've begun to do, I threaten to slice my fingers every time I do it. But I've yet to find a scabbard, and it feels awkward carrying around the sword all the time by its handle.
This way feels more natural, grasping it right where the center of its mass lies. It feels like I'm holding a pole, which doesn't want to tip one way or the other. Keeps it balanced, and it keeps it from accidentally nicking the floor whenever I walk around.
I do a quick stretch before assessing my surroundings.
Yet another dead end, there's nowhere to go but back the way I came. Honestly, this cave feels much larger than the tutorial one. I was sure it was straightforward before, a three minute distance if I jogged it. But I've spent nearly a week traversing these tunnels, and not once have I found another way out. What's more, there are wanderers everywhere. It feels more like a dungeon or labyrinth than a tutorial, I would have gotten lost long ago if Melina weren't with me.
Almost on cue, that aura returns from inspecting the fallen wanderers, following the latest wave of runes that aim to leech under my skin.
Shall we head back?
I nod.
Yeah, I think I'd like to see the sun again.
With that, my "training" for today comes to an end.
I'm lost in my thoughts as we retrace our steps; I barely notice the slain wanderers that I step over. I wince from a few new cuts, and a certain deep gash on my exposed leg hurts to the point I can barely manage it. It's bleeding a lot, but I know it's not serious, at least in my case. This past week, I've been using the breaches -the game called them Sites of Grace- to heal myself; any cut or broken bone or deep bruise simply disappears when I brush my hands into that golden flame. It more or less follows the rules of the game, and I'm glad it hasn't really changed.
But I'm getting worried.
The crimson flasks and cerulean flasks are nowhere to be seen.
They were healing and replenishing mechanics in the game, and a finite resource that I remember relying on way too much. I asked Melina about them; she never heard of such flasks.
That worries me.
Melina was able to remove more layers of the spell three days back, and I got another glimpse of this world's beginning and end. I saw the man with the white mask, he acted more or less the same in the game. Turns out his name is literally Varré; it's not an alias or calling like I thought. But something else caught my eye in the memory, of a giant armored man riding atop an equally giant horse. He was patrolling near the church, at the entrance of the forest that's many times smaller than this world's version. My memory ends when I left Varré behind, and I snuck up to that armored giant, ready to try and fight it. I saw no such thing when I first got here, the giant on his horse is missing.
That also worries me.
My friend was with me at that time, and he was spouting spoilers into my ear, much to past Me's despair. He spoke of a dragon living at a nearby lake, of invaders that are colored red, and a warning not to approach the gate that goes to Stormhill. I don't know about the invaders, and I only know the one gate near where I was imprisoned. But a dragon, a dragon lives nearby.
That worries me quite a bit.
I can heal by entering a breach, I have a comrade who cannot be killed by blades or arrows. I have improved from that sniveling child rotting in the cellar only days ago. But I've just started on this path, I can barely fight. My only opponents have been half-dead already. From what I've seen, and what I can remember, death lies just outside this cave. I've done nothing but train these last seven days, practicing with a sword and learning to drown out the pain. I've improved, but I feel that I'll never be ready.
That worries me the most.
I'm worried how used I've gotten to killing, worried how I've started to like the moments of a fight. Thinking about who I was just over ten days ago, playing video games in my room. I've improved since then. But I feel I have fallen since then as well. I've been through so much in such a short amount of time. This world has changed from the game, and it has changed me… That worries me…
I think I may go insane before I even reach the first boss.
When we exited from the caves, I get to a sudden wall of stone. The entrance to the Stranded Graveyard lies directly above, and with it, a path up to the hill, where the breach Melina and I have used lies. When I first tried getting down, I slowly edged my way. My first time up, it took half an hour. Now, I toss my sword up above, onto a ledge that lies halfway up the wall. I climb up, wincing whenever I put weight on my wounded leg. I move like a cockroach, almost half mindlessly reaching for crevices and hooks in the stone that I know are there.
When I reach the ledge, I toss my blade again, before climbing again. I've already found all the good footholds, the best paths to take. While I was worried about injuring myself too far to be able to climb at first, such a fear has since left me. The wanderers, with what little strength they have, can't put enough weight into their blows. To put it frank, they don't do a whole lot of damage. The gash on my leg is probably the worst injury I have sustained, and that's because I ran into an outstretched sword, making my own momentum partly at fault. As long as I don't get struck in the gut or neck, I feel like I can outlast any blow I receive down here.
My hands reach the final lip, and I crawl over onto relatively flat ground.
Hey Melina?
I ask, reaching the Stranded Graveyard from the hole that dumps down into the caves.
Yes?
I take the path up, giving a passing glance at the small golden tree that dwells down here. Still pearl smooth, though it pales in comparison to the big one outside.
What do you make of me?
She stays silent, so I reiterate.
As you know, I've been thinking. I'm glad that you have stuck with me these past few days, and I'm grateful. And, I know that I'm what you have to work with, we're stuck together, more or less.
Yes.
But you know that I come from another world, and I've seen this whole world before, though I remember little about it. So, what do you make of me? What am I to you?
I enter a cylindrical room, where a platform takes me up to the surface. The rush that makes my ears pop doesn't frighten me nearly as much as the first time.
That… is difficult to answer.
The platform slows, and I hop off before it comes to a halt. The light of an afternoon sun warms me, I slip off my helmet to expose my sweat slicked hair. Melina's aura follows me to the breach on the hill, her meager glow becomes brighter as we draw closer.
Are you an outer god? Are you--chosen by the Greater Will? I know not."
The light grows until it takes shape and color, and Melina herself walks alongside me. Her voice in my head shifts to a real voice that's carried by the wind mid-sentence, becoming filled with innuendos and stressed words, pauses and implied emphasis. Her voice still has that sense of monotone mystery to it, and her eyes give no indication of her thoughts. But it's a step above a voice in my head, I can't help but loosen up a bit.
"I cannot read your mind, only your thoughts. I hear what you think about, what you remember, but I cannot see it." She says.
She takes a kneeling seat by the breach, where she makes herself comfortable. I plop down on the other side, placing my sword and helmet in the grass beside me. I wrestle to take my chestpiece off, feeling a wave of relief when the trapped heat about my torso is carried away in the breeze.
"So, it's like reading a book?" I ask.
She nods.
"It is similar. I will only see what you write, I cannot know why you write it, or what made you want to."
Weird.
It is.
I brush my hands across the breach, feeling a chill travel through me. The pain and fatigue simply wash away, as if it never existed. Bruises phase out, aches grow warm and fuzzy. That gash seals up like being sliced in reverse; even the blood that stained my calf disappears. Feels like cheating, and I tend to wait to heal. I like the feeling of cooling off in the breeze.
"And how can you read my thoughts anyway? Why can't I hear yours?"
Melina shakes her head.
"I do not understand it myself; it may be that in dwelling in your light, I am dwelling in your mind."
She gestures toward me in a relaxed movement.
"I can see the runes that move about in every living thing, I could tell you were special because of the rune that rests within you. When I touched your rune, I could hear your thoughts, as if they were my own."
I rub the area where the gash used to be; I never could shrug off the novelty of something like magic existing. The laws of physics and nature was thrown out the window right when I awoke deep in the Stranded Graveyard, and I have yet to get used to that fact. On the subject of this, "Greater Will"; I have yet to accept that either. I believe in only one God, and that's enough for me. For now, I keep the idea of this World's Deity and the "Outer Gods" as separate entities, usurpers that might be physical, might not. They may be something celestial, they could just be powerful people that have become idolized over time.
I try not to dwell on it.
Once the sun begins to touch the horizon, and the clouds become colored in the hues of fire, I stand up. The breach removes pain, and anything associated with it. Fatigue, sickness, disorders, or afflictions. All are removed, but I still get hungry, and I still get thirsty. With my wandering thoughts satisfied, and my "chores" already done for today, there's only one thing on my mind now. Melina is slower to rise; but it's more her personality than hesitation or aversion. She follows my gaze; I'm looking down at that expansive forest.
It's many times larger than its in-game counterpart, as is with the rest of the land. It's nearly a twenty minute hike to pass all the way through it, and it takes longer to circle around it. I can't see that village where the knight and his soldiers reside from here; good riddance. While I don't like going in those woods, it's the only place to find food in abundance. In the few times I ventured there, there haven't been any soldiers patrolling. The forest is silent, save the animals. Plenty of berries, and plenty of game if I could somehow catch them. I take in a deep breath.
"Well, shall we go forage?"
Melina nods.
"Yes, we shall."
Something catches my eye, and I cast my view northward. I can see the large castle atop an expansive plateau, it's at a distance that the atmosphere begins to make it look hazy. It's never changed, so it's not what I'm looking at. It's what grows over it, and what draws closer at a noticeable rate. dark grey clouds. There's a storm coming, an ominous one. With it, the winds change. They grow docile, they diminish. I pick up my sword, grabbing it in the way of my bad habit. Melina eyes the dark clouds with me, her hands disappearing into the dark cloak she always wears.
"A storm approaches. Let us move with haste, while the winds are calm."
I nod, and we set off.