Chapter One - Fantasy Isekai

 He staggered in the dark. Then light. It was small at first, only peaking over the horizon, but as he walked closer – the light grew brighter and larger. It became so blinding that he had to pull up his entire right arm to shield his eyes. The light became all encompassing, washing over his entirety, and forcing him to close his eyes.

Before opening his eyes, he heard it. A stream, the leaves, and the wind. A world. Upon opening his eyes, the world was dim – night was before him. The moon overhead provided some light upon the landscape: surrounded by trees which were changing colors, and a stream which flowed down directly in front of him. His breath wisped in the air, and visible as he exhaled. Sweat dripped from his forehead and dangled from his brow. He hunched over, attempting to catch his breath – a wave of fatigue crashing over him.

How long had he been walking?

The chilly wind snapped at him, and the fatigue left him momentarily. He walked into the tree line dividing him from the stream and gathered as many loose sticks as he could. He stripped some of the bark from a tree and a few fallen leaves. All that was left was a dry place to build a fire. Conveniently, an alcove formed from a rock near the stream created a dry area in which he could rest. Perhaps erosion over the years from the stream, which may have been a river at one point, created this strange rock – regardless it was cozy once he settled in.

He set up his tepee of wood, and after several minutes of friction, made his fire. Sweat poured over his body, and the heat from the fire made him realize how cold he was. He would try to scavenge for food, but night was already in full swing, and he didn’t know the terrain. He would likely get lost or worse. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

He had many questions, but fatigue muddied most of it. He tried to focus himself on the most important: where was he? How did he get here?

Sighing heavily, he settled further into his spot, his back against the rock. He needed to sleep and conserve his energy.

After a few moments of resting his eyes, he heard a ding. Then heard it again. It must be wood cracking from the fire. He thought. Yet, he heard the ding again. Opening his eyes, he looked around, but saw nothing. Just before returning to sleep – the fire suddenly began moving. Unfolding from the flames like an illusion – a holographic console formed in the air and moved to him.

Startled by this he woke up fully, pressing his back against the rock, and cautiously looked over the console. In a low tone, the console dinged. It was completely see through, but the text was illuminated by the flames – as if taking it for its own purposes. The console asked a simple question in bold flaming text:

“What is thy name?”

The console reminded him of a particular video game he had once played. A smile cracked over his lips, then realization.

Video games? A memory flashed through his mind – sitting in the dark of a room with a screen dimly lighting it. The screen again asked: “What is thy name?”

He pressed a finger against the console, recalling an alias he once went by:

“Arn.” He said and wrote.

The flames committed the name to the etching in the console, and the console again dinged.

“Accepted. Class assignment: determined. Please review.”

“Dark Lord?” Arn questioned aloud.

Arn pressed his index finger on the text, and it opened up a large skill tree, with branching paths. He scrolled the paths for only a moment, and yet it didn’t seem to stop. The skills themselves, while their names were clear – their attributes were not. It would appear to be a gamble on which path to take, though none of them appeared to be locked paths. That was not what interested Arn, however, the class itself did. He’d never heard of a Dark Lord class before in any of the RPGs he had played before, even the MMOs. Perhaps it was unique.

Arn pressed on the Accept button on the bottom of the screen, not bothering to look at his other options, and the screen went blank for a moment. Then a text wall appeared:

“Congratulations. Please use the word ‘Console’ in your mind to summon systems. Welcome to -----.”

The last words of the text were distorted, and the console returned to flames.

“Weird.” Arn said, and then seemed to retort: “All of this is.”

He sighed and looked at the rock face. Console. Arn said in his mind.

Suddenly an object appeared in the air and unfolded. The console reformed with characteristics from the rock wall but didn’t appear to affect it physically. It must only take on the appearance of whatever I’m looking at. Arn concluded.

Arn flipped through the console – which showed only two tabs on the top. Character, and Skills. The Character tab seemed to show his current equipment, as well as his stats. Tabbing over to the Skills tab – the Skill tree from before showed in all its intimidating glory. Why is this so big? I’ve heard of RPGs with crazy skill trees, but nothing like this. He scrolled the tree again for several minutes before giving up – it appeared endless.

He scanned the top of the console: No logout. Well, didn’t think there would be. Guess I’m stuck here. Wherever here is. Not sure where else I would go though. Arn thought to himself. He had trouble remembering anything from before, but he clearly had memories of somewhere other than here. Arn’s eyes began to wane – the fatigue setting in again.

That can all wait until tomorrow. Arn thought to himself. I need to sleep.

Settling in for the night, Arn fell asleep under the alcove.

He awoke the next morning in a daze; the fire pit still smoldering. Arn pushed himself from the wall but remained sitting. Sheepishly he pulled his arms up above his head and hovered them around his ears. Then proceeded to move them up and down in a lifting motion. After a moment of attempts, Arn sighed.

Guess it’s not some kind of Virtual Reality thing. Arn thought.

Arn stood and shivered. The morning had brought with it a shroud of fog and frosted the ground – the sun just beginning to shimmer through the forest line. He brought the console out again, its shimmering see-through screen taking only little from the environment, and examined his equipment. He wore a simple black short-sleeved cotton shirt, with brown trousers, a black belt, and black boots.

Arn knelt and tied the laces of his boots tighter – their make of a less sophisticated material than he was used to. Then he looked at the passing stream.

Well, I guess I follow the stream. Should lead me to civilization.

He followed the stream down – hoping civilization was at its end, the ground crunching beneath his boots. While traveling, he let his mind wander and speculate. Arn had heard of something like this in both religion and media, of being reborn, but it was all fantasy. Or at least he thought it was. Was that what had happened to him? Had he died and been reborn? Why then was he walking and where from? Where exactly was he from? Arn couldn’t piece together the puzzle that was his memory, though he wasn’t sure if any of that mattered anymore. Be it if he was placed here on purpose by someone or something, or if he was here accidentally. He was somewhere, someplace – that was all that mattered.

The stream led further down along a dense forest, the branches of trees catching on him as he followed it. Arn encountered little wildlife, only the occasional squirrel, while traveling. It struck him as odd; this would normally be the time when wildlife prepared for winter. Only the rustling of fall leaves was left to accompany him.

The dense forest began to thin slightly before the stream led him to a clearing, some stumps laid strewn about – signs of recent deforestation. In the clearing, and to his relief, a town lay at its center. The stream flowed into a small circular moat around the town, if one could even call it a moat, and cobbled walls set just above it. The walls, however, were painted in moss and age – damaged parts were repaired hastily with boards from the surrounding woods. Several openings dotted the perimeter of wall, and Arn approached the closest.

“Who goes thar?!” A shout came.

A figure stood from a wooden chair by the entrance. They were hooded in a dark green cloak with dark green trousers and shirt, with brown boots. Though, their entire character appeared caked in mud somewhere. Arn was unsure if this was camouflage, to blend in with the moss on the walls, or if they were just dirty. A bow rested in the man’s right hand, but he didn’t draw it.

“Huh?” Arn replied, barely able to make out what was said.

“I said: Who goes thar?!” The man repeated in a gargle.

Arn’s eyes squinted at the man, attempting to distinguish the moss monster from man.

“I’m Arn. Just looking for a place to get warm.” Arn said rubbing his exposed arms.

The man approached, and a pungent smell of alcohol trotted with him. A bushy beard hid most of the man’s features, besides his blood-shot amber eyes. His eyes squinted at Arn, and then back behind him – scanning the forest and the surrounding area.

The man grunted: “You’ll want to go to ol’ Pete’s tavern down the road, near the center of the village. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” Arn said and walked through the entryway. He paused and turned back to the guard: “What’s the name of this village?”

The guard looked at Arn puzzled by the question: “Ulgarm’s Hold.”

Arn nodded and walked the muddy road into the village. There were few, if any, residents walking the road. Most appeared content in simply side-eyeing him while doing their own activities. The road wasn’t long, nor were there many houses to be observed from, and few buildings resided in the village. At the center of the village was a large two-story stone brick building, which appeared just as hastily repaired as the walls of the village, and another stone brick building with a furnace attached to its right side. Arn looked at the dangling sign in front of him: “Ol’ Pete’s Tavern.” There was, however, more to the name which appeared worn down: “and guild hall.”

Arn turned to the other building and read its sign as well: “Holde’s Forge.” Arn looked at both buildings, Pete’s tavern the more central building, with the forge building to his left. Directly behind both buildings was the wall that encircled the village.

Arn suddenly thought to himself, his eyes darting between the buildings in confusion. How am I reading the signs? Wait, I also spoke to someone. Was the system translating the local language to Arn’s own language, or was it coincidentally the same language as Arn’s? He sighed and tried not to think about it too much, though he had a hard time recollecting what his language was to begin with.

Arn approached the wooden door to Pete’s tavern and entered. It was well lit, candles were hung high on metal chandeliers, and several long tables set about on the left side of the room, with smaller tables on the right. A counter and bar sat directly ahead of the doorway on the other side of the room, with wooden stools in front of the bar. On the right side of the room was a set of stairs that led up to another level with several doors lining the wall. In the far left wall, beyond the long tables, was a crackling fireplace which breathed heat on Arn’s cold limbs. It was a welcoming sight from the previous night in the woods and away from the cold.

A young woman manned the bar, her red hair tied back into a half bun; her forehead covered by a piece of cloth that tied most of her hair back. She had a small brown apron on, tied up around her neck, and a white cotton shirt – which she had rolled up to both of her elbows. A bored expression rested on her face, her brown eyes watching herself clean the bar top.

The door closed behind him, and the woman looked away from her task. Arn locked eyes with hers, and her eyes went wide.

Taking a breath she shouted towards her right and into a backroom: “P-Pete, customer!” Her eyes remained locked on his.

Arn heard a crash from the back room, and a man’s shout – then the man exited the back room. His silver hair accompanied a trimmed beard, and a blue pair of eyes. His clothes were of similar make to the woman’s, a pair of black trousers and a brown cotton shirt. He joined the young woman behind the bar, and then nudged her away from the spot with his hip. As if reminded, the young woman manned the counter to the right and stood waiting.

The man smiled widely, old age setting around his eyes: “Welcome to ol’ Pete’s Tavern!! I’m Pete!”

“And guild hall. I’m Marilda.” The young woman interjected.

“What can I get ya? Got lots of ale, and a warm bed upstairs! Play your cards right and maybe Marilda will join you!” Pete laughed.

“You’re asking for it!” Marilda said under her breath as if cursing Pete.

Arn approached the bar, with both eagerly awaiting his answer.

“I-um, was told to come here. I don’t have any money.” Arn said in a low voice.

Pete looked over at Marilda, and the two sighed deeply.

“Gunthar probably sent you. I don’t think he even knows where his own home is, but he knows where the tavern is.” Pete said, sighing away his disappointment. Then he grunted: “Well, I wouldn’t be a good tavern master if I just tossed out everyone seeking a little warmth, especially these last few months. Come sit, I’ll get you something to drink.”

“But-”

“Sit, I insist.” Pete said walking into the back room.

Arn walked up to the bar and sat on one of the high stools. He looked over at Marilda, who hadn’t moved, and was staring daggers into him. Arn quickly looked away, his ears reddening from embarrassment.

Pete returned with a mug of ale, its container a carved and sanded wood frame, and Arn looked at it suspiciously. Arn noticed Pete’s suspicious gaze, and Arn picked up the ale. He drank it, its lukewarm liquid flowing down into his stomach. It had a cider taste, with a bit of fizz to it, and Arn happily drank down more of it.

Arn sighed satisfied with the taste: “That’s good. Thank you.”

Pete laughed: “A lad with manners, we’ll get along just fine!” Then Pete looked Arn over: “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I’m from deeper in the woods. My family has lived in seclusion, but this year has been fierce. I’m the only one left, so, here I am.” Arn said setting down the mug.

Pete glared at Arn and took a moment to respond while rubbing his chin: “I see. Well, that’s rough lad. The years have been growing darker.”

A moment of quiet passed through the room, the fire crackling behind Arn.

Arn then spoke up: “I was hoping to get some information actually. Like I said, we’ve lived in seclusion so I don’t know much about what’s going on in the world.”

“Information…” Pete smiled widely. “Well, I happen to be a bit of a gossip myself. What would you like to know?”

“Where are we exactly?” Arn questioned.

“Wow, you really did live in seclusion didn’t you lad?” Pete chuckled. “This village is called Ulgarm’s Hold. Named after the man who discovered the mines just below the mountains to our north. We reside in the Darmant Viceroy, which is ruled by the Darmant family. We’re a vassal nation of the Kingdom of Oslan. Nice thing about the Viceroy is its rules are a bit loose, helps with adventuring and questin.”

Arn nodded along with Pete’s information, taking mental notes for later.

“Say, I don’t think I got your name lad.” Pete said.

“Sorry, I’m Arn.” Arn said.

“Just Arn?” Pete asked.

“You’re just Pete?” Arn retorted. “And Maril-”

Marilda stared daggers into Arn as they locked eyes, causing Arn to move away in his chair.

“Well, fair enough, Arn.” Pete laughed. “Would you do me a favor, Arn, and stretch out your right hand?”

“Uh, sure.” Arn hesitantly moved his right hand onto the bar.

Pete took hold of it, his coarse hands like sandpaper, and flipped his hand over, looking at his wrist.

“You’ve never been scryed, Arn? You look old enough to be of marrying age.” Pete inquisitively asked.

“Scryed?” Arn asked.

“Marilda, would you scry Arn here so we can see what his class is?” Pete said, looking at Arn. “Normally the guild charges for this type of thing, but I have a good feelin about you.”

Arn’s face went pale. Aren’t Dark Lords normally evil?

“I don’t thin-.”

“It’ll only take a moment.” Pete insisted.

Marilda walked over and took his hand, her hands were coarse but softer than Pete’s – perhaps years of toil taking a life on her’s as well. She closed her eyes and said: “Identify.”

Suddenly a small green sphere appeared out of the air, glowing and humming, just above his hand. Then a sigil appeared in the sphere, a language that Arn couldn’t understand. The sigil lowered from the sphere and onto his wrist – where it disappeared. Soon after, black lines appeared on his wrists – coming from the edges and joining together. The sides, however, never met in the center, leaving a void between them.

Marilda’s eyes went wide, her breathing catching in her throat. “You’re a spellsword…”

Pete’s mouth went agape, his words barely coming out: “A spellsword, that’s extremely rare…”

“Thanks, I think.” Arn said, relieved.

“Arn, there’s only one other person in the entire world with that kind of class.” Pete said looking at Marilda.

Marilda and Pete both said at the same time: “The Hero of Oslan.”

“Hero?” Arn asked.

“Well, more like Champion. She’s the strongest warrior appointed by King Oslan to fight the Demon Empire.” Pete said.

“Demon Empire?”

Pete rubbed the back of his head, clearly confused that Arn hadn’t heard of that at least. “The Kingdom of Oslan, well most of Humanity, is at war with the Demon Empire to our South. Have been for many years. The Champion, or Hero, was appointed by the King to defeat the Demon Emperor. She’s the strongest Human, but nobody can fight an entire war alone. It’s been a stalemate for a while now.”

“I see.” Arn said.

“Well, nothing we have to worry about here. We’re a long way from all that.” Pete said.

Arn drank again from the mug, downing the last of it before asking: “Pete, is there anyway I can at least earn my keep?”

Pete smiled: “That’s been bothering you, huh? Why don’t you stay here today, help Marilda around the place, and tomorrow I’ll talk to Holde if he has any jobs for you.”

Arn nodded and grinned: “That’s more than I can ask for.”

“It’s settled then!” Pete said walking from behind the bar. “I have to step out for today too, so it’s perfect. Marilda, go easy on him.”

Arn looked at Marilda who grunted: “Fine.”

Pete grinned and walked out the front door.

Arn stood from the stool, and Marilda disappeared into the back room. She returned shortly after with a broom and pushed into Arn’s hands.

“You know how to sweep right?” Marilda asked.

“I think.” Arn laughed nervously.

Marilda sighed and got another broom. She showed him her own movements, and together they dusted the cobbled stone floor – pushing the dirt out the front door. Then they proceeded to clean and wipe the tables, and stools down. Marilda took him to the back room, which had immediately was a kitchen, and then behind it a storage room. They organized the inventory, Marilda subjecting Arn to moving several heavy barrels, and later Arn helped Marilda make a porridge for dinner. Though, it was mostly Marilda making it, and forcing Arn to learn as well.

While they were together for most of the day, they rarely spoke. Marilda only talked to Arn to give instructions, and barely looked at him. Though, he could feel her eyes on him – watching his every move.

Night fell over the village, the moon just beginning to crest out from behind the mountain and over the tree line. Arn and Marilda ate at one of the long tables in front of the fireplace, both at opposite ends of the table. Arn looked up at her between slurps of the porridge, which was surprisingly good. Marilda appeared to be around his age, around her early 20s, young and away from the world. He wondered what she was doing all the way out here.

Marilda looked up and the two locked eyes: “What?” Marilda snapped.

“Sorry, to be honest, I was just wondering what you’re doing here at Pete’s?” Arn asked trying to play off his gaze.

“What are you doing here?” Marilda snapped back, taking another scoop from the porridge in front of her.

Arn looked down at the porridge. “This is good, by the way.”

“Thank you, I guess.” Marilda sighed.

Quiet took over the room again, the wood stack displacing and cracking in the fire.

“To be honest, Marilda, I lied earlier. I’m not from around here. I think.” Arn said.

“Well, yea, both Pete and I could guess that much. But you didn’t need to lie to us.” Marilda said.

“You knew?”

“Of course, you came in without any kind of fall clothing. Even if you lived in the woods, you’d at least be wearing that.” Marilda said, and then paused. “What did you mean by think?”

“I don’t know. I just found myself in the woods. I was walking and now here I am.” Arn said.

“You mean you don’t know where you came from? Like you’re missing some of your memory?” Marilda asked.

“I think. I can’t remember anything before yesterday. I camped in the woods before coming here.”

“You what?! That’s extremely dangerous, no one camps out at night in the woods. No one goes out at night at all!” Marilda shouted.

“Sorry, I didn’t know. Is there something wrong about this area?” Arn asked.

Marilda looked at the fireplace, then back at her porridge. “I’ll let Pete explain in the morning. Just don’t go out at night. Speaking of which, when you’re done we should move this in front of the front door.”

“How will Pete get in?”

“He comes in from another door.” Marilda said.

Arn began finishing his porridge, and when the two finished they stood and placed the table up against the door.

“Pete isn’t my father, by the way.” Marilda said.

“Huh?”

“My parents were friends of his, they both died and he took me in. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Arn said.

“Well, you asked, and since we’re being honest: Pete asked me to scry you because Demon classes can’t be scryed by Humans. It was odd not to see markings.” Marilda said before walking towards the counter. “Your room is the first one up the stairs.”

“Oh, thank you.” Arn said walking up the stairs and turning. “Oh, and Marilda. Thank you for telling me.”

Marilda smiled before turning to what remained of her work at the counter: “Good night, Arn.”

Arn entered his room, which was lit by a movable single candle on a table to his left. It was a small room, with a singular table and stool, and a bed underneath a small window. A wooden nightstand sat beside the bed, from which he moved the candle to. He removed his boots and got into the bed. It was comfortable at least, but it didn’t quite feel like beds he was used to.

He spent the remainder of his night staring at the marking on his wrist, his eyes growing heavy.

Did the system cover my class with another? If so, maybe my class really is evil.