Chapter 3: Compass and Journal

The inn in Nightwood was called the Bellflower Bar. It was a cozy little place, most known for its flower ale that was as sweet as nectar. By now, you probably realized this village had a thing for flowers. I don't blame them though, for the entire place smelled like a princess's bedroom. It was nice.

I took a seat in a quiet corner of the room, and when the waitress asked me, I ordered nothing. In the world of The Ancient Blades, that was not taboo. Quite the opposite. In this world, places like bars were the main hub for adventurers to gather and look at the Town Board that contained bounties and quests to fulfill. Villages had no place for things like a heroes' guild. You just grabbed the paper with whatever mission you liked, administered yourself at the barkeeper, then went out adventuring.

Still, I was far from accepting any of those quests. They usually involved lots of fighting that, to be realistic, was quite above what I could produce right now.

But that's not why I was there. I had to figure out how to open my Journal and how to access my stats.

My first idea was to close my eyes and concentrate. Then, when I felt ready, say "Journal", and watch the magic happen.

However, nothing happened.

"You there!" said someone with a deep voice.

I raised my head to see a tall man sitting close by. He was bald and had a long goatee. He looked old, the grey hair creeping into his brown facial hair a clear indication of such.

"Uh, can I help you?"

"You want to become an adventurer, right?" asked the old man.

"Well, I guess you could say so. Not like I have many choices."

The man pulled his chair closer to me, then took out something round from his pocket. "Take it!"

"Excuse me?"

"Take it! This is an Adventurer's Compass! It should help you find whatever you are looking for."

It was a tiny, grey item with a red arrow inside. I took the compass from the man's hand, and at that moment, a white, kite-shaped shape appeared next to the points on the compass. It looked unreal, almost like part of a UI. As I moved the compass, it remained pointing in the same direction.

"This looks exactly like the quest marker from Ancient Blades, which means... this thing is showing me the way to the missing girl!"

I looked at the old man with an excited smile.

"Thank you! But why did you give me this? Won't you need it?"

"Haha!" he laughed, "It's been long since I was an adventurer! I don't need that compass anymore. Besides, I'm glad to help out a rookie in any way I can!"

If this would have happened in my previous life, I would have given back the compass out of fear of this being a scam. However, the man looked genuine. He was not going to scam me. Which was a relief, but also a sad realization of what kinds of people I have met in my previous life.

"I still have some questions, especially about Journals, Mister... uh..."

I have not asked for his name.

"Sir, what may I call you?"

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The old man did not answer me. Instead, he just kept staring, much like the warriors in the forest.

"I see. These people were NPCs in the game. They behave in a certain way, answer only what they have voice lines for, and do not deviate from their predetermined fate. However, because they seem to respond so well to what they can respond to, I guess it's not about the number of voice lines anymore, but what they can and cannot answer."

This made things a bit trickier. I had to use a certain strategy to get what I want from him.

"I used to be an adventurer like you, until I took an arrow in the knee!" said the old man, returning to his predetermined voice lines.

If I wanted him to answer my questions, I had to act like him. To understand the NPC, you must become one.

"My name is Axel!" I said, thinking up some random name, "What is your name?"

No answer.

"I don't have a Journal. Do you have a Journal?"

The old man's eyes glittered back to life. "Ah, sorry! I forgot to give you my journal."

He handed me a brown leather book, no bigger than my hand. Opening it revealed blank pages upon pages. The whole thing was empty.

"Don't be surprised," spoke the man, "An Adventurer's Journal is a strange thing. It only shows to whoever bears it, but to him shows all he has and all he needs to know. It might take some time for the Journal to adjust to its new bearer."

Just like that, the man finished up what he had to say and returned to drinking his ale.

This was probably all I could get out of him. I had everything I needed, but still, a lingering dread filled my heart. It was not what you would feel watching a horror movie or seeing a shadow at night.

This was something existential.

This man, whom I have never spoken to before, I will probably never speak to again. And it's not like he won't continue living his days, drinking his ales, and speaking to his pals once I leave to never see him again.

But rather his time of sentience, of breaking that cycle predetermined for him, that fate, was over, and all that was left for him was the same monotone repetition of events.

He will never break free from that cycle again. He will never form new words, new thoughts, or even new memories after I stopped viewing him. And it is strange, for I know I am not the god of this universe, but the ability to make people prove themselves to be alive is something both incredible and also anxiety-inducing.

I open my mouth to talk to him again, but quickly stop myself. There would be nothing for him to say. All I would do is poke an impenetrable wall.

So I left, following the compass.

 

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