Chapter 2: 1. New Game

[The 14th day of Diligence, 996AP]

The radiant morning sun illuminates the snowy peak of the Crescent Mountains. The lonely mountain range—named after its arched shape—sits in the midst of a vast plain that stretches as far as the eye can see. A curious passerby may wonder how such a monumental work of nature could stand so boldly in the humble, sparsely populated grasslands of Renascentia. The more astute observer, however, will perceive that what is far more intriguing is not the circumstance that surrounds this mysterious mountain range—but rather what lies within.

The circular mountain barrier encompasses a dense and quiet forest. Many ignorant travelers have passed by this forest on its western side where the mountain slopes both end and begin, offering a narrow strip of flat land barely wide enough for a grown man to comfortably walk through; but none have accepted the invitation.

On the eastern end of the forest—where stands the highest peak of the Crescent Mountains—there flows a small but steady stream down the rocky slopes. No one has ever been able to locate the source of this water, but rumor has it that it originates from the very peak of the snowy cliffs. The stream empties itself into a small lake near the foot of the mountain, continually refreshed by its constant supply.

Around this lake is situated the tiny village of Seelenfeld.

Although it is morning, the inhabitants of Seelenfeld have not yet been met with sunlight; it is usually not until early afternoon that the sun appears over the mountain peak. But the sky is unusually cloudy today anyway, so only a fool would hope of seeing sunlight anytime soon.

“THUNK!”

A tree falls nearby in the woods.

“Whew,” a boy says as he drops his axe to the ground. “I sure hope the sun comes up soon.”

The boy sits on the stump of the tree he felled to take a rest.

“That was way harder than I thought it would be,” he mutters to himself. “Well, it’s better than working in the mines, that’s for sure.”

Mattias Richter had just recently turned sixteen and, as it was tradition in Seelenfeld, he picked up a profession to carry him through to adulthood.

He has a head full of dark brown hair and dark brown eyes which complements his ruddy complexion. He isn’t necessarily great-looking, but not ugly either. Under the right light he thinks he looks pretty good but, at other times, not so much. It really depends on who you’d ask.

“Two plus ten, that’s twelve, times fifty…”

The boy smirks. A bead of sweat trickles down to the corner of his lip as his smirk turns into a wide-grinned smile.

A few minutes later, the boy slowly makes his way into the outskirts of Seelenfeld, a log about his size in length in tow. It could be that he is exhausted from a week of hard labor, or maybe he feels weak because he didn’t eat anything since he was so eager to start the day. Or perhaps it’s both. But whatever it is, the boy feels dizzy and his world is fading away.

The boy faints.

“Mattias? …Mats!”

***

Mattias Richter woke up in a dark and empty dungeon cell.

Ugh… That dream again.

Mattias picked up the sharp rock that lay next to his head on the ground and made a mark on the wall. Six lines in total, each line signifying the passing of a day. In truth, it was impossible for him to know exactly how many days had passed since he was placed in this cell; he had no access to sunlight, and his mealtimes were irregular.

The last thing he remembered was waking up in the middle of a snowstorm then being carried into a large prison courtyard on the side of a snowy mountain. In fact, that’s the only thing he remembered.

Mattias looked out of his cramped dungeon cell. The iron gate that made his enclosure was rusty and old. The stone wall that stood on the opposite side of his cell, which ran parallel to the long and narrow hallway, flickered with the reflection of the light that was emanating from a torch at the end of the hallway.

Mattias sat up and looked down at his body. His hands and arms were covered in tiny splotches of dried blood. He was wearing nothing but a thin white tunic, and his bare legs were touching the hard concrete floor.

He could see trace amounts of frost surrounding the cracks in the floor and walls. The dungeon seemed to be underground, or at least some place where sun had never shined. By all means, Mattias knew the cell he was in was cold. But he didn’t feel cold. Actually, Mattias Richter rarely ever felt cold.

Mattias heard the soft echo of a tiny creak of a door from the end of the hallway. Suddenly, he felt a sharp chill run down his spine, a freezing cold that permeated his entire body, leaving him paralyzed.

Stunned, Mattias helplessly stared at the wall that stood across from the iron gate of his dungeon cell. The silhouette of a man became more and more defined as the approaching footsteps got louder.

In front of Mattias stood a stout and burly man who was equipped with a suit of thickly padded blue armor. He wore an overcoat made of various animal furs, and his boots were large and heavy. His eyes were a gentle light green, and his leather helmet was strapped so tight that it made his already pudgy cheeks face look even chubbier.

“Oh, it’s you, Asmund,” Mattias said.

“I told you not to call me that!” The prison guard whispered. “You’re supposed to call me ‘sir’ and nothing else! We’ll both get in big trouble!”

“It’s not my fault that you told me your name,” Mattias said as the guard slid a tray of bread and a cup of water under the cell gate. “Asmund Vordur, seeking a position of prestige and honor—”

Mattias took a big bite out of the tiny loaf of bread, and gulped down his cup of water. “Somehow got a job as the captain of the guard at Lumima Prison through his brother’s influence—”

Mattias took another bite and gulped without chewing. “But, feeling he’s in over his head and undeserving of his position—”

Mattias ate the last piece of bread, remembering to chew this time. “Decided to set out as an adventurer in order to make a name for himself on his own.”

The guard let out a sigh as he revealed two more loaves of bread from under his padded armor. He handed them through the iron gates to the prisoner.

“But why are you still here?” Mattias asked as he began his eat his second course.

“I don’t understand how you can manage to joke around when you’ve been stuck down here for almost a week!” the guard said. “Listen, Mattias… I’ve been trying to help you, but none of it adds up.”

“I told you,” Mattias said with a mouth full of bread. He took his time to chew and swallow. “I don’t remember how I got there. All I know is that I’m from the village of Seelenfeld in the Crescent Mountains of Renascentia, and my name is Mattias Richter. I think.”

“How does a kid end up hundreds of miles away from home, lying unconscious and naked in the middle of a snowstorm?” the guard said. Mattias continued to eat. “I asked someone know in the mainland. Seelenfeld doesn’t exist!” Mattias stopped chewing. “They say the Crescent Mountains are real, but it’s an uninhabitable tundra. There’s no forest—it’s all covered in snow!”

Mattias swallowed what remained of his last piece of bread.

“I… I don’t know…” Mattias said. “I’m sorry… I’m telling the truth.”

“Look, Mattias. I can tell you aren’t a bad person. But the warden doesn’t think so. Not after what you did to the guards—”

“I told you, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mattias said.

The guard let out another sigh. “Word got out, and King Tendra is here with two judges from the capital. He wants to see you.”

“What?” Mattias asked. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“I don’t know, but I suggest you stay quiet and only talk when spoken to. The king is known to have a bad temper.” The guard pulled out a long braided rope from his side. “I’m sorry, Mattias, but I’m gonna have to ask you to stick out your arms.”

Mattias slowly stood up and stuck his arms through an opening between the iron bars. The guard gently but firmly bound the prisoner’s wrists with the rope, extending the knot up to his elbows. At the end of the knot was the remainder of the rope, which the guard held in his hands.

“Sorry if it’s uncomfortable,” the guard said. “This is how we normally do it.” The guard opened the iron gate and led the prisoner out. “Remember, don’t speak unless spoken to.”

The guard led the prisoner through the dark and narrow hallway. The only thing they could hear was the sound of their quiet footsteps. At the end of the hallway was a flickering torch that was mounted on a metal bracket attached to the granite wall.

As the two approached the end of the hallway, Mattias realized that it led to a steep ascending staircase. He looked up and saw a tiny glimmer of light at the top of the staircase, emanating from a crack above what looked like a wooden door.

Suddenly, Mattias felt another painfully sharp chill run down his spine. Mattias abruptly stopped walking, paralyzed and hunched over in silence.

“Are you OK?” The guard said, looking concerned.

Mattias took a moment to breathe. “Yes, I’m fine.”

The guard waited a few seconds. “OK, no talking from this point on.”

The two made their way up the steep and narrow staircase. Mattias felt weak at first—he could not remember the last time he had exerted his muscles—but the blood gradually began to pump back into his limbs and he began to feel much stronger. They quickly reached the top of the staircase.

The guard flung open the wooden door, and Mattias was blinded by the morning light. A cool gust of frosty air greeted Mattias’s face as his eyes began to adjust to the light.

Mattias saw that there stood before him the figures of three large men. The largest man, standing almost a head above the others, wore a uniform similar to the guard’s, but he had no helmet. He had a mane of free-flowing golden hair that looked even brighter due to the sunlight that was shining behind him.

The man who stood in the middle of the pack was middle-aged with head full of medium-length grey hair and a full grey beard. He had a grizzly look to him but an overall noble and refined demeanor. He wore a suit of shiny and intricate silver armor that appeared to be made up of thousands upon thousands of tiny, interlocking scales, each reflecting a different angle of light.

Mattias again felt a paralyzing chill—but this time it didn’t run down his spine—no, this time it hit him like an avalanche with full-blown ferocity.

Mattias shifted his eyes slightly to the right and saw the last man. He also wore a suit of armor that was similar in style to that of the man who stood beside him, but his dark-blue armor looked as if—instead of reflecting light—it was absorbing it. He was wearing a helmet that was made of the same material, and it covered his entire head except for two holes where his eyes were.

The eyes were cold, dark, and blue. They held a piercing gaze—a look not meant to examine something for what it is on the surface, but meant to penetrate deep into the soul—to understand one’s history, and determine one’s legacy.

“Vordur!” The tall golden-haired man said with a commanding voice. “Are you stupid? Look at the ground, it’s all snow! Did you think the boy would last even one minute with no shoes?”

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“M—my apologies, warden,” the guard said as he fumbled to take off his overcoat. On his belt holster hung a pair of fur boots. The guard covered Mattias’s shoulders with his oversized coat, which was long enough to reach Mattias’s ankles.

“Vordur!” the warden said again. “These are our honored guests from the capital! Escort them and the prisoner outside the prison gate. King Tendra is waiting there with his men.”

“Yes, sir!” the guard replied as the warden began to walk away. The guard took off the boots that hung on his holster and knelt down to place them on Mattias’s feet.

Mattias, no longer frozen, turned his head to the man in the dark-blue suit of armor. The man had his head turned toward his companion and gave him a slight nod. Mattias looked over to the man wearing the silver armor.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” the man said, a kind smile appearing beneath his grey beard.

“Sirs,” the guard said as he stood up. “Please, right this way.” He gestured toward the main prison gate.

Mattias’s eyes were now fully acclimated to the sunlight. He saw that before him was a large field of snow that enclosed by tall stone walls. To his left stood a large rocky building whose architecture molded into the snowy mountain slopes in which it was built. And far on his right there was an archway within the tall prison walls, with iron gates that were left open.

The two armored men began to walk toward the prison gate, and the guard quickly followed with Mattias’s bound-up arms in hand. Mattias’s feet sunk into the thin layer of fresh and crunchy snow with every step.

Walking several feet behind the two armored men, Mattias was able to get a better look at them. The silver-armored man had broad shoulders and it looked like he had an overall muscular physique underneath his suit of armor. Besides his armor, the man had nothing else on his body other than a broadsword that was fastened to his left side.

The blue-armored man was a bit taller, but with a narrower build. He walked with long, flowing steps, and he had fastened on his back a spear with a long and curvy blue blade that resembled a serpent’s tongue. On his left arm he was wielding a round, red metal shield with an intricate yellow emblem engraved at its center.

Mattias noticed that they were close approaching the prison gates. He took in a breath of the cool, fresh air and turned his head around to look at the wooden door he walked out of just minutes ago. He had been stuck in the dungeon for days, and he was fast asleep not even thirty minutes prior. How quickly can life change in a moment’s notice? The footprints in the snow—these two sets of footprints—are what separated him from the darkness of captivity.

Wait, why are there only two sets of footprints?

“Frederick!” shouted a deep, cheerful voice. “What are you doing here?”

Mattias turned back around to see the silver-armored man raising his left arm. “Tendra, old friend!” the silver-armored man said. “Just had some business with Sten, but then he told me you were here!”

Mattias looked past the silver-armored man to see a giant of a man. He was at least two heads taller than the silver-armored man and possessed a brawny physique. He was wearing a large wolfskin coat, and his long, dark hair burned red in the light of the morning sun. Behind him stood a host of about a hundred soldiers wearing similar coats and equipped with various weapons.

“Thought I should greet you,” the silver-armored man said. “Now that you’ve become king of the snowlands.”

“Gahahaha!” the king laughed. “You’re about two decades too late. Gahahaha! I heard you’re a lap-dog for the government now! You know, you’re free to quit anytime and become my lap-dog instead! Gahahaha!” The army that stood behind the king roared in laughter. “You’re strong enough to be my number two! Even though you’ve never been able to beat me!”

The silver-armored man smiled back with kind and gentle eyes.

“Well,” the king said. “I guess you would have better things to go back to. Anyway,” the king said as he walked past the silver-armored man. He stopped in front of Mattias.

Up this close, Mattias felt like he wasn’t even half the size of this giant king. The guard—who was holding onto the rope that bound Mattias’s arms—bowed, handed the rope to the king, and moved several steps back.

“Let’s see here,” the king said as he stooped down to stare Mattias straight in the eyes, faces just inches apart. “So this is the Red-Eyed Demon… They don’t look red to me. What is your name?”

Mattias was too stunned to answer.
“I said, what is your name, boy!” the king yelled.

“M—Mattias.”

The king stood up straight and began to walk toward his army, pulling Mattias along.

“Do you wish to join my army?” the king said as they approached the large group of men who were now stepping aside to make room for their king. They made their way through the host of brutish men.

The king stopped. Mattias saw before him a clear and open sky. He was standing in front of a snowy slope that extended down several hundred feet. At the bottom of the hill was a field covered with snow that seemed to extend for miles. Mattias saw that someone was standing there, but it was too far away for him to make out the details.

“Think about this, child,” the king said. He lifted his left hand, his palm faced up, and held it in front of Mattias’s face. “What is the only thing a true king respects?”

“Honor,” Mattias said. He did not think about it; the answer just slipped out of his mouth.

“Gahahaha!” the king roared. “Wrong!”

A small ball of concentrated energy formed above the king’s hand, in front of Mattias’s eyes.

“The only thing a true king respects—” the king said, “the only thing this world respects… is power!”

In the blink of an eye, the ball of energy ignited into a towering inferno—a large, spiraling, pillar of flame that evaporated all the moisture on Mattias’s face. Then almost instantly, the pillar of fire collapsed into a tiny flame like that of a candle, but it burned bright like the sun and did not flicker.

The king took the end of the rope that bound Mattias’s arms and placed it over the scorching flame. The rope turned black and disintegrated, freeing up Mattias’s hands and arms.

“With power, you’re free to do anything you’d like,” the king said. “If you win, you’re free to join my army or do whatever you want to do. And If you lose, well, let’s just say you won’t be going back to the dungeon.”

All of a sudden, Mattias felt a forceful push on his back which launched him forward into the air above the long snowy slope that lay below him. Simultaneously—no, before that, even just a split second before—he had felt a glimmer of a warm embrace.

Before he knew it, Mattias was sliding head-first down the snowy slope, riding on top of a round, red metal shield that was equipped to his left arm. Mattias tried with all his might to keep his body steady as not to lose control down the far ascent. He was blinded by the millions of tiny pieces of fresh powder that showered his face.

Upon reaching the bottom of the slope, Mattias hit a small bump in the snow which shot him a couple feet into the air. He landed hard and tumbled in the snow. Mattias quickly jumped to his knees and wiped the snow off his face.

Several yards ahead of him, there stood a young man, about the same age as Mattias, who was dressed in similar fur clothing as the men above. The only difference was that his coat did not have sleeves, which left his muscular arms bare for all to see. In each hand he was carrying a double bladed battleaxe, both of which looked comically large for his size.

“Father!” the young man shouted, looking up the snowy slope. “Remember our promise!”

The young man raised his right arm with battleaxe in hand, let out a loud grunt, and threw the axe at Mattias. The double bladed battleaxe—which had blades that were larger than Mattias’s head—whirled inches past his shoulder.

“W—w—wait!” Mattias stammered as he got up from his knees. “I don’t want to fight!”

Already another battleaxe was headed straight toward Mattias’s face. Mattias raised up his left arm with shield in hand and held onto his left wrist with his right hand. He positioned it in front of his face and braced for impact.

Mattias got knocked back several feet by the blow. Lying face-up in the snow, Mattias saw that he had successfully deflected the incoming projectile, which had flown into the air and landed several yards away.

Mattias sat up to see that the young man was holding his arms straight in front of his body. Suddenly, the two battleaxes that he had thrown flew back into his hands.

The young man let out another grunt as he hurled an axe at Mattias. Mattias raised his arm to block like before, but this time the axe hit him at a slightly different angle. He was able to deflect the shot, but he got knocked back, twisting in the air and landing on his face, while his shield got knocked out of his arm and went flying many yards behind him.

Mattias got up on his knees and saw that the young man had a bloodthirsty grin on his face. The young man had a chiseled jaw and sharp cheek bones. His head was full of short and thick black hair, and his eyebrows looked like two angry caterpillars who lost their way home. Mattias could hear the barbaric cheering of the army of men that stood atop the slope.

I guess this is the end.

The young man widened his stance and raised his arms above his head, grabbing the large battleaxe with both hands.

[Do you wish to live?]

…What?

The young man stretched his body back as far as it could go, and hurled the axe with all his might.

[Do you wish to live?]

“…Yes!”

Mattias Richter stared down the blade of the large double-edged battleaxe that was whirling straight toward his eyes. With each rotation of the axe, Mattias saw how the light of the sun shifted back and forth as it reflected off the wet, polished blade.

Beyond that, Mattias saw the young man, now hunched over but with his head up, staring down his target. Mattias didn’t notice this before, but the young man had dark but calm eyes. It is true that he had a wild appearance overall, but there was a subtle kindness to his countenance. Perhaps they could have been friends had the circumstances been different.

But even farther beyond that—deep within the dark and calm reflection of the young man’s eyes—through the glistening, frosty air, past the twirling battleaxe, Mattias Richter saw himself kneeling on the snowy ground, his eyes burning a crimson red.

***

 

 

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