Dreamers of the Day - Book One - Part One - The Swordsman Final

"Pour another for the little fellow!" An arm like a baseball bat made of sausage came down across Kirito's shoulders, threatening to knock him off his feet, and sending the contents of his mug sloshing across the ground. "He's almost out!" Jacques, the farmer, ruddy faced and built like a brick house, proclaimed as if it was an unforgivable offense. "Another!"

"Actually, I think I'm fine." Kirito offered urgently. "I've had more than enough, actually!" In fact, most of the bitter stout, besides a small sip taken for politeness sake, had been lost to jovial ribbing of the village denizens.

"Come now, young man, beer is a healthful drink." Jacques grunted, receiving approving cheers from his fellow village men, "Put some meat on those skin and bones!"

"No, really! I'm just naturally skinny!" He kept his mug away from the village girl who kept trying to refill it. Kazuto wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected when he'd returned to Rere. Definitely not this.

Giving Verdelle the sulfate minerals had only been the beginning of a lengthy quest that had proceeded well into the next day. The medicine woman could do nothing with the minerals herself, the secret to making the drugs she needed were known only to the dwarves who lived on Orignia's western edge. Remnants of the great clans that had mined the Foundation.

It would have taken longer, but the moment the minerals had fallen into Verdelle's hands, it was like something had awoken within the healer. Her subdued features had come alive with determination, and she had stormed from her home to make urgent arrangements. Half the village had been woken as she'd hammered at doors, making demands, and calling in favors. It seemed like everyone owed Verdelle something. Everyone had been under her care at some ones who didn't remember their gratitude were cowed by the ones that did, and the quiet resolve of the woman who had vowed to save them.

Someone was found to watch Gervaise, Verdelle had given exacting instructions on how to care for her ailing daughter. Horses had been summoned, a pair of the village's precious few draft animals, for time was of the essence. They'd set out before dawn, as soon as the ceiling stars had begun to fade.

Kirito had never quite gotten the hang of horses in SAO. His gamer sensibilities dictated that a mount should basically behave like a motorcycle on four legs. But Aincrad's horses had always had minds of their own, and that had only grown more true since Kayaba had sprung his trap.

Draft horses were normally large of body, and mild of temper, bred for strength rather than speed, but Kirito couldn't have told it by the way the healer had spurred them on. The young swordsman had not so much ridden, as clung on for dear life as the beast beneath him was driven as swiftly as it could sustain. They'd made good time, arriving in the foothills of the Dwarvish settlement of Neuil a little after noon.

By then, Kirito was already certain that Orignia had grown far larger than it had ever been in the Beta Test. Barring monster encounters, crossing the entire floor should have been a matter of only a few hours on foot, now it seemed more like a full day, at least. Still, he was surprised by Neuil when he witnessed it for himself.

The Hills of Orignia were dotted with small outposts where the dwarves had settled after being driven from their mines by the minions of the Kobold Lord. Neuil was one such place, but while it was no Town of Beginnings, the collection of squat stone walled and brass domed structures that sprouted from the terraced hillside like mushroom caps, still must have represented a population of one or two thousand, at least. And this was just ground level, who was to say what was dug underneath.

Guards had stopped them, faceless dwarves in their bulky protective equipment, wielding halberds and hand-cannons, stout barrels attached to long staffs. Verdelle had said something to them, it was incomprehensible to Kirito, but they had parted ways and been admitted past the main gates and into the cobbled town square where the horses were tied and allowed to rest while Kirito followed the healer deeper into Neuil's winding streets, dodging low signs and street lamps all the while.

Neuil had been built from the bones of the very mine's the dwarves had once tunneled, cut and fashioned so expertly that the stones locked together like the pieces of an enormous puzzle without even need for mortar. Verdelle explained the impressive architectural achievement while they had made their way past staring dwarves, confused by humans in their midst, to a door deep within the bowels of a winding alley.

The Dwarf that opened the door had squinted long and hard at Verdelle, so long and hard that Kirito worried this was all for nothing, then his eyes had gone wide, he'd taken the medicine woman in an embrace and then taken them inside where the two humans had been forced to stoop beneath the low ceiling.

He and Verdel had conversed heatedly in the incomprehensible language. Not too long ago, Kazuto would have assumed it was some gibberish generated by Cardinal and simply spouted by two NPCs under the system's control, but listening closely, it didn't sound random. He heard 'Kirito' spoken several times, the Dwarf sparring him several furtive glances before Verdelle had shown him what she'd brought.

The dull yellow stones might as well have been gold for the way the dwarf had lit up. The conversation had heated up, some sort of deal was struck, and after the dwarf had hurried away, Verdelle had come to sit beside Kirito on a low sofa.

The deal she'd negotiated wasn't too different from the one Coper had made for their weapons. The medicine would be made, and in exchange, the dwarf would keep the excess material as payment. Kirito had wondered how long that would take. Verdelle had insisted by the end of the day. When Kirito had started to have doubts, she'd elaborated.

"I have known Kifen since I was just a girl." Verdelle had explained. "He is the best pharmacist in Orignia. That's why I learned the dwarven tongue. Kifen was too proud to learn Anicean, so the only way to learn from him was to learn his language."

"All that to become a healer?" Kirito has asked, "Sounds like a lot of work."

"It was." Verdelle smiled tiredly. "I can still remember falling asleep at my desk, fingers stained with ink during my studies. Dissecting pigs to understand the workings of the living body. All of it, hard rewarding work."

"Hmmm." Kirito had closed his eyes and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"What is it?"

"You respect him enough to learn his language. But after all those years living with humans, he never returned the favor?"

"I learn . . ." A thickly accented voice pronounced from the doorway. The dwarf, Kifen, emerged carrying a small wooden box in this large weathered hands. "I learn . . . when I ready." He asserted. "In my own time."

"It's done then?" Verdelle had stood up, wincing as she bumped her head. She repeated her question in dwarvish and received an answer in the same. Kifen had open the box, showing the small glass vials full of a faintly yellow serum.

"We must return quickly now, Kirito." Verdelle insisted as the dwarf handed him the box.

Small bright eyes shown like diamonds from deep within ageless eyelids. "You . . . boy . . . take of this, and take care of your . . ." Kifen tapped his temple as if trying to dislodge a stuck word, then seemed to revert to his own language, ". . . Shanii nen Shanha."

"Uhm . . ." Kirito began, only to fall quiet as Verdelle said something heatedly, looking flustered, she beckoned for him to follow. "What was that about?"

"It's not important right now." Verdelle answered curtly, "A misunderstanding. Kifen is just a very dwarvish dwarf. That is all." Kirito decided not to press the matter. The horses had still been exhausted from their ordeal, so Verdelle had traded them for a pair of ponies. Only temporarily, she had assured, as collateral, she'd return later to trade them back for the village horses, after they'd had their chance to rest.

The ride back hadn't felt quite as intense on the smaller animals. Verdelle was mindful of their slighter frames and didn't try to push them quite so hard. Even so, the sun had barely set by the time Rere can into view, and Kirito had breathed a sigh of relief as they'd traveled across the peaceful village fields.

Anxious villagers had come out to meet them, but by now, the healer was consumed entirely by her craft. The very first dose had been administered to Gervaise by means of a syringe that must have been the height of technology within Aincrad castle, but made Kirito wince and look away. The little girl, tired as she was, had simply grimaced, squeezing her eyes shut, lips pressed together, baring it for her mother's promise that she'd finally be well again.

Over the next hour, Verdelle had traveled from home to home, administering the treatment, and then going back between her own cottage, and each of her patients all through the night to monitor for signs of change. It was exhausting, and at first seemed fruitless, but by midnight, the coughing began to slowly subside. First with one patient, then with another, then all of them.

It seemed like something worthy of celebrating, but still Verdelle did not sleep, she couldn't. Kirito found her at Gervaise's bedside. It seemed now that the girl's cough had quieted, she was more fearful that she'd stopped breathing than that the medicine was working.

"I know it's working." Verdelle had insisted. "I know but . . ." She was starting to wobble on her feet. Come to think of it, Kirito barely ever saw her resting.

"I'll watch Gervaise." He offered.

"But . . ."

"You need to rest." Kirito had smiled, "It wouldn't be any good if the village healer got sick, now would it?"

Verdelle had opened her mouth to protect, then closed it, and shaken her head tiredly. "Of course. Just for a little while though, then, then . . ." He'd taken her by the shoulders and led her to the other room, putting her to bed in the cot and promising he'd wake her if Gervaise' condition changed.

Then, Kirito had returned to the girl's bedside and assumed a vigil. Gervaise looked so lifelike as she slumbered that the young swordsmen almost succumbed to the urge to poke her cheek. The way that she stirred, and the way that she breathed, her eyelids even fluttered as she dreamed.

They couldn't be real. He kept telling himself. It didn't make any sense.

But then, if they weren't real, why had he helped them?

Kirito covered half his face as he tried to stop Fern's terror stricken expression from seeping back into his thoughts. Oryx, the man who doubted most that Aincrad was just a game, and the way he'd hung limp and lifeless before the only evidence of his existence had vanished from the world.

He hadn't known them. And they hadn't known him. That was right, they were all just looking out for themselves. Fern and Oryx would have done the same. He couldn't even say he resented Coper and Morte for their own choices. If it had been him left behind, he might have cursed them, maybe. But he wasn't any better, not really.

'The only one you can trust is yourself.' Kazuto insisted gently, 'You don't know who people really are. And they can't trust who you really are. We're all strangers in the end. It's safer this way, for everyone . . .'

Gervaise had turned over in her sleep, licking her lips. Kirito had blinked once, twice, he'd only meant to rest his eyes. The next thing he knew, there was a hammering at the door, and his mouth felt like he'd been sucking on a wool blanket for half the night. Which he had. Raking his tongue with his fingernails, he hurriedly checked on Gervaise, still sleeping, breathing deep and steady. Then the hammering came again.

The man outside was certainly being polite, for one thing, he looked like he could have pounded the door off its hinges if he were inclined. Instead, a smile had spread across his face as his palms had come down on Kirito's shoulders, nearly forcing the young swordsmen to his knees. He reached for his empty scabbard, convinced that this was an attack.

In fact, this was the farmer Jacques.

Verdelle had come to the door, rubbing sleep from her eyes, it was the first time Kirito had ever seen her remotely rested as she was taken up in an embrace by the farmer. His daughter, too, had been among the sick. So had so many others. If not a child, then a beloved elder, sometimes a young husband or wife losing the fight. All morning the villagers had come to thank Verdelle, and at some point, they'd started thanking Kirito too. They'd done more than thank him.

"Well then," Jacques had grunted, "Try it on!"

"Uhm . . . It's a bit big." Kirito stared at the jacket that had been gifted to him by the farmer. Brown leather, darkened with age, but still sturdy and strong, with a quilted inner lining. He'd really have preferred black, but the biggest problem was the clothing didn't resize any longer, which meant the jacket, cut for a bigger man, hung on Kirito more like a coat and made his already lean frame look downright scrawny. But it was warm, and well made.

"Of course it was cut for me in my younger days." Jacques had laughed, "Back when I was a guard for the Old Lord in the manor. Ah, but those times are long ago. It hasn't fit me for years, and a traveler needs a good jacket to keep warm."

"U-Un." Kirito couldn't really argue with that. He tried to argue about the drinking, but neither Jacques nor the other men would hear of it, and Verdelle had been no help, simply waving as he was carried off to celebrate. When he'd finally managed to extricate himself and sneak back to the cottage, he'd found Verdelle once more at her daughter's bedside. Simply watching her breath.

"She hasn't woken up all morning." Verdelle murmured, "I can' remember the last time she made it a whole night without a coughing fit. I can't . . . remember . . . when she wasn't sick." Kazuto wasn't sure if she was talking to him or herself, but when she turned to look at him, her eyes were red and raw.

"So she's going to be alright?" Kirito asked.

"So long as she gets the rest of the serum, to ensure her body defeats the infection. Kifen gave us more than enough. He's a generous old dwarf."

"Good," Kirito smiled, "I'm glad." And he was surprised that he really was. It wasn't just a nice thing he was saying to himself.

"That jacket," Verdelle murmured, "It suits you."

"You think?"

"Very handsome," she assured kindly, then a small frown developed on her lips. "Your scabbard."

"What? Oh yeah, I busted my sword when . . . Yeah, I lost it." In other words, he was screwed. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could hunt down Coper and beg his old short sword off of him, or else scavenge something else to get by . . .

"I see."

She'd fallen silent, but she hadn't stopped thinking, eventually she'd risen from her chair, asking Kirito to keep an eye on Gervaise while she went down into the root cellar. When she'd returned, Verdelle had beckoned him to the kitchen table where she had laid a wrapped canvas parcel. Carefully, it had been opened, and Kirito had been left dumbstruck.

"It seems you have good taste." Verdelle had smiled more genuinely than he had ever seen before. Laying on the table were two scabbards, a sword and a dagger. They were simply adorned, but nothing about them suggested they were anything but well made. Without any prompting, Verdelle had taken the sword and drawn it smoothly with a hiss of well oiled steel.

It was a bastard sword, Kirito thought, though a little unusual. The blade was on the short end of such things, with one full edge and the other half edged, compensated by a somewhat longer hilt, suitable for use in one or two hands, and a hefty pommel for bludgeoning. The most striking thing, though, was the dark sheen of the steel, almost rippling in the light.

"Orignia was once a prosperous Kingdom." Verdelle recited as she studied the sword, her own reflection appearing blurry and distorted in the black gloss. "Aincrad was once a prosperous Castle. And guarding that prosperity were those who swore fealty not to any Lord or King, but to the Castle itself. They carried weapons like these on their long patrols of Aincrad's bastions and battlements. The sword of a Ranger." Verdelle stepped, she turned, gathering speed, her skirts rose and her hair whirled, turning, turning, ever turning, the black sword slicing the air in a long clean stroke that ended with blade extended in perfect poise.

"My husband showed me that." The healer reminisced, returning the sword to its sheath. She turned back to Kirito. "These blades were forged in the arsenal of the Black Iron Citadel, when that still meant something, to serve men who fought selflessly for us all. They bear no names. They were made by no legendary smith. They were never carried by a great king. Nonetheless, they are weapons worthy of any hero. Kirito, this is the dagger of my husband," she presented the scabbards to him, "And the sword of my son."

Kazuto was ashamed to admit, for a moment, that he reached out for the weapons covetously. You couldn't tell just by looking at them, but if half of what Verdelle was saying was true, these were every bit as good as an Anneal Blade. Then, just as his fingers brushed them, he stopped, the healers words sank into him.

Weapons worthy of any hero . . .

"Verdelle," Kirito murmured, "I . . . can't take these."

"It is alright, Kirito." Verdelle insisted, "I will keep my son's dagger, and my husband's sword, and they will be given in time to Gervaise' husband. One day, my daughter will have a husband and children of her own. You saved my daughter, Kirito."

"But I didn't mean to!" He whispered.

"Kirito?"

'Kazuto, what's wrong?'

"Verdelle," Kirito's throat tightened, "I . . ." He wanted to tell Verdelle everything, how he had seen the sulfates and passed them by. How he'd had no intention of helping the villagers until he'd messed up and grabbed the wrong satchel. How he'd abandoned a helpless woman to die alone. And how he'd attempted to assuage his guilt. These blades might have been worthy of a hero. But Kirigaya Kazuto was not worthy of them.

Stupid.

Stupid!

He needed these to survive and now he was throwing them away! What was he thinking?! His eyes began to burn, and then suddenly a hefty weight was placed into his hands.

Verdelle pressed the scabbards there firmly and looked into his eyes. "Kirito, these are yours now. You have earned them."

"Heh." He half hiccuped and half laughed. Of course, this was all just a quest, wasn't it? Verdelle couldn't let him leave empty handed after all the work he'd put in . . . Suddenly it all made sense. The sick villagers, the medicine, how could he be so stupid. He should have been able to spot a hidden quest when he saw one. But he'd been carried along by ambiguity. That must have been it it. It must . . .

In that moment, Kazuto felt incredibly, painfully, alone. He'd allowed himself to feel like Verdel was a real person, like Gervaise was real, and having the curtain pulled away . . . it hurt.

"I'm going to go now." Kirito said gently. "Goodbye, Verdelle" He turned to the door.

"Yves."

"What?" Kirito glanced back at Verdelle wearing a pensive expression.

"My son's name . . ." She squinted hard. "His name was Yves. And my husband, his name was Rainier. You just seemed so curious about us at first, I thought you should know their names."

Kirito stared at her, this strange woman who couldn't be real. "I don't get it." Kirito placed a hand tiredly over his face as the weight of events caught up to him. "Verdelle, what are you?"

"I am a healer, Kirito, I am the medicine woman of Rere village." Verdelle recited, "I am the mother of Gervaise and Yves, and the wife of Rainier. I am named for the green of the valleys . . . Kirito?"

"It's fine." Kirito wiped his eyes. "Just made me think of a coincidence. Yves, and Rainier, I'll remember those names. Thank you, for everything, Verdelle." With that, Kirito had set out, he had a long journey ahead of him, and he didn't want to look back.

End of Book One - Part One

Black Iron Sword - A peculiar bastard sword of a style once favored for its flexibility by the Rangers of Castle Aincrad on their long patrols and lonely vigils. The name derives from the Black Iron Citadel, where weapons of this pattern were forged, and not due to the composition of the blade, an alloyed steel highly prized for its durability and resistance to corrosion. The weapon is noted for a somewhat short blade, compensated by a somewhat longer hilt, perfect for single or double handed use, or striking with the pommel.

Black Iron Dagger - A self defense weapon and tool favored by Aincrad's extinct ranger orders. This dagger was forged of the same alloy as the Black Iron Sword, sharing their dark gloss appearance. This dagger saw heavy use as a general purpose tool, but was also wielded as an off-hand weapon by more aggressive rangers in lieu of a shield or buckler. A special mysticism developed around these blades, which were never far from their master's person.

"Each day, bathe one in water and the other in oil, for long life" - Was a common catechism among the orders.