Warnings: possible dark themes, psychologically dark-ish? (apathetic) Harry, no magic, virtual reality gaming AU

Pairing: TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter)

Summary: Voldemort was just supposed to be the bored necromancer who had a slightly creepy obsession with the undead. Scarred was just supposed to be a berserker-but things never quite work out that way.

For one, he isn't a berserker. He's a bishop. For two, he isn't just anything-he's the renegade High Priest of Gryffindor. For three, well... let's just say Voldemort's slightly creepy obsession wasn't on the undead anymore.

Glitches were so inconvenient.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter series - J.K. Rowling; this story was also inspired by Legendary Moonlight Sculptor by Nam Hee Sung, a korean light novel about a virtual reality game called Royal Road and a main character who wants to conquer it all (for money). You can read it at:

www(period)rainbowturtletranslation(period)com(slash)legendary-moonlight-sculptor-table-of-contents(slash)

Also, 1/2 Prince by Yu Wo inspired this story too! A Chinese VR-MMORPG light novel (adapted as a manga as well) about a girl who plays as a handsome male elven warrior. Read it now at princerevolution(period)org! The manhua can be read at mangahere or mangafox, or probably any of your favorite manga reading sites.

Third shout-out of inspiration to The Gamer by Sung San-young, a manhwa/web comic about a main character who gains the ability to live life as a game character. Read it at mangahere, or probably any of your favorite manga reading websites.

The Never Rest Mountain was, among most mid-to-high level Gryffindor players, affectionately nicknamed 'Mount NTR.' It was Internet slang Harry never much cared for, though once he learned what it meant he admitted it was fitting in a humorous sort of way.

After all, Never Rest was a high level area with an even higher level of difficulty. The higher up one went, the more difficult it was to breathe and the faster one's stamina would drain. Exhaustion due to high fatigue was one of the number one causes of death—the monsters were bulky and not easily dealt with in one hit; someone who could barely walk five steps had no chance against them.

It was therefore said that parties that traveled up the mountain would slowly die out; one by one, the members would be picked off until the last one remaining had no hope of going up or going down. They would have to accept being slain by the next mob of monsters they encountered! It was like slowly depopulating a harem—hence, NTR. Whoever came up with the nickname had a crude sense of humor.

Never Rest was probably the least romantic location in the entirety of Gryffindor. It sounded romantic—on the ground. Being trapped in a cave to wait out a blizzard? Huddling together for warmth: a stranded couple whose fates were tied together! Bards could sing on and on and on romanticizing the place, but whoever actually went knew the truth.

Being buffeted by a sudden blizzard was not the beginning of a romance novel. Trying to find shelter while half-blind from the snow was not a situation people held hands in to woo one another—blush? Maybe if their cheeks weren't frozen blocks of ice!—it was practical, because otherwise they'd be separated thirty seconds into the snowstorm. And then, after finally finding a cave, what did players think those people looked like? Their hair would be a mess; they would be drenched in cold wet slush, and don't forget the sheer exhaustion from trekking through miles of snow—no one could be called 'beautiful' in that sort of situation, never mind have enough energy for sex.

So the implication that the mountain was a) a hotspot for illicit affairs and b) a perfect date spot to bring a lover was ridiculous. Furthermore, the only seducing aspect Never Rest had was if it was between death and the mountain, which was a nonfactor because usually those two things were synonymous.

Hence, Mount NTR stole away family, friends, and lovers, sending them straight back to the rebirth point with one less level. Of course, it wasn't an impossible area to train in; it was just annoying, and hastily made parties with no experience in co-op play would lose more levels than they gained.

Solo play here? Maybe at the foot of the mountain, but any further up than the first few areas was a recipe for disaster.

Speaking of disasters—

With an unhinged grace the human body was not meant for, Scarred swung his glaive. The Diamondback Yeti bellowed as its stomach was sliced, but the cut was shallow—its thick fur and skin made for a bulky defense, and with levels in the low-to-mid 300s, that translated into a near impenetrable body.

Scarred did not care. He moved, dodging the incoming fist to swing at the monster's limbs. The glaive in his possession gave him further range than a sword did, but due to the Diamondback's large size, the difference wasn't very visible. Again and again he dodged the incoming attacks while countering with his own, until he finally found an opening and clambered up the yeti's back.

The yeti roared. It was calling for its pack! Unfortunately for the Diamondback, this was exactly what Scarred was waiting for. Having no more need for the lone yeti, Scarred angled his weapon and shouted, "Twister!"

A whirlwind of mana spiraled around his glaive, coming to a point and its blade. Scarred swung down again and again, drawing splatters of blood like an executioner's swing. When the yeti shook him off, the berserker wasn't deterred in the least and charged again. The next slice cut along its side, right beneath its ribs, and at this final attack the monster did cry out and fall dead to the ground.

"Oh, a weapon drop," he muttered, inspecting his loot. "Let's see…pretty good. I'll use this one, then."

Scarred unequipped his glaive and stored it in his inventory. He hadn't gotten it all too long ago, so the durability was still good enough that it would sell. How much money he got for it, he didn't really care, so maybe he would just NPC it if no one in the next town wanted to buy it.

He armed himself with his new weapon—it was a long wooden rod with a chain attached to the end, and at the end of that chain was a spiked metal ball, at least thrice the traditional size. There was a glowing aura encircling it when he swung the flail, and for a split second, the perpetual snow wind iconic of Never Rest came to spiral around its path.

Ice Fiend's Morningstar

A Morningstar imbued with the power of an Ice Fiend. It is able to manipulate snow fields and create small blizzards. If it is wielded for an extended duration, it may begin to freeze a non-ice affinity wielder.

Durability 300/300

Requirements: Strength 250. Level 300.

Attack +120

Strength +30

Ice Affinity +150%

Ice Resistance +100%

Scarred had Advanced Level 1 Weapon Mastery! It allowed him to wield any weapon he chose, and his berserker class allowed him to turn normal objects into weapons as well. Normally, glaives and flails required different types of weapon masteries, but the all-encompassing Weapon Mastery negated that need.

There was a rumbling roar in the distance, and the sound of clobbering footsteps grew closer. Scarred turned in its direction, feeling the ground beneath his feet shake. It must be a large herd this Diamondback had belonged to!

In fact, it was more than just a herd. It was a clan. Scarred eyed the bright letters floating above the largest Diamondback Yeti's head. That one was clearly the leader, and it was named to boot! Named monsters were not only stronger than the others of their species, but they usually came with company. Named Diamondback Yetis in Never Rest Mountain were considered clan leaders, because that 'company' was usually more than a herd.

Scarred licked his lips. It was his lucky day.

Despite being only one player, Scarred surged forth into the mob. His target was the named yeti's head! Certain named monsters could spell an aura that strengthened the surrounding monsters of the same type. The Diamondback Yeti was one such—thus why the named were clan leaders. In order to deal with the rest of the clan, he would have to take out the leader one first!

If there were any other players in the surrounding area, they would've certainly heard the sounds of battle over the thundering winds. Had those nonexistent players come to watch, they would've seen a sight very seldom saw. It would've been recorded, certainly, and gain a fortune of views across any form of social media. One single player taking on an entire clan of Diamondback Yetis—there had to be at least twenty of them, excluding the clan leader.

It would've been an amazing sight. People would've hunted for that player, searched for him just to get a glimpse of his skill—or they would've hunted for him to ascertain his true level. They would've guessed he was at least level 400, which was where the front line of players was around. But even at level 400, very few had the skill or the nerve to take on a clan of Diamondback Yetis alone!

Diamondback Yeti Pachum has been slain. Fame +1.

…

Diamondback Yeti Pachum's clan has been singlehandedly defeated. Fame +5.

Once the battle was over, Scarred collected the loot. He tried to pick up as much as he could, but depending on his hunting grounds that wasn't always possible. As a berserker, he profited off of ceaseless battling, so to stop and double back placed a punishment on efficiency. Fortunately, these grounds did not have mobs close to one another—the monsters of Mount NTR traveled in packs—so he was free to collect all the drops and actually look through them.

Despite that, he ignored the equipment he'd gotten from the named yeti, unceremoniously tossing it into his inventory—as long as it wasn't a weapon, he didn't care. His current armor was better than anything he could find through drops anyway. No, Scarred was looking for a certain item!

"Aha! Found it!" he crowed, picking up a folded piece of paper from a Diamondback's corpse. Just to make sure, he unfolded it and checked the contents. It looked like a child's drawing with crayons and everything—three people were holding hands, the shortest of the three in the middle. There was a snowy mountain in the background, a smiling sun in the upper left corner, and one of the stick figures held a brown hatchet.

Proof of a Father's Existence Quest completed.

Return to the Woodcutter's Daughter to claim your reward.

"And it only took seven clans," Harry mused. "From what everyone was saying, I was thinking I'd be here forever. Guess I'm just lucky."

The reason he had been purposely hunting for clans was to speed up the search! Clans were much bigger than herds, but they were rarer to stumble across. So, the berserker Scarred had hunted down lone Diamondbacks in hope of one of them calling either a clan or multiple herds to their location. Anyone else would've considered his plan insane—he was only a single player, after all!

To reward himself, Harry took out a bit of dried seaweed as a snack. Most adventuring players only ate when their Fullness or Fatigue required them to in order to save provisions, but Harry enjoyed tasting foods he never would in real life. W&W's sense of taste was incredibly realistic—it not only included the texture of the food, but also the smell.

To think, he would never consider himself a cook or a chef in real life, but in-game Harry loved to experiment with cooking new foods and flavors. His cooking skill was Intermediate level 4! A bit of that had bled over to his real life, actually, but only when he could afford to. Baking his own salmon, collecting more spices than just salt and pepper…

"Not bad," he mumbled, thoroughly chewing the flakes and letting the flavor seep onto his tongue.

You have been severely poisoned.

Your high poison resistance negates the poison's effects.

"…Ah."

That message was definitely one Harry had seen before. He was immune to most poisons these days.

Someone had been selling off their loot in town, and Harry had taken a look when he saw it wasn't from any of the surrounding regions. Apparently they'd come from near the border of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff territories, where it wasn't so cold, and they'd been fighting beach monsters along the coast. One of their drops had been poisonous seaweed, which was absolutely useless and the player had been about to NPC them off until Scarred bought the lot.

He just wanted to try it, okay. It was unlikely he'd be going anywhere near the sea anytime soon, and definitely not to areas warm enough to have poisonous seaweed. So, he bought all they had and made his own dried seaweed during one of his experiments. Maybe he would mix it with a little something else later; it wasn't bad, but it did have a spicy uppercut punch to it that stung his tongue.

And alright, maybe Harry had added a few of his own dried spices to make it a bit more poisonous than it normally was. In his defense, it added a new layer of flavor to boring old salty seaweed.

Most people used their Herbalism skill to make potions. Harry did that, sometimes…though usually he liked to mix weird plants together and cook them. That was how he'd gotten his high poison resistance in the first place.

"Well, down the mountain I go!" Scarred said, eating the rest of his seaweed and stretching his arms above his head. That had been a decent workout, but he was no stranger to Mount NTR. He'd climbed to the top and back several times before to test if it would make a good training spot.

The distance between mobs hadn't passed his test. Still, he'd hunted at his leisure for a while longer here just because he wanted to. The furs of some of the monsters were rather popular; they were extremely warm and the clothes made from them had high durability. High level players who were hunting in the colder regions of Gryffindor loved to wear them beneath their armor. To do some good, Scarred had gotten a large amount and sold them to the few merchants and tailors he was friendly with.

This time, he was just here on a quest. He'd still sell the furs, but there was a lot less of them this time around.

As he descended the mountain, the only sound the berserker made was his light humming to a tune a bard he heard sung a couple days ago.

"Oh, I see now…" the female NPC said. She sniffled, rubbing at the liquid crowding at the corners of her eyes. It did little to halt their trek down her cheeks. "Thank you, kind traveler. My mother always used to say I loved my father before he died, and everyone in the village calls me the 'Woodcutter's Daughter'…but I don't remember him at all. Now though, I don't think that matters. It's enough that I know I loved him."

Harry dipped his head. "I'm sure he loved you, too."

"I'm quite sure he did, too," she replied. There was a smile on her face even as she cried. "It must not have been easy getting this back from those Diamondback Yetis. I admit I didn't believe my mother when she said it must be there—he always carried it on him when he went to cut wood, but I thought it had been buried beneath the snow. I guess it's a good thing those yetis love to hoard things. Really, thank you."

"It was no trouble at all," Harry said. He was patient as he waited for the NPC to continue—she had pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and was now dabbing her eyes. All in all, the Woodcutter's Daughter—as those around the village called her—was a strong woman who was taking up her family's business, but there was still a hint of gentleness to her person as she spoke.

"Still, I must reward you," she insisted. "According to my mother, before my father died, his most prized possession was a golden axe. He received it as an award from the village mayor in his youth. It wasn't very practical, but I swear that it was made out of pure gold! Here, I have the key to the storage where it's kept—"

"That's alright; it was your father's, so now it's yours. You may not remember him, but it holds his memories—I'm sure it's very important to you," Harry said, interrupting. Actually, the reason why people actually attempted this quest was because of that key. It wasn't the axe people wanted—though it could be smelted down if brought to a blacksmith—it was what else was inside the storage.

There was a magic scroll that sold for quite a high price hidden in one of the crates. Many mages desired it, hiking up the prices—there was only a few ways to obtain that scroll, after all. However, Harry had no interest in it. What he wanted was something else related to the axe.

Distressed, the female frowned. NPCs didn't have the same response to reward rejection. Sometimes a player's intimacy with the NPC or town fell, sometimes the NPCs would insist, other times they would simply accept the player didn't want it and let it go. Harry was taking a risk in doing this because he wasn't sure what her reaction would be.

Luck of the Draw has been activated: 83.

Well, there was his chance.

"Really, thank you, but I don't have anything else to give you," she said. "That's the only valuable possession I have, and I can't just let you leave without a reward—"

"I heard your father was a famed woodcutter in the region," Harry said. "Stories say he had the finest wood in the region."

"That's right, yes."

"I also heard that he said one time that he found a tree even he couldn't cut."

The NPC paused. "Well, I don't know much about that, but it sounds familiar…I'll get my mother. Maybe she can tell you more."

Harry agreed and waited. He hadn't received any sort of quest notification, so he supposed everything was still in negotiation—though whether or not it would become a quest, he wasn't so sure. When he heard about the 'tree that couldn't be cut,' he had immediately thought it was another Tree of Ages. However, the location did not come with the stories. His search had led him to the woodcutter's family.

Soon enough, an old woman with whitened hair and a hunched back walked out of the house. Her form was big and bulky, different from her daughter's smaller muscles, and while she still appeared in good shape, she walked with a wooden cane that was no doubt a family creation.

"I heard from my daughter that you're looking for my husband's legendary tree?"

Harry agreed. "Yes. It sounded interesting."

The old woman nodded once. "Though my husband never told anyone where the tree was, he did show me…once. You've done my daughter a great favor. I can see that you're not a bad fellow. I'll tell you where the tree is as a reward, but whether or not you can make it there is up to your own power."

"I'd appreciate that, thanks."

She motioned him closer before she began to whisper. "Then, do you know the mountains to the north? …"

Another successful adventure. Scarred arrived at the capital of Lumos Kingdom in a good mood. He certainly had found the Tree of Ages, and enjoyed adding that to his mental list of Trees he knew. He had no desire to ruin the Trees; he just took pleasure in finding them and gaining some stats from exploring.

Because he had taken the time to head to the capital instead of some other town, Scarred tried messaging a few of the merchants he knew to quickly sell his loot. To be honest, he didn't interact much with other players—never found a party that suit him, or even the inclination to team up with anyone else anyway—but selling bulk monster drops time and time again had caught the attention of a few merchants here and there.

They'd struck up an accord. If they were around and he needed things to be sold, he'd stop by them first. They gave him a reasonable deal, and he didn't have to wait around in a stall all day to sell his drops. In return, if he ever needed to find something, he had the contacts to do it.

After that business was taken care of, Scarred wandered over to the magic instructor's place. He took a seat some ways off, close enough that he could see the training mages, but far enough that he wouldn't be noticed.

"Mana Reader."

His Mana Reader skill was now Advance Level 1. After it had reached Intermediate, leveling the skill had slowed to a crawl, but he still managed to reach the Advanced tier! Scarred was now level 350. Just thinking back on when he had first obtained the skill from Sirius Black, not even a berserker yet…

That was a long time ago.

Mana Reader Advanced Level 1 (43%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.

Passive: Can see the density of mana without activation.

You can read the mana of the environment and interact with it at will.

You can absorb the mana of your surroundings, or put remnants to rest by releasing it back into the aether. If the mana is compatible with your own, a reward is given upon absorption. If it is incompatible, the consequences are dire. Over-absorption will also lead to negative effects.

By using the mana of your surroundings, no mana is consumed to use this skill.

[Activate: "Mana Reader"; Sub-active: "Mana Read"]

At some point during the Intermediate stage, Mana Reader had created the new branch skill 'Mana Manipulation.'

Mana Manipulation Intermediate Level 9 (27%): Allows you to wield pure mana and manually control its flow.

This skill does not require a weapon.

Combined with Mana Reader, you have the capability of copying any skill that uses mana. Incomplete copies will receive a penalty. If you have mastered a skill learned through Mana Manipulation, it is possible to create the skill as if you had learned it through a traditional method.

Copied skills:

Fireball

Ice Spear

Whirlpool

Thunderbolt

Holy Shield

Heal

Bless

…

The list of magic spells he'd learned this way was long. If he swapped his armor, Scarred could easily pass off as a mage! He didn't even need any magic scrolls to learn rare spells—he just needed to see someone else use them. Of course, it had taken long, hard practice before he could copy a spell after seeing it once—in the beginning, he had needed to see Fireball at least fifty times before he could create fire, and that had been a matchstick's amount.

He didn't only know mage spells, either. Scarred had learned useful support skills, like a priest's Heal and a paladin's Holy Shield. He even learned a bard's Lullaby, just for kicks—though he personally thought his singing left a lot to be desired.

Even though he knew all these spells, he could count the number he'd mastered on one hand. It wasn't as simple as performing a perfect copy—the only benefit to that was removing the power penalty placed on incomplete copies of spells; he was basically learning the spell manually by manipulating pure mana, rather than reading a book and suddenly being able to cast the spell—mastering a skill meant making it one's own. It meant total, complete control, with the ability to take the skill up a notch—growth; mastering a skill this way meant giving it room to grow into something new and improved.

If he'd been a mage, other players would die for this skill. The fact of the matter was that Scarred was a berserker, and using magic as a berserker had a penalty in and of itself…though arguably more benefits than penalties.

For one, INT and WIS did matter. His control over mana helped supplement where those felt short, and if a player did look at his stats, they would say they were high enough. However, it was a point that mages, like warriors, had their power boosted outside of stats—they had passive skills that made their spells do more damage, elemental affinities to boost certain skills. Warriors had skills that added effects to their attacks, like causing the bleed status effect or increasing damage done with a heavy weapon. It was the same concept.

Numbers, stat numbers, were not the only measure of power. So, despite his INT and WIS's high count (which was also because of Mana Reader and Mana Manipulation), he still fell in power compared to a true mage.

Well, 'power' in that context referred to pure spell casting. Scarred was a berserker at heart! There was more to a battle than how much damage one's skills did, and if there was one thing he was confident in, it was his strength in PvP.

PvP—or player versus player—was what gamers called sanctioned duels. Both participating players agreed to battle, and the penalty of the duel had to be agreed upon between both players. The 24-hour real time penalty did not apply to deaths in PvP areas, allowing users to come back and fight to their heart's content.

Scarred casually participated in tournaments, and did every so often fight in random skirmishes, or when someone challenged him. He'd made a bit of a name for himself, because Scarred usually didn't have a designated weapon. By his third duel, other players had figured out he was a berserker, if only because of his unorthodox battle methods.

His hand twitched. Battling monsters took the edge off, but every now and then, he felt the urge to fight a person instead of a computer AI. Monsters were predictable. They had patterns. People, on the other hand, adapted to the heat of the moment. Sometimes, he felt the urge to fight not only with his body, but also using his mind.

Hunting monsters had become mindless to Scarred. Leaping into a clan of twenty level 300-and-some Diamondback Yetis would be considered insane to most people—it was a fact that coming out of that situation alive would be even more mentally trying. But battling was in his blood, now. He had developed an instinct for fighting monsters. Such a simple thing as Diamondback Yetis? It was only a small game to him, nothing much.

He only ever had the urge to kill monsters—dive into a cave infested with them and come out alive as the victor. Toward other players, Scarred instead felt a sense of wanting to be challenged. A single monster wasn't as interesting as a player. He wanted to fight, almost all the time but most of the time it was a feeling he could push away.

Like now, watching the flow of mana calmed him. Turning on Mana Reader allowed him to see more detail. It was not all the same—the practicing mages all had varying skill levels, which lead to others being stronger and more 'complete' in the sense that their mana was smooth and not wasteful.

Scarred watched it circulate. Mana coiled and purred. It quickened, following a current—from the heart, to the arms, to the hands and then erupting from the tip of a staff. Mana was also predictable, but just because it was predictable didn't mean he could always follow it. Sometimes, if the user was particularly skilled, he could only watch it without understanding why its path was the way it was.

Like this, he could forget his urge to battle. His blood could cool, and the memories of today's and yesterday's battles melted away.

Scarred finally felt his body unwind. The adrenaline rush he had while fighting was all gone now, leaving only a satisfied coil of power. It would unspring and bleed throughout his entire body again once he returned to the fields, but for now he could rest. That was enough for him.

A long time ago, when he had first been trying to learn how to manipulate mana, he would sit here or in view of other practicing mages, trying to control a free-flowing liquid. Now though, he had nothing left to learn from newbies doing a bit of spell practice. It only calmed him to watch them use their mana.

The berserker stood. Maybe he would treat himself to something sweet—he'd just earned quite a bit of money from today's battles, after all.

In Fortuna Major, a high percentage of the residents were warriors—part of the melee class, whatever their specialization might be. Gryffindor Church enlisted a high number of paladins, and that was independent of the city's own military force. It was only natural that stores catering to these players would sprout up eventually.

Swan's Smithery was one such place. It was a player-run shop, started by a blacksmith duo named Swan and Twist. Swan was the face of the smithery, so it was her name that went on the sign out front.

The name deterred many first time customers, out of some perverse concept of masculinity and who exactly should be a blacksmith. Neither Swan or Twist minded; among the players that mattered, their shop was considered a five-star hole-in-the-wall. Everything from custom orders to repairs, they did it, and at the front counter, they also sold either weapons they made or weapons sold to them.

Because it was a smithery, 'normal' weapons—average drops—weren't sold here. They still bought them to smelt them down to metal, but they didn't sell them back. Only rare equipment, such as those with special effects or high stats, would be sold at the front. They guaranteed quality, which was why Harry liked to stop by when he could.

The owners and he had a tentative professional business relationship: they recognized him, he sold to them. In the past, he had bought equipment here—accessories and such that were better than the current monster drops he donned—but never a weapon. After he had reached level 300—and had a significant amount of liquid funds; solo boss hunting meant he never had to split the drops—he had commissioned an armor set from them, which was the current one he wore now.

Without his cloak hiding his attire, Scarred's armor was easily recognizable. It was designed specifically for him and his needs—light and flexible so he could pull off his acrobatic stunts, still durable because his fights would be long and ceaseless without regular maintenance pauses.

He had harvested the materials for his equips by himself—well, things that he could get for them. He couldn't smelt metal bars, but he could get the different metal ores from monsters. He'd partied with either Swan or Twist several times when they needed to go into monster-infested mines, so he knew exactly how much work went into the things he was wearing.

A literal blood red cape was slung across his back. That had been a collaborative work between Swan's Smithery and a high-level tailor shop. It had been made with the base of a dementor's cloak, giving it a ragged appearance, and Scarred had collected different types of boss-level monster blood for the dye. He'd also harvested a rare type of (very poisonous) spider lily flower from one of his adventures, and that had been added to the dye as well.

Unlike other tankier warriors who wore layer after layer, Scarred wore comparatively few. Beneath his armor was a dragonhide set; he'd gotten the material for that from a mini-boss level wyvern. It'd been a memorial battle in his past, so he'd never sold the loot from it before then.

His actual armor was a sleek black that conformed to his body type. It wasn't a full body, because then it'd be next to impossible to pull the moves he was used to, but it gave him a decent amount of coverage on the important areas. It was patchy, so the dark red scales with teeth-like spikes of the dragonhide showed through in some areas. His upper torso, shoulders, arms, and hands were patched with armor like a quilt, alternating between metal and scales.

His lower body was arguably more covered—From his hips to along his thighs, the same void-sheen armor protected him. He had kneecaps on, usually, and his boots were of the same material…with some additions to increase their durability while giving them high AGI stats. It'd taken a long time to collect the materials and had costed him a right fortune for labor and skill costs, but now that he had them, he wouldn't have to replace his equipment for a very, very long time—maybe even never, if he sought to upgrade them.

As a treat, Swan Smithery did maintenance and repairs for him at a 'discounted' cost—practically free—provided he bring in something to sell them at the same time. Considering that Scarred only ever came in when he had something to sell, this was an easy requirement to meet.

So yes, he and the owners did have a tentative professional business relationship.

"How much can I get for this?"

Swan, a dark-skinned female player with a rugged edge to her, picked up the Morningstar and checked it over. Her brown hair didn't move much as she tilted her head to-and-fro; it was too short for that, length resting around her jaw line in a straight bob cut. He supposed it was natural for her line of work; long hair would be a bother, and she'd have to tie it up whenever she worked in the forge.

Harry liked to think they were kindred spirits in this sort of manner. In the game, she lived and breathed her work—he'd never found a blacksmith with better attitude, with the exception of Twist, who matched her.

"So it's you," she said after her inspection, placing down the weapon on the counter.

Scarred ducked his head to grin before pulling off the hood of his cloak. "Me," he agreed.

"Really," Swan sighed, "Every time I get a weird weapon, it's always from you. I don't know where it's from, but if I had to guess…far north, there's only Mount NTR that could have this sort of stuff, huh."

Scarred confirmed it. "Why would you think it came from the north, though?"

"Distance," Swan said. "It's not a fresh drop—the durability's low enough that I know you've been fighting with it for some time. Ah, not that Twist can't repair it to full in a moment. It must've been a far off place that had Ice Fiends; somewhere high-level. I haven't ever seen this weapon either, which means it's got to be from somewhere no one likes to go. You may cover your tracks well, Scarred, but anyone who wanted to would just have to look at your loot!"

"I think that's only you," Scarred returned, crossing his arms on the counter. "You think I sell to just anyone?"

"If it's convenient for you, yes," the blacksmith replied near immediately. "Now, this Morningstar…unfortunately for you, there's not a large market for blunt weapons. I could think of a few guys who would salivate at the thought of having this, but there's only two with enough money for it. I'm charging you for the repair, too, because we splurged on a forge upgrade recently—"

"No problem, no problem," waved Scarred.

Swan didn't smile, but there was a hint of satisfaction in her look. "This is why I like you. Since the special effect is unique as far as I know—haven't heard of anyone else having an Ice Fiend blessed weapon—I'll give you twenty-five million galleons for it."

"Only?"

"Twenty-six if you told me how you got it, in detail."

Scarred grinned. "Well I'd feel like I was ripping you off, then. Sure, I'll sell it for twenty-six if you check over my boots. NTR's weather really isn't nice to them, even with resistances."

"Deal." The blacksmith initiated a trade request, which Scarred accepted once he returned the Morningstar to his inventory. Twenty-six mill for a weapon, then the trade was complete. "So, where'd you get it?"

"I was hunting Diamondback Yetis for the picture quest," he replied, shrugging.

"The one with the magic scroll reward?"

"Yeah. A Diamondback dropped it. I was…I think I was around five clearings from the top of the mountain. Definitely more than three quarters the way up; it took forever to walk down. He called a clan over afterwards, so I think they might've been a mob around the cave entrances? Something like that," he explained, waving his hand in a flippant manner. It flopped back and forth like a whale's tail.

Swan sighed. "Your luck's insane, as usual. Good to see you're doing well. Just go around the back—you know the way—and have Twist look at your boots." She shooed him off the counter before taking up a cloth to wipe it down.

"Sure. Thanks for the trade."

"Thanks for the business," she returned.

Twist was a very meticulous man. He was built tall, but his actual size wasn't what one would think. It must've been the height that made him look slim, because anyone with eyes could see he had muscles. Still, the bulge of his arms looked average in relation to his height.

His size was part of the reason he was so meticulous—things always had to be in easy reach of him, right where he put them before. The tables were taller, doorways a bit larger; all the chairs had additions to their legs to make them the proper size. If someone moved something even a centimeter off, he would notice, because Twist calculated everything from his arm span to the number of steps his long legs had to take to fetch so-and-so.

In short, everything had to be perfect. Scarred was careful not to move anything as he entered Twist's territory. It was a mistake everyone who had come to associate with the man had made at least once; thereafter, their awareness levels raised a good notch or two when doing business.

"Scarred," Twist greeted without turning around. "Your footsteps are as light as ever."

"Thanks, I think," he replied in turn. "I'm here to get my—"

"Boots repaired. Yes, I heard you out front talking to Ange. Agh, sorry—Swan."

Scarred paused for a moment before asking, "Are you busy right now? I could come back later—"

"No, no," the male blacksmith interrupted. A few more clangs with his hammer before it was set down. "Not busy. Just finishing up an order. It won't take long to repair your boots; give 'em here."

He did so. Twist began to check them over—much like Swan did with the Morningstar he sold her—before nodding to himself lightly. "They don't seem that banged up; a good simple Repair should do it. You take good care of your stuff."

"It hasn't been that long since my last maintenance," Scarred said, shuffling his sock-covered feet.

Twist did a one-shouldered shrug. "I've seen worse. There's always worse—in the grand scheme of things, you're not so bad. Not bad at all, actually. Sometimes your battles get rough, but that's just life. We're happy to help when the loot you bring back pays your repairs and some. Most of the time, you don't give us much work to do." As if to demonstrate his point, Twist said, "Repair," and Scarred's boots were as good as new.

When he handed them back, Scarred took them and did a quick check of the stats before re-equiping them. The durability was back to full.

"Trust me. I know another berserker—you're rare, but not that rare in this line of business—and he always comes in with his armor barely hanging off him by a thread. It'd be mashed in, chewed up—you'd think the guy's come out of a dragon's mouth the way he walks in! We charge him half a fortune every time for repair and material costs. I think I've remade his armor several times over all things considered. It brings in the money, yeah, but it's a real pain in the ass sometimes. You? You're easy. You respect your stuff—I respect that."

"Maybe I just want free repairs," Harry joked.

"I wouldn't blame you. Repairs make up a good percent of our profit," Twist said seriously. He returned to his work, but kept on talking, so Scarred lingered. "You come back to participate in the next PvP tournament? NTR's pretty far off, and I doubt you came back just for your boots."

Scarred blinked. He had, in reality, just come back to the capital because he felt like it, but the PvP tournament piqued his interest.

"They're having another one? I haven't heard about it."

"S'small one," Twist answered, grunting as he brought his hammer down particularly hard. "Prize isn't much, but I got a few orders coming in because of it. Apparently it's run by the Church? And between you and me—" he lowered his voice, stopping his work for a moment, "—I think there's more to it than a pot of galleons."

"Is that so," Scarred murmured. Then, louder, he said, "Thanks for the info."

"No problem," Twist said just as easily. "You help us, we help you. S'way of things. That's what friends do. Hey, bring back something like what you brought today next time, yeah? If I could learn just a bit from it—well, that's worth a billion galleons to me and Swan."

"I can try."

"You're a good guy. See you around, Scarred."

The berserker nodded, and turned to leave. "See you around."

Name: Scarred ~ Level: 350 ~ Race: Human

Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: Berserker

Title: Slayer Known Around the World ~ Fame: 9031

Health: 75842 (+…) ~ Mana: 45067 (+…)

Strength: 1348 (+…) ~ Stamina: 723 (+…)

Intellect: 553 ~ Wisdom: 611

Luck: 492 ~ Agility: 770 (+…)

Stealth: 121 ~ …

Attack: 1017 (+…) ~ Defense: 679 (+…)

Rage: 0

Fullness: 100 ~ Fatigue: 0

Poison Resistance +500%

Fire Resistance +150%

Ice Resistance +200%

Elemental Resistance +150%

Current Skills: Hippogriff Riding (Inter. lv 7), Mana Reader (Adv. lv 1), Prowl (Inter. lv 1), Luck of the Draw (Inter. lv 1), Patronus Charm (Inter. lv 5), Demonic Metamorphosis (?), Tornado of Mana (Inter. lv 9), Weapon Mastery (Adv. lv 1), Cooking (Inter. lv 4), Herbalism (Inter. lv 6), Mana Manipulation (Inter. lv 9), …

Welcome back, Harry!

*NTR, as defined by the Urban Dictionary: Japanese acronym for Netorare, used to define a genre of Eroge (Hentai Game), meaning "Cuckold". In short, the main protagonist's loved one(s) are taken or seduced away from him and the heroine might be willing or unwilling. This is to cause an emotion of deep jealousy on the reader.

Just another quick note-if you read the stats section I put at the end of every Tom or Harry chapter, you'll notice the parentheses and the ellipses. Normally, whatever's in the parentheses is equipable stuff (like titles and stats gained from armor/weapons), but since we don't exactly know what he has equipped, I've made them ellipses instead.

If you take a glance down at the skills list, you might also notice I have an ellipses at the end. I'll be writing down his skills in order of appearance, so we won't see the full extent of his skill set quite yet. If you can see the tiny spoiler surprise I shoved in there, congrats, that'll be important later ;) If you haven't realized what it is already, flip back to the previous Harry chapter~

Anyway, thanks for reading!

Sincerely,

R.R.