Making Game: CH 174 – Welcome to Isle of Avalon (Patreon)

Two days had passed since the Caliburn launch presentation, and the entire galaxy was buzzing with anticipation. 

The industrial shipyards of Stonebeard Heavy Industry and the high-speed transport fleets of the Apex Guild were overwhelmed with logistical operations, coordinating interstellar freight corridors to prepare for the massive delivery wave.

Arthur, however, was thoroughly stuck.

He hovered his finger in front of his vision, repeatedly tapping the translucent prompt marked "Unequip" in his system profile tab. Nothing shifted. 

The command remained grayed out, trapped behind the ongoing core update. Zagreus's mismatched eyes, one green and the other red, stared back whenever he caught his reflection in polished metal.

Needing a quiet refuge away from the chatter of the studio, Arthur retreated to the high terrace of Mount Olympus.

The great white colonnades and breezy marble courtyards stood empty, save for a solitary figure on the archery range.

Thwip. Crack.

Thwip. Crack.

The rhythmic hum of a bowstring cut through the mountain air, followed by the sharp crack of iron-tipped shafts splitting wooden targets dead center.

Artemis plucked another arrow from her leather quiver, drawing the nock smoothly to her cheek. Without glancing back, her clear voice echoed across the stones.

"Are you planning to do anything today besides moping around my range?"

Arthur sighed, resting his back against a wide marble bench. "I've just been thinking. With all system functions halted during this update, it actually gave me room to sit down and reflect on what this thing truly is."

Artemis released the cord with a sharp snap. The arrow whistled across the courtyard and buried itself to the feathers in the bullseye. She lowered her bow, rolling her shoulders to loosen her stance.

"Causality dictates existence," Arthur continued, folding his arms across his dark tunic. "Every single force in the universe operates on give and take. So what did I actually give, and what am I taking?"

Artemis tilted her head, her keen amber eyes catching the sunlight. "Your resonance points."

Arthur fully turned toward her, letting out a dry, quiet chuckle. "It has been eight years since this system first activated in my head. Yet to this day, I have no idea how it arrived. When it first booted, the guide stated it was fulfilling my wish to possess this power and my mnemonic echo in exchange for the memories of my previous life. Ever since that day, it has remained silent."

Artemis lowered her bow to her hip, walking across the polished flagstones toward him. "Are you curious about your past life?"

Arthur hesitated, looking out over the distant, snow-capped peaks flanking the mountain. "I honestly don't know. In all fairness, I'm glad I parted with those memories. Looking at where we are now, I doubt I would enjoy an existence without starships, hyperdrives, and modern technology."

Artemis took a seat beside him on the wide marble bench, resting the polished wood of her bow across her knees. "Memories make us who we are. If I had never assisted my mother through labor to deliver my twin brother Apollo moments after entering the world, perhaps I never would've asked my father for the gift of eternal maidenhood."

Arthur blinked, momentarily taken aback. The bizarre familial circumstances of Olympian mythology were always jarring to hear so casually in person.

Artemis offered a faint, softer smile as she looked at him sideways. "I appreciate seeing glimpses of my cousin Zagreus within you. Even so, you are yourself… I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm glad you are the Dorian sitting here right now, and not whatever stranger existed before."

A warm, genuine grin spread across Arthur's face. "Aww. Thanks, Art."

He reached over and gave her shoulder an affectionate, friendly shove.

Artemis smirked, leaning in to return the gesture. "No worries, Art."

Her palm struck Arthur's shoulder like a battering ram, launching him sideways and sending him tumbling clean off the marble bench.

Thud.

Arthur landed flat on his back against the stone paving, the breath knocked straight out of his chest.

Artemis startled, her eyes going wide with shock for half a second before she clapped both hands over her mouth. A sudden, pealing laugh broke through her fingers, echoing merrily across the courtyard.

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows, scowling playfully as he prepared to voice an indignant complaint.

Before he could utter a single sound, a brilliant flash of notification detonated across his vision.

[Update finished.]

[New functions have been added.]

Arthur scrambled to his feet in an instant, his annoyance evaporating into thin air.

A blue, pulsating tab titled Domain hovered on the far right edge of the freshly updated interface.

Before diving into unfamiliar territory, Arthur prioritized a thorough check of his existing tools. An unannounced system overhaul had the potential to alter or break baseline features, and he needed to confirm his operational footing first.

He brought up the profile management window and tapped the unequip icon beside the Zagreus card.

A quiet, cooling rush washed through his veins. When he blinked, the green hue in his left eye receded, returning his vision to its natural, balanced slate grey. The physical transformation protocol was intact.

Next, he selected the Songs tab.

The familiar catalog of musical compositions expanded into a broad, floating parchment of text. Directly beside each track title, a new numerical counter pulsed with a soft cyan light. The figures displayed the precise amount of Resonance points generated by that individual song in real time.

"That's neat," Dorian murmured under his breath. "Now I can track genuine metrics on which genres resonate across the galaxy instead of trusting biased entertainment charts."

He customized the layout, dragging the display parameters until the list reorganized into a descending leaderboard ranked by total Resonance yield.

Sitting firmly in the number one slot was What I've Done by Linkin Park, the driving rock anthem he had handed over to the Norva Park band. The former dock workers from Proxima had clearly done wonders with the track, turning its heavy guitars and raw emotion into a runaway hit that was sweeping through industrial worlds.

Right behind it sat the cornerstone pieces he had performed personally under the silver mask of Percival: the protective orchestral ballad You'll Be In My Heart, the energetic franchise anthem Gotta Catch 'Em All, and the historic peace ballad Wind of Change that had quieted the streets of Nexus Prime. 

Interspersed among the upper ranks were several soulful melodies recorded by Briane Taleini, all steadily feeding his reserve pool. Having concrete data on galactic listening habits was going to make managing the Percival persona remarkably straightforward.

Dorian navigated to the Movies tab.

Only two entries were currently registered: Spirited Away and the animated Pokémon series.

"Hmm. So the serialized animated show counts under movies," he noted quietly.

Both titles possessed their own independent Resonance generation counters, quietly ticking upward with every viewing cycle across the Accord. He set that category aside for later review and shifted his attention to the game banners.

He opened the gacha interface. The summon costs remained completely identical to their pre-update values. Dorian let out a quiet sigh, having secretly entertained the hope that a massive system upgrade might introduce a celebratory discount on pull prices. To ensure the summoning mechanics were still responsive, he executed a single test pull on each active banner. The rewards registered into his inventory without a hitch.

Finally, he focused on the newest addition. He tapped the glowing Domain tab.

The screen dissolved into an intricate schematic map. The display presented a clean architectural breakdown of every Round Table Studio title built for the Caliburn VR framework, all branching out from an interconnected central town square.

He touched the icon for Pokémon Arena.

A panoramic overview of a colossal, sunlit stadium materialized before him. The tiered spectator stands were silent, and the pristine arena floor stretched out beneath an open sky. In the upper corner of the diagnostic window, a small counter read:

[Concurrent Player: 0]

The interface functioned as a live command monitor for the virtual world. The layout suggested deeper administrative authority was possible, yet unlocking those tools clearly required a living population of players to fill the space.

Satisfied with his initial sweep, Dorian swiped his hand to dismiss the interface. The translucent blue light melted away into the crisp morning breeze.

Artemis stood by the marble balustrade, resting the lower tip of her unstrung recurve bow against her sandal. "Well. It seems everything is up and running again."

Dorian offered a relaxed smile, dusting off his sleeves. "Yes. And I have a strong feeling this system carries far more capabilities than what appears on the surface."

He turned toward the flagstone path winding down the mountain terrace, taking a step toward the descent. "See you again, Lady Artemis."

Artemis offered a slow, solemn nod of acknowledgment as he walked away, her keen eyes returning to the silent horizon.

…

Three days later, the first massive wave of Caliburn VR seats reached front doors across dozens of star systems.

On the capital world of Ardota Prime, high above the pristine marble spires and archival terraces, Yna had taken an official day of leave from her duties. A Preserver rarely stepped away from her work without cause, yet the arrival of the heavy composite shipping container warranted an exception.

She unpacked the hardware with meticulous care, laying out every connector cable and auxiliary sensor beside the chair. Yna sat down at her desk and read the thick technical instruction manual from cover to cover twice. Preservers were researchers by trade, and taking risks with an uncalibrated piece of neural equipment was out of the question.

Once she verified that every exterior indicator showed a steady green status light, she settled into the memory-foam cradle. The contours of the seat shifted slightly, automatically matching the curvature of her spine.

Yna took a slow, steady breath and tapped the primary dive button on the side armrest.

A gentle chime hummed beside her ears, followed by a soothing acoustic harmonic that resonated through the base of the skull. Instinct took over, and she allowed her eyelids to flutter shut as the neural synchronization took hold.

When Yna opened her eyes, the familiar ceiling of her apartment was gone.

She stood in the middle of a vibrant, sunlit prairie. The emerald grass rippled in a soft, fragrant breeze, brushing gently against her boots. The sensory feedback was astonishingly crisp, from the warmth of the sun on her cheeks to the scent of clover in the air. Looking past the edge of the clearing, she noticed the terrain ended cleanly in a neat circle, as if an isolated disc of living nature had been loaded exclusively for her.

A melodic tone chimed in the sky above.

A floating dialogue prompt appeared before her:

[Would you like an assistant guide for your initial orientation?]

Yna raised her hand and selected [Yes].

A shower of golden starlight burst into the air before her eyes. As the sparkles cleared, a palm-sized woman hovered gently on shimmering wings of light.

The guide wore a stylish witch outfit cut from midnight-black fabric with crimson velvet trims, complete with a tiny pointed hat and silver buckles. In her right hand, she held a miniature wooden staff crowned by a glowing azure crystal.

She hovered at eye level, offering a polite curtsy in midair. "Hello, player. I'm Morgan le Fay. You may call me Morgana."

Yna blinked, taking in the absurd level of detail on the tiny figure, right down to the embroidery along the hem of her cloak. "Ah. Hello. I'm Yna."

Morgana tilted her head, resting the staff casually against her shoulder. "Would you like to register 'Yna' as your official public username?"

Yna paused for a moment, shaking her head. "No, let us go with 'LoreSeeker_Yna'."

Morgana tapped the tip of her staff in the air, creating a soft ripple of silver rings. "Registering and confirming: LoreSeeker_Yna."

Yna gestured toward the edge of the floating grass circle. "So, Morgana, where exactly am I right now?"

"You're currently resting in the Tutorial Hub," Morgana answered, her voice clear and cheerful. "This private environment exists to calibrate your senses and allow your nervous system to adjust safely to the neural synchronization of the hardware. We can configure your movement profiles, tactile thresholds, and interface layouts here. Would you prefer to skip the orientation, or would you like to jump straight into the calibration routine?"

A delighted smile spread across Yna's face. "Let's jump right into it."

…

Across star systems, millions of newly arrived players were experiencing their own dives, repeatedly catching their breath in surprise as the charming little witch materialized to guide them through the void.

Far away in his streaming room, Roric was already grinning from ear to ear.

His Caliburn seat was fully linked to his high-bandwidth broadcast feed, and Morgana was floating right beside his left shoulder, deftly adjusting his volumetric interface with quick flicks of her staff.

With her help, Roric had his live broadcast chat pinned directly to his virtual body. Whenever he rotated his left wrist, a sleek holographic display illuminated along his forearm, showing the scrolling comments in crisp cyan text.

"Thanks, Morgana," Roric said, rotating his hand to admire the alignment. "I'm still a bit clumsy with these shortcuts."

His wrist feed instantly went wild with messages:

>: "Thank you, Morgana!">: "Okay, she is ridiculously adorable.">: "Look at this man dragging out the tutorial just to spend delusional time with a her.">: "Bro is completely ignoring the game menus."

Morgana floated closer to the wrist display, her ruby eyes scanning the cascading text.

She turned toward the invisible camera sensor and smiled. "Hello, chat. Thank you for the kind words."

Roric froze.

Down on his wrist, the endless wall of jokes stopped dead for two seconds before being replaced by a torrential flood of question marks.

Roric slowly turned his head to stare at the fairy-sized guide. "Wait a second. You can actually read the chat?"

"Yes, of course," Morgana replied cheerfully.

She twirled her staff, bringing up an auxiliary settings window right in front of him. A highlighted slider hovered over an option labeled External Broadcast Integration.

"The system detects an active public streaming feed and bridges the data into my buffer," she explained, pointing at the slider with her staff. "If my interactions become distracting to your broadcast, you can toggle the permission off at any time."

The stream chat detonated into pure hysteria:

>: "SHE TALKED TO US!">: "ARTHUR PENDRAGON, YOU ABSOLUTE GENIUS!">: "I officially announce that I'm never leaving the tutorial hub.">: "Best guide in galactic history!"

Morgana let out a soft, musical giggle, drifting back to hover in front of Roric's face. "No need to worry about being separated. I can be summoned to assist you at any time, even after you exit the tutorial zone. Would you like to proceed to the main communal hub now?"

Roric could barely contain his excitement. He tapped the glowing confirmation box without a second of hesitation. "Yes, take me in!"

Morgana raised her staff, and the azure crystal flared with brilliant light.

"Allocating regional server partition," Morgana announced, her voice echoing with playful warmth. "Server connected. Have fun, Handsome_Roric."

A cascade of silver and azure light coalesced in the center of a wide stone plaza, resolving into Roric's newly calibrated virtual form.

He blinked against the soft warmth of simulated sunlight, glancing at the small status readout pinned to the top corner of his vision.

[Server Partition: Planetary Sector 21]

The studio had organized the network architecture by planetary sectors, cleanly compartmentalizing regional traffic to keep latency virtually nonexistent.

Roric tilted his head upward. Floating gently above his peripheral horizon, arched letters forged from radiant golden light read: The Isle of Avalon.

"Whoa," Roric breathed, looking directly toward the invisible streaming capture node. "This is so sick, chat."

The environment was a rustic, picturesque village tucked between rolling green hills. Cobblestone paths wound past timber-framed cottages, flower-draped taverns, and manicured hedges. In the very center of the town square stood an ancient, moss-draped boulder of grey granite. Driven deep into the heart of the stone was an ornate silver longsword, its hilt gleaming under the midday sky.

Flashes of light flickered constantly around the square as thousands of other players materialized into the instance, looking around in wide-eyed wonder.

A brief burst of golden sparkles appeared near Roric's left ear, and Morgana hovered into view, her tiny pointed hat dipping as she performed an elegant midair bow.

Down on his forearm, the chat feed immediately reacted with a wall of greeting emotes.

"Hello again, Handsome_Roric," Morgana said cheerfully, resting her crystal staff over one shoulder. "Welcome to The Isle of Avalon. This serves as your central home portal where you select your destination. At present, the complete Round Table Studio collection is accessible along the grand avenue to the north."

Roric turned in a slow circle, noticing large, open plots of cleared land bordered by low wooden fences flanking the main streets.

"Will those empty plots be filled in eventually?" Roric asked, pointing toward a vacant stretch of grass.

"Most of those parcels will be leased to retail partners as dedicated interactive storefronts," Morgana explained with a bright smile. "You'll be able to walk in, handle real merchandise, try on clothes, and purchase physical products for direct home delivery without having to visit a planetary commercial center or guess whether an online listing will fit properly."

Roric's eyes widened. "Now that is absurdly convenient."

Existing platforms like Stellarshop allowed customers to inspect floating holographic projections, yet digital holograms could never replicate the actual weight, texture, or physical drape of an item before it arrived in a courier crate. Experiencing accurate tactile feedback through the Caliburn before swiping credits would transform interstellar commerce.

Roric scanned the buildings along the boulevard. "There aren't very many commercial spaces active yet, though."

"For the moment, the Apex Guild and Stonebeard Heavy Industry are the only entities with completed pavilions," Morgana answered, gesturing toward two large, beautifully designed halls near the edge of the market.

"Fair enough," Roric said, turning his attention back to his viewers. "Chat, shopping can wait. I think we need to actually dive into a game first, don't you think?"

The scrolling text on his wrist immediately flooded with competing suggestions.

"Alright, let's settle this properly," Roric declared, tapping a quick shortcut to generate a live channel poll on his screen. "Vote right now. Are we jumping into Pokémon Arena, Assassin's Creed, Sky, or Monster Hunter? Go ahead and lock in your choices, chat."

While the percentage bars began climbing, a loud burst of laughter drew his gaze toward the center of the town square.

A heavily muscled neman player wearing a simple leather tunic was standing atop the granite boulder, his hands clamped tightly around the crossguard of the embedded sword. The man leaned back with all his weight, his face turning bright crimson as he groaned in exertion.

The blade remained completely motionless.

Beside the rock, the player's companion doubled over, howling with laughter.

"Try it yourself then, genius!" the first player barked, releasing the grip and rubbing his raw palms.

The second player scoffed, hopped onto the stone, and grabbed the hilt with a confident grin. He hauled upward with a fierce grunt. Nothing moved. Within seconds, a curious crowd of dozens of onlookers gathered around the base of the rock, cheering, jeering, and taking turns attempting to dislodge the weapon.

Roric took a few steps closer, amused by the spectacle.

Every single challenger failed to budge the blade by even a millimeter. Muffled murmurs began rippling through the circle, with players laughing and concluding that the sword was merely a decorative set piece.

Down on Roric's forearm, the chat feed rapidly pivoted away from the game vote:

>: "Do it, Roric! Show them how a caster does it!">: "Bro can't even lift his own grocery bags, he has zero chance.">: "Watch it be an unlisted secret achievement with an exclusive title.">: "The reverse psychology is real. Pull the sword, coward!"

Roric checked the final tally of his poll. Assassin's Creed had taken the lead with forty-two percent of the vote.

"The chat has spoken for Ezio," Roric announced with a grin, rolling up his virtual sleeves. "However, before we head to the Renaissance, I have to settle a matter of personal honor with this rock."

The surrounding crowd parted as Roric climbed the short flight of stone steps leading to the boulder. He planted his boots firmly against the rough granite surface, reached down, and locked both hands securely around the cold leather wrap of the longsword's hilt.

He braced his core and pulled.

The weapon felt impossibly anchored, yet what shocked him was the sensory sensation coursing through his arms. A deep, heavy resistance pushed back against his palms. His shoulders tightened, his spine compressed, and a genuine ache of muscular strain radiated across his upper back as the Caliburn translated the digital resistance into convincing physical feedback.

Roric let go with a sudden gasp, staggering back a step.

"Why do I feel like my actual muscles are straining in a virtual world, chat?" Roric exclaimed, shaking out his tingling fingers.

The gathered players laughed warmly, nodding in shared struggle.

Roric let out an easy, breathless chuckle of his own, hopping down from the pedestal. The experience was astonishingly real.

Around the square, groups of friends began organizing their parties, setting waypoints, and heading down the paved avenues toward the towering portal gates that led into their chosen titles. Roric turned his stride toward the sunlit archway marked with the silver crest of the Brotherhood.

The gates of Avalon were officially open, and a new era of galactic adventure had begun.