Sean realized that he could run far more easily than before, despite the fact that he wasn’t all that great at jogging. Then again, he’d never done it seriously before. Every time he did, he was trying to catch up to a bus or train, or was during Physical Education. As an avid hater of all things physical, he often skipped it, though.

Soon after their race started, Sean came to realize that not getting tired didn’t necessarily mean his body being impervious to exhaustion. The only part in his body that could take on a ten minute sprint was his lungs. He didn’t run out of breath, but his shins ached and thighs were weary already. He’d assume that having a high Vitality would mean he could move more, but he was sorely mistaken.

And still, there was no hut in sight. Back when he had only come to the world, he could scale an eighth of the mountain in half an hour via walking. He’d done half in ten minutes after the race started, undoubtedly the sprint helping them. Sean was surprised to see Brandon blazing past him with little effort. How high was his Agility, even?

Bit by bit, Sean lost sight of Brandon and his visage had completely disappeared, hidden by the joint effort of the darkness and the mountain. But he persevered. Not that it was a matter of willpower. It was simply a matter of bearing through the pain, which was but a mild inconvenience compared to what he was used to. However, being hurt from pushing one’s body was different from being hurt from an injury.

While the pain from an injury had a certain maximum and lessened with time, if ever so imperceptibly for most people, pain from pushing one’s body ended up growing with time. And after what he swore was thirty minutes, Sean finally reached Brandon. His shins were burning and his shoulders slightly ached from his backpack flailing around.

He did not know if he was sweating, but he should have been at that point.

So he stood there, next to Brandon who had already recovered and was standing in the shade offered by a tree by the time Sean got there. Standing under a lone tree was dangerous, people said, but Sean was itching to take a break from the rain at that point.

It looked something like a pine, and the worst of the rain was kept out. Each step he made made a wet slop sound, clearly due to the fact that his shoes and socks were now wet, and his jacket and armor were too. The water seeped into his body and made him feel uncomfortable, but interestingly, he didn’t feel cold.

“You’re slow,” said Brandon haughtily, with hands crossed and a smirk on his face, “Didn’t expect you to be left behind in the dust.”

“At least I’m not tired,” said Sean as he sat down and leaned back on the tree. Getting some pressure off his shins was a given. But still, he hadn’t expected himself to be able to endure for so long —and such a distance, too. It would be a long night, it seemed, but one that they could manage. They had left when it had just gotten dark, so they had at least six hours if this was summer. Eight if it was spring or autumn, but he was sure it wasn’t winter. Otherwise it would be snowing.

“Convincing,” said Brandon and took a seat as well, on the other side of the tree, leaning back on it much like Sean. A few seconds of silence passed, only the sound of the rain keeping them company. And then Brandon asked, “What is your Class?”

“Don’t have one,” said Sean. He wanted a drink, and then remembered. It was raining. He didn’t have to conserve their drinks. Not anymore. They could drink all they want and have it fill up before the rain ended. So he pulled his back to the front and unzipped it. Then he found three quarters of the jerky they had started with and half the bread —it’d work if they made haste, but raiding several of them in a night was seeming more and more unrealistic, given the distance between each, “What?”

The hearts…

If he ate them, he wouldn’t go hungry and they’d reserve their rations given their size…

“So you mean to tell me, you’re managing to defeat them without a Class Skill,” asked Brandon, slowly, as if tasting every word, “How did you learn your Magic?”

Before, the pressure from the parents of the children forced Sean to lie, but there was no reason to now. So he told the truth, “From a book,” and then he turned to Brandon, which mostly amounted to turning his head to the left as far as it went. He had a Class all along? Sean narrowed his eyes, and asked, “How did you get your Class?”

“I just got it,” said Brandon, “After we killed the giant. You didn’t get one?”

Sean was quiet for a moment. So he got a Class after… he killed the giant? Wait…

“Brandon, have you ever killed anything before? I mean something that could fight back, not cattle or fish,” said Sean, staring at him eagerly. He grunted in return, but Sean could make out a faint ‘yeah’ from the tone. So that meant if you didn’t go through the Calibration, you got a Class after killing someone? That’d be valuable information, “So… do you know what a Calibration is?”

“What?” asked Brandon, his tone somewhat confused —far quieter than normal.

“Calibration. Have you heard of it?” Sean asked again, correcting himself if Brandon hadn’t heard him correctly. He went out of his way to say it slowly.

“Never heard of it, but that’s one complicated word,” said Brandon after a few seconds, perhaps to process what word he’d heard, “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve been… teleported here to take care of Helthur, to gain my Class,” said Sean and rubbed his forehead, “That’s why I’m here. To get my Class.”

“That’s hard,” said Brandon, not even hiding it. But he chuckled for a few seconds, “Fighting giants without a Class.”

Sean didn’t try to to tell him that he was the one that chose the Giant Stage because it was the one that he thought he’d die the easiest in. There was a sort of mutual respect between them, he hoped, and letting Brandon know that he was here due to an elaborate suicide plan would most likely be a bad idea.

“Says you. You didn’t have one just yesterday,” said Sean, half-joking. Wait… he was joking around with him? This was a completely unexpected development. It was hard to believe that their meeting resulted in him vomiting out a day’s worth of food.

“But now I do and you do not,” said Brandon and a chuckle sounded out. He then audibly stood up. The sound could be clearly made out. He walked over to Sean’s side, and squatted in front of him. He noticed that Brandon had left his axe and buckler on the other side of the tree, wherever he was sitting, “Can you do it alone?”

“Who knows?” asked Sean with a wry smile. He had an inkling as to what Brandon was getting to, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to pass, “I started riding assuming that I’d be the only one fighting.”

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“I’d rather prepare,” said Brandon, “The Skill… it’s useful, and strong. If I master it, I can take down the giants easily. But I know you cannot wait.”

“I’ve wasted enough time,” said Sean. It felt weird, talking about whether or not he wanted to fight monsters that were far larger than him all alone. He would very much prefer support, but his pride did not allow for that, “I have to return as soon as possible, and as powerful as possible. Fighting them is the best shortcut I can think of. But you have all the time in the world, Brandon. And you don’t have an extra life.”

The sound of the rain was overwhelming now, far too loud. But it was a good loud.

“I’ll be leaving,” said Brandon, and Sean could only nod along. There was a part of him that said this was only a game, and that he was an NPC; but another side of him didn’t want to endanger the life of someone —especially someone that could possibly become strong enough to beat him.

If the System expected him to complete the mission before getting a Class, it stood to reason that someone with a Class would have a better chance. In weeks, perhaps Brandon could be able to defeat a giant easily, but Sean wanted to get back as fast as possible. He missed Clara, and was worried, and that filled his thoughts along with the meeting with his parents.

It was a bittersweet feeling, seeing the only companion he’d had for the last day turn his back on him; even if it was consensual. But he hadn’t gotten too attached. Not enough time.

But Brandon stopped and turned around. And he breathed in before speaking, “I’ll help you with the next one. After that, you’re alone.”

Sean smiled slightly.

He was on a rollercoaster of unfamiliar feelings and situations —one moment he felt bittersweet, and the other he felt guiltily relieved. And he would fight the next giant with a tank protecting him while on the latter ones he wouldn’t have such a luxury. It worked, he supposed.

Sean wanted Brandon to help him, afraid of being killed too early before he got maximum mileage from his choice. No, it wasn’t quite fear.

It was insecurity —belief that he wasn’t enough all alone.

But he was only human, and his heart couldn’t bear forcing another who had a bright future to walk into his death. He could shrug away the pain after he’d done it, but before, it was difficult.

“There is no turning back once you’ve made the choice,” whispered a voice into his ear. No… in his head. And it wasn’t a single voice now. There were two —both his mother and father. He looked at the distance, to the left. Despite the annoyance that the rain brought, it made for a nice ambience, and he tried to focus on it. He was getting used to these voices, but it did something it had never before. This time, it spoke once more, “Do it.”

Sean stared at empty space, not the mountain range and his consciousness drowned in the voices thoughts. But an “Are you okay?” from Brandon brought him back to reality, somehow managing to come in at just the right times. It was nice, having him at his side. But without him… Sean was growing less and less confident in his abilities to beat the level by himself. But he’d try. And that was all that mattered.

As his father used to say, being defeated didn’t mean he was pathetic. Not trying did.

He chuckled.

To think that he even dared to think about committing suicide when he first came into the Calibration. That wasn’t who his father had raised him to be!

“Are you going insane now?” asked Brandon, with a raised eyebrow.

“No. I just remembered something that I shouldn’t have forgotten,” said Sean and hopped back to his feet, a grin on his face. The pain from before completely gone, “Race you to the next hut.”

With a head start, he started to sprint up.

***

Jarls used to rule the land of Veidrheim not even a century and a half ago, and they had been reduced to nothing more than slaves to the whims of a few giants when they appeared. Helthur was mighty, but his underlings were far from it. Fillmore himself knew that well. He had nearly killed one with the Outlander. No… he was no mere Outlander —he was a hunter, the Foretold Savior.

“You hold high hopes for the boy,” said Richter, the fat descendant of a Jarl. If he hadn’t been the most influential people in the entire region, then perhaps Fillmore would pay him no mind. But he was, and he was one of the few that had warriors under his command anymore. Some other young’uns brimming with potential were scattered across the land, but they weren’t trained.

“I do,” said Fillmore. He believed in him. If he couldn’t save the region, then no one could. No, that wasn’t true. Those with brave hearts would rise and other Outlanders would come, but this was a good time for change. They’d killed a Giant for the first time, and that would kindle the flames of rebellion, “He hasn’t fallen yet.”

“You ask too much of me for too little,” said Richter, twirling his oily moustache as he did so, “The livelihood of my village is at stake, Fillmore. You may be the most respected man in the land, but even that respect cannot make me put the lives of my people on the line. Especially after my son rode off with the hunter-mage.”

“It is. That is why I didn’t come empty handed,” said Fillmore, the comfortable chair with cushions making his back ache. He stood up from it and paced around the small room —it was Richter’s office. The chair wasn’t a perfect fit for his old bones. His body was used to lying on something hard. They’d been sitting across a table, on the opposite ends.

Then he put a shiny rock on the table the size of a glass marble. It glowed an eerie red, with runic symbols too small to make out creating a pattern across it.

“You…” said Richter as he instantly stood up, hands on the table. Exasperatedly, he stared at Fillmore, then at the marble at least a dozen times, alternating between them, “You’d go that far?”

“Richter, this is a chance for us to stand up —to rally the people under a single flag. If that means that I sacrifice the heirloom, then so be it. My father and his father before him would have done the same. This is our best chance,” said Fillmore. He stood there, with both hands on the table, very much like Richter —and they stared at each other, “If they will not unite under the name of the hunter-mage, they never will.”

Richter clenched his teeth and that made his double chin bulge out slightly. But he nodded, both lips pressed together perhaps even harder than his teeth as he looked down, “I’ll get the boys. And I’ll send a messenger to Earlwood and Cricken,” then Richter nodded his head several times and turned to Fillmore, tears welling up in his ears, “If my boy has died, at least bring me his body. He deserves a proper funeral, like a true warrior.”

Fillmore walked across the battle ever so slowly, through the left, and put his hand on Richter’s shoulder.

“He’ll be feasting with the gods if he has. But he’ll be alive, I’m sure of it,” he said, trying his best to console. Anyone could easily tell that it wasn’t his strong suit, “He’s as great a man as your father. He will not fall easily.”

“Just… take them and ride,” said Richter and he walked away, turning to the window to hide his face. Fillmore knew him well, despite having truly talked only a dozen times at most. But even a single talk between men of their stature decided their further relations —the de facto rulers of two villages.

Fillmore knew better than to keep talking, and promptly walked out the room, and closed the door behind him.

“I know you’re there,” he said, and to clarify, Fillmore added, “Ashley.”

She coyly walked out from behind the corner, stepping ever so lightly. They were on the second floor of Richter’s mansion, which didn’t house many people. Not this part, at least.

“Tell him to come himself. He can’t hide behind you forever,” said Fillmore rather grumpily and turned to the opposite direction, trying to descend down the stairs in the distance.

“It wasn’t father this time,” said Ashley, inciting a raised eyebrow from Fillmore, though he didn’t turn back, “He said that he’d go with, if you were talking of riding. But I’m here to… ask to go together.”

“Is it about Sean?” asked Fillmore as he finally turned around. There weren’t many love interests for her, so it made sense for her to latch onto the first one she ran into who was her own age, “He’s an Outlander.”

“No,” said Ashley almost too quickly. Then she looked down, slightly to the left, “I… want to know if auntie is alive.”

“Ash, she’s been there for ten years,” said Fillmore. He slowly shook his head, “Helthur is easily bored. She must have been violated by one of his goons and thrown away already. Your father wouldn’t forgive me if I let you.”

“But-” started Ashley, but he was promptly stopped by Fillmore’s gaze. It was stern, unlike the him that she knew. No, rather, it wasn’t the one that she came to know. In her youth and in his years before his descent to seniority, Fillmore had been fierce man that demanded respect —she had simply not expected to see that side again. Then she sheepishly spoke, “I understand.”

The gaze softened and Fillmore softly said, “If she is alive, then I’ll bring her back. Don’t worry.”

And with that, he descended the stairs, leaving Ashley alone with her thoughts. It was time to bring the fight to the giants.