Oliver had the pleasure of experiencing a week unlike any other. Because while he was technically currently their prisoner, he also managed to learn quite a bit about them as a people. And while, yes, it had been slightly terrifying when they all congregated onto him like vultures to a carcass, which happened to be what he assumed he was going to become, a distressing degree of said fear was truly more a result of his own prejudices than their actions. He honestly should have considered the fact that they captured the others rather than eat them. And while he was comfortable assigning some blame to his arachnophobia, if only some, as they were rather humanoid, even if they produce spider-silk, that was still no excuse for assumptions based purely on their non-human-traditional appearance, especially now, in a far more diverse world.

Beyond the gratitude he felt towards them as a people for helping him confront his own prejudiced nature before it truly became a problem, it was also quite the interesting learning experience.

There were, of course, ups and downs during his stay with them, one immediate difficulty arising when he realised that they did not cook their meals, and expected him not to recure prepared food. However, they proved themselves gracious hosts, when, after a day or three of clamouring for an open dialogue between their groups, one had ultimately decided that he should be heard. And so, after some slight negotiations, where he learned that even though the translations of the system, biological accents still existed through the fascinating hissing cadence their voices held, he got to eat either edible mushrooms when found, or the hearts of the animals they hunted. And while he would not deny the slight trepidation he first felt when offered the raw heart of a deer, he knew animal hearts to be edible, healthy even, and so swallowed without complaint. And only slight gagging when the warm blood of another creature filled his mouth. Nonetheless, it was still by far preferable to them cooking inside of a highly flammable sticky labyrinth, situated firmly atop an incredibly flammable sea.

His occasional conversation and meal of freshly harvested mushroom and or heart only occupied so much of his time, however, so he eventually, after two hours of captivity where he still hoped for a daring rescue, decided to do something productive. And so, he began the daring and challenging hobby of weaving. What, exactly, he was weaving was uncertain, and to be quite frank not important, because even if it was simply a sticky sheet at the moment, and even if he had been accused of attempting to escape his pit when they discovered him pulling threads from his walls. Besides, beyond simply being fun and fulfilling while captive, it was also helping him level his craft, namely the artisan of rope and sap. It was even rather easy to progress in, to the point that he had reached the hallowed halls of level three artisans, with the mighty skill spoken of only in legends, of a beginner weaver, who ‘should really just stomp on top of a pile of spider silk, as it would make a finer weave’.

Then another week passed, and he had ascended to the peaks of the fifth level, only one behind his class. Nothing else truly happened, as was the expectation for the prisoner lifestyle, and yet, he had been hoping to at least hear of the beginning of negotiations between the two camps. Of course, there was a distinct possibility for Camilla to assume him dead, a not unreasonable assumption, given the clawed state of the arachnoids’ hands and the explicitly murderous manner in which they piled atop him. Even if they were one-fourth of his size. To be utterly fair they also possessed paralytic toxins in their bites, and he had been bitten thrice before the arachnoids realized that he had already been pacified.

But, while his state of imprisonment steadily became increasingly tolerable, due in large part to animal hearts being an acquired taste, reaching the ranks of tolerated, he was also inclined to end his stay. As it turned out, there were very real limits to the degree of entertainment which could be drawn from a circular web hole with a radius of three meters, and one half of the floor covered in webbing as well. He also wouldn’t pretend that the mushroom cap jutting from the web-covered section of the floor wasn’t highly concerning, what with the teal spores constantly falling from beneath its cap, which seemed to make the webbing they touched crusty.

And so, fueled by the inexplicable power teenagers received when bored or dissatisfied which allow them to perform incredibly, and very likely stupid, feats, he set to work escaping with great vigour.

Now the only slightly problematic concern was how he would plan his glorious escape.

He, of course, attempted to manipulate the silk threads with his mana, yet it seemed that there was nothing for him to latch onto around the sides or above the pit. He came to the temporary conclusion that the necessary training he would have to partake in was too prone to discovery by the meal bringers for it to be a viable path.

Then the problem of magic, or string manipulation, to be exact, being his only truly useful skill arose. He was more physically competent than he would have ever dared to dream of in the old world, yet that still did not amount to scaling five meters of wall quite yet. Neither could he dig his way out, as his warden, he supposed that was what the arachnoid he interacted with would be called, had seen it fit to explain to him that he was situated atop the pantry, almost in the heart of their lair.

And while such a situation may seem hopeless to some, Oliver knew that no situation was ever truly hopeless, so long as you hoped. And Oliver was good at hoping.

Oliver scratched his head, shrugged, and lay spread eagle on the bark, as far away from the crusty spores as possible, which was legitimately a rather effective solution, seeing as there was no wind anywhere in the below. He had come to the conclusion that nothing in his current skillset was applicable, whether physical or magical, and so he would simply have to discover a new expertise appropriate for the situation. So, he decided to attempt the same path he had tread before, and look for hints within the system.

Name: Oliver Antonova Species: Human

Class: Brain. Craft: Artisan of rope and sap

Mana: 1080 / 1080 Stamina: 705 / 705

Class level: 6 Craft level: 5 Constitution: 20 Strength: 24 Dexterity: 33 Perception: 22 Charisma: 32 Intelligence: 38 Wisdom: 36 Attribute points: 0

Skills Abilities Status effects

His attributes were balanced, and while others would claim that magic and or superstrength were more entertaining, and far more useful, he would argue that casting spells while performing incredible acrobatics was fun incarnate. And it was not as though he had no focus, he was most certainly still a caster, or at the very least a mentalist, he simply also had the capability to walk with nothing but his hands. Yet as satisfying as it was to know with certainty that he could now claim to have tripled his strength within two months, nothing immediately struck him as applicable to his current circumstances.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

He was also aware of his own capabilities in the area of skills, as they were exactly that, and it was difficult learning how to perform a task without remembering to do so. Which left him with nothing but Abilities and Status effects. This was not ideal, as he had no abilities beyond his racial one, and status effects were limited to his ‘Unknown affliction’ which had yet to disappear or appear, simply satisfied to lie dormant within him. There was a strong possibility that he would be required to investigate and treat it at some point in the future, because while it was not exactly a problem neither was it ideal.

The fact that none of his screens seemed immediately useful was rather problematic, as he had planned to rely upon them for inspiration for grand feats of discovery. Although… his last grand feat of discovery had not been spurred on by skills abilities or status effects, but by his class. It had claimed that magic was attainable, yet only through persistence and effort, which was the primary catalyst for his meditation and subsequent seizure of mana.

Brain.

How impressive, after only two weeks of imprisonment, you have decided to cast a glance at the single thing which defines you more than anything.

Are you sure you picked the right class?

You have focused solely on the raw, immediate power which you can squeeze from intelligence and wisdom, casting aside the subtler arts, such as the written word.

Though perhaps that is for the best, as you have displayed a mind nowhere near sharp enough to understand the power hidden within the written word, a power great enough to defeat empires, never mind the wisdom to use it to that extent.

At every level, the Brain class gains 1 to all stats, 1 to Charisma, Intelligence, and Wisdom, and 1 attribute point.

That was indeed everything he had hoped for, and quite honestly, far more than he had initially imagined. The single most illuminating aspect was most definitely the emphasis it placed upon the written word, and how it did so. Because if it really and truly simply wished for him to communicate with his captors, then he would have assumed for it to speak far more of charisma, another of the primary attributes of his class. And while he was not completely certain of his memory’s integrity, he also seemed to remember it mentioning writing in the first description of the Brain class regarding some people believing the pen to be mightier than the sword. He initially dismissed it as nothing beyond flavor text due to its commonalities with RPGs, and while he had never played one himself, he had seen others do so. And yet, now an idea was dancing at the edge of his mind, as though it was a person he searched for, dancing in a foggy meadow, a visible contour yet still unattainable.

How incredibly informative.

“There is a way out, Oliver, you simply need to think” Oliver muttered to himself, as he began to pace, even as he gleamed nothing more from the text.

Oliver situated himself upon the springy silk of his pit, before beginning to tear clumps off of his ratty weave and arranged four into a diamond pattern on the bark before him. It was hard, as the silk was admittedly strong, yet still nowhere near what the spiders of earth possessed, possibly due to an evolutionary decision to sacrifice quality as the spiders grew bigger, and greater quantities were required. Oliver shook his head, dismissing the thoughts of biology from his head and once again bringing his attention to the tufts of silk before him, and assigning each one a paragraph of the text.

“Never thought the endless analysis of Danish class would be applicable in an actual situation” he muttered softly.

He shook his head again, attempting once more to focus even as his thoughts drifted. Nutrition was beginning to rear its ugly maw, it seemed, as a diet based solely upon a single animal heart a day and the very occasional mushroom was neither healthy nor enough for him. But for now, he needed to focus, even if his stomach was dissatisfied.

There were four decently sized lumps in a square pattern on the bark, each representing a paragraph. He quickly removed the one assigned the role of the first paragraph incarnate, as the message within it was quite obvious, yet unrelated to the mysterious capabilities he had yet to awaken. It essentially told him that he had a way of gaining hints from the new facet of reality which knew exactly what he had the potential to become, and that he should use said resource more often.

He grabbed it from where it found itself at the bottom of his little square and threw it behind him. The second one was also rather apparent, as it told him that he had yet to discover even the basis which his class was built upon.

He threw the tuft atop the diamond shape to the side, leaving two. The first half ‘You have focused solely on the raw, immediate power which you can squeeze from intelligence and wisdom’ was clearly a continuation of the second paragraph, except with more focus. It directed his attention to the fact that another attribute was also meant to be used, even if intelligence and wisdom were still involved. The distinction between immediate power and whatever form of power this skill took was also interesting.

He ripped off three more tufts, one half the paragraph-tufts size, representing the half he focused on, and the other two minuscule, representing the third attribute and the distinction, respectively. He pulled a thin string of web from his floor and connected the half-tuft with the main clump, and the two small lumps with the half-tuft.

As an afterthought, he also connected the two main clumps, as they were the parts directly concerning the power.

He then moved on to the other half-tuft, namely the other half of the third paragraph ‘-casting aside the subtler arts, such as the written word.’ As far as he could tell, there were once again two lumps in this half, although admittedly one was conjecture. Firstly, the word choice of subtler arts, combined with the indication of a third attribute, implied charisma, as it was associated with subtlety, and was the last of the mental attributes. The other fascinating aspect was significantly less of a hint, and more of a note, namely the introduction of the written word.

Oliver stared at the crude, minuscule diagram of information he had made before allowing his eyes to leisurely close. He was approaching the figure, yet could not quite reach it yet, even as more of its form took shape. He yawned loudly, his mind feeling slightly more lightheaded. He considered whether he should perhaps return to his project the next day, rather than now, when he was hungry and tired. He shook the notion away, recognizing the value of the momentum he had built, and the clarity with which he remembered the description, given their tendencies to change.

Refocusing on to the fourth paragraph, Oliver once again began pulling on his shabby sheet, yet only four small lumps this time, with no half tufts. ‘Though perhaps that is for the best, as you have displayed a mind nowhere near sharp enough to understand-‘ was the first facet of the text that Oliver truly saw. The reason for it was the clear and purposeful distinction between intelligence and a sharp mind. If it was indeed purposeful, then that could only mean that he had sufficient attributes for the skill, yet had not found it.

‘-the power hidden within the written word’ The mention of the written word was again interesting, and even moreso due to the fact that the power was hidden, meaning that he had simply not found it. If it had mentioned ‘the right words written’ then it would almost certainly have been in another language, yet it instead indicated that the power was within the languages he knew. He somehow doubted that either English or Danish were the definitive magical languages, which meant that the hidden power was quite possibly a universal power within language. Which meant that his understanding of the language was more essential than the language itself.

Yet in his understanding, neither intelligence nor wisdom involved his understanding of the world, which meant that charisma presumably was more than charm, and somehow held perview over how he viewed the world, and how that view interacted with his magic. An interesting thought to follow later.

‘-a power great enough to defeat empires’ This one simply made it clear through its word choice that it was a direct form of power, rather than an indirect form such as traditional literature which could topple empires.

‘-never mind the wisdom to use it to that extent’ which simply made it clear that while the power at its peak or at least a high could do so, he could not, due to his lacking wisdom attribute, which was the greatest provider of mana, meaning that the power was fueled by mana.

Oliver stared down at the mind-map he had constructed out of his own cell for a moment, before his eyes once more slid closed, and he once again saw the dancing silhouette at the edge of his mind. And then, from one second to the next, the fog cleared, and he found the power he was searching for.

It made perfect sense, in the most embarrassingly, hilariously obvious manner. He had never truly been captured by modern litrpg fantasy, which was perhaps why it had taken him an entire half-hour to recognize what he searched for, yet it perfectly incapsulated every hint.

It was something he already had the necessary means to perform, mana and literacy, and if the mechanics for it were even somewhat similar, then he could easily believe in its power.

“Embarrassingly obvious or not, I can blame malnutrition, and it is certainly something I can utilize in my escape, with a bit of practice, of course.” Oliver said to himself, with an excited grin on his face, as he once more tore at his masterwork, mind map forgotten.