“Nay, Foundling,” the younger boy called to his red-headed best friend. “There is no such thing as magical fairy [Otters] in the spring who grant wishes.”
“Shaddup, Mark. If you didn’t believe me, then why did you follow me?” Julius replied. “And don’t call me Foundling. It’s Gaius.”
“Whatever. Idiot,” he whispered as he smacked another branch out of the way. “If there were really such [Otters],” he called again. “Then why would they—”
Julius heard Mark’s voice fall silent, but paid no heed to it. The fool wasn’t helping him in his relentless ascent to power. No, he would need a powerful father figure. But where could he find one? Until then, he was left to resort to wild tales of fanciful magic.
Julius continued on this way for nearly a minute before he stumbled out at the river’s edge. “Hey Mark!” he cried, but little returned to him but the chitter and chirp of the forest. “Mark!” he cried louder.
“Your friend cannot hear you,” a voice rumbled at him. It was so deep that, though he had never heard one before, Julius thought it resembled a great landslide.
“Why—” Julius voice cracked awkwardly. Cursed eight-year-old body! “Why can he not hear me?”
“Because he was knocked unconscious.”
“Oh, well, at least you didn’t kill him. He has a lot of stooging to do before I’m done with him.”
“…That’s really cold.”
“It is but the sole path to power.”
A quirked eyebrow unseen by any was all the response made.
Julius was left standing by the riverside as he awkwardly talked to himself for an hour before deciding that the spirit had left him and he started searching for the unconscious body of his minion.
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“It is simple. I am the rightful ruler of this nation, but I have no means to prove myself.”
The pair simultaneously glanced at each other, then intoned, “[Identify].”
> Ding!
>
> Octavus Pendragon (L10) [Brillian] (UC) (L10)
“The [Guard] Skill?”
“Yep, and you’re right that it’s useless,” Cora remarked.
“Ideas?” Dips asked.
“Train him for three months then show up in, uhh, what’s the nearest city, Octavus?”
“Earl’s Rest.”
“Right. Show up in Earl’s Rest in three months and I’ll have something figured out.”
“He’s already level 10. Should I try our davidian gambit with the experience multipliers?”
“You can try, but don’t kill him, please. Oh, and focus on swords.”
With that, Cora disappeared in a burst of wind and magic. “Swords?” Dips muttered to himself as Octavus found himself searching around for the talkative otter.
“You can stop, kid. If she didn’t want you to see her, there’s nothing you could do.”
“What? Why?”
“She is—or was, depending on your point of view—a supremely powerful [Illusion Mage]. Different now, but somethings you don’t lose, especially with us.”
“What do you mean was?”
“She’s along the path of the [Gourmand].”
“S–she—” Octavus stuttered hard in shock, “She gave up a specialized [Mage] Class for… such a decadent thing!”
Dips raised an [Otter] eyebrow. “What? No. She lost it. And I have no obligation to explain ourselves to you, so don’t ask how we could lose a Class.”
“Is it something I would have to worry about?” Octavus’ reply came across as thin and brittle.
“No no no. All you need to worry about is not dying. Prematurely, at least. We all die eventually.”
“That we do,” Octavus deflated in relief. “But what…” he trailed off as he saw pure mana coalescing in the buff little [Otter’s] paw. As an Unclassed child, he shouldn’t have even been able to see mana usually. But Dips was concentrating such a huge amount—a million MP, not that Octavus knew--that even to his mundane eyes, it glowed with an eerie blue light that sang to his soul. As the mana finished its motions, it coalesced into reality as a crystalline material that shone with an inner light of the same hue as before. It was shaped and sized as a short sword, though Octavus wasn’t familiar with this particular design. Watching the tiny [Otter] wield the comparatively humongous sword was comical for just a moment, before the realization of what he had just seen sent a nauseating chill down his spine.
“A blade conjuration Skill,” he whispered. Rare enough as is, but most common with [Assassins], though some lightly-armored fighters who specialized in volumetric use of arms also had it. But, those blades were inevitably fleeting things that quickly dissipated and never anchored themselves too firmly into reality.
As the [Otter] handed it to him, saying some words which Octavus couldn’t find himself to listen to, the significance of what he had observed only cemented itself into his mind.
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He was in deep shit.
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A week later, Octavus was in even deeper shit. Dips was a terrifying, cruel taskmaster. After only five days of the most strenuous Skill training that Octavus had ever heard of, let alone experienced, he had picked up [Basic Swords], [Footwork], and [Parry]. Actually, that in itself was a friggin’ miracle, and Octavus was mostly sure that under that gruff exterior, Dips was using a Skill or three to accelerate his training.
Though, as his sword clanged against the crude shield that his [Goblin] (L22) opponent was using, Octavus couldn’t help but curse that Dips wouldn’t let him level up past Level 10.
“Don’t strike a shield with your sword; go around it!” Dips called helpfully or unhelpfully from the sidelines.
Dips had had Octavus ambush the scouting pair of [Goblins] and had taken out the first in his initial strike. But that was the weaker of the two, and this one’s Class was providing it with more staying power than he had expected. Though, as a young Brillian, they were about the same height.
Finally though, the [Goblin] left an opening, which Octavus quickly exploited. As Octavus withdrew his blade from his opponent, he relaxed a moment, breathing deeply and wiping the sweat from his brow as the System notifications dinged past his perception. No sooner had he glanced at the still-pristine blade then he felt a prick at his back near his kidneys.
“You let your guard down, again,” Dips taunted.
“I’d never be able to detect you anyways,” Octavus quickly retorted. He’d had that response saved up for two days now.
“If I used any Skills. But I didn’t,” Dips smiled. “And even Level 18 back there would have been able to do it, as crude as they may be.”
Octavus frowned at that. He… probably should have remained on guard. Shaking his head, he sought for a new topic. “So, can I level up yet?”
“What? No, of course not. You won’t level until we reach Earl’s Rest.”
“What! Why?”
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After explaining the nature of the training technique, Dips and Octavus returned to stalking the forest for suitable opponents, [Goblins] or otherwise. With the basic Skills under his belt, Octavus’ primary concern was gaining in raw strength and experience, in every sense of the latter. And Dips was more than happy to lead him into what were otherwise monstrously dangerous encounters. [Lion Beetles] (L32). [Tiger Mice] (L22). Even a [Brown Bear] (L42).
A few times, Octavus had to retreat. Other times, he was incapacitated. And yet a few times he was injured enough that he could not continue, at least not until he healed. And yet, the XP just. kept. stacking.
Finally, they exited the forest three days away from Earl’s Rest. After camping for the night, Dips finally allowed Octavus to allocate half his XP to his Race and level up.
> Ding!
>
> [Brillian] has reached Level 28. +18 CHA, +18 CON, +5 SKP.
>
> You are now eligible to select a Class.
Octavus gawped at his Status. The Level number, the increased Attributes, the Skill points, the… Class availability.
“Eligible for a Class?” Dips asked slyly with a grin from the other side of the campfire as dusk settled in.
“Yes…” Octavus replied tentatively. “But, how? I’m twelve for Adonite’s sake.”
“It’s not actually an age thing or a maturity thing, but rather total Attributes. Those stories of heroes and legends aren’t exaggerating when someone Classed early. It’s real, if rare enough.”
“But why wouldn’t it be more common? Sure it would be exploited, if not by the common halfling, then by the nobles?”
“It’s difficult. There is only so much natural training you can undertake to grow your Attributes, and there’s rightly some distaste about Systematically inducing growth in children.”
“The loss of childhood.”
“Indeed. You’ve abandoned yours on your path of, uh, vengeance? Reconquest?”
“Reclamation,” Octavus replied piquantly.
“Reclamation, sure,” Dips accepted sarcastically. “Anyways, the point is that the only other major source of Attributes would be leveling. But there’s a reason that the average is only about a thousand XP per year and that even the outliers rarely go above-two thousand annually. There’ll be others younger than you at a higher level, but they’ve lived remarkably harsh lives and it’s a miracle they lived to see through it. But, none had the growth vector you did. Admittedly, you were a bit under-leveled for your age, but who else do you know pumped 17,000 XP into their Race in three months?”
“Arturus the [Swordking],” he murmured.
“Right, well,” Dips replied a little taken aback. “That’s not the point. But don’t Class yet; let’s see what Cora has planned for us.”
“You would have me wait to Class?” skepticism still evident in his voice, even after all this time.
“Of course. You don’t have to Class immediately and you especially don’t have to Class immediately. We already significantly cut into your XP multiplier with those Levels; we don’t need to halve it again by taking a Class and bringing it back up to par.”
“Of-of course,” he stammered out. The two sat there in silence for a while as night descended around them. His body had ached a few hours earlier, but the sudden rush of Attributes meant he felt none of it now, and sleep quickly descended on him.”
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“Wow, I’ve never seen the line to enter the city like this before,” Octavus remarked. The pair were approaching the northern gate, Dips on Octavus’ shoulder feigning as a pet, tiny hat included. What would have normally been perhaps a dozen persons long comprised mostly of farmers, adventurers, and maybe a merchant, instead was hundreds long. The dress of most seemed unfamiliar, but there were several highly-decorated carriages surrounded by guards, and an even larger number of adventurer teams in high-quality gear. Nary a farmer was in sight.
No, wait, Mad Bob the [Pine Tree Farmer] was in line with a bundle of logs in his cart. Good wood that, but there were forests all around for the taking.
“Well, let’s just get in line,” Dips whispered. “There are other ways in,” Octavus quirked an eyebrow, “but let’s play this one straight.”
As the line—well, lines, but that’s not important—moved forward, he could feel the excitement in the crowd, but still couldn’t discern what has happening. It wasn’t until they had passed through and made their way into the city that the answer became clearer.
As they entered the central plaza in the merchant’s district, a large crowd was gathered around a three meter tall obsidian boulder. Carved on one side were a set of narrow steps to the top. And at the top sat a sword, intwained into the rock. And onto the other side were carved the words, “Whosoever should pull this sword from this stone should rightly be [King] of Abilon.”
As the crowd watched, entertained though no longer hopeful in equal measures, a line of nobles, adventurers, and the common folk snaked its way up to and back from the top of the rock. Each tried for a minute, alternately cheered and jeered by the crowd, before an enchantment deeply bound to the rock expelled the contender off from atop of it. None succeeded. And if the idle chatter nearby was to be trusted, none had succeeded in the ten weeks since the rock had mysteriously appeared.
The next thing Octavus knew, he was in line.
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Merl, [Human] and [Archmage], was having a rough day. And he still wasn’t sure why he was putting up with being in this line to try pulling this damn sword from the stone. What good was he to do with a [Sword]? Damn the mage-kings of old had it easy, he thought, stroking his long white beard. He wasn’t even [Brillian] and, last he checked, this kingdom had been ruled by [Brillian] monarchs for as long as it had existed. And he was stuck behind this [Brillian] punk with an [Otter] familiar.
Wait, if the [Otter] is a familiar, why does this kid have a sword. [Arcane Analysis].
Merl triggered his go-to Skill for analyzing magic, and felt as the mana preformed itself as needed. But, it was suddenly disrupted and the Skill fell apart.
What the hell? How did something like that even happen? He thought in surprise. He didn’t have long though, as the kid soon ascended the steps up the stone.
Maybe the [Otter] has some intrinsic ability? If so, maybe I should buy it off the—
Merl’s thoughts ground to a halt as the shring of the sword being pulled from the stone spread through the plaza, stunned silence in its wake. Then,
> Ding!
>
> Quest Completed: The sword has been pulled. The rightful heir to the throne has been found. All hail Octavus Pendragon, [King] of Abilon. And his arcane adviser, Merl Ambrose (L128), [High Human] (L64) [Arcane Archmage] (L64).
Uh, what?
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