“Do you want us to take chase?” Mumbled a trembling young man as he applied a green paste to a shallow wound.

“Take chase to what?” Sneered Master Rudis as he lounged in the soothing medicinal bath prepared for him.

“That boy, the warlock.”

“Warlock? That peasant is no more a warlock than I am a farmer. But he could be useful for my experiments.” The master’s hand whipped upward, tightly gripping the apprentice’s wrist and directing it to another wound. “Let it be known amongst my apprentices, that I shall reward the one who brings me the farmer with two weeks in one of my inner chambers.”

“Certainly, Master Rudis.”

“So much trouble over a child,” the master sneered. "But if I were able to uncover secrets from him, ones that would allow us to surpass our rivals."

“That covenant of witches?” The apprentice asked.

"Of course, you idiot. Even now they creep into our domain. If I were to find something that gave us an advantage over them, well... Perhaps the other masters would see it fit to promote me to Grandmaster."

"That would truly be an honour, to serve a grandmaster."

"Is a master not good enough for you?" Rudis snapped.

The apprentice bowed his head. "Sorry, master. It was not the intent of my words to suggest that."

"Mind your words around a master." Rudis shrugged, pulling himself away as the apprentice finished tending to the wound. "And do not breathe a word of this to anyone."

Rudis looked down at his wounds. They were shallow and superficial, but they were still an embarrassment. No master should be taken by surprise at the hands of enemies as petty as a wayward clan of satyrs. He sneered again, his mood more foul than usual. The apprentices would hurt today.

*****

“Don't tell me it was you,” Fane quipped, his eyes narrowing on the corpse at Earon’s feet. “How did some peasant kid take out a Bone Collector Necromancer?” Then Fane's head tilted. "No wait, you're that kid from the inn, aren't you?"

"Looks like every other puny manling this side of the gate to me.” Dordan scoffed.

“No, Fane's right, he is familiar. The one that was eavesdropping, right?” Iliana said, her ears twitching as she brought her bow up to aim.

“Yep, that’s the one. Knew I’d seen that face. A little convenient he shows up here, after listening in on our conversation and all. Don't you reckon?”

Earon’s hands sprung up, “what, no. You've got the wrong idea.”

“Better start talking, then and quick!” Fane hissed.

Rambling, Earon retold the story about the satyr attack, and how he escaped into the forest, got lost, and now was potentially on the run from a powerful mage.

“Do you really expect us to believe all that?”

Iliana’s feline eyes narrowed and a glimmer of yellow flashed across them – an inspection skill, and a rare one at that. “Hold up, Fane. I think he might be special...”

“Huh?” Fane grunted his hands already on his dagger hilts.

Iliana tapped her temple. “He’s not all there.”

“Oh,” Fane observed, nodding.

“You’re telling me that a dumbass managed to kill the necromancer?” Dordan questioned, his brutish grin twisting with confusion.

“Dumbass? And what do you mean I’m not all there?” Earon interrupted.

“It’s fine little guy, we’re not going to hurt you,” Iliana replied, gesturing for the others to calm, like you might when approaching a scared animal. “So, you went wandering in the woods and got lost out here, is that correct, little guy?”

Earon groaned, not appreciating the belittling tone. “Look, I’m not stupid.”

“No one ever said you were,” Iliana reassured in a motherly tone and wide smile.

“What are you doing? And why are you talking like that?”

Iliana’s brow raised. “So, you’re not simple?”

“No, that’s what I’ve been saying.”

Her eyes followed Earon’s figure up and down. “You're a human man, are you not?”

“I am.” Earon nodded with a curt smile.

“At level 4?”

Suddenly, it all made sense and begrudgingly Earon retold the story about how he had changed classes and lost all his levels.

“Sounds like bullshit.” Fane injected. “Never heard of someone losing levels. Reckon he’s trying to get one over on us.” Fane gestured at the corpse. “What about him? You kinda missed the part about how a damned necromancer ended up skewered by your feet. Kind of hard to believe that's the work of a level 4, don't you reckon?”

“I just ran,” Earon recalled, quickly realizing he would need to be more convincing when three sets of suspicious eyes stared back. “It was magic resistance, okay?”

“Magic resistance,” Iliana questioned, “at your level?”

“Don’t make no sense. That necromancer would’ve had to have been well over level 20, maybe even above level 30. There’s no way a level 4 resists any spell he’s casting.” Fane sneered.

“He’s got a point. Not to mention the three of us were about to flee, and then somehow, you, some level 4 kid comes and kills him?”

“Well, my magic resistance seems to be rather effective.”

Magic resistance generally wasn’t considered a particularly good ability or spell, not because people didn’t want to be resistant to magic, but because it was rarely effective. First, it was almost never unlocked below level 30, since you had to survive a deadly spell or master the art of countering them. Second, due to the difficulty and means of increasing the ability’s level and knowledge required for the spell; even those who had unlocked it, found it was only effective against spells they, themselves drastically out-leveled.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Come on, we’re not buying it, kid. Just tell us how the necro died?” Fane said with a roll of his eyes.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. You don’t have to believe me. All I want is to get out of this forest, okay?” Earon’s hand disappeared down his tunic, reappearing a second later with his coin pouch. It sagged depressingly and was obviously nearly empty, and when Earon poured the contents onto his palm, only a few thin coins fell out. “One, two, five, eight.” Earon counted with a finger. “Eight coppers' they’re yours, if you can get me back to civilization.”

“We're going to need a little more reassurance than that, kid. I'm still not convinced this isn't all a ruse, and you're trying to get one over on us." Fane's finger swirled over Earon.

Earon grimaced as he looked down at the gnarled expression on the dead necromancer and stepped away from it with a shrug.

Fane pulled out a rope and held it taught between his hands. “And, we get the loot.”

Slumping, Earon nodded, “Sure." Having his hands bound hadn't been his preferred outcome, but at least looting the corpse hadn’t for a second crossed his mind, and the vulgar thought knotted his stomach.

“And that only gets you to Caedstad, understand?” Fane added, already walking toward the corpse.

“Sure, whatever. Just lead the way.” Earon sighed.

“And we’ve got to collect this contract first.”

Fane pushed past Earon, snatching the purse and heading straight for the necromancer’s corpse. His obvious point of interest was the staff of bones, but the moment Fane picked it up, it collapsed.

“Casters, should have guessed.” Fane groaned.

Whilst staffs and other channeling items could be of immense value, it wasn’t uncommon for casters to imbue mundane items with magic. Doing so would turn them into channeling tools. However, if the item were to lose its mana bond with its creator, it would turn back to whatever it had been. Usually, this would be something that would strengthen the caster, bones for a necromancer, maybe a stick for a druid, or a religious symbol for a priest.

The group's first stop was a nearby town, Rainwallow. It was a pleasant enough little village deep within the forest, its timber homes almost melding into the giant oaks that surrounded it. Home to loggers and mushroom pickers – it was a humble place.

A contract for fifty coppers on the removal of a small group of roaming zombies that had been pestering the town had been signed and sent to Caedstad. A pitiful sum of money, but zombies when on their own were considered one of the weakest monsters around.

However, obviously, the task had turned out to be far more than that. Fane had argued with the village elder for close to an hour, demanding extra compensation. It hadn’t come.

The Elder argued that a new contract should have been signed if they came across a necromancer, which if paid fairly would have been several times what they had earned.

Finally, Fane had relented when Iliana pulled him away from the village elder, and they headed back by road to Caedstad with their pony, Curly – a name it earned thanks to its curly mane and wavy fur.

Curly had been left in town whilst they completed the contract, and Fane almost exploded when the villagers requested two coppers for the feed she’d consumed.

“Ungrateful, good for nothing,” Fane muttered as he kicked rocks.

Iliana inspected a parchment whilst they walked. “Well, this brings us to... Only sixty coppers of debt with the Withering Vine. But after supplies, another night when we get back to Caedstad, stabling, a hot meal.” Iliana blanched. “We’ll be worse off than before we left.”

“Told you these contracts were a waste of time,” Dordan grunted.

“You didn’t count my eight coppers,” Earon interjected, receiving unimpressed glares.

“I have to ask, were you telling the truth back there?” Iliana asked.

Earon’s brow raised, figuring the topic was behind them. “Yes...”

“You really do have effective magic resistance?”

“I do. But I can’t really tell you much more than that. Since I don’t really understand any of it.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of a warlock. Are you a caster?” Iliana inquired.

“Not really sure, perhaps?” Earon sighed. “I don’t know how to cast any spells if that’s what you’re wondering, or if it's even possible. Only that the mage I told you about seemed interested in me. And I apparently know a spell, going by my status screen.”

"How is that possible? If you have points in an ability or skill, you have to know how it works, at least a little bit. That's how the entire thing works." Iliana waved her hands through the air.

"I thought so as well, but here we are."

“Well, I've never heard of mundane classes gaining access to spells..." Iliana looked deep in thought for a moment. "Wait a minute, quick question; have you ever considered the adventuring life?”

“What, me?” Earon gasped. “No, no, I’m just a simple farmer.”

“What are you getting at, Iliana? Boy already said he can’t cast spells.” Dordan growled.

“Well, we don’t actually need someone to cast spells, do we? We just need someone who can counter other casters.”

“A level 4? He’ll get himself killed in the first real fight he sees!”

“What about the necromancer then? He seemed to handle himself with that guy!”

“The kid got lucky,” Fane interjected. “Even if he has some powerful magic resistance, who's to say he’d get the chance to get close enough to be effective again? Casters have a habit of sticking behind their melee combatants, and he’s no warrior.”

“That’s what our job would be, clearing his way!”

“Bah, be realistic, Iliana!” Fane snapped.

“Hey guys! Sorry to interrupt, but I’m not planning on adventuring anyway.” Earon said.

“Shut up!” The trio shouted in unison.

"Well, think about it is all I'm saying." Iliana smiled.

"The kid seems like he's got a head between his shoulders, enough of one not to follow us along at least," Fane said, turning to point at Earon.

"He's right, I do." Earon nodded agreeingly.

"Don't listen to him, Earon. The road is full of opportunity."

Earon smiled curtly. "I'm not, I actually like being a farmer. Who'd have thought?"

"Sounds painfully boring to me," Dordan grunted.

The journey toward the end of the Endless Oak, the forest Earon had accidentally found himself in was rather idyllic, and Earon actually found his worries fading away a little.

Chatter amongst the group was fairly glum, mostly lamenting their financial woes most of the way back.

Unfortunately, marching across the Yarges Valley was far less enjoyable on foot. The night was already falling by the time they reached Caedstad, and Earon realized he must have been out for a few hours after running from the satyr.

“So, you’re heading back then?” Iliana asked as they reached Yarges Crossing, the bridge into Caedstad.

“Well, I’m broke now,” Earon replied, showing off his empty coin pouch.

Dordan removed something from the pony’s pack and walked over. “It’s not much, but hopefully it will keep you from starving on the road.” He said, handing Earon a round loaf of stale bread.

“Did you two forget we’re broke ourselves?” Fane groaned.

“We’ll live, he might not.” Dordan shrugged.

Earon forced a smile, “thanks.”

“Before you go,” Iliana said, placing a hand on Earon shoulder as he turned away. “I was being serious back there. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

“This again?” Fane sighed.

“Don’t worry about them.” Iliana continued with a dismissive wave. “I’ll bring them around, should you mind change, that is. No pressure, but I have a good feeling about you.”

“Thanks, but I doubt I will. This life just isn’t suited for a simple farmer like me.” Earon replied with a wave goodbye.

Was he a farmer though? If he couldn't push his skills past the foundling stage he would always be the equivalent of a child. Earon didn't care about being rich or the greatest farmer in Ryewood, but it was still a troubling thought.

Looking back across the city walls, he cast doubt aside and remembered Alyssia. But without a copper to his name, the wreath would have to wait.

Turning his back on the town, Earon promised he would return and give his old friend a proper send-off. “Next time, Alyssia.” He whispered to the wind.

It was time to go home, and if the mages wanted a word with him, they knew where to find him.

A smile creased across Earon’s face. He had pushed his worry for his mother to the side, placing his faith in the healing potion, but now with the thought of seeing her again his heart swelled. Even if she was feeling better now, there would be much to do around the house and the farm.

The thought of learning it all again was daunting, but at least this insane adventure would be over, and he would be home. Warm, fed, and loved.