The queue stretched along almost the entire block. Weylan stamped on the spot and pulled his cloak tighter around him. It wasn't actually that cold yet, but the queue in front of the guild house was in the shadows of the buildings. It took what felt like an eternity each time before he took a few small steps forward until the queue came to a standstill again.

Around him, the people waiting had taken out books or manuscript scrolls and were reading. The young man directly in front of him was whittling away at a piece of wood. The result would either be a clenched fist made of wood or a sheep. Weylan wasn't sure yet.

He hadn't brought anything with him and called up his character sheet. No changes. Still Assassin Level 1. With a suppressed sigh, he began to scroll through the messages from the World Voice. He had missed a lot after his injury. Now he had the opportunity to see if there was anything important...

Quest completed: Save the duskgnomes

Success rate: Decisive contribution.

Reward:

Attribute bonus: Constitution +2

300 XP

100 gold

Shoes of the Assassin

He felt his pockets getting fuller and heavier and stifled a grin. He glanced around, finding no unexpected shoes on the floor, and certainly none in his pockets. Lifting his foot, he realized these were not the shoes he had put on that morning. The ones his father had accompanied him to the shoemaker in the neighboring village to purchase. No one who spent the whole day in the field would save on shoes. The new ones looked only slightly different. If he hadn't worn his old shoes for two years, he wouldn't have noticed any difference. But they fitted even better. They were lighter and more flexible. He could also feel the ground through the soles. As if he were walking barefoot. When he stomped firmly on them, he heard only the slightest noise.

The rest of the news did not contain any surprising XPs, but he still found a lot that he had missed during the underground battle.

He was so absorbed that he didn’t hear the gatekeeper, who was in charge of managing the entrance to the building, until he called him out a second time: "Hey! I said next! If you doze off, I'll let the next person in, and you can wait for another three hours."

"Excuse me." Weylan hurried up the three steps and into the building. He went straight into a long room with desks on either side. Behind the desks sat uniformed employees of the city administration, on the other stood a colorful mix of people. Old and young, well-dressed and in rags. In the open aisle in the middle stood a man in a somewhat more elaborately decorated uniform: "Stop. Please stand still for a moment. Status analysis."

Analysis Skill resisted.

Skill increased: Mind Block (Journeyman II)

Weylan ignored the message from the voice of the world and tried to remain calm, even though he was tense inside.

The man looked bored into the air in front of him and sighed. He beckoned Weylan to follow him and walked past a few desks until he came to one where the clerk was free. He motioned Weylan to stand in front of it and then turned to the man sitting comfortably behind it: "Shepherd, level 1. Have fun." With that, he turned around and received the next newcomer.

Stolen novel; please report.

Weylan nodded politely to the man behind the desk. A discreet sign gave his name as "Sifridus Federweiß". The first strands of gray ran through his otherwise black hair and his beer belly showed that he didn't get out of his chair often. The man had his eyes slightly closed and was rubbing his right temple as if the news was causing him pain. His voice was bored: "Another shepherd? Is anyone still looking after your flocks on the plains or have you all left?" He didn't wait for an answer: "Never mind. We may have a few flocks, but we already have more than enough shepherds. With only one level, it wouldn't cost you much experience to switch to another character class. Would you be interested? I'd highly recommend it, while you still can."

"I don't know. It depends. What else is there? City guard? Soldier? Bodyguard?"

Sifridus opened his eyes and casually scrutinized Weylan. The corners of his mouth twitched briefly in a disparaging manner. He suppressed a laugh and shook his head: "No. Combat classes are only taught to residents of the United Kingdoms. Citizens of neutral territories are excluded. The risk of spies and saboteurs infiltrating is far too great. Besides, you hardly have the required attribute values for a fighter class.

"I have physical strength at 12 and dexterity at 14!"

Sifridus tilted his head and looked at him more closely for the first time: "Really? What about intelligence?"

Weylan bowed his head and answered reluctantly: "Ten."

The municipal employee rubbed his chin thoughtfully and then shook his head: "Too bad. He wanted at least intelligence 12. I once suggested someone with 11 to him, you should have heard him. But that doesn't matter. That was before the plague." He leaned to one side, pulled open a drawer and, after rummaging around for a while, took out a sheet of paper. "Here's the address. Report to Master Ruttgar." While Weylan held the sheet in his left hand, confused, and read the name of a tavern, Sifridus shook his other hand: "Welcome to the exciting world of sculleries!"

"No!" Weylan dropped the paper as if he had burned himself. "If you have nothing better, I'll look for a job myself!"

The man shook his head: "Without a job, you have no income. At least not a legal one. And since we don't want any criminals or beggars in the city, you either take what you're offered or you'll be thrown out of the city."

Two tall city guardsmen appeared out of nowhere behind Weylan. Only now did he notice the dark alcoves in which they had been standing ready. They were not yet making any threatening gestures or faces. The one on the left even smiled reassuringly at him: "Don't worry. We haven't had to throw anyone off the rampart wall for a long time. We only do that on the second offense."

The other guardsman scowled at him.

"Is there really nothing better than a dishwasher in a tavern?"

"Nothing you're suited for without the right class."

"I already have enough XP for the next level, then I can increase my intelligence."

"Then why didn't you automatically level up?"

Weylan hesitated for a moment and then bowed his head as if embarrassed by the answer: "It's a disadvantage."

Sifridus spread his arms wide: "You have Dependent Apprentice as a disadvantage? That's fantastic! Only being able to level with a master really shouldn't count as a disadvantage. You can use it to choose your next class. You really already have enough XP for the next level?"

The grim-faced city guard intervened: "Wait a minute, where does a milk slurpers like you claim to get XP from? From sheep fu..." The other guardsman elbowed him in the side, causing him to end up coughing.

"From a wolf attack."

"Why didn't you level right after that?"

"My teacher was my father, the village shepherd."

"Then he would have... oh... I see... the wolves?"

Weylan just nodded. Even the grim-faced guardsman looked somewhat sympathetic.

Mr. Featherwhite recovered the fastest: "Well, anyway, you can learn a new class extremely quickly this way. They urgently need a few more domestics in the castle. These are house servants who mainly take on more demanding tasks and organize the other servants. The baron's steward is urgently looking for an apprentice. Smart, skillful and capable of learning. If you learn domestic as a character class after just a few days and increase your intelligence at this and the next level, he will probably be satisfied. Until then, just try not to be too stupid. So? Interested?"

Weylan nodded. Anything would be better than washing plates and glasses all day. Or herding sheep.