Fleetfoot jumped lightly on the spot, savoring the sensation of being lifted up by the magic of her new boots. She nodded to the others. “Good idea. Get over there and take cover in the corner. I’ll get this chest open or die trying.” She studied the contraption. “Because that’s obviously how it’s designed to work.”
She handed off everything she didn’t need to her team and examined the chest from a safe distance. Lying on the floor, she spotted the first trap trigger: a pressure plate right in front of the chest where one would kneel to open it. Her heart pounded as she realized how deadly it could have been if she’d missed it. She found a spot next to the trigger where she could still reach the lock. The contraption was riddled with wires that would trigger it if cut or pulled. Taking a deep breath, she began tying some spring arms together, hoping to mitigate the mechanism’s fury if she failed at the lock. She took three short crowbars from her pack and blocked three other parts of the mechanism. Then she put wooden wedges in all the cog mechanisms she could reach. After doing everything she could think of to prevent the device from whirling its sharp and pointed parts in all directions, she pulled out her favorite lockpick and went to work on the lock.
Her lockpicking skill leveled up once while still trying, showing how hard the task was. Sweat started to bead on her forehead. Her comrades were watching. She couldn’t disappoint them. She was the thief-class character. Her job was to remove locks and traps, to go where no one else could and get the treasures the others couldn’t even notice. She’d taken all the necessary feats and trained the relevant skills. She even had some real-life training in lockpicking with a group of hobbyists, though she soon found out modern locks had few things in common with their medieval counterparts.
One of her lockpicks tried to turn on its own. She gripped it harder and tried to figure out what was wrong. There shouldn’t have been springs inside the lock unless... She brushed one of the wires leading from inside the chest to the contraption outside until it started to vibrate, making a sound like a poorly built violin. The lockpick vibrated in her fingers. She nodded sagely. A trap trigger inside the lock. She had almost sprung it. She carefully retrieved a needle from her tool belt while holding the lockpick with all the strength of her elegant fingers. After some thought, she jammed the needle inside, hopefully blocking the trigger from activating. She held her breath as she loosened her grip on the lockpick. It didn’t move. She adjusted its position and resumed working on the mechanism.
Then it clicked. The chest’s lid sprang open on two hidden springs and clapped right into one of the contraption’s triggers. Fleetfoot moved before she even consciously thought about it. She grabbed the faintly glowing scroll lying inside the chest—the only object inside—and jumped upwards, hoping to get high enough to evade the storm of destruction the contraption would unleash in a wide area.
Wooden wedges cracked, crowbars bent, and ropes snapped as the contraption whirled around with explosive force. Crossbow bolts shot in all directions, whizzing past below her and thudding into Bernd’s shield. He barely managed to activate the force shield bubble to also protect his teammates.
A curved dagger on a spring-loaded arm slashed upward, cutting into Fleetfoot’s arm, the pain searing. As momentum ran out, she fell. Blades and poisoned darts embedded themselves into her chest and legs. She twisted in midair, narrowly avoiding a giant scythe that cut from left to right. She spiraled around two other fast-moving sharp metal objects she couldn’t even clearly see and kicked off from an axe cutting from right to left. A somersault almost got her out of reach, but a third scythe slashing diagonally still cut into her stomach.
She hit the ground hard and stayed down, bleeding heavily. Danger notices filled her line of sight, but she only had eyes for the scroll she still held in her hand. She used her thumb to break the glowing seal. The scroll unfurled from her weakening grip, opening upwards, held by magic alone. The runes written on it started glowing one by one, each bursting into flame. In two heartbeats, all had activated and the scroll turned to glowing dust.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Scroll of Class Evolution activated!
Class change: Thief to Parkour Master
Jumping, Running and Climbing skills consolidated into unique new class skill: Parkour (Apprentice I)
She felt her comrades trying to stop the bleeding, but her wounds were too wide and too many. Even a health potion failed to close them all. Her field of vision went dark, but she still managed to smile. “Best dungeon ever...”
Then she died.
Seconds later, she opened her eyes in her virtual recovery room. No pain, just the feeling of triumph! Finally! She had gotten the class she always wanted and the movement skill it required. She called up her log and saw many other skill increases. She’d leveled up after completing the wire maze, but now she’d lost a level for dying. Fleetfoot didn’t care. She had her class and her skills had leveled up. And she got those new magic jumping boots!
She took some time to look up everything the system was willing to tell her about her new class and skill. Then she logged out to wait for respawn in the real world. There was reason enough to treat herself to some really good Thai food at the restaurant. Pity she couldn’t brag about the dungeon on the forum, but at least she could tell everyone she finally managed to get the class she’d been working for all this time. It wasn’t the first new class, but the recent consensus was that it required either a novel and not overpowered concept or hard work in the game or a substantial donation to Peituwin to get one approved. Apart from Darken’s Master of the Dark Arts, there was her own Parkour Master, the Arcane Knight, and allegedly someone getting a Clown class that was based on creating nightmarish illusions and fear effects. She hadn’t seen any official statements on that one yet, so she was a bit skeptical. The only player to directly get free approval at character creation had been Darken’s class design, at least as far as she could find using credible sources. Sometimes she missed being able to watch playthroughs or other videos, but any kind of recording was strictly blocked by the AI. The Nemesis gaming company lamented the loss of potential business, but since life in VR had become vitally important for too many people, the World Government had drafted one of the few laws that had been well received worldwide.
* * *
Malvorik had heard her last words and repeated them to the others, proud as could be.
Selvara grinned. “She also already added a dungeon rating in her revival room: Five out of five stars. Would die there again.”
Weylan hooted. Princess Ulmenglanz applauded, but had to stop Skorr from clapping her on the back a bit too enthusiastically.
Trulda stood up and addressed the group. “I’ve found the perfect first quest for us. A monster spawner has appeared near a small village in the swamp north of Mulnirsheim. Since everyone hates swamps and it’s a full day of boring marching away from the city, only one revenant has been interested in it. Iron Ma’am, a female arcane knight, has died at least three times trying to defend the village from some kind of giant crocodile. If that’s okay with you, we’ll leave tomorrow morning to assist her.”
Weylan nodded. “Sounds like a good start. I’ll ask steward Jago for a few days off. A week should be enough. I'd better leave immediately to inform him.”
The others continued to celebrate the successful dungeon delve for a few more hours, then left to collect their equipment and pack for their first planned adventure.