From what the prompt was saying, his absolute best chance of finding a powerful class was to rank up his various skills. The higher the rank, the more rare a class he might or might not gain access to. And no matter which class he chose, a high skill rank would allow him to purchase what would amount to cross-class feats.
He grinned at the thought of becoming some sort of druid elementalist or monster summoning knight.
Frustratingly, one class that had always been a favorite of his and capable of so much good was being completely denied to him.
Cleric / Chosen One / Divine Healer / Arcane Healer classes are incompatible with Painful Healing Flaw.
Jack frowned at this, doing a quick scan of the fine print to see just how hopeless his situation was.
Transcendence possible. Character must achieve Rank 1 Adept or greater expertise over any given healing spell to open healing class options or perk trees.
Jack scowled in frustration. He had to jump all the way to Adept Rank with a skill that presently forced him to pay 200% normal cost and tormented him with haunting memories of people lost to him a lifetime ago. And here he had been hoping for an easy way to overwrite the flaw, choosing a healing class directly. But such was clearly not meant to be.
Enjoy shooting for the stars, and try not to die!
He closed his interface before turning his focus back on the cherub.
Who was no longer there, Jack seeing nothing but endless mist.
“Hello? AI? I didn’t get your final message, my interface prompts blocked it out! What were you saying?”
Nothing but silence and mist.
Jack’s insides became a knot of anxiety. Here he was, risking his very life, and he hadn’t even heard the quest giver’s final messages. Heaven only knew what vital tidbits he had missed. And the fact that the nearly omnisicant AI seemed unaware of that… just made Jack feel that much worse.
How much trouble was he in?
Knowing it would do no good, he shook his brooding thoughts away as best he could, proceeding one foot after the other up the treacherous right-hand path, the left now utterly closed off to him.
He shivered in the suddenly cool air, feeling the last of that odd dream-like fugue leave him as he crested the hilltop, wondering why he was wearing only the thinnest of nighttime garments, his summoned Giant Killer Bee and Elemental Armor long gone, mana fully restored. Hadn’t he been fully dressed before he went to sleep? He was certain he had, his parents taking pains to make sure he was as prepared as he could possibly be.
His pouch of holding! A desperate hand felt its bold stitching, relieved to know he hadn’t just been dreaming it. He flashed a grateful smile. His father had thought ahead, making sure Jack had packed absolutely everything he might need, both of them awed by how much that pouch could store.
Yet when he placed his hand against it, a mental inventory of all it contained suddenly populating, he felt an icy chill in the pit of his stomach.
Save for his mother’s book and his alchemy supplies, he had no equipment save his knife, basic survival gear, his bow and arrows, and his gambeson.
All his other equipment, the numerous weapons he had trained with and the exquisitely cared-for armor his father had oiled and laid out for him, were gone.
Jack winced, wondering if it was some limitation of the ward or spell or AI interface forcing him to leave his home, knowing his journey had been as much dream as reality.
“Nothing I can do about it now,” he said, quickly donning the arming doublet for warmth, the many quilted layers of linen trapping heat almost as well as it would trap arrows or sword blades aimed for his heart. He gazed down fondly at this final gift from his mother, having no doubt she was the one who had sewn it, just as his father had made his own yew bow. Perhaps that was why certain items were allowed through.
He had personally made that final handful of potions, gathered those precious seeds and plucked those final priceless magical leaves. And the knife sheath he wore even in dream was bound to him by the blood rune it bore.
Though how he had found himself with sword in hand when he had needed it most, he had no idea.
Either way, he didn’t have it with him now.
He shook those brooding thoughts away, turning his focus to the path before him lest he twist an ankle at the worst possible time, finally making his way down the far side of the craggy hill. He was careful never to look back, knowing he risked collapsing with dizziness, to say nothing of the melancholy he would feel, gazing back at his home, knowing he could never return.
He took a deep breath as he approached the tiny copse of trees at the end of the trail, steep cliffs of granite on either side.
Bright shafts of sunlight dazzled him when he emerged, tripping on his own two feet, stumbling upon the hardpacked road suddenly before him.
“Hey, Jack, is that you? Wow, I can’t believe you actually came out that way!” A tanned hand reached down to help Jack up. He was still some seconds squinting from the bright morning glare before he made out Carl’s friendly features.
Jack shook his head, amazed in his friend’s transformation.
Where before there had been a shy introspective kid who worked at the front of his father’s store, there was now a young man radiating confidence and poise. Something about his posture, the way he drew you in with his gaze. The flash of his charming smile.
Jack’s eyes widened despite the morning glare. Suddenly he understood. “You chose the Trader’s Path!”
Carl’s grin widened. “Wow. It’s true. You’re like me, huh? You possess an original soul.” He was dressed in far finer attire than Jack, and already looked like an aspiring merchant prince. You could see it in his appraising smile, the way he glanced at the caravans already forming up on Hidden Valley’s periphery. Dozens of men were milling about, gazing the boy’s way curiously, obviously waiting for some signal to move out.
Jack nodded. “It sure seems that way.”
Carl’s brow furrowed. “Jack?”
“Yeah, Carl?”
“You didn’t choose, well, the wrong path or anything… did you?”
Jack sighed. “I’m still not sure yet, but did anything strange happen to you last night?”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
His friend laughed. “Seriously, Jack? I went to sleep after the most wonderful night you can imagine, having made more money for my family in a single day than father’s made all season! Next thing I know, I’m riding a magical flying horse and some angelic guy with wings is pointing me towards the Path of Eternity.” He flushed, then. “I know it sounds mad to say, but I halfway thought I was dreaming at the time. I actually had the cheek to yell out, 'aren’t you going to tell me about the other path?' And he laughed at that, saying there was no point, as I’d never choose it. And he’s right!”
Carl gave a happy sigh. “It’s a relief, actually. I think the gods here know us so well that they spare our souls the peril of choices we’ll forever regret.”
“Don’t you mean AI?”
Carl frowned, looking slightly confused. Then his features lightened in sudden understanding. “Oh, that’s right, our first life! Wow. That was so long ago, I completely forgot about it til this very moment. Yesterday I was struck by all these fascinating flashes of being a merchant prince. It was wonderful!” He paled slightly. “But not of, um, what originally led to us all being here. But hey, no need to stress it, right? By the skin of our teeth, we made it. We’re some of the lucky ones, you and I, and this is just part of our eternal reward.”
He clapped Jack’s shoulder. “Between you and me? I don’t think there really was any AI at all, Jack. I think this is the afterlife, and the fact we get to shape our own destiny each time around is our reward.”
Jack could only smile at that. “Maybe you’re right, Carl. Do you know where you’re headed yet?”
His childhood friend gamely pointed to what had to have been the largest caravan. “Master Mercator’s caravan. We plan on bypassing the standard routes entirely! I know the other caravans will be going along the main roads to Greyspeak, eventually, but Master Mercator always says that one must dare the untrod path if you truly want to make your fortune! We’re crossing the Southern Wastes, heading down to the nation of Salruun where the sun shines high above, the women are the color of bronze and love and happy to court with foreign men, so long as you can support them. A gloriously wealthy empire where the opportunities are endless, the wine flows like water, and the gold flows like wine!” He chuckled at his own description.
“Seriously, tapestries, especially finely crafted ones like your mother makes, are in fearsome demand there, and Mercantor says their local market is flooded with amethysts and rubies as well as cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dozen other exotic spices!” Carl rubbed his hands together excitedly. “I can’t wait to explore the entire continent by my mentor’s side!”
“It sounds exciting,” Jack said, suppressing an envious sigh, able to envision all too well how exciting it would be to make his fortune in trade alone, studying caravan routes, diligently researching supply and demand trends for various locales, mastering the art of the deal and finessing every concession he could from trading partners and competitors alike.
Halcyon memories, just a lifetime or two away.
Carl nodded, quickly turning to the well-dressed man quietly approaching, favoring them both with a smile Jack was sure he would have found captivating in a different life, eyes twinkling with excitement, as if every day was an adventure he was eager to embrace.
“Are you ready, Carl? The caravan’s ready to go, and the sun has finally crested the last mountain.”
Jack blinked at the odd turn of phrase, forcing himself to look, for the first time, in the direction of his home, eyeing the mountain range now before him.
Knowing he didn’t have a hope of crossing the impassable mountain range that met his eyes, no copse of trees or other exit point in sight. Not in this lifetime, at least, and perhaps not in any other, either.
“Yes, sir!” said Carl. “I can’t wait to go over those notes you showed me. All the opportunities for profit!”
The merchant gave a powerful baritone chuckle. “You’ll do us both proud, lad, I have no doubt.” He then turned to Jack. “Another lad who reached his majority? Interesting, I didn’t see you at all during the trade fair.” He turned towards the caravans. “Of course, a number of lads marked their birthday this season, but all the rest left Hidden Valley the typical way, with the caravans they befriended during the festivities.”
He clapped Carl’s shoulder in approval. “The lad said not to expect him leaving by the normal route, and he didn’t disappoint. To think an Original is starting his life once more as a part of my caravan.”
Carl laughed. “I’m the same guy I was last week, sir. The only difference between me and anyone else in your caravan are the odd flashes of memory I now sometimes get.”
“And I’ll be interested to see if those flashes of insight prove useful in the arena of trade.” He then tilted his head consideringly, peering at Jack once more. “There's something about you I can't quite put my finger on. I don’t suppose you have any interest in the trader’s life, lad?”
Jack felt a sudden welling of excitement in his heart, realizing the significance of this offer, this second chance to embrace the life of a trader, and all the wealth and promise it offered.
Mercantor the Trader has offered to take you on as an apprentice trader. Earn his trust and confidence, and the Trader’s Path will be open before you! Do you accept? Y/N.
And Jack wanted nothing more than to accept.
“I am sorry,” he said, bowing his head. “But as much as I would dearly love to, I have a prior commitment I must follow up on before I do anything else.”
Jack winced, feeling a priceless opportunity slipping free of his trembling grasp like grains of finest sand.
Carl looked genuinely disappointed. “Wow, Jack, are you sure you can’t come? I can’t think of a better trader to start your life’s journey with. And frankly, it would be nice to start it with a friend, since neither of us can ever go home again.”
Jack could only nod his head, memories of the pair of them laughing together and sharing childhood adventures suddenly at the forefront of his mind. But after what he had endured last night, he knew how precious, how fleeting life could be, and that he would do anything to keep safe those close to his heart, even if he could never see them again.
He smiled at his friend. “I would like that too, Carl. The thought of us traveling the world, one day trading all the exotic treasures of twin empires, is a dream. But I have a quest I need to complete before I can do anything else with my life.”
Carl’s eyes widened. “A quest already? Wow! Your first step to power and all that. The Path of Peril is no joke!”
Jack winced, even as his friend flashed a sheepish grin.
“Sorry. I’m guessing that's something you might want to keep private. But it was obvious that was the path you must have taken, by the way you were peering at me with that sad look in your eyes. As if the fact you popped out from the cliff face covered in brambles wasn’t giveaway enough that you’d chosen the harder path, whereas I was walking out of a vineyard, having my fill of the sweetest grapes you could imagine.” He chuckled. “I think my ability to read people’s emotions has also increased over the last few days. But I still sometimes stick my foot in it, don’t I? Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll never say it again, I swear.”
Mercantor, however, was peering at Jack as if appraising a gem of uncertain value. “Intriguing. I have encountered very few who dare the Adventurer’s Path, for all that I understand they were once more common, long ago. I’ll be interested in seeing the weave and weft of your tale in the years to come, lad. And if I can do nothing else, let me at least offer one final piece of advice before we take our leave.”
He pointed towards the various caravans, paying particular note to the smaller ones, those comprised of one or two wagons, as opposed to a whole train of them.
“Avoid the smaller caravans, lad. The larger ones have safety in numbers and integrity.”
“Integrity?”
Mercantor nodded. “It takes a competent, well organized trader who keeps his word and knows his business to successfully run a mercantile enterprise of any significance. The smaller a trade operation is, the easier you’ll find yourself in jeopardy, whether from the whims of fate, incompetence, or outright malice.”
He pointed to the second largest caravan, besides his own. “Benson’s heading to Greyspeak, as are most of the other traders. If your quest will take you west, he’s the man I’d follow.” He flashed a reassuring smile. “And your secret is safe with me, lad. I would not betray the childhood friend of my apprentice, no matter how lucrative a secret it might be. And let that be a lesson to you in its own right. Some secrets, such as your potential for power and the fact that you have only one life to live, are best kept close to your quilted chest.”
He peered closely at Jack’s gambeson. “Lady Evergreen’s work. There can be no doubt. As fine a craftswoman as I’ve ever encountered. That a lady of her caliber mothered an Original who dares the Perilous Path shouldn’t surprise me at all.”
Carl grinned. “Take care, Jack. May your future be fruitful, and your quests always end in success!”
Jack grinned back. “Likewise, Carl. May you forge a trade empire worthy of legend!”
Merchant and apprentice headed toward their caravan, Jack waving farewell to his last link to Lost Valley, wondering if he’d ever see his friend again. Who knew? Maybe one day, years from now, they’d meet again with tales of wonder and glory to awe and amaze each other and all their friends.
Jack girded himself and took a deep breath, doing his best to tune out the nickers of horses and the baying cries of mule and donkey, deliberately making his way toward the smaller caravans, listening to the patter of various traders and their assistants, already knowing the path he had to take.