Milo of Kirkstead, Son of George, had finally turned ten years old. Today was the most important day of his life so far. It had to go right.
With his entire family in tow, his sister’s husband included, Milo and co were ushered into the [Priest]’s humble abode. Built like any other ordinary home, the only feature that marked it differently was the large outlet in the living room. A small shrine was built inside of it. On the top of the marbled shrine was the sculpture of an old man with a long beard. He wore white robes and in his right hand he held a wooden staff.
From just a cursory glance, he guessed that the sculpture was a depiction of God. At least a God. Scattered across the base of the shrine was a variety of bright flowers, gold coins, small garnets and…garlic?
“What is your name, child?” Smiling upon him kindly, the old priest wore baggy gray robes that fell flat on him. From the thin, wiry wrist that showed a palm to him, Milo could guess that he was built like a stick.
Taking the old man’s wrinkled hand in his own, he was led to the front of the shine.
After several exchanges—greetings and introductions, catching up on each other’s lives, and his father not so sneakily placing a leather pouch within the priest’s pocket—the initiation ceremony commenced.
His father and mother were the first ones to kneel, with his siblings and Thor, his brother-in-law, following in stride. They engaged in a series of prayers and after a few minutes, it came to a crescendo.
“May the Divine Lord hear the cries of this lost child. Initiate!” The priest shouted with a religious fervor, his face drawing long and his head turning back, a pair of brown eyes peering into some distant cosmos.
For a moment, nothing happened. And Milo’s heart dropped. Was it not going to work—
[Initiated!]
[Congratulations! You may now choose a class!]
[Choose from the selection below]
[Farmer (Ordinary)]
[Fist Fighter (Ordinary)]
[Tailor (Ordinary)]
[Weaver of Thread (Special)]
[World Traveller (Demi-Go—##ERorr—Unknown92]
[eRRor!]
Milo reeled back, mouth ajaw as he gazed at the error button that suddenly appeared at the bottom.
“It…says theres an—”
His words were caught in his mouth as he saw the Eternal system make a surprise appearance for the first time. Milo had almost forgotten about it.
[Connecting to World #H86DDA9917…]
[Analyzing…]
[Malicious intent detected!]
[Dispatching Executioner Z…]
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
[...]
Several seconds passed in silence as a trail of dots traveled along the screen. A few painfully silent moments passed until a new message replaced the old, shoving them all out of the way.
[Threat subjugated!]
Milo was shocked. That quickly!?
It appeared only briefly before it disappeared.
Milo’s stomach dropped. What did the system just do?
He was shaken out of his stupor of dread when his little brother shrieked in excitement.
“What’d you get?”
He promptly received a smack over the head from his father for interrupting the silence.
Milo was about to say something. But then everything returned back to normal.
[Initiated!]
[Congratulations! You may now choose a class!]
[Choose from the selection below]
[Farmer (Ordinary)]
[Fist Fighter (Ordinary)]
[Tailor (Ordinary)]
[Weaver of Thread (Special)]
There was no error this time. And the World Traveller class that he had glimpsed for a split second was no longer there.
He felt uneasy with what just happened.
After returning home and telling his family of his choices, whilst omitting the [Weaver of Thread] option, he received a stern, personal lecture from his father about the importance of family, and the farm as a whole. He then ended the conversation by saying that if he chose [Fist Fighter], he would consider it as betrayal. The threatening tone in his voice was not hidden at all. He wasn’t joking either.
Nodding along the entire time, Milo casually brushed past the threat of being shunned and took the afternoon off to think, instead of knitting with Lisa.
Even while laying down, Milo felt a heavy burden placed upon his shoulders. For this life, he wanted to relax and just live a normal life. He wanted to earn an honest living, fall in love, have children, pass down his wisdom and craft to his children. He just wanted to live like everybody else. That was something he had never had until now. And he would make the most of it. So for that reason, [Fist Fighter] was not on the table. Although it wasn’t for the same reason, Milo and his father’s motives intersected in the right way.
As for being a [Tailor]...he didn’t like the idea of living in a city of complete strangers. Even in his old life where he lived in a city that had millions of people, he still couldn’t tolerate them. He’d have to leave the city and pursue a trade, get apprenticed, go through grueling years of training, slowly level up from whatever scraps your boss would defer to you—all while being paid jack shit. That’s what his sister had told him.
At least that’s what she had heard from his uncle, who he had never met before. He was a [Tailor] in Greenlodge, the nearest town over the northern mountain pass. He had left Kirkstead a couple years before he was born, having learned everything he could from Kirkstead’s own [Senior Tailor] so that he could outright run his own little shop, skipping the apprenticeship phase that most had to go through before they could start to earn a living wage.
Despite all the old fogies telling him he’d come back home in tears, or the fierce competition he faced from his more established rivals, he had become a huge success. After six years, he began sending back payments via a bonafide [Swift Messenger]. A person of the 2nd tier being sent to deliver a single message year-round, caught eyes in the small village. The difference in respect and social status that their family received had been night and day.
If it weren’t for the fact that Milo was hooked on the thrill of beating up snot-nosed kids, he would’ve told them sooner, but once they found out and heard from their parents that Milo was related to a very rich and influential person in Greenlodge, they stopped bothering him altogether. They still sent him a malicious look whenever he caught sight of them.
According to his father, his uncle was Greenlodge’s number one Tailor shop! Turns out, being a ruthless and calculating businessman was far superior than just being a high-leveled artisan. Over a whopping thirty-thousand people lived there by the way, so it wouldn't have been easy to come out on top.
Every time his father received money from the young [Messenger], George would express sincere thanks to the messenger and place his own letter in the hands of the boy. On that day, he would always have a smile that would spread from cheek to cheek.
Reason for these yearly payments was because back when his uncle was saving up to buy a shop in Greenlodge, his father had chipped in with all of his own money and the part of the inheritance he had received from their parents. Family sticks together after all, right? His father didn’t think much of it but he couldn’t be more glad. This investment was now paying dividends several times over what he had given him back then!
He hadn’t used the money yet but was supposedly saving up for something big.
So his best choice was [Farmer]. That would be the case if he wasn’t taking the [Weaver of Thread] class into account. It was a special-ranked class!
There were 4 levels of class in this world. Ordinary, Special, Elite, Champion.
Ordinary was for—as the name suggests—ordinary classes like farmer, blacksmith, carpenter, soldier, and every other person that held up the foundation of the world.
Special was only one up from Ordinary, but those with a special class were placed into a completely different caste of society from the rest. It was often said that even three Ordinary-ranked fighters were not match for an equivalently leveled Special-class fighter. They were better in every single way.
Elite were sparing existences and even in big towns like Greenlodge, there were only a few of them. They could evade the law without question and wine and dine amongst the nobility. They were worth their weight in gold. About eighty years ago, a child urchin from Greenlodge had initiated to an Elite class: [Seer].
Within the following days he was escorted to the capital and no one had ever heard of him since. The rumors continued until this day.
As for Champion…Milo didn’t know. They were existences so far beyond ordinary-classed commoners that they may as well be Gods.
Milo’s pondering thoughts continued into the late evening. But something bugged at him.
What was the threat that the eternal system had “subjugated”?