When Milo was asked by his Father at dinner later that night about how he had even gotten the option for [Fist Fighter] in the first place, he explained that he used to fight off other village kids while on his water bucket runs. Upwards of even four kids at once. When they coordinated together and really wound up their strikes, even he felt it.

Of course, due to [Sturdy Body] he was basically invincible to them, and so in the fashion of a living Demi-God, he dealt with them like he did with the trash. But as the years went by, he gradually found it more and more difficult to deal with those goons of bullies. Eventually they stopped attacking him when they learned about his Uncle.

When his father erupted into a bout of uproarious laughter. Only by holding onto his wife could he stop himself from falling to his seat. His brothers too, fell into a similar delirium. Only his mother, however, was genuinely concerned for Milo’s safety. He wondered how his sister would have reacted if she had still lived with them.

His father continued to cackle as he slammed the table with a thick hand, calloused from many years of hard work, “Hahaha, so you’re the mysterious boogie monster that was beating up those young boys all those years ago. I had heard rumors that the young ones always played rough and were always getting into fights with this mysterious, unidentified monster—a goblin they would say. Never would I dream that this person was actually my son!”

Seeing his family like this, Milo gave a gentle, loving smile.

***

The allure of a Special class was undeniable. If Milo told his parents about it, then he was sure to be forced to take it. Afterwards, he would be sent to Greenlodge to work with his uncle in a city full of people. The notion made his skin crawl. He had enough trouble getting used to his own family. Having to deal with customers on a day-to-day basis?

That was out of the question.

But…he couldn’t bring himself to just betray his family and choose the [Farmer] class for his own sake. All of them had grown on him he could never have expected. Whenever he saw them, especially whenever they smiled or when they returned home from a hard day's work, a weird, fluttery feeling would emerge in his stomach. It was something he had never felt in his previous life.

But it felt strangely good.

So for that reason, although he would miss them dearly and he hated big places with lots of people, if he could send back lots of money from his work as a Special class [Weaver of Thread], then that would be enough for him. He would even visit them once a year!

But how had Milo received the [Weaver of Thread] class in the first place? From memory, his sister had been knitting ever since she was a little girl, and had done so everyday up until she initiated and chose [Seamstress]. He had done the same thing too. In fact, he had heard tales from his parents that she would often stay up late into the knight, knitting using only the dim moonlight to give her vision. She deserved [Weaver of Thread], not him.

He suspected that [Workaholic (1)] had something to do with this. He had a theory that the class one was offered was somewhat based on someone’s actual skill. And the Workaholic perk had made him out to be some kind of prodigy.

At this point, Milo had basically made up his mind. He would choose [Weaver of Thread], become famous for his craft, and make his family proud!

But when he finally opened the system messages back up again, and he was on the verge of selecting [Weaver of Thread], he experienced a feeling of dread that turned knots in his stomach and rattled his brain. And so he delayed choosing his class.

“Tomorrow, I will choose my class. Tomorrow, I will,” he thought. He sighed in relief once he made this decision.

Tomorrow would completely change his life, for the better or worse.

***

[Bright Inquisitor] Phillip shivered when he received the message from the [Empyrean].

He was coming to Greenlodge; tomorrow!

Never in his life would he have dreamed that the [Empyrean] would, after over eighty years of service to the Grecia Empire, return to his hometown. He had barely half the evening left and a single night, and maybe the morning to get this place ready. The beggars would have to be swept off the main street, the merchants would display their best wares, he’d have to enforce a temporary dress code. He didn’t have much time either.

Stolen novel; please report.

If he had received this message even a few days ago, he would have been jumping for joy. It was an opportunity that could turn around his entire career.

But the news of Goddess Arr’ya’s death had spread quickly. Only a small trickle of the news had reached the common folk as only people who were high level enough, and with classes relevant to her, had received the message. Regardless, the death of a God was no small matter, and was bound to cause seed chaos amongst all the four realms!

And now that [Empyrean] was making a surprise visit out of the blue, on the exact same day as her death, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that he was just visiting.

His [Intuition (Unique)] had kicked in.

***

In his next life, Milo swore to himself that he would do something exciting. But for now, in this one, he had his family to worry about. He had responsibilities to uphold.

His life as a medieval farmer was better than his modern life back on Earth. The Internet, planes, and nuclear weapons didn’t matter at all if you were eighteen million dollars in debt to the mafia and beaten by them on a weekly basis. It didn’t matter if you had to work 96 hours a week.

To be happy, you must first be free.

So, the next morning, he opened up the Voice of the World and chose the [Weaver of Thread] class without any hesitation.

[Congratulations!]

[You are now a Level 0 [Weaver of Thread (Special)]!]

But then another message appeared. His face fell flat.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

[Error]

[The selected class is unavailable!]

[Novik, the God of Fate, has withdrawn his divinity from you!]

[As a result, all classes above the ordinary Tier are rescinded!]

[The [Weaver of Thread (Special)] class has been removed from your selection!]

[You must now select a new class]

[Choose from the selection below]

[Farmer (Ordinary)]

[Fist Fighter (Ordinary)]

Novik, the God of Fate had shunned him?

“What’s wrong?” His father asked. The entire family had gathered at the dinner table this morning to witness his class-up. But now that his son was showing a similar face to when he had been initiated, he realised that there was something wrong. Why was his son having such a hard time choosing his class? What was stopping him?

Milo let out a long, defeated groan as he rolled down the chair.

His mother also asked him what was wrong. He remained unresponsive. His siblings looked worried. What was happening to their brother?

Milo wanted to smack himself in the face. Why had he delayed in selecting his class for so long? Now, because of that, he couldn’t choose the special class. He felt so stupid. Or maybe the God of Fate would have taken his class away from him even after the fact?

Yeah, they would’ve stripped him of his class regardless.

He sighed.

In any case, he was now only left with one real option: [Farmer].

Not wanting to cause his family any further worry, he begrudgingly chose the [Farmer] class.

[Congratulations!]

[You are now a Level 0 [Farmer (Ordinary)]!]

[Every level you will receive: +1 Vitality & Endurance, +1 Free Attribute Point]

[You have obtained the following skills: [Farmer’s Wisdom], [Enduring Work], [Improved Cultivation]]

[You may now open your status screen]

***

Phillip gulped as the [Empyrean] sat behind his desk. He was left sitting in a leather chair that his guests would usually be seated in. It was so silent that Phillip was afraid to even breathe.

He could only sit still as Heath perused the map that was laid out on the table.

“How many people are in the Greenlodge state-region?”

Rural areas had very unoriginal and lazy naming conventions. The state-region that the town of Greenlodge was situated in was called Greenlodge.

Phillip’s heart jumped. He did a quick mental calculation, tallying up all the estates from memory. “I’d say about…ninety-thousand?”

“Ninety-thousand?” Heath sighed as he dragged his hands down his face.

Heath wasn’t a fool. If it was just a mere criminal he was looking for, they’d simply send out the Inquisition, round everyone up, and then use some magic to find their quarry.

But this was someone who killed a God. Even if he could prepare all his spells in advance and drink a [Overdraw Potential Potion], he would be flicked away like a fly. He had to go about this very carefully. They were bound to be injured as a result of their fight with a God. But even while wounded they would still have enough strength to kill him just as easily.

Based on his readings of the heavens, the person who killed Arr’ya lived somewhere in Greenlodge. The amount of people he knew, even across all of the four realms, that would have the slightest chance at killing a God were zero.

This person would have to be some kind of hidden overlord.

So the night before, he had brainstormed and searched several ancient records. In the end, he had come up with a few possible candidates. But none of them made any sense.

Something irked Heath. Why didn’t the Gods just come down themselves? If someone had killed one of their members, they would simply descend to the earth and kill him using their combined strength.

They had descended countless times throughout history. Why not now? Smite the mortal and get this ordeal over with.

Were they scared?

What would even happen once they found the culprit?

Would they force the mortals to deal with him?

How would the Grecia Empire be affected?

More than anything else, he had yet to find any possible link that would connect him to the killer. But there was one. When he called upon the threads of fate with his ability: [Find Soul]. It pointed to the Greenlodge region and indicated it was human. At first, he was hesitant to walk into the lion’s den. But the consequence of failure hung from above his neck like a guillotine.

If the [God-Killer] was to be found, he’d have to do it himself.