“Is a poor man more virtuous than a rich man?” Old Jim asked. In his sermon voice, Old Jim recited a passage he heard back when he lived in the godless theocracy. How Old Jim managed to make it hundreds of miles through noman’s land and swamp to become a gravedigger, Vincent didn’t know.
“No, I’m poor, and you can have your watch back,” Vincent said.
He didn’t mean to do it, but sometimes he couldn’t help but take things from other people. Kleptomania was a serious disease, and if he wasn’t in the republic, he would have already lost both hands.
By the sun, it was nearly his turn to start digging again. Vincent often took the longest since he didn’t have the gravedigger class.
“Thanks, it was my father’s; how many attributes do you have now?” Old Jim asked.
While Old Jim was talking, Vincent watched Ralf inspect the corpse sled. Necromantic spells on the bodies kept them fresh from the battlefields of no man’s land. They shouldn’t move, but one clearly twitched like a roach with a crushed head. Only in their line of work, when things twitched, often it was still alive or returning to unlife.
“9 and give me a hand,” Vincent said.
He had 9 attributes and only needed one more to have a set of 10. He could take a class that would fit him the best. Old Jim told him about it. For twenty years, he has used his low status to cheaply get blood for his sister. There were laws to afford the classless some benefits, but they were helping less each year. Most of his profits came from theft laundered through his gravedigging job. It was all for his little sister to keep her on the right side of the law.
“Am I the only one who reads the safety guides?” Old Jim asked.
Vincent pulled Ralf away from the sled as a body fought its way out from the mound of corpses. Old Jim raised his shovel and bashed it on the head. He would like to say the skull split like a dropped melon, but that would be a lie. It split for a moment, and then the broken skull fit itself back together. Only werewolves and their ilk could heal like that. Vampires looked more like reversing time or flowing water. Either way, what he was seeing, wasn’t it. He didn’t want to get close to something that could withstand Old Jim’s Gravedigger lvl97 strength.
Gravediggers weren’t martial classes but could shovel through rocks without a problem. So old Jim stabbed the man in the chest with his shovel and threw him into the half-dug hole. From there, together, we started burying it.
Once it was buried, Vincent sighed with relief before checking his human species tab.
Human lvl0 exp 95/100
He never knew if he helped people for the exp or because he liked helping others. Old Jim would say it didn’t matter, but it did to him. Vincent was close to crossing into his first level, and it wasn’t even a class. He didn’t know anyone with levels in human. Most chose to get bitten by a vampire, werewolf, or turned into a traditional undead.
“I’ll go tell Resneck he will want to know we have a bunch of were creatures rising,” Ralf said.
Old Jim spat on the ground. “Good luck with that. I haven’t seen him all day; we’re better off running.”
“What do you mean by that? If he isn’t here and we run, they’ll see us as prey, and we’ll be swarmed.” Ralf said.
They were damned if they did and damned if they didn’t. But, like rats in a wooden box, there was no easy way out. Vincent pressed a hand into his pocket and winced.
“Here are your coins back. I forgot they were in my pocket.” Vincent said.
He pulled the coins out along with Resneck’s amulet. The clearly enchanted item would sell for a few gold pieces if he could find a fence to take it. All he needed was to be reported as a thief capable of stealing from the royal family. Then, Vincent would be shipped off to the front lines and made to take a thief or black ranger class. Raiding the camps of the enemies and stealing supplies was a great way to die from a knight’s mace.
“Thank you; if we survive this, remind me to sock you in the nose for your trouble,” Ralf said.
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“Sure. Do you want your dagger back?” Vincent asked.
“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Ralf said.
Vincent returned his stolen goods and waited for what he knew would begin their doom. The sun set behind a broken stock tower. One of the only guard outposts in the Stock Countryside. The next tower with anything resembling a black knight was twenty miles away. A black knight might not think the deaths of a few gravediggers to raise were monsters was a fair trade. After a were creature’s first transformation and kill, they chilled out and gained control over themselves.
“I heard if you ate plenty of garlic, they would leave you alone.” Old Jim said.
“What’s Garlic?” Ralf asked.
“Contraband, my sister hates it,” Vincent said.
The other three men in their group were new and about ready to bolt. He couldn’t blame them. Vincent might have bolted, too, if this was his first time. Experience had taught him those who bolted were often killed first. Once, the were creatures erupted from a nearby corpse sled and ripped a man in half.
“The black knights will come; we’ll see the silver fangs on black shining soon enough.” A man said.
“What hallucinogens is that guy on?” Vincent checked his stats and compared them to the nearest werebat. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was the breed of, were beast they were dealing with. Well, they were in lands of the great family Camazotz so that was to be expected. But, growing up, he knew werewolves, werehynas, werebears, and even a werehorse the werebat was new. “Did lord Kan decide to try infecting vampires with a were-creature strain again?” Vincent asked.
The others looked shocked at his words, except for old Jim. “What are you guys gawking at? We need to get some distance?”
“We aren’t far from the shelter; if we can get to it in time, we can wait this out until morning,” Ralf said.
Before Vincent could say how unlikely they were to hide from creatures with eco location in a cramped hole in the ground, a bat with a 70-hand wingspan stabbed its talons through Ralf’s shoulders and carried him off screaming.
“The tower is our only chance.” Old Jim said.
Vincent moved in a fast march with his group. The sun had already halfway descended the tower as they made their way there. Men screamed before giant bats took them in the fading light. He pushed one man out of the way of talons, only for another bat to get him. While they didn’t run, they hurried to the tower and saved a few people. Old Jim’s shovel knocked a few bats away, keeping them mostly safe.
“Why do you have 9 attributes and no class?” A guy from their original team asked.
Old Jim answered for him. “Nobles in the godless theocracy don’t take a class until they are nearly my age. They instead collect different attributes until they have 10 of them. Then when they take a class, they get an 11th secret attribute.”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
“Yea, it's from the godless theocracy; why would our republic need their filth. I heard over there humans have levels like vampires and werewolves.” Another man said.
Vincent was trying to do something similar. It wasn’t a taboo so much as it was difficult in his current culture. Saving people’s lives took a lot of grit. Instead of becoming a liability himself, he had to run into danger and help.
“How strong are the bats? Can we fight them at all?” One man asked.
“Vincent, you’re the numbers guy; what do you think?” Old Jim asked.
The classless 30-year-old man used scan; his eyes glowed blue, his gaze fell on one of the bats, and he felt a headache coming on.
Charles lvl26
Species: Werebat lvl4
Class: Bloodreaver lvl22
He scanned a few more and found similar results. Vincent let his eyes return to normal and shook his head.
“That bad,” Old Jim said.
“None of them are below lvl20, and they all have a martial class that synergizes with their werebat species. I can’t see titles, so they could be much stronger than expected.” Vincent shivered while he crunched the numbers in his head. “They could one hit kill Old Jim, and he’s the strongest guy here. Even a Black Knight would have trouble with them 1v1 add more, and it’s a death sentence. They are overspecialized in dealing damage to high HP enemies. Blood reavers get armor piercing at lvl20.” Vincent said.
The classless human pulled at his hair, trying to think of anything.
“We need a backup plan if the tower doesn’t work. Where are we close to.” Old Jim said.
Vincent thought about it. “Dragon’s Log would be safest.”
He thought about the flesh-eating parasites, mutated monsters, and dragons that used that place as a dumping ground. The classless human added an asterisk by safest. If they went in, there were some places to hide away while the werebats tromped through and picked a fight with something more powerful than them.
Vincent knew he had to get home to his sister. That thought was enough to spur him on and get him through the dark mood. To that end, he pulled a man from stepping into a sinkhole. He happened to have the best night vision around.
They reached the broken stack tower, and Vincent hammered on the door. A werebat dove low, and Old Jim smashed it to the ground with his shovel. The old man fought the creature while the others beat it with shovels.
“Go away.” A voice like grinding rocks said.
“We need help; our minder has gone missing; a citizen of Camazotz is in danger.” They all knew the black knight wouldn’t open his door for them. They were gravediggers, the lowest of the low in the republic. They needed to mention their minder if they wanted the knight to help them. Even a dhampir was a full citizen because he had the name Camazotz. Vincent waited for the man to either open the door or say something. Instead, he heard the bolts in the door clink shut, leaving them trapped.
“Fine, be that way. If you need help, don’t come crying to us. They can fly genius, and I’m sure you’ll make a great meal.” Vincent didn’t get a reply. The man had already returned to his duties. But then, a bright light stole his attention. Old Jim had finally become a lvl100 gravedigger and could choose another class. “Damn it, Jim, they are all coming for us.” On their wings, the monsters flew after them in a swarm.
Black ghastly energy swirled around Old Jim. He had chosen a class already. His second class shown from a quick scan.
Old Jim lvl101
Species: Human
Classes
Gravedigger lvl100
Black Berserker lvl1
He couldn’t believe it. Old Jim was someone. If he abandoned them and fought carefully, he could survive until morning, maybe with a few levels to show for it. After that, he would immediately join one of the many soldier companies and gain a higher status in the republic.
Old Jim took out his pipe and held his hand out to Vincent. “I would like my hash back.”
Vincent didn’t know how it ended up in his pocket but handed it to Old Jim all the same. The old man lit his pipe and pointed towards the Dragon’s Log.
“Not without you,” Vincent said.
“You’re a good boy Vincent, but you need to take care of that sister of yours. She is a brat; when you’re not around, that mouth of hers will get the both of you in trouble. Thanks for saving me.” Old Jim said.
This was it. Vincent knew it at that moment. Old Jim wasn’t walking out of his next fight. Light enveloped him as he gained his first level after 30 years of life. He hugged the old man and joined the others to escape the werebats. The creatures still picked apart their numbers as they fled until they were preyed upon by the monsters in the dragon’s log.