Men who ran were picked off by long talons and taken kicking and screaming into the night. That was the price of losing their head under attack. Most werebeasts were predators that charged when prey ran. Anyone who wanted to survive learned that fast or died. They had to move quickly northeast towards the Dragon’s Log, a place powerful warriors feared to tread.

A screen flashed in front of him on command.

Vincent lvl1

Species: Human lvl1 EXP 10/120

Class: N/A

Attributes

VIT 10

STR 10

CON 10

AGL 10

DEX 10

END 10

INT 10

WIS 10

MAG 10

ABL 1

“Do you know why it's better that have multiple attributes?” Vincent looked around; they were far from the Dragon’s Log and werebats swooped overhead. Together the bats didn’t charge, but those who ran were taken. A few swooping bats tried to drive them in another direction, but Vincent kept them on course. The silence from his question was a sign of low morale. “None of you heard me over the shrieking bats, so let me repeat myself. Does anyone know why it's better to have multiple attributes?” Vincent asked.

A man with an iron slave collar around his neck spoke up. “Choices, more attributes give you more class choices.”

“Good answer but no. Does anyone else want to answer?” Vincent looked around, but no one answered. One bat swooped in close, and Vincent threw himself to the side of sweeping talons. The others looked ready to bolt. Vincent sucked in a breath. “Since no one wants to answer, what does STR or strength do,” Vincent said.

He pulled the idiot with the common answer out of the path of talons, then pushed him out of the path of another set.

“STR increases the physical strength majorly and toughness minorly.” A man said.

“Duck,” Vincent ordered, and the man dropped to the ground to avoid talons. “Attributes have minor and major effects on the body. Without CON or constitution, a person with strength alone will only get so tough they can forget swimming in lava or surviving a hydra’s poison breath. A minor effect is only a hundredth of a major effect.” Vincent said.

A gravedigger socked him in the chest, and he spat out a mouthful of blood. Vincent stared up at the stranger that hit him.

“Thanks to VIT the vitality attribute, I will heal from the blow you dealt me, and every point within extends my lifespan. CON alone only grants a slight increase to health compared to VIT. But there is another effect rarely spoken of called the lesser effect. Each attribute contributes a lesser effect smaller than a minor effect to all possible attributes. For example, a man with 1,000 STR alone will have the equivalent of 1 attribute point in every attribute imaginable and take two steps to the right.” Vincent fell to the floor, and his attacker turned around. Talons ripped through flesh, and blood sprayed on Vincent’s neck and back. The werebat took the man away, and others quickly swarmed it ripping away at its prey. “I am speaking to make their dives predictable. They are mindless; if that idiot had stepped to the right, he might be alive.” Vincent made a fist with his shaking hands.

“So what is the point of having so many attributes?” Another gravedigger asked.

“To unshackle the body’s limits. With too much AGL or agility, you won’t be able to keep track of your movements. You need high INT, the intelligence attribute, to help your brain process the speed or a PER, the perception attribute.” Vincent said.

They reached the edge of the Dragon’s Log, soaked to the bone from marching through swamp land. Biting insects never left them alone, and Vincent felt welts rising all over his body. He saw a few pink flowers and knew he had found what he wanted.

“Old Jim told me about a plant that grows near the dragon’s log. We must uproot the plant and rub its crushed pod on our bodies.”

Pained shrieking sounds filled the air while Vincent crushed the herbs and quickly rubbed them on himself. “

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“I’m not doing it; something about that plant gives me a bad feeling.” Vincent raised the plant towards some of the men, and they shied away from it. For good measure, Vincent popped one of the raw pods in his mouth and chewed before gagging. It burned the whole way down and tasted foul. “Do the same, or there is no saving you,” Vincent said.

Some men dutifully rubbed themselves down and popped the pods in their mouths.

Old Jim’s voice whispered in his ear. ‘If you are heading that way and something makes you shy away from the herb, take it quickly.’ It was like Old Jim said.

“We should part ways since none of you like the smell of us.” Vincent held up another plucked pod. “Are you certain you don’t want to swallow a bulb? It could save your life.” Vincent asked.

He walked over to the men and offered each one a bulb, and found his pockets full of their coins. One man snatched the pod from Vincent’s hand before a werebat fell near the brackish water of the swamp. Worms wiggled out of its eyeballs while its body bulged obscenely in places.

Dark Alchemists sprayed returning workers and dumped whole 50,000-gallon barrels of potions into the swamp to contain the dreaded parasites of Dragon’s Log. The republic itself paid a commission to the Alchemist Unions every year. So when the worms touched swamp water, they hissed and scurried back into their host's body. The monster rose to its full height of 9ft tall and spread its massive leathery wings.

Worms fled from the body of the man who consumed the herb while the others gripped their heads and screamed. Bulges emerged from their bodies before more worms broke free of their skin. They quickly turned away and fled into the Dragon Log to feed their flesh to the worm queen.

Vincent heard the sounds of a galloping horse before a grey-skinned man appeared. Worms flowed beneath the man’s skin like underground streams. Glowing between the man’s eyes and beneath his skin was a glowing green worm marking the man as a worm lord. Yellow bone armor covered the man’s body and horse, making him look like an Eastern barbarian.

“Stinking flesh unfit for seedlings, why have you come to our lands. Has the council gone back on its word?” The worm lord asked.

His words were like a slap to the face. Vincent was ready to spill his guts and worship the ground the man walked on. It took all of his will to shake off the feelings of worship. Instead, he replaced it with the need to strip this lord of his possessions. A fat bag dangled from the man’s mount but was out of reach.

Some gravediggers behind him were panting like dogs waiting for a bone.

“No, lord, we mean only to stay until the sun rises. But, in exchange, please take the flesh of the werebats chasing us into your embrace. Their bodies are far worthier than us lowly humans.” Vincent lowered his head and approached the mounted man before a lance blocked him.

“That is close enough. I can’t stand your scent; tell old Jim we’re even. Be gone by morning or treaty, or no, I will skewer you. There will be blood the next time I have such smelly guests on my lands.” The man turned to the bloated men on the ground. “Come thralls, my work camps could use more strong backs.” The worm lord rode away as other creatures took up watches.

Vincent didn’t dare use scan on such an obviously powerful individual. Using a lord would be considered disrespectful and cost him his head. So, he fought off his curiosity while listening to the worm lord gallop away.

Human lvl2

He saw the prompt and counted the number of times he saved lives, including talking through way out of a beheading from the worm lord. A little less than 150 life-saving actions had been completed to get to the next level. It would be a long time before he maxed out his species.

“What now?” A man asked.

“We wait until the sun comes up.”

Vincent trudged through waist-high swamp waters back to rural Stack. Resnick Camazotz would most likely dock his pay again. Not like it mattered with the amount of copper he had stolen. He wasn’t sure about the amulet anymore after stealing it and finding no fences willing to take Camazotz property; it weighed heavily in his pocket. Emily had insisted that he took it and replaced it with a replica. Resnick hardly noticed Vincent slide it off and replace it.

Skill

Thief: Tier 4

Since their parents died, Vincent had to steal, and even when he found a job, he couldn’t help himself. His skill only grew more powerful with practice. A lvl50 dhampir couldn’t feel him replace the amulet on his person.

Vincent snatched an apple out of the air and looked up to see a smiling werewolf girl dangling her legs off the branch of a tree. He was on the dirt road back to the poor side of Boar, a small town on the edge of rural Stack, close to some dangerous places. The werewolf girl was Sif, a 14-year-old who had liked him for some reason. Knowing his luck, she planned to use her hunting license to target him when she got in the mood. Luck would be a great attribute; unfortunately, he wasn’t able to get it, and at 10 attributes, he was ready to take his first class at 30.

“Hey, Sif, no time to catch up. I’m about to choose my class.”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head before leaping from the limb. “I have to tell my father. We have a job opening. What kind of class were you planning to choose?” Sif got into his face and pointed a clawed-tipped digit at his chin. “You aren’t going to choose gravedigger after all this time.”

“No, I was thinking of something that makes money.” Vincent pulled her purse out of his pocket. She rolled her eyes and snatched it out of his hand.

She held up two clawed digits. “Two words, black berserker, we know that class backward and forwards. You will sign a contract, and then we’ll send you off with one of our power-level teams. By the next full moon, you’ll be at level 30.” She smiled pleasantly before tossing back a strand of coal-black hair. “I’ll nibble on you, and you’ll be a wolf. Then we can mate and leave to start our own pack.” Sif said.

Vincent sighed; she developed a stupid crush on him when he caught her falling out of the same tree she was just sitting on. The girl took to him like a baby duck. He thought she would get over him after she transformed and made her first kill. But nothing seemed to work, and he didn’t feel like being an asshole to a girl that could rip his guts out faster than he could blink.

“Check my level.”

“Her eyes flashed gold.”

“Your level two; you still don’t have a class.” Sif scowled. “How did you learn false data?”

“Humans gain species experience by saving lives,” Vincent said.

Sif sighed and gave him a serious look. “I don’t care if you’re a human or a wolf. Don’t go home; your sister is old enough to fend for herself. Come with me. I don’t care if you want to stay human; it's you I want. 20 years is enough to repay any debt you might owe her.” Sif said.

Vincent turned his gaze to the shack down the dirt road with a tin roof, mismatched add-ons, and boarded-up windows.

“How will she eat without me?” Vincent asked.

“She can work,” Sif said.

Sif’s button nose twitched, and her eyes wouldn’t meet his. The girl was never good at lying.

“Did you know Resnick Camazotz meets your sister for tea once a week? I see him walking down that old dirt road with his silver cane and wide-brimmed hat, looking like a fool. He always leaves with a satisfied grin that makes my skin crawl.” Sif wrinkled her nose. “When he left last night, he didn’t have his cane or usual expression. He smelled of fresh blood.” Sif refused to meet his eyes. “Don’t go in. There is nothing for you to see in there.” Sif said.

It would be better to walk with Sif. He knew something was terribly wrong. But he couldn’t.

Vincent walked mechanically, a golem locked on a preordained track. His heart hammered against his chest. Even his drying clothes and painful welts from numerous insect bites were forgotten. Sif had wanted to spare him from what he had to see. Vincent would remember that.