Standing still, Exill kept his feet shoulder width apart facing Verill. The makeshift spear held tightly in both hands as the wounded Hunter stood tall, adjusting the sling cradling his arm. Once he was happy, Verill pulled the spear out of the damp grass and pointed it at Exill.
“You learn spear skills once you become a [Spearman], which is a Tier 2 job. To get there, you need anywhere from two to seven years of experience as a [Warrior]. Today, I will help you unlock this most basic job. Attack and defend against me!” With that, Verill deliberately telegraphed a lunge while moving to attack Exill.
Exill nervously sidestepped the strike and tentatively poked back at Verill. The opponent tucked his spear under his arm and easily pirouetted away while slapping Exill’s shoulder with the haft of his spear.
“Don’t forget the spear is essentially a stave. The whole thing is a weapon. Don’t focus on the pointy end.”
Exill nodded and earnestly renewed his attacks once he was sure Verill could easily defend himself. Despite one arm in a sling, the man was skilled in countering his attacks. The two continued to duel, picking up speed as Exill grew more comfortable. Half an hour later, drenched in sweat and out of breath, he felt a sudden [Ping!] reverberate deep within his core. Exill raised a hand to motion the end of the duel and summoned the Card.
Job Warrior Level 1 Description Melee Combat - Tier I Passive Buff + attack speed (scales with level).
He confirmed [Warrior] had been attained. Angling the Card slightly away from Verill, he selected the primary job that was [Farmer], ‘Verill mentioned earlier that it was difficult for commoners like us to switch jobs… I wonder if it holds true for me.’
With quivering intent, Exill attempted to unassign his [Farmer] job.
Nothing happened. He tried again before a distant memory tugged at his attention. Something about his available jobs. His eyes were drawn to [Planeswalker] and the associated [Rule Break] skill:
Job Planeswalker Level 1 Description ‘You forcibly entered this plane. You are unwelcome and the World rejects you.’ Active Skill: [Rule Break]: The World dares to weigh you down with artificial chains. Why should you submit..?
Warning: skill usage will increase rejection and you will suffer tribulations.
Rejection: 5/100
‘I have a feeling this will work… but what if it doesn’t? I’ll be stuck with an ominous sounding job for the rest of my life. How could I show my Card to others then?’ he worried. With much trepidation, Exill assigned [Planeswalker] as his secondary job. Trying to unassign it shortly after, he panicked when nothing happened.
A new prompt popped up.
Would you like the ability to unassign jobs? [Yes - Rejection +5] [No]
‘I don’t have much choice in the matter…’ Exill didn’t even hesitate as he indicated [Yes]. A roll of thunder suddenly rang out in the cloudless sky and the refugees were startled to their feet while looking warily around for the source.
[The World has noticed your transgression. Rejection: 10/100]
Exill felt a surge of unease travel up his spine but pushed it aside as he tried to remove [Farmer] followed by [Planeswalker].
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
‘It worked!’ he celebrated.
Testing the waters by assigning [Warrior] a few more times, it became clear that [Planeswalker] was no longer necessary to remove active jobs, and could now be switched at his convenience. However, Exill’s excitement gave way to thought when he considered the ramifications of his newfound ability.
‘Verill said people cannot change their jobs easily and they often inspect the cards of others. Would they notice any discrepancies about my Card?’ He thought back to last night and struggled to remember the hazy details.
‘Did I tell anyone else I was a [Farmer]?’ He was startled out of his thoughts when Verill clapped his shoulders and glanced at the Card projected on his palm. Exill froze, inwardly panicking.
“Huh, I thought you told me your job was [Farmer]?”
Exill’s mind raced frantically for a feasible excuse, “I worked in our family farm… erm, my father pressured me to become a [Farmer] but I held back.”
Verill studied him for an extra second then patted Exill on the back again, “I must have misunderstood, nevertheless, good choice on picking [Warrior] as your main job, it will help you survive.”
Exill let out a breath of relief that the Hunter hadn’t questioned this disparity. According to the rules of this world what he had achieved was technically impossible, so it was understandable that his mentor chose to doubt his memory over his eyes. Still, it wasn’t a mistake that could be made twice, and he followed Verill to the resting refugee group a short distance away.
The caravan had warily settled down after failing to find the source of the rumbling noise. The lead cart driver remained standing, sullenly examining a brass compass like device whose dials were spinning. Noticing his curiosity, Verill explained, “That should be the lead cart driver, they’re usually Navigators by trade. He’s probably checking if that thunder earlier was an Aberration.”
Exill nodded while passing the frowning Navigator, sighing with relief as he sat down with the main group. His body was still bruised and battered, and Verill didn’t appear to be faring any better as he adjusted his sling while grimacing, “Can you open the pouch under my sling and take out my medicine?”
Reaching under the sling, Exill opened the small wooden pot. He was greeted with the familiar sight of the foul-smelling red paste. Carefully, he applied the poultice to Verill’s wound on his forearm, causing him to wince.
There was significant swelling, and it was obvious that the radius had fractured and set in place by a splint. Sensing his questioning glance Verill explained, “The army healers thankfully set the bone and cast a light healing spell to hold it in place. I know it looks bad, but it should heal up straight as long as I keep it clean.”
Verill then motioned Exill to lift his shirt, “Let’s have a look at your ribs.” He then helped Exill to clean the oozing gash and reapply the stinging poultice, finishing it off with a fresh strip of linen.
Wiping his stained fingers on the grass, he was about to comment on the smell when they were interrupted by the Navigator shouting hoarsely, “Aberration! Gather round and stick together. Do not move!”
Exill followed the turning heads around him to look in the direction of the forest that bordered the road. An ominous grey cloud was visible over the treetops, and it was advancing on them. When it approached closer, his eyes were drawn to the gently rolling clouds, its amorphous vapour hinting of the horrors within.
“Party, join my cohort now!” Verill startled him by grasping his hand in a clammy handshake. Exill was confused. He did not understand what the Hunter meant… but Verill gripped his hand tighter till it hurt, the whites of his eyes clearly visible. A prompt appeared in his mind’s eye.
Join Party? [Yes] [No]
The selection was affirmed, and he was greeted with the spatial awareness of three other people including Verill. It could only be described as knowing intuitively where your hands and feet are despite not looking at them. He could feel their location on top of sensing their surface emotions.
Panic and fear suffused their connection as the otherworldly Mist swept over them, blanketing their senses. Exill couldn’t see his hands and only muffled sounds reached his ears. Minutes passed in total isolation, hints of movement always on the periphery of his vision.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, but sensed one of their members hesitantly stand up. Exill vaguely remembered an old man sitting next to him, what seemed a lifetime ago. The elderly man’s emotions flickered from fear… to hope? before it was suddenly extinguished, inexplicably gone. Exill could only sense two other members in his party.
Shivering for what felt like an eternity, the Mist gradually receded like a quiescent yet turbulent nightmare. The traumatized group of refugees struggled to their feet, looking up in a daze at the warm mid-afternoon sun. Exill tried to ignore the empty depressions on the grass where they had comfortably rested just moments earlier.