Percy set a brisk pace on the descending road, leaning heavily on the cart’s single brake lever. His entire livelihood depended on it. They had twenty miles to cross on the precarious cliffside trail before arriving at Bastion, and the tinker was desperate to arrive before nightfall when their craggy surroundings would be chockful of monsters, bandits, and danger.

Despite the ambitious pace, Rin still had time to marvel at the world around him, gaping at the view around every corner as his tiny world was cracked further ajar. Every sight was something new, from deafening mountain waterfalls to clusters of weird rock formations. At one point, the trees changed from the spiky evergreens Rin knew all too well, to a fatter, knobbier variety with broad leaves. Even the air seemed different here, thicker and more viscous. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with such vitality it made him feel like bursting.

But the most fantastic sight yet was when they walked beneath a soaring basalt pillar leaning crookedly against the mountainside. It was only a dozen yards in diameter but several thousand tall, looking like a giant had propped its walking stick against the mountain and forgotten about it. From their vantage point on the cliffside trail, the column rose into the air as if to pierce the very sky itself.

“They say that’s a leftover of when the Steppe mountains were made,” said Percy. “Legend says a rock elemental made these mountains by lumbering west to east, toward the Salt Wastes. Every time the elemental would place a foot down, the rock would rise to meet it, forming the distinctly flat mountaintops we know as the Steppes.”

Rin nodded, having heard the story, but his expression turned to confusion. “What’s this piece then?”

Percy opened his mouth, then paused, tilting his head aside. “Well, it’s … probably a toothpick or something. Maybe it had something stuck in its teeth, I don’t know!”

They both laughed.

“Haven’t you heard?” asked Rin. “What do giant rock elementals eat?”

“This is one of your father’s jokes, isn’t it?”

“Anything they want!”

Rin slapped his knee and Percy groaned. “You’d better raise the quality of those jokes, or there’ll be consequences, boy. I promised your father I’d get you to Bastion. I didn’t say anything about not stabbing you in the process!”

“Alright, alright, I see your … point?”

Percy cuffed him over the back of the head, which made Rin laugh all the more.

The boy was in such a giddy mood Percy struggled to turn the conversation to more important topics. Having seen Rin mature from a young toddler, he wished to impart some final measure of wisdom before the boy gallivanted off into the world. But he couldn’t get him to calm down and speak of anything seriously. That is, until he turned the topic to classes.

“I assume your father drilled into you the importance of classes. I happen to know quite a bit about unusual classes because of my extensive travels. Is there anything you’d like to know?”

The idiotic grin wiped from Rin’s face, and his mind went into overdrive.

“I need the secret to getting a powerful class,” he said instantly. “From what Father’s told me, everything depends on the rarity of the class, which in turn depends on how well I fight in the dungeon. But it also sounds like luck has a lot to do with it. Who knows which of the five major gods will even be watching us? So, what can I possibly do to get a rarer class?”

“Ah, the million gold question. You’re not alone. That’s what everyone wants to know. Apparently, an entire division of researchers at the academy in Dunspire City is working on this precise subject.

The man scratched his chin. “Some say the gods assess how you’ve fought your entire life leading up to age sixteen. Others say only your performance in the dungeon matters. Some say your class choices will suffer if you delay getting to the nearest beginner dungeon.” Percy looked him dead in the eye. “You want to know what I think?”

Rin stared with huge eyes, nodding vigorously.

“I say not to worry about it. There are plenty of people who started with weak classes and became powerful. The more important thing is what you do with it. The class you choose in the beginner dungeon is just what the name implies: the beginning. There are many paths to power.”

“So you’re an evolutionist, then? You think evolving your class is more important than whatever class it is?”

“No, not at all. I’m saying levels are the most important thing. You’ve got to level as much as possible, pouring all those points into your attributes. Then you’ll be strong no matter what class you have. Even if all you do is perfect a single kick-ass ability, that can take you all the way to the top.”

Percy waggled his finger at him. “Case in point, have you heard of General Stooks, the woman in charge of guarding the southern seaboard? She has one major ability that her entire build is based on, and she uses it in every fight without fail. It’s a Fireball spell, grade A. Granted, it has something like ten thousand mana pumped into it, but other than that, it’s a dead-simple, run-of-the-mill fireball spell. One of the very first skills every beginner mage learns. And yet, it’s devastating. She annihilates anyone in her way. And she can only do that because she’s leveled up so many times, pumping up her Magic attribute to some ridiculous degree.”

Rin was stunned into silence. He didn’t know what to think.

Percy took the silence as an invitation to keep dropping wisdom bombs on the boy. “So, as far as classes go, just pick one that resonates with you. You know you’ll get at least three choices, right?”

The boy nodded, still listening raptly.

“Good, good. You’re going to do fine, scamp.”

The tinker stopped in his tracks. “Wait a minute, I’ve got something for you.” He patted his breast pocket, then his vest’s side pockets. “Ah, here it is! A little gift I’ve been saving.” He reached out and slid a hefty metal ring onto the boy’s index finger.

Rin examined the thing closely, brushing his fingers over a bold bronze design set in its face: an eight-pointed star set inside a square.

“What is it? Does it bring luck?”

“Not quite.” Percy was wearing that mischievous grin again. “Use your Identify ability on it.”

Craven’s Ring of Introductory Poison

Raises poison resistance by adding Craven’s toxin to the bloodstream in increasing dosages.

-50% experience gain while equipped

Warning: Poison scales dangerously with class level.

“What are you trying to do, kill me?!”

Rin immediately scrambled to get the thing off, but Percy shushed him, clasping his hands with a firm grip. “Stop being such a baby. You’re effectively level zero, and it won’t cause any lasting damage. You’ll have some loose bowel movements, that’s all. Besides, it’ll significantly raise your poison resistance, and you need every advantage you can get in this dungeon.”

The boy gradually relaxed after rereading the notification several times. “Jeez, this penalty of fifty percent experience seems a little harsh.”

“Aye, it’ll ruin your leveling, so be sure to take it off before entering the dungeon. All Craven’s artifacts are like that, having some type of ridiculous curse or penalty that renders them practically useless. Curses against experience gain are Craven’s favorite—half his items seem to have that in common. And he’s the god behind the Cursed class, of course. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you: Do not pick that class.”

Percy shot him a surprisingly severe glare.

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“Why? What happens?”

The main snorted. “You’ll never level up again, that’s what.”

Rin’s jaw dropped in shock. “How is that fair!”

“Nothing about the class system is fair, scamp. That’s why it’s called the Game of the Gods. Sure, if we’re careful, we can delicately tread a path to strength. But don’t think for a second that the gods care about us. We’re just pawns to them.”

The tinker eyed the ring. “Although, I will say this about Craven’s items. No matter how cursed and useless they are, they always have an application for some unorthodox scenario where nothing else will do.

“Take your new ring, for instance. As you saw with your Identify ability, I’m only level 17. Yet, that’s still high enough that this simple ring would administer enough poison to kill me within minutes. For anyone above level 10, it’s a death sentence. Even if you have a grade A poison resistance ability, this is one of the few artifacts that bypasses it entirely. It’s treacherous.”

The man ducked his head and lowered his voice as if sharing a trade secret.

“But here’s the thing. You don’t have any experience to lose. You don’t even have a level yet. For someone like you, it’s perfect. Plus, it’s cheap! Nobody wants them. I got this one for a song and a handshake!”

Percy stood up, raised his chin, and puffed out his chest. “It’s as if Craven designed it as a training aid for beginners alone, purposefully putting it out of reach from everyone else. Now, why would a god want to do that, I ask you? Let me see you ponder that quandary! It’ll truly bake your noggin!”

Rin shuddered as a chill fled down his spine. He didn’t know anything about this god named Craven, but one thing was for sure: He certainly didn’t want to piss him off.

“So how does it work?” asked Rin. “I just wear it, and it starts poisoning me?”

As if on cue, a message appeared in his mind’s eye.

You have been poisoned.

General malaise of the bowels inflicted.

Rin’s abdomen made a loud gurgle in protest, and a wave of discomfort rolled over his bowels. He gave Percy a helpless look.

“You cruel bastard!”

The man huffed, picking something from his teeth. “The way I hear it, you’re the bastard. Now run along to those bushes up ahead. Quick, while there’s no one around.”

Rin ambled off, bow-legged to Percy’s voice hollering at his back.

“You’ll thank me later!”

***

Hours passed, and they rolled to a halt on a clifftop that corralled a raging river hundreds of feet below. The entire valley opened up before them, a fertile land of greens, browns, and yellows, all drenched in the amber light of the late afternoon sun. There was so much life here, from the colored birds mid-song to the constant thrum of insects living their tiny ignorant lives.

Percy pointed out their winding path, a narrow gravel trail that snaked around switchbacks and descended into the valley. From there, the trail straightened into a perfect line that greeted the fortified granite walls of Bastion.

From this angle, the town didn’t look like much. Still, Percy reassured him it was a vibrant community of at least seven thousand—even more during active wartime when the military garrison was fully stocked with soldiers.

They plodded onward, carefully navigating the switchbacks and rolling into Bastion right before sundown, to Percy’s visible relief. Naturally, Rin gaped the entire way inside. To be fair, he’d never seen town walls before, let alone ones crafted by professional stonemasons, twenty feet thick and twice as high. And there were so many people! Merchants, traders, farmers, soldiers, peasants, and travelers, all queued up peacefully at the imposing iron gate that marked the town’s entrance.

He imagined living there but couldn’t picture where he’d fit in. That is, until he saw a band of adventurers, twenty strong, with weary gaits and armed to the hilt. The crowd gave them a wide berth as they trudged by, escorting an enormous snake carcass on a long, flat wagon. The dead beast was at least fifty feet long, and that was with its body coiled into a tight ball to fit onto the vehicle. Two adventurers with vein-popping biceps pulled at the front. Two more pushed from behind. Even sharing the load between them, their stats must have been stupendous, for the monster clearly weighed several tons. Rin discreetly used Identify on the two adventurers at the front.

Steven Broadbent

Level 21 Warrior

Paul Roper

Level 25 Warrior

They’re only in their twenties? How can they be so low and yet do that?

Rin suddenly had a brand new appreciation for levels in the Game of the Gods. Their effect on attributes was far more dramatic than he initially thought.

Does that mean my own mother is twice as strong as that first man?

An abrupt jostling from behind tore Rin away from his thoughts. He’d been standing still, dumbstruck, with the line backed up behind him. He snapped his head up to see Percy beckoning to him from way up ahead in the queue.

“Come on, lad! There’ll be plenty of time to daydream later!”

They arrived at the gate where a yawning guard questioned each visitor.

“Reason for your visit?”

“Why, I live here!” said Percy. “And he’s here for the beginner’s dungeon.”

The guard glanced at the empty space above Rin’s head, seeing the words of the gods displayed there in his mind’s eye. “Are you registered with a team?”

“He’s down for the first slot in the morning at seven am. Solo.”

“Solo, eh?” The man gave Rin a more respectful appraisal. “Godspeed to you, son.” He waved them on. “Next!”

The sun had fully set now, immersing the edges of the cobbled streets in darkness. Neither of them saw the keen eyes of a hooded man watching them from the shadows. The figure glanced at Rin’s status and suddenly became deeply interested in the boy. Without a sound, he backed into the gloom, vanishing without a trace.

They grabbed a bite to eat from a street vendor, then stumbled through treacherous, dew-slicked streets to Percy’s home. The place was surprisingly modest, a quaint townhome buried in a non-descript alleyway in the wealthy Merchants’ Quarter.

First, they tended to Grumps, parking the cart beside his humble stable, feeding, and brushing him down for the night. Only then did they dump the rest of their gear in the cramped living room, where an ash-laden hearth and a tired-looking breakfast nook shared the space.

Rin’s designated sleeping spot was little more than a paltry square of thin blanket on the cold flagstones. There was barely room for the boy to fit between the trinkets and tools that littered the floor. He commented on the lack of room, but Percy waved his concerns aside.

“City living is more about the location and convenience, scamp. A place like this, deep in the heart of the city, is highly desirable, believe it or not. So much so that the folks here pay quite the premium. It’s the merchant’s law of supply and demand. The one law universal to every country!”

Rin kicked off his boots without a word and collapsed on the pathetic excuse for a bed. He was asleep within seconds.

***

Two hundred miles south in the kingdom’s capital of Dunspire City, a maid of House Cartwright peered down at her dress, checking it for spots and imperfections, making sure to smooth out any wrinkles she discovered. Satisfied, she raised her chin and thrust back her shoulders. Her confident stature was nothing but a mask to keep her alive another day. For appearances were paramount when serving the Lady of the House.

Serving here is like swimming in a barrel of sharks.

Her fist rapped a stern knock on the dense oak door before she entered, stepping onto a broad balcony with an unmatched view of Dunspire City.

Her mistress sat in deep thought on a chaise lounge, demurely sipping tea and gazing out at the sunsetting sky. To anyone who didn’t know her, she personified elegance. Her lady-in-waiting knew better. She was a bloodthirsty tiger, prowling for her next meal.

The girl hastened to execute a perfect curtsy and deliver the news.

“A coded message arrived on the autoscribe, m’lady. It’s from Bastion. They used an older passphrase, but it checks out.”

Mallenda wordlessly snatched the note from the girl’s trembling hands. It contained seven simple words.

Rin Cartwright arrived at sunset. Dungeon 7am.

Mallenda nodded to herself, her mouth set in a grim line.

Sixteen years. Time for that loose end to be dealt with.

“Get me the autoscribe paired with that insufferable nephew of mine.”

The girl froze, her hands clasped tight to stop them from trembling. “I-If I may be so bold, your ladyship. Which … nephew … in particular?”

There was a moment of silence as the gravity of the girl’s question sank in. Fortunately for her, Mallenda’s genuine laughter broke the spell, a rare occurrence indeed.

“Ha! Well said!” Her piercing gaze swept to the girl, pinning her in place. “There may be hope for you yet. To answer your question, the one in Bastion. Young Lord Easton. The spineless suckup with an unwavering commitment to arrogance over competence. He may yet redeem himself if he plays his cards right. And if he bungles the job, it’ll give me significant leverage over his House.”

The girl retrieved the appropriate mana-paired quill, and Mallenda paused before making her first stroke across the empty paper. Each mark she made would be mirrored by an identical quill in Bastion, paired with this one via magic. The servants of House Easton would be monitoring the sister quill along with a host of others, ready to notify their superiors as the need arose. It was the de facto method of communicating across long distances, and every noble in the kingdom employed the devices. Their one downside was that mistakes were irreversible.

Mallenda dipped the quill in a bottle of liquid mana and began writing with confidence, a vicious sneer creeping onto her lips.

Eliminating threats gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. Each act added another brick to the impregnable wall surrounding her domain.

Dear Nephew,

I've stumbled upon a delightful opportunity for you to prove your worth …