“Can we gag him? I vote we gag him,” George said idly, his sarcasm a familiar shield against the rising tension. The crooning sounds of Singh’s voice emitted from the ruins of the mill grating on everyone's nerves.
“No, we won’t gag him,” John declared as he rolled his eyes at the obvious banter, still wondrous at his new abilities. Even beyond the apparent ability to fight with scutum and gladius, his words carried weight, and his goals had a sense of surety. John found he was second-guessing himself less, and with that came a weight of confidence that was only slightly hampered by his less than ideal sunrise.
The morning had been spent on clean-up, and it had been gruesome.
“Fine. I’m gonna do a patrol. Can’t stand this.” Almost as if to emphasise his point, Singh’s song rose to a high, undulating pitch, and George cringed. “C’mon, Nimbus!” The two strolled to the edge of their walled area casually, but once they got there, Nimbus hopped up into the trees and George bounded over the fortification like it wasn’t there. John shook his head, still coming to terms with the sheer impossibility of the feats that they could now perform.
Speaking of the fortification, John had yet to examine where he had held the wall. He knew there would be blood that he had spilled himself, but outside of the hot-blooded rush of combat, he was easily able to admit he was afraid of seeing the mess. That would make it real, instead of-
“Shut the fuck up!” Miriam screamed out from the river, right as Singh had begun another high-pitched, keening solo. The voice faltered, then began even louder if possible. She groaned in frustration, then moved as far down the river as she could without being outside the barricade.
John closed his eyes and sighed, considering the situation and trying not to listen to the captive. The sneaky archer had escaped, and by the looks of things, had dragged off the spear-wielding woman. Without medical care, she was doomed. With Singh captured, and the larger man dead, their gear had been distributed. Singh had only had his sword, which would work for George for now. A rapier wasn’t ideal for the woodsman he was turning into, but it beat a knife.
The plate armour, however, wasn’t causing any issues in his class. In fact, part of him rejoiced, if he could just fit his troops with armour of this quality, none could stand again-
John shook his head at that thought. He didn’t have any troops, nor a campaign to equip them for. He was still getting used to the sheer amount of knowledge that had been crammed into his head, even as he adjusted the tools at his belt.
His Centurion chest had contained a basic set of leather armour with small metal reinforcements. Complete with the skirt.
John had opted for the plate armour.
Other than the armour, The chest contained a quiver with 5 of the pointed javelins designed to bend and hamper the enemies shield - a pilum, his class helpfully supplied. Finally, it held a full body scutum shield, and a chipped but serviceable gladius.
Meanwhile Miriam was by the river, practising her wand-draw. Every so often, he saw her screw up her face in concentration, but the end result didn’t seem to change. With a sigh, he gathered up the pieces of armour and brought them over to the rushing water.
Miriam drew her wand, blasting a bolt of magic at the river before holstering it again in a loop she’d fashioned from some improvised cord. She then made the drawing motion again, and John faintly saw one of those glowing geometric patterns start forming in the air before it crumbled into dust and faded. It was not hard to piece out what she was trying to do.
“Good morning, Miriam.” John started awkwardly.
“John,” She responded curtly. “Sent George out to find the others?”
He cursed internally, being focussed on the encampment. “Yea, he’s going off on a patrol.”
She gave him a side eye, then jammed her wand back into the holster and turned to him fully. “So. Centurion. All I know is it's some Roman soldier.”
“Sergeant would be closer, but yes. My first skill was Weapon Mastery, like George, but it looks like it only applies to weapons a Centurion would have used. Javelins, short swords, large shields, and it seems heavy armour counts too.”
“Hm,” Miriam said. “Mitchell always went on about how Romans made the best roads and concrete, even with modern methods. You get any of that juice?”
“No, I hav-'' John faltered as a flood of images went through his brain of materials, procedures, tools, and slave workers performing manual labour. “Well, I guess I do, but I ain’t using slaves, that’s for damn sure.” He cringed, as the song being sung turned to almost a screaming sound.
“You sure? We could tie Singh to a tree and move him once he’s past each section.”
“No.” John answered with finality. “Working prisoners is not how I want our group to do things. Makes us no better than that- Would you excuse me for a moment?” John picked up a gauntlet off the ground and hefted it in his hands, before slipping it on.
Miriam waited patiently as John strolled over to the ruined mill and ducked inside. A dull thud sounded, and the singing voice cut off. John emerged from the mill with a satisfied smile on his face and returned to the river. “Thanks. Where was I?”
Miriam held back a chuckle. “Before talking about fair treatment of prisoners, you were talking about walls and roads.”
John grunted. “Can’t do it proper yet. I mean all I need is logs and axes for the wall, but we need at least three people if we’re going to build it like that.”
“What’s your Strength?” Miriam asked.
“Huh? Oh, lemme check… Looks like a 16. Why?”
“Do you know that 16 Strength isn’t enough to lift a tree? Do you even know how much you can lift?”
“I can’t lift a tree, Miri, that’s some superhero shit.”
Miriam shrugged. “I guess I can’t cast magic, and George can’t hop through trees, and Sarah can’t heal people by bonking them with a bloody stick. That’s a shame, I guess I must be going crazy.”
John huffed. “Fine, I’ll go try and lift a tree if you clean the armour for me.”
“Like hell! I wanna see this.” Miriam picked up her tome and hurried after him.
Ten minutes and a short walk later had the two looking at the same sight, astounded.
“Huh,” John said, surprised.
“Huh,” Miriam agreed.
“Huh,” George deposited from up in the trees. “I wondered what you guys would get up to.”
John slid the tree trunk into the pit they had dug for it, and marvelled at the solid beam of wood protruding 20 feet into the air. “Turns out, I can lift a tree.”
“I mean, it’s a small one,” George muttered.
“Sure.” John replied proudly.
“You probably couldn’t do that one over there.”
“Probably not!”
A golden glow surrounded John, and George cursed. “Damnit! What is it, logger? Lumberjack? Carpenter? Wallbuilder?”
John let out a beaming smile. “What was it you said about lifting another tree?”
Name: John Forrest
Race: Human (*)
Primary Class: Centurion 5
Secondary Class: Carpenter Apprentice 5
Analyse: Briefing I
Race Level: 5
HP: 90
MP: 25
SP: 60
STATS
STR 22
FOR 10
AGI 10
REF 14
VIT 12
CON 12
INT 5
WIL 10
INS 12
CHA 14
Human Skills:
Common Ancestor
Duality of Man
Species Progenitor
Class Skills:
Weapon Mastery I
The next few hours were spent cutting down trees using the axe found in John's new chest, and when it began to get dark, he moved from cutting logs to stripping branches and bark. During this time, he was continuously gaining experience in his new Secondary class.
Miriam had shortly grown bored of John’s single-minded work and had gone off to study by the river. She was determined to figure out how to cast the dart spell without needing the wand. Everything she knew said it should be possible to do so, but for some reason the array wasn’t staying manifested for long enough. It was significantly more complex than those she’d worked with before, and she just couldn’t trace it all in the time she had before the first shapes started to unravel.
George returned to where Nimbus was watching their prey, the injured party of attackers. Through some miracle, they’d managed to stabilise Kyla, though none of them looked fit for combat.
The ranger found that surprising, considering they were waiting by an odd path in the forest, and made multiple sounds about ambush. Given what he’d heard, deduction said they were waiting for his own companions. So, George waited for them to wait.
He had to say, thanks to his new Willpower, he found it much easier to sit in one spot and focus on a task.
So when Mitchell and Sarah pushed through the forest, he was ready and heard them long before the ambushers did.
----------------------------------------
“Oh, the big bad wolf had a big bad bite, and that big bad bite chomped some big bad knights!”
“Lo, ho, the big bad knights!”
“The big bad knights found a big bad fright, and drew their big bad swords in the dead of night!”
“Lo, ho, the dead of night!”
“In the dead of night with a big bad wolf, the big bad knights began a big bad fight!”
“Lo, ho, the big bad fight!”
“Way, hey! The big bad knights had a big bad fright, and one by one, they fell from the big bad height!”
“Lo, ho, the big bad height!”
“With a big bad roar and a flash of light, the big bad wolf vanished from their sight!”
“Lo, ho, the blinded knights!”
“They discovered too late, in the morning light, the big bad wolf was a dame all right!”
“Lo, ho, a dame all right!”
“The big bad bite followed near and far, the poor knights sword got a weeping scar!”
“Way, hey, near and far!”
Mitchell and Sarah burst out into laughter, the once imposing and deadly woods seeming more like a pleasant park after their ordeal down in the caves. Between the two, they carried a small but heavy chest.
Mitchell had already opened his class chest and had found what was - to him, at least - a standard set of adventuring gear. There was a longsword with a sheath, which Mitchell had happily strapped onto his waist with both of his hands, pleased that the hilt was long enough to two-hand, but still balanced to be used in one. There was a small pack, filled with odds and ends like a wax stamp, a length of braided cord, and a pile of parchment. Finally, there was a beautiful steel breastplate, with a basic embossing depicting an infinite road. Fitting, now that he knew what the March truly was.
The March wasn’t even about humanity, though his was devoted to that. Rather, the March was the symbolic representation of progress, which in humanity led to adaptation, defiance, and ingenuity. His Weapon Mastery had reflected that, only showing him moves, blocks, or manoeuvres that ended up with him moving forwards, and he imagined further skills would rely on surety and aggression.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Oddly enough, though, most of his tips in Weapon Mastery were defensive. As he had swung his sword a few times, before they had left the charnel house that the dungeon had become, he’d almost sensed different ways he could twist and flourish the blade to riposte or feint, but never with any sort of retreating motion. They were all-or-nothing attacks.
Then there was the stat increase.
STATS
STR 25**
FOR 25**
AGI 10
REF 10
VIT 20*
CON 10
INT 10
WIL 33***
INS 9
CHA 8
Clearly, he was getting mountains of Willpower with his Page levels, though Strength and Fortitude were not far behind, and without that Vitality boost he would have died down in the queen’s chamber.
That final fight was a blur. He’d felt some sort of rush when the carpenter queen had fallen, and from what Sarah said, he’d had the tail end of a buff pushing his health back up after the fact, so he could only deduce that in her last moments, the carpenter queen had cast some sort of magic on him.
The thought sat oddly in his stomach, and he opened his mouth to begin the song again when a figure emerged from behind a tree 20 paces ahead on the trail.
Covered in a heavy cloak with its hood drawn, the figure held a bow and arrow at ready, though lowered and not drawn. He stood shorter than Mitchell, though the recent Page did not allow that to get his guard down. He was elated at first, seeing someone that clearly was not a part of their group, but the clearly hostile demeanour soured that emotion quickly. Were they protecting their own territory? Ambushing travelle-
“Oi! You best not be thinking to use that bow on us or Mitch’ll cave your skull in!”
Mitchell started at Sarah’s proclamation.
The figure called back. “We have your friend back at our camp. We know you’re a healer - heal one of us, and you all go free.”
Sarah looked over at him, her nerves betrayed on her face. Mitchell couldn’t find it in himself to really care all that much. He’d been through hell, he’d figured he’d never get out of that dungeon - now all he wanted to do was get back and curl up with Miriam. “Up to you, but he’s full of shit about having one of our people. Guaranteed.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you willing to bet on that? Bet Miriam’s life, potentially?”
“Yep. Should I tell you what my new Analyze does or will you trust me for now? They do really need healing.”
Human - Low Level, F-grade
Disposition: Desperate, Afraid
Sarah hummed. “Fine. Let’s see what they need.”
She called out to the waiting figure. “We don’t believe you have any of our friends, however I am willing to heal in exchange for trade!”
Mitchell raised an eyebrow at her incredulously. “Trade? Trading what?”
She shushed him, waiting for the figure's response.
“What do you want?” They eventually spat out, and from the low voice Mitchell placed it as a him.
“Your name, for one!”
“Why didn’t you jus- ugh, fine! My name’s Ezekiel. Just a tip: you can get names though Analyze, Sarah.”
Sarah glowered. “Well I was taught when you meet someone, you introduce yourself. My name is Sarah, and this here is Mitchell. If you don’t mind, Ezekiel, we’ve had a really rough day, so I want to get back before night falls and I need to spend another night out here. How about I come drop some of my healing magic on whoever needs it, and we’ll give you directions to our camp? Then you can come by and pay me back.”
“Deal!” Ezekiel shouted, losing control of his volume for a brief moment before clearing his throat. “Ahem. You have a deal. This way.”
“Good choice.” A voice said from up in the trees, and Mitchells heart stuttered.
“George?! Is that you?!” Sarah all but screamed into the canopy, and the mentioned ranger was soon visible as his feet tapped against tree branches on his way down, bow held drawn at Ezekiel the whole time. He hit the ground with a slight bending of his knees, but didn’t take his eye off the other archer.
“Yep. Just so you guys know, the reason they got injured is because they attacked our camp.” He muttered under his breath.
Ezekiel flinched at George's appearance, and tilted part of his body behind a nearby trunk.
Mitchells entire mind focussed. “John and Miri. They alright?”
George nodded. “Miriam’s a little shaken up, and John’s acting dour, but he got a cool class in the fight. Got a secondary, too, though it was a bit aft-”
“Boys, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get home before sunset.” Sarah reminded them, to which George shrugged.
“Sun rose not more than two hours ago, so I think you’re fine. Hey Ezekiel! Lead us on back to your camp. Just know two things: First, I already know the way. Second, we still have Singh, and John’ll be removing a finger for every hour after dark that I’m not back for. So lets make this quick and above board, yea?”
“He’s alive? I figured since you had his sword…”
George looked down to where the rapier hung from his waist. “Oh, yea, I suppose I do. Yes, he’s alive, but if he keeps up the singing then we’ll probably just kick him out into the woods next time a bear shows up.”
Ezekiel bit back a laugh, and looked horrified at his reaction. “But he’s alive?”
“Yep.” George answered lazily, bow still drawn.
“George.” Mitchell said, putting his hand on the ranger's shoulder. “I think he gets it.”
“I don’t think he does. He still hasn’t put down his weapon.”
Ezekiel immediately slung the bow back over his shoulder. “Sorry, it’s not systemized, so I’m trying to keep it as clean as possible. You guys can take the quiver though. I use it to trade-”
“Mana for arrows?” George finished.
“Yea, how’d- Are you an Archer too?”
“Nope. Ranger.” George gestured to a branch above the Archer, where a silent black form waited, staring down with hunger in its eyes. Nimbus sat quietly, piercing yellow eyes watching Ezekiel avidly.
Mitchell let out a low whistle. “Damn, he’s getting bigger.” It was true. Where before he was the size of a housecat, now Nimbus stretched long. Closer to one of those Savannah cats than the domestic longhair he was. He still looked the same, though, impossible to see his body beneath the poofy fur.
“Levels on levels, dude. This System is nuts.”
Ezekiel fidgeted. “Look, can we hurry? I don’t know how much longer Kyla’s got.”
Mitchell got an urge, and acted on it. “Keep your weapons. More important to get to healing.”
George balked. “You serious? He tried… Well. Kyla tried to kill John! And Singh went after Miriam.”
“Is John dead?” Mitchell ground out.
“No, I already told you everyone is fine.”
“Then why the hell does it matter? What were you even fighting over?”
“They wanted our wall.”
“Not much of a wall, shoulda just gave it to them…” Sarah muttered.
“And did you even consider that they also must have been fighting off the wildlife?!” Mitchell’s anger flooded through him. He couldn’t believe this. He’d known that humans could disappoint but this… Everything in his class, all the knowledge in his mind said that they had to do better. They had to prepare, and they couldn’t do that fighting each other. “You know what? This is stupid. Ezekiel!”
“You guys done your chat?” The archer asked sarcastically.
“Shut up and lead us to your camp.” Mitchell ground out, deep breaths heaving his body. Something about his new combat proficiency mixed with the experience down in the dungeon allowed Mitchell to push past the tension.
“I do-” The archer started, but Mitchell was having none of it. He wanted to see Miriam again.
“That doesn’t sound like someone leading us to their camp.” Mitchell intoned as he began stepping forwards. The archer baulked, and scurried into the brush, not too far to vanish but enough to lead.
“Finally.” Sarah muttered. “You’d think they’d be more enthusiastic about healing.” Nimbus hopped down from his branch as they walked underneath, and rubbed up against her leg. A quick scritch of his head, and Sarah found herself surrounded with a golden light.
George scoffed, but didn’t say anything more as Sarah excitedly told everyone nearby about her new Animal Handler class, and the first non-Mastery skill that anyone in the group had gotten: Animal Empathy.
Mitchell was just happy it wasn’t ants.
----------------------------------------
Kyla was unconscious, so the healing went fairly smoothly, even if Sarah had to stop and regenerate before she was finished. An Adrenal Response would wake her right up, but Sarah figured it would be better to let her wake up naturally.
Ezekiel had offered some nuts and berries for lunch, but the group had declined. They clearly needed the food more.
The camp wasn’t much more than a half built lean-to and a pitiful collection of stones denoting the firepit. A stench permeated the area. Sarah recommended that they dig a latrine further from camp and go to the stream to stay clean, then the trio left the pair behind, making their own way to the ruined mill.
With George leading the way, it wasn’t long before they came across a towering, wooden wall.
The wall was 20 feet tall, made of sharpened trunks reaching towards the sky. In between the trunks moss packed the spaces tight, and Mitchell saw that it dripped with water as if it had been soaked. He smiled. This was good progress.
George scaled the wall easily, with Nimbus scrabbling over the top behind him. He called out behind him. “Go around to the right side, there’s a gate!”
Shouting back his affirmative, Mitchell began jogging around the fortification, Sarah right behind him. Part of him was nervous - after all, hadn’t he just abandoned his friends to go and get a class? Now that he had one, the idea was stupid. He should’ve gone out with one of the classed people, let them watch his back so he could be relatively safe in combat. Not dove head-first into a meat-grinder.
If anyone other than Sarah had followed him, he wagered they’d have both died.
But he wasn’t dead, food for thousands of giant ants, nor was he coming back with terrible news. No, he was coming back a Page of the March and as they moved around the wall, Mitchells hunched shoulders straightened in pride.
That lasted until they neared the ‘gate’, a series of sharpened branches stuck into the ground in scattered bunches, making Mitchell have to walk carefully through the path to avoid getting stuck in. There was no dignified way to scoot between pointy sticks.
Then he saw Miriam, dirty from construction, and all thoughts of pride and dignity fled, as did his grip on the chest he was carrying. The chest thudded to the ground, forgotten. Comments from his friends blurred in his ears, and he missed John holding up a hand for a high five. His eyes found one thing, and he did not stop until it was his.
Mitchell sprinted over and wrapped her up in his arms, ignoring the muffled voice of protest. His body vibrated with shaking gasps as the sheer weight of everything he’d gone through finally sunk in. He buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of her amidst the dirt and sweat. Miriam’s arms came around him hesitant at first, then tightened, her fingers threading through his hair.
"Mitchell, it's okay. You're safe now," she whispered, her voice soothing, a balm to his frayed nerves. She wanted to ask about his hand, but that could wait.
He clung to her as if she were a lifeline, his body shaking uncontrollably. Tears he hadn’t realised he was holding back spilled down his cheeks, dampening her shirt. Miriam’s own eyes glistened with unshed tears as she held him, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.
"It's over," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You're here, with me. We're together."
Mitchell's grip loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. He couldn't. The reality of their situation crashed over him in waves—everything they’d survived, the dangers they’d faced, the loss and pain and blood - the friends? Allies?
Miriam pried herself out of the embrace just enough to take one of his arms over her shoulder and begin leading him towards the river. She guided him gently, her steps steady and sure despite the exhaustion etched into her features.
"Come on, let’s get you cleaned up," she said softly, her voice a mixture of firmness and tenderness. "You need to wash away all this."
He nodded weakly, allowing her to lead him, his legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. The river's cool, rushing water came into view, a small sanctuary of calm amidst the chaos of their lives.
As they reached the water's edge, Miriam helped him down to his knees. She cupped her hands and brought water to his face, wiping away the grime and the tears. He shuddered at the coolness, but it was refreshing, grounding him back to the present.
“First thing, we get you washed up.” She murmured, her previous anger at him well hidden. “Then some food, then you can sleep. We can talk in the morning, my love, you’re safe now.”
Mitchell shook with quiet sobs, and both Sarah and John felt uncomfortable watching and so moved further away. They were still in view, but not close enough to eavesdrop.
Sarah continued staring down John, who was staring her down in return. Mitchell deserved some rest, as much as she’d helped it was his incessant pushing forwards that got them through. She could only imagine the mental toll that living in the shadow of death for so long would cost.
She gestured at John’s outfit, eager for normalcy. “Nice suit.”
John shrugged, the plate armour rattling. “Best we’ve got. I’d prefer something a little lighter. Seems like Mitchell had a rough time.”
“He did. I was exhausted. He was exhausted and had burns covering over 50% of his body. Twice. The second time I’d have said closer to 80%.”
John’s face paled. He vaguely remembered being burned when he was tripped as a kid and landed on a barbeque. The recovery was almost as painful as the burn itself. Imagining that across his entire body - he felt a nausea develop in his stomach. “Good thing he had you there.”
She scoffed. “That’s right. It was only me. All of us saw how he was acting, and I know you saw me leave just after he did. Nobody else thought that letting him go out alone was a bad idea?”
“We… Well, we got attacked too!”
“George told me. That was well after we left, though. Please, don’t get me wrong - I’m sorry that happened to you, and I wish I was here to help. But that’s a separate issue. Why didn’t you follow me?”
“I didn’t have a class either, Sarah! As it stands, between Mitch, Miri, and you, you don’t even have your secondary classes! How are you going to get any stats?”
Sarah grumbled. “I do too have my secondary, I’m an Animal Handler.”
“Okay fine, then at least you have something.”
“Yep. Came with brushes, barding, hoof picks, you name it. But still, John… Mitchell went out there with literally nothing other than his own gear. I couldn’t let him go alone.”
John sighed, wiping his hand across his face. “I know! I know… It was just hard. We didn’t know what happened. I’d figured you’d go talk to him then come back.”
Sarah sighed, her instincts telling her that John was honest with her. “In a way, I did. It just took a while.”
“Well, you heard about our issue while you were gone?”
Sarah coyly smiled. “Oh, of course. Y’know, George told me something on the way back. Something about your class chest and a certain leather garment? From what Mitchell said, the plate will suit him better.”
John flushed, gesturing towards the gate and the dropped chest. “Maybe there’s pants in there for me?”
Sarah looked around, realising that the dungeon chest was dropped as soon as Mitchell saw his fiance. She sighed. “Go get it then, I- whoa.”
John grinned, holding the chest easily over one shoulder. “What were you saying?”
“Build us a house with a door that locks. Immediately.” Sarah said, her eyes locking on John’s bulging biceps visible even through the chain under-layer of the armour. With a wink, he set down the chest and told her about his secondary class, and soon Sarah was breathing deeply to keep herself calm.
Her dream of a house built by her man's hands looked to be coming sooner than she thought.
Then John dropped the ornate furniture and opened the lid and a crystal floated out of the container, hovering at chest height.
The crystal was a pale green and carved into a diamond shape. A pop-up came into her vision as Sarah examined it, thoughts of hunky lumberjacks tossed aside quite quickly.
Settlement Stone (Untethered|Unique)
Grade F
Must be used by rewardee.
Conditions:
Settlement must have at least three (3) functioning structures
Settlement must have a population of at least five (5).
Settlement must have access to two (2) or more Basic Resources
Settlement must have at least one (1) rare class among its population.
Conditions Met!
Secondary Requirements:
Settlement is within range of Regional Capital (Not met)
Settlement is within range of one(1) or more dungeons (Met)
Settlement is above a subterranean settlement (Not Met)
Settlement is below an aerial settlement (Not Met)
Settlement is %&$##_X a Celestial settlement (Not Met)
Settlement has a Very Rare Class citizen (Met x 2)
Location eligible for upgrade to Basic Settlement - F3!
To obtain secondary permutations, Settlement must be created by VR Class citizen.
To remove secondary permutations, activate with a Rare-or-lower class citizen after clearing the local dungeon.
Tether Settlement Stone? (YES|NO)