The oven emitted black smoke as the dough within writhed and twisted itself. Occasionally skulls and demonic faces were discernible as it bubbled. Pantheon sighed.
"Another failure then," he muttered, threw some water over the fire to quench it, and coughed from the smoke. Usually one would only close the oven door to starve the fire of oxygen. But the baker was not in the correct era to know about that method or to even understand what oxygen was.
He put on his oven mitts and pulled out the failed baguette. The form was good; it looked like a proper phallic object, ready for consumption. One end of it was slightly softer than the other. He could actually shove a spoon into that part, unlike the rest, where upon touch the spoon curled up, emitted some smoke, and disintegrated.
It reminded him of how Grimm died, dissipating in a similar manner. Pantheon pulled his white chef hat over his eyes and tried to prevent himself from crying.
Why was being a baker so damn hard?
The oven mitts that were holding the baguette were starting to dissipate. He quickly threw them off and rushed to a bucket of water to wash his hands, and upon drying them on his apron he saw that the baguette was starting to dissolve a hole in his floor. He frantically looked around for something with which he could hold the damn thing without being destroyed, and his eyes fell on the Broom.
Yes. Capitalized, a magical artefact of his grandfather that was spelled to be indestructible. Why the enchantment had been used on a broom he didn't know, but thankfully it had been. He removed the bristle head and aligned the shaft with the softer end of the baguette. The wood penetrated it slightly and he was able to shove the thing towards one of the walls, where he was able to firmly lodge the wood inside the bread(?).
Slightly shaking, Pantheon opened the door to the backyard and looked into the dead forest that started right at the end of his overgrown lawn. The forest hadn't always been dead… It had only been that way since he'd started throwing his failed products into it.
"And away you go you bloody monstrosity!" Pantheon shouted as he swung the shaft towards the forest, the baguette dislodging with a wet 'schlop' A caw resounded as a Nevermore the size of a big dog flew out from the trees, probably taking offence at the description of bloody monstrosity.
Pantheon was just about to apologize, before running back into the safety of his house, when the baguette, sailing through the air, didn't smack the Nevermore down as much as it destroyed half of its body on contact.
Ping.
Pantheon stood there, frozen. He'd known that his creations were sometimes not of the best quality. But to have a Grimm die upon touching it? That was just insulting.
At least he'd gained a level.
-/-
Pantheon was facing a conundrum. He was a baker, but he'd killed a Grimm quite easily. Level five was what he had been before the kill.
At twenty-three years of age that was considered to be quite bad for a NPC like him. There wasn't much he could do about it, though. He just wasn't talented at baking, and that was just the thing that gave him, a baker, exp.
The bitterness of being born an NPC had never really been something he'd gone through like others did. He hadn't been born with a privileged class, so what? Nine in ten people hadn't been born with a privileged class. While being the protagonist of some legendary quest was out of question, he was still perfectly capable of being the main character of his own life.
A new path had opened up though. Not one he'd ever wanted, or considered, but one that was still quite enchanting in its mysteriousness and possible prestige. Gaining that level had felt good. Feeling his status shift and his body change once he put that one point into strength, had been almost orgasmic.
"I'll try to replicate the failure," he muttered as he laid on his cot in his beaten down room in his drafty house. It had never bothered him, but with killing Grimm came lien.
So many possibilities. Maybe there were some other interesting failures he could invoke with his dough. A shield and some armour would probably be a good idea.
-/-
The village Pantheon lived in was small and cut off. While almost directly on the border between Vacuo and Vale it was still on the Vacuoan side of things when you considered taxes and protection.
Emboldened by his successes with his special type of failure, he created bread so hard that it was seemingly unbreakable and harmful to anything it hit, as long as he, the creator, wanted it to be. Thus Pantheon went out with his newly made spear. The shaft was the same Broom he'd used a few weeks ago to dispose of the baguette.
And now, there was another baguette stuck to the top of the shaft.
Maltet he'd named the spear. He'd gotten it from a story his pops had told him as a kid. Something about knights, he couldn't remember.
After trekking through the surrounding forests for a bit (it was harder to find Grimm than expected), he finally found a Beowulf.
"Aha, foul fiend, it's time for your slaying." The creature, which reached up to his chest, turned, lowered its body and started growling. Pantheon was admittedly slightly intimidated, but there wasn't really anything that could happen to him with his spear with him.
He took a pose with his weapon. It almost seemed like he was forgetting something.
"Prepare to be vanquished creature of darkness."
The beowulf lunged at him. Ah, right.
Pantheon had forgotten that he didn't know how to wield a spear.
Thankfully the beowulf was just as inexperienced as him, biting onto the tip of the spear and dragging the whole thing down like he was trying to chew it to death.
Did... the monster think the spear was part of his body?
The action Pantheon had to take was simple. He shoved the spear further down its gullet until it could go no longer. The beowulf started choking and thrashing, the weapon probably being somewhere in its stomach by now. He had shoved it far enough in that the front claws of the beast were able to reach Pantheon.
On the first swing at him he jumped back, circled around until he was behind the beast, and kicked it in it's rear while dodging the slow attacks it managed with its hind legs, all while screaming. The cacophony of sounds, the screams of a grown man, and the whimpering of a beowulf interspersed with the occasional thud of flesh hitting flesh resounded through the forest.
Eventually the Grimm gave up its struggles, and frothing at the mouth, it sank to the ground where it was then kicked to death.
Due to Pantheon's low strength this took approximately one hour.
Once finished, despite his stamina being replenished by the level up, Pantheon couldn't help but sink exhausted to the ground.
He saw something out of the periphery of his vision and looked up to find himself staring at a young mage, who stared back at him with a dead look in his eyes.
The blonde teen was dressed in a manner that screamed adventurer or hero. Steel greaves, mostly leather clothing that looked quite sturdy, with a sheen of what must have been chainmail peeking out of the vest and a sword at his belt.
They stared at each other for a while, Pantheon slightly scared and embarrassed, the mage still with that neutral expression and dead eyes.
"How long were you watching?" Pantheon asked, only to get stared at.
Just as he was about to ask again the teen answered, "The entire time."
"Ah."
The mage pointed a finger at him. "Your next words are going to be, 'I was only pretending to be retarded.'"
Before Pantheon could answer anything the mage had closed the distance between them and gripped his shoulders. His still-trembling shoulders.
"You could have died." The words were whispered while the mage locked eyes with him.
"I- Yes." Pantheon looked down, unable to hold the weighty gaze.
His head was spinning. He could have died. You could die walking down some stairs, but what he'd done was quite a bit more risky. The only reason he hadn't fallen to the ground yet was because of the arms holding him up.
"But I didn't." Pantheon hadn't died, though he would make sure he was better prepared next time. Armour, some daggers, a shield, and a helmet would be necessary.
"You want to do it again?" The mage asked, incredulous.
Pantheon looked at where the Grimm had dissipated, lien lying on the ground. About half as much as he'd make in a day of work. The experience was surging inside of him. He was close to level seven.
"Better prepared, yes." The sudden gain of experience had been a rush. Probably wasn't affecting him overly much though. This was what he wanted.
The mage let him go and sighed, flipping his almost-white blonde hair out of his eyes. "How will you prepare yourself exactly? You don't have any resources here in this village and you will need several years to move somewhere else and purchase them." It didn't sound dismissive, just a statement of facts.
The words hurt though. How was he going to prepare? He didn't know how to make armour, and there wasn't anyone here who could teach him how to wear it. The few soldiers they would probably require payment for teaching him how to fight, as they should.
Pantheon was in the vicinity of a hero though, a mage, all the more knowledgeable for that. Probably. He looked up with star-filled eyes. "Master!"
The mage laughed and asked, "What do you have to offer?"
That was the question Pantheon had been asking himself since he'd realized that to prepare, he needed someone with experience. And he had an answer. Dropping to all fours, still exhausted, he executed a mad scramble towards the lien on the ground and the spear that was lying next to it.
The baguette was fully intact, and so was the shaft. He thrust it at his (hopefully) teacher.
"I was hoping that I sensed wrong. So it's actually bread on a stick that you used." A shake of the head. The spear was taken from his hands, and Pantheon watched as some purple fog began to rise up from the shaft, then the spearhead.
"Durable against magic, how about that." The mage twirled the spear, not expertly from what Pantheon could discern, but still capably.
"Hyaahh!" Faster than his eye could follow the spear hit a tree, denting the wood. Pantheon's eyes widened. If a younger mage, a class that didn't usually employ close quarters combat was this strong, what was the gap between him and an actual warrior?
Depressed, he watched as the mage stared at the spear in wonder.
"That is some impressive..." Hesitation. "...bread."
Pantheon brightened up a bit at that. Nobody had complimented his creations before.
"What else can you make?" The mage asked while handing back the spear, "Tell me on the way back to your place."
Pantheon nodded and started walking. It appeared that he had secured someone to teach him. For how long, he didn't know, but better than nothing.
"So it's failed bread? There must be different ways that you can fail at making bread. Can you make bread pointy and sharp? I would like a sword; chainmail would be nice too. How long does this stuff last? Does it ever dissolve? What are your plans for equipment, farming grounds and fighting style?"
Better than nothing, Pantheon reassured himself.
-/-
Sweaty brown hair rubbed against his face as he lay on the ground, heaving. Master Jaune certainly knew a lot about tempering the body. Though Jaune was most likely not his real name, it was the one he'd introduced himself with, but there was no name above his head, only a the class.
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Everything hurt, but Pantheon was glad that he'd been so vehement about seeking out guidance the day prior. The mage knew a lot about training the body, which wasn't even his master's speciality when considering the class he possessed.
The previous two hours or so had been spent working all of his muscles in a rotating cycle. By the time he'd arrived where he'd started, Pantheon's body had been able to handle half of what it had previously. The only reason Pantheon hadn't given up once he'd started feeling the excruciating burn running through his body was the fact that master was doing the exact same exercises on the other side of the clearing they'd found, while occasionally glancing over and correcting his form or providing incentive if he thought his student was slacking off.
One particular painful instance had occurred at the beginning when Pantheon had been doing laborious crunches while hanging from a tree by his legs. Master had come over and punched him in the stomach, causing him to fall down when he thought Pantheon was slacking.
The plan had been explained very thoroughly to him. He remembered the words as if they had been spoken yesterday (they were spoken two and half hours ago). Master didn't have much time, so he would train him for a week. Seven days straight Pantheon would wake up earlier than the already early time bakers usually woke up and work on his physique. After that he would receive tutoring in subjects thought important for adventurers.
After that came spear fighting until exhaustion reared its head again, going over designs for armour and weapons that could be made out of a baker's lifework, and then to finish the day off, a series of light spars.
As he approached his master for the assigned two hours of adventurer knowledge class he hoped that with light spars he meant light spars. The hell he had just gone through had been described as a light workout after all.
Master's eyes glowed slightly as Pantheon sat down before him, and the mage twitched and started speaking without any prompt. "The most important thing about being an adventurer is being able to travel without anyone to rely on. For that you need to know about how to create a nutritious travelling pack, how to navigate, take care of your equipment, set up camp, take care of animals, talk to locals, haggle, scout, and some other stuff I can't remember right now."
That sounded like a lot, Pantheon raised his hand.
"Yes?"
"You don't seem to be carrying much yourself, master." Master nodded at this and hopped down from his position on the rock.
"A very good observation. Another important thing that people who want to take up the most dangerous profession in the world must have is the ability to think." At Pantheon's doubtful glance he continued. "No, not everyone is capable of such a feat. Now, why do I not carry any visible supplies?"
Pantheon rubbed the stubble on his chin. His master's gaze sharpened at the act and he scratched at his own, stubble-less chin. Why did master not need supplies? There was only one thing that separated master from other humans, at least to his knowledge. His class.
"Because you are a mage," Pantheon stated firmly, receiving a clap.
"Yes, another possibility would have been that I possessed a space ring or something equally ludicrous, but the most feasible and the correct answer is the fact that I," he said, pointing at himself and puffing his chest out, "Jaune, adventurer extraordinaire, finder of the sword god's pyramid, peerless swordsman, student of Jain, saver of villages, and vanquisher of evil, am indeed, a mage." Master looked at him, as if waiting for another observation.
"Won't creating supplies the entire time tire you out before you even get to a fight, or will you be able to create supplies after a fight?" Another clap, and master pointed at him.
"Yes, use that brain." Master sat down again. He seemed to be slightly vibrating in place. He probably had to slow down his workout for Pantheon, did master now had too much energy? "Same question right back at you." Master calmed himself noticeably. "Your stamina is also a resource, how can you justify carrying anything at all if it will encumber you in a fight?"
Pantheon was about to sink back into thought before his master interrupted. "Don't think about it too much. To make decisions and reliably use your capacity to think, there must be some information that you can use to base your actions around. The knowledge you possess is directly proportional to the breadth of actions you can perform in any given situation. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders; only seen you do one remarkably stupid thing in the day I've known you. Now I'm going to attempt to stuff that head full of knawledgeee."
And stuffed full of knowledge he got. It was hard. Jaune simply started speaking about a certain subject and didn't stop.
Pantheon had told him that he would forget half of what he would be taught at the beginning. He had since then changed his mind from half to maybe an eighth. Master had said he didn't have much time, so he was thankful for any help at all, but still, wouldn't it just be better to train stuff that he was unable to forget? You didn't lose muscles and muscle memory after gaining it after all. He posed the idea to master, only to be shot down. Metaphorically, thankfully.
"You may forget it now, but you will remember it when you need to."
So Pantheon listened, so Pantheon sat and so Pantheon occasionally fell asleep only to be awakened immediately with a splash of water in the face.
-/-
"The first argument about how one normally uses a spear is overarm or underarm." Master demonstrated the overarm, thrusting at a tree with the spear held almost at his neck, and then the underarm, the thrust coming more from the torso. "Underarm is the preferred method of people who use only a spear. Overarm is used by people who also use a shield." Master brought a shield theatrically out of his pocket and snared it to his left arm, while his right held the spear.
He bashed a non-existent opponent away and stabbed the down foe with a hefty downward swing, then retreated to a crouching position, the buckler hiding half of his body from sight. "The strength of the overarm method is of course the downward stab. You use a shield to bring yourself into a position where you can use it. For beginners it's the simple methodology of block and attack."
Master seemed to contemplate him for a few moments, glancing at Pantheon occasionally and seemingly sizing him up. "I don't think we'll bother with underarm quite yet. It's something for more experienced people or amateurs who don't plan to use a shield."
Pantheon gained a contemplative look at those words. Was there a reason why he had to use a shield? There wasn't really one form the way he saw it, so it would definitely be better to decide now so he could focus on only one form. The week of tutoring he had was even more importanter since what he would learn this week would become the foundation for what he would practice once master left.
He started raising his hand to bring up the point.
"Don't even think about it."
Overhand and a shield it was then.
"Are you right-handed or left-handed?" The question was unexpected but Pantheon could understand why it was important. He raised his right hand in answer.
"Well, sucks to be you, you're going to be learning the spear left-handed." Master seemed to take sadistic glee in those words.
"Uhh, ok." Pantheon didn't have any illusions about his competency in the field of deciding how he should train. He went over to his side of the clearing, looked at master, who was doing something with his sword, received an encouraging nod and started thrusting.
Well, he started up one thrust. He'd never used a shield before and when he'd repelled the imaginary enemy he lost his balance. The thrust, led with his non-dominant hand, made him stumble and fall to the ground.
That wouldn't have happened if he'd been thrusting with his right, he was sure. He tried several more times, failing to make any progress except for not falling down anymore.
This was dumb, he was losing motivation. Maybe he would get some if he knew the reasoning behind the order.
"Why am I using my left hand?" Pantheon asked.
"To learn how to train through adversity."
That made sense. No wait, it didn't. He only had one week with master. Adversity was something he'd face when he was gone. "Can I just use my right arm instead?"
Master shrugged and performed some sword moves which were too fast for Pantheon to see. His body blurred too much for him to perceive what master was thinking.
"Go for it, but remember to do one-fourth of the exercises with your left, underhanded, so you won't be completely stumped when your right arm is damaged."
Pantheon expressed his thanks and went back to his training that was much easier now. Master sure was an agreeable person, if a little on the twitchy side.
Or was it paranoid?
Pantheon was not a man of words. He remembered there being a specific word for that kind of man, but he didn't know it.
...Where was he?
Right.
Master. Paranoid.
Every time a sound resounded through the clearing, master's eyes squinted just the tiniest bit. His expression hinted at the fact he was doing something, but Pantheon wasn't able to discern what.
It was probably some sort of skill, Pantheon thought to himself as he defeated another imaginary dragon-like Grimm. He knew that he himself always pulled a grimace when he used his. Even if it was usually a grimace of distaste as another try at actually baking failed miserably.
But what could the skill be that master was using? Something that Pantheon couldn't see or sense in any way.
An invisible shield, so that in case the sound was an attack master would be protected? A skill that let him sense everything in a certain radius? Maybe he was just gathering mana for an attack if something came.
"How many heroes and soldiers does the village have?" Master asked abruptly, as if he'd just thought of something.
It was a question Pantheon had to think about. They had three soldiers, one of whom was a bit old, and two hero classes, a warrior and his daughter, who was a ranger. The warrior was nearing fifty, and his daughter Gwen was sixteen years old. The father was the one in charge of clearing out Grimm.
Pantheon didn't remember anyone else. The village was small enough that he would know if there were any, but big enough he didn't know everyone personally. "Three soldiers, a fifty-year-old warrior, and his ranger daughter." Master seemed to mule it over before nodding and continuing to swing his sword.
Pantheon waited for him to say something, but master just told him to go back to training. He did, but asked a question too. "May I ask why you wanted to know?"
"There is someone sneaking around our training area, a girl." That was... concerning... but it was probably Gwen. Master's senses must have been top-notch to notice something like that. A skill was probably the reason. Pantheon couldn't think of another way a mage could spot a ranger in the forest of all places.
He was curious about what the skill was, but it was considered very rude to ask, and master seemed fairly secretive and paranoid. A bad mixture when asked to reveal potentially life-saving skills.
A crow suddenly landed on a nearby tree, easily noticed because it gave a loud screech as it entered the scene.
It was promptly shot down by some purplish missile. Patheon traced it back to master's position.
Two crows landed nearby, screeching just as loudly, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden death of one of their brethren. An unholy cacophony of sounds descended upon them from above, a veritable swarm of birds landing on the foliage surrounding them.
"Master?" Pantheon asked hesitantly, looking over when he received no answer.
The mage was standing there sneering at the birds. "One last lesson I guess," he muttered, loud enough for Pantheon to hear, "There is no foreshadowing in real life, clues that hint at something bad happening soon. You're just sitting there, enjoying your life, when a literal storm of shit descends on you for seemingly no reason at all."
"Master is very wise," Pantheon said as an answer, not knowing what else to say.
His words received a chuckle. "Go. Run off, this doesn't concern you, nor will you be able to do anything if you stay." The words were casually said, but there was truth there.
Pantheon didn't know what was happening, but whatever it was, he fearfully glanced at the crows surrounding them, it was beyond him. Like most things. This was his first day of training after all.
So he ran, almost hyperventilating, thinking of all the possibilities of what was happening now in that clearing.
Despite his burning legs, he didn't stop at his house and barricade himself inside like a coward. Pantheon ran until he reached Ulbing's house, banged on the door, and didn't stop until the door was opened.
"The baker?" The aged warrior managed to mutter before being interrupted by Pantheon's wheezing gasps.
"Fight between... heroes... a mage against someone. I couldn't see. Crows!" he managed to rasp out before falling to the ground coughing, having accidentally swallowed an insect at some point.
He wildly gesticulated in the direction he came from and was about to say where exactly master was fighting when he was interrupted by a flash of purple light exploding forth from the training clearing.
He heard a curse from Ulbing, Pantheon's arm was grasped and he was pulled into the house, and the door was shut behind him.
An earth-shattering crack reverberated through the air. Pantheon could see the houses' walls vibrating from what must have been a tremendous shock wave. He glanced at Ulbing, who was already halfway through attaching his armour. Pantheon opened the door so the warrior wouldn't have to when running out. That half-second the warrior would gain from not having to open it might be the half-second that mattered.
He clung to that hope. The bearded warrior righted himself after attaching his footwear, a gigantic halberd clutched in his hands.
At some point, Gwen had come over and was arguing with her father. Pantheon couldn't understand what they were saying. Their lips were moving, the occasional spittle flying. Pantheon couldn't hear anything, now that he thought about it. The scene of the daughter, who had by her gestures wanted to join her father in fighting, was put aside as Pantheon raised his hands to his ears and felt a wet warmth trickling down the sides of his head.
He glanced stupidly at his now bloody hands for a few moment, not comprehending, as Ulbing ran out. Then Pantheon clasped his hands together in prayer, eyes closed.
He didn't know master, but someone who genuinely helped a foolish baker on his path to becoming a hero couldn't be on the wrong side of a conflict. Master was surely strong, but Pantheon was weak and therefore all he could offer was a prayer or a momentary distraction by jumping in front of a blade meant for someone else.
Gwen, the normally haughty girl who didn't look at non-combat classes, hauled him down from his kneeling position and through his feeble resistance laid him on the floor, his head on her lap.
Too weak to resist, Pantheon continued praying, even if the position wasn't right. His eyes unfocused sometimes and he glimpsed Gwen's black ringlets of hair, her face a blotchy piece of white enclosed within them.
Warmth enveloped his ears, sound returning to him. The warmth travelled to the rest of his body and after finding nothing, retreated. His head was then unceremoniously removed from her lap, landing on a pillow not a moment too soon.
Sound had returned to him, but everything was muted, as if he was hearing things from underwater. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwen racing out the door, having managed to equip herself in the few moments since she'd let his head drop on a pillow. He hadn't even managed to raise his hand properly to stop her before she was already out of sight.
Pantheon let his head fall back on the pillow, hands on the ground. He had been naïve. About the world in general and his position in it.
The despair he was feeling right now, unable to do anything but lay on the floor, taken out of action by being a mile or something away from the actual fight...
"This is what weakness feels like."
Heavy footsteps entered the house, and Pantheon looked up to see Ulbing enter, not a scratch on him. He locked eyes with the man, pleadingly.
Only to receive a morose shake of the head.
Yes. This was weakness. One good point about being so pathetic, though, was that the only way forward was up.
Pantheon had heard of people who had had what could be best described as religious experiences. A moment of clarity, followed by a life-changing decision. A goal that either would be met, or the person would die.
The stories understated the event.
Pantheon could hear his heartbeat, the blood rushing through his head, every single part of his body and mind receiving an edict straight from the heavens.
"I will become a hero."
-/-
Jaune raised a blonde eyebrow, trying not to show how afraid he actually was. The thing before him grinned. A red eyebrow raised to mirror his own expression.
A bad mirror. The demon might have taken the form of a human head but it didn't look anything like Jaune. A squarer face structure and the red hair colour extinguished any possibility of resembling him.
"One life." The demon almost seemed disappointed. "You only want me to take one. Are you sure?" A grin. "How about a city? Spread your name, make people tremble in fear. A good reputation is dead useful in our world."
Jaune managed to jerkily shake his head, the demon's sheer presence pressing him down without its owner having to lift even a nonexistent finger. "O-one life and h-ho-however long it takes you to end it."
The disembodied head smiled from ear-to-ear, showing off its triangular teeth. "What you ask for is what you get. The price shall be paid." Jaune held eye contact with the demon as its pupils, made of geometrical shapes, started spinning, creating a mesmerizing effect that heralded the end of his consciousness.
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