Bruce and Amelia stood at the edge of the settlement, their eyes tracing the path taken by the young adventurers as they disappeared into the dense thicket leading to the spider-infested forest. Each departure reignited a familiar anxiety, a gnawing concern that never quite abated until their safe return. They had watched these children grow, had seen their first faltering steps become confident strides, and now, as the young warriors ventured into danger, the couple felt the full weight of their affection and worry.

Amelia's hand found Bruce's, their fingers intertwining in silent support. Their daughter, barely more than a child herself in their eyes, walked among the group, her courage a source of pride and fear.

As the adventurers' silhouettes vanished, a different absence gnawed at Bruce's thoughts—the missing laughter of younger children that should have filled the air. He turned to a fellow human who had just returned from their trial, a question burning in his throat. "Where did all the children go for the tutorials? In the chaos, I forgot to ask."

The man, still dusting off the remnants of his ordeal, paused and offered a weary smile. "Oh, the little ones were given special 'tutorials,'" he explained. "They aren't eligible for System integration until they're sixteen. We were informed that, given this world's induction, we'd have a week to prepare for their return."

Amelia's expression softened at the news, a glimmer of relief in her eyes. "That's a thoughtful provision. Quite surprising, really, considering the System often seems so... indifferent to our survival."

Bruce nodded, his gaze lingering on the forest's edge. "Yes, it's a kind touch indeed," he mused aloud, though his voice carried an undercurrent of skepticism. "But one has to wonder what 'special tutorials' entail in a world where the System seems to play such a high-stakes game with our lives."

The couple shared a look, a silent exchange of mutual understanding and resolve. They would prepare, as they always did, for the eventual return of the children. And they would ensure that the warmth of community and the strength of their collective resolve would greet those young souls upon their return to this new and challenging world.

As they started to part ways with the recently returned settler, Bruce and Amelia turned towards the town hall, their minds preoccupied with the fate of the children. The notion that they'd soon be reunited with their families was comforting, but it brought up new concerns for those less fortunate.

"So, the children will be returned to their parents. But what of the orphans?" Bruce mused aloud, his brow furrowing.

"No clue, honestly," the man replied, his uncertainty echoing Bruce's own thoughts. "I suppose they'd go back to their families if they're around. Otherwise, who knows?"

With a word of thanks, they continued on their way, the conversation lingering between them. "That's quite the news," Amelia remarked as they approached the town hall. "What do you reckon the odds are that we'll end up with the remaining children, including the orphans? We might need to involve more people in this."

"True," Bruce agreed, "We've got a council meeting after lunch; we should definitely bring it up then. We need a count of everyone expecting children to come back as well."

"Good advice, as always, dear wife," he added with a smile, appreciating her pragmatic approach to their shared responsibilities.

"Let's get a handle on today's matters first. Then perhaps we can check in with Sinclair, see how he's faring," Amelia suggested, her thoughts drifting towards their own daughter and her companions.

As Bruce and Amelia strolled through the bustling town, they couldn't help but notice the growing commotion around the blacksmith and leather shops. The rhythmic clinking of metal on metal blended with the lively chatter of the townsfolk, creating a thick atmosphere of noise. As they neared, the distinct sound of a heated argument reached their ears.

"I told you I want to be next!" The voice was insistent, belonging to a human who stood defiantly, chest puffed out, against another townsman. Their postures were confrontational, yet they hadn't crossed the line into physical violence.

Bruce and Amelia, with years of experience in handling disputes, smoothly intervened. Their presence alone seemed to bring a sense of order to the scene. "What seems to be the problem here?" Bruce asked, his voice calm but authoritative.

The crowd parted slightly, allowing them a clear view of the source of the tension. "We agreed to take turns at the anvils since there's only two and quite a few of us interested in learning blacksmithing," explained one of the townspeople, frustration evident in his tone. "But this guy," he gestured towards the man at the anvil, "just keeps hogging the equipment without giving others a chance."

Bruce and Amelia surveyed the gathered crowd, noting the many nodding heads in agreement with the complaint. Their gaze then shifted to the man in question, who stood firmly at the anvil, hammer and hot metal in hand. He was a large man, his muscles bulging with the effort of his work, sweat glistening on his brow.

"C'mon, let's hear your side of the story," Bruce prompted, eyebrow raised inquisitively. The air was thick with anticipation, the townspeople waiting to see how this dispute would be resolved under the watchful eyes of their leaders.

"My name is Bernard and my class is that of an IronSong Smith. I don't have a combat class like them. They are trying to get subclasses for the bonus and have been ruining everything they touch. So I stopped sharing when nothing they make works."

Looking around they saw discarded pieces of metal and scrap littered the floor of the shop backing up what the big man was saying. Where had all this metal and material come from they wondered.

"Can I see what you have made?", Bruce asked.

The big man set his tools down and pull out small dished pieces of metal. Holding them and looking at the Bruce he explained, "They are part of armour for the arm. They protect the elbow. I need leather vambraces but that shop isn't up yet so I was just turning these out trying to get the form right."

Bruce and Amelia looked at the pieces and marveled at how smooth and well-made they looked to their untrained eye anyways.

Right about this time one of the Beastkin come down the road and made quite the entrance. It was one of the bearkin. He just walked right into the middle of the group bowling a few people over who were not quick enough to move out of the way.

"Who is in my forge?!" His voice was rough and deep almost growled out. Looking around he noticed Bruce and Amelia and nodded his head at them recognizing the parents of the Wolf lord of the town.

"I was dispatched here to evaluate the local craftsmen and assume command of the forge," he declared to Bruce and Amelia. As he turned to face the gathered onlookers, his voice took on a more direct tone. "Should any of you question my expertise, feel free to challenge me—if you dare. But be forewarned, your efforts will be in vain, for I have been trained by dwarves."

A hushed silence enveloped the room, reminiscent of a tranquil church. Not a soul stirred. The burly man who had crafted the elbow pieces timidly raised his hand, seeking attention. However, a sharp glare shot his way made him quickly raise his hands in surrender, palms facing the bearkin. "I seek not to challenge, but to learn. I earned an Ironsong Smith class, having been a blacksmith prior to the System's reign."

Stolen novel; please report.

"An Ironsong, you say? That's advantageous. You may remain." He then addressed the rest of the crowd, his voice resonating with authority. "Does anyone else possess a smithing class?" The crowd remained motionless, rooted to their spots.

"Then disperse. The forge will reopen for training in various subclasses in a few days." Having issued his command, he turned back to the forge. That's when a muffled remark from the man who had been grumbling about the turns caught Bruce's ear, though he couldn't quite discern the words.

In an unexpectedly swift motion, the bearkin whirled around and bellowed in the man's face, his roar turning the man's complexion ghostly pale. His companions, sensing imminent danger, hastily grabbed their foolish friend and dragged him outside, eager to avoid any further trouble or, worse, being implicated in his folly.

Bruce and Amelia approached, their smiles warm and welcoming. "Thank you for stepping in to lead here. It's an honor to have someone of your caliber," they expressed, their sincerity resonating in a way that instantly endeared them to the bearkin, despite his usual reticence outside of smithing matters.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. Rest assured, I'll have this forge running at full capacity soon. We'll start with basic items in a few days and aim to progress to magical artifacts within a week. Having an Ironsong smith here will certainly streamline the process."

Amelia's curiosity piqued. "Could you explain the Ironsong class? We're not familiar with it. How does it contribute?"

Meanwhile, the robust man by the forge busied himself, collecting the neglected scraps and unfinished projects left by the other humans. "As an Ironsong, his craftsmanship involves imbuing spells into the material through song. Once he masters it, the creations will be extraordinary. It's a remarkably rare and coveted class."

"That's reassuring to hear," Amelia replied. "We'll leave you to your work then. By the way, do you know if someone is due to take charge of the leather shop?"

"I overheard Chief Dorgran discussing leatherwork with a few others. Someone should be arriving shortly to manage it. However, their operations might be limited until we secure more hides."

"That makes sense. We'll add a notice to the quest boards for that." With a final wave goodbye, Bruce and Amelia departed, leaving the bearkin to his thoughts and the forge to its newfound future.

"It's always beneficial to maintain a good rapport with the community," Bruce reflected thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should make these rounds regularly, ensuring we remain visible and approachable. It prevents people from feeling disconnected from those making decisions that impact their lives."

"Another astute suggestion, dear," Amelia replied, her smile conveying both affection and agreement.

As they continued their stroll, they observed the town's vibrant activity, a testament to its resilience and unity. Nearing the Town Hall, they spotted Sinclair about to enter and promptly called out to him.

"Son! Over here," Bruce called, waving to catch his attention. Sinclair, after a moment of scanning the area, located them and approached with a bright smile.

"Mom, Dad," he greeted, enveloping them in a warm hug. "Do you know where the council is, or Turgrin?"

"They're likely in the Town Hall for the most part. Let's go check. What's the matter?" Amelia inquired.

"I've come across some promising growth opportunities I'd like to discuss," Sinclair shared, his tone infused with a hint of excitement.

"That sounds intriguing, son. Let's find them and share your news," Bruce said encouragingly, leading the way to the Town Hall with a sense of purpose and anticipation.

As they entered, a group of young Beastkin were seen idling by the wall, their expressions a mix of boredom and restlessness. Sinclair, spotting them, beckoned them over. With a swift gesture, he handed each a silver coin. "Go find the other council members and ask them to convene here," he instructed.

The youngsters, energized by the task and the reward, dispersed in a flurry of activity, their voices echoing through the halls as they relayed Sinclair's message.

Bruce, observing the scene, chuckled. "Using money as an incentive always works. But, you know, I think they would've done it just because you asked." He gave his son a knowing wink.

Sinclair, slightly distracted by his thoughts, nodded. "Perhaps, but I never want to be seen as taking advantage of anyone, not even the kids."

"I understand, son." Bruce affectionately clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture filled with paternal pride and affection. Watching Sinclair, he couldn't help but feel an immense sense of pride in the man his son was becoming—a leader in his own right, earning respect and trust. Bruce hoped for many more years to witness Sinclair's continued growth and the positive impact he would undoubtedly have on their community.

Within a mere five minutes, the young Beastkin efficiently gathered the council members, ushering them towards the spacious conference room. Turgrin, ever the dedicated teacher, was the last to arrive, unwilling to cut his class short despite the summons. Sinclair, upon hearing of Turgrin's punctuality, couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the mage's steadfast commitment.

As the last of the council members took their seats, Sinclair rose to address the room, an air of importance about him. "Thank you all for joining on such short notice," he began, his voice steady and clear. "I have some exciting news to share before I embark on a new quest."

He paused momentarily, his eyes meeting those of his parents. In that brief exchange, a smile of apology flickered across his face, acknowledging their concern.

"When I acquired one of my titles, it mentioned something known as 'Training Worlds.' Initially, I thought it was merely related to the unique tutorial I experienced. However, it turns out to be something far more significant. We now have access to a series of worlds, or instances, which offer unparalleled opportunities for skill acquisition and training."

The room hummed with a newfound energy as the council members absorbed the implications of Sinclair's revelation, recognizing the potential this could hold for their community.

Sinclair's voice carried a note of solemn responsibility as he delved into the complexities of the Training Worlds. "I've personally explored this feature and there are several key points to consider. Firstly, after a skill is acquired through a test, it becomes temporarily unavailable. The cooldown period varies, particularly for rarer skills."

He paused to ensure his message was clear, then added, "Moreover, there's a significant aspect we must address. Skills beyond the 'uncommon' level can be lethal. Considering this, I've decided to restrict access to these more dangerous skills until we have reliable means to gauge and ensure an individual's survivability."

"To manage access to these worlds, I propose a merit-based system. Access shouldn't be arbitrary; it should be a reward for contributions to our community. Perhaps we can integrate a tracking mechanism through the System, linking it to completed quests and jobs. This way, we ensure that those who contribute significantly are the ones who gain the opportunity to enhance their skills."

Sinclair's proposal sparked a thoughtful murmur among the council members, each considering the implications and potential of such a system in fostering both individual growth and communal progress.

Elder Dorgran, his experienced demeanor evident, raised his hand and interjected with a practical concern. "Who will manage this access? Given your frequent absences, Sinclair, and the increasing demands on our time, should we consider bringing in additional help?"

Sinclair, acknowledging the valid point with a nod and a smile, was pleased to find the council aligned with his thoughts. "Absolutely," he concurred. "It's essential that we distribute responsibilities to avoid overburdening anyone."

He then directed his attention to Turgrin. "You might find this particularly interesting. My parents are well-equipped to monitor the system for qualifying individuals. If you could arrange and oversee the testing for those looking to acquire skills, that would balance the workload. What do you think?"

Turgrin, contemplative, took a moment to deliberate. "I'd like to personally test a skill from both lethal and non-lethal categories to better understand the process. If that's agreeable, then I'm on board."

Sinclair responded with an approving nod. "That seems reasonable. I'll walk you through the process after this meeting." He then addressed the room at large. "Regarding the physical access to these Training Worlds, we have a portal stone. The question is where to place it. We could construct a dedicated building, or integrate it into an existing structure. Thoughts?"

His question hung in the air, inviting the council to ponder the logistical aspect of housing such a significant and potentially transformative resource.

The council members pondered the proposal in contemplative silence until General Valthorn, known for his strategic insights, broke the quiet. "Placing the portal stone in the atrium of the Town Hall seems most appropriate. Its visibility there would be a constant reminder of the opportunities it represents. Given the access restrictions you've described, Sinclair, unauthorized use wouldn't be a concern. Moreover, seeing others utilize it could boost morale and inspire communal engagement."

His suggestion was met with nods and murmurs of agreement around the table. "That's a solid point," Sinclair acknowledged. "Unless there are objections, I'll set up the portal in the atrium and instruct Turgrin on its operation." His tone indicated he was nearing the end of his briefing, having shared all necessary details.

Just then, Chief Lysandros, always keen to understand the broader context, posed a question. "Lord Hagerson, where does your quest lead you next?"

Sinclair's expression turned thoughtful. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure. After my encounter with Jörd, who I believe is the personification of Midgard, I acquired new abilities and responsibilities to protect the planet. Along with them, I've developed an internal compass of sorts." He gestured vaguely towards the southwest. "It's directing me in that direction. The sensation suggests a considerable distance, but the specifics – how far, what awaits – remain unclear to me."

The room absorbed this information, a mix of curiosity and concern evident in the air, as Sinclair stood at the cusp of another uncertain yet vital journey.

General Valthorn's offer was indicative of his protective nature and strategic thinking. "Would you like an escort? We have some swift and capable fighters who could accompany you," he suggested, his concern evident in his tone.

Sinclair responded with a gracious smile, yet he gently declined. "I'm grateful for the offer, but based on my past experiences, it seems my companions and I are uniquely equipped to handle what's ahead. We're the only ones suited to endure these particular challenges."

As he spoke, he noticed Chewy and Leia entering the room. They had settled in quietly, though their demeanor suggested a touch of annoyance, likely stemming from Sinclair's sudden departure without prior notice.

Catching their gaze, Sinclair conveyed a silent message of reassurance through the special bond they shared. A small, apologetic smile played on his lips, promising an explanation once the council meeting concluded. Their presence, a comforting reminder of the steadfast companionship that accompanied him on his journeys, served to ease the room's tension, subtly reinforcing the unique bond shared by those embarking on such extraordinary adventures.

"Prepare yourselves and gain strength," he advised, his eyes sweeping across the room, locking with those of his friends and family. "The path ahead promises to be more arduous now that all cards are on the table." His smile was a warm beacon, radiating his sincerity and profound concern for their well-being.

Visage of the Wolf +2

As the Visage of the Wolf skill enhanced, a tremor coursed through his body. Clutching his ribs he slowly leaned over with a groan and slumped against the table. Everyone in the room could hear his body creaking as changes were made.

Would these surprises ever end he thought to himself?