The heroes wanted for nothing. The kingdom of Amnasín provided for the four guests as if they were royalty themselves, albeit somewhere between a non-heir princelet and high-ranking nobility.

The four heroes were very different individuals, but they were catered to all the same, each receiving advice, training, and equipment far beyond the potential of the ordinary adventurer. Perhaps the unease and guilt of summoning four instead of five heroes that led the King-Consort to agree to any measure to keep their guests contained and content.

King-Consort Cyciphos observed the heroes’ progress personally. Though the advisors to the Crown were not his advisors, technically, they suggested to the King-Consort that he may want to inform the Queen about the summoning.

They also surmised in private that Cyciphos kept putting his fingers in the metaphorical pie – interrupting training and education alike – in order to ingrain his power, purpose, and importance into the minds of the heroes.

Another sordid whisper made its way through the ranks, that the King-Consort was asking questions about the Rule of Binding. That he was merely curious to know if it defaulted to the kingdom, the Crown, or the requesting ruler.

The Champion subclasses included soldiers, knights, commanders, and more, all swearing an oath to the enthroned. It was the sole requirement upon which any class – fighter, mage, even a landwise – could receive benefits from specialization.

Soldiers gained buffs dependent on the number of their Champion allies nearby. Knights learned taunts and focus-breaking skills, as well as a few broad area abilities. Commanders were able to send brief messages to elite Champions in their units, passing orders and buffs at a great distance.

To bind a hero to the Crown would be a great boon to the kingdom.

To bind four heroes to a king-consort would tiptoe at the border of treason, a royal by marriage only amassing power that rightfully belonged to the Queen.

As the spymaster, Anton heard these rumors with great unease. They were simple rumors, yes, but the fact that none of them seemed farfetched enough to dismiss was a disconcerting realization.

With a simple incantation, he summoned the spirit Mimidos who swooped through a thin window and dove to the castle grounds below. The four-winged spirit shifted from transparent and glass-like to fully visible, feathered with the appropriate number of limbs and patterns for a plicarie bird.

It glided aimlessly then dropped into the gardens, suddenly keen to belt out its mimicked sounds – chirps and songs of other birds, words and sharp consonants of human speech.

Leon was huddled nearby among the tall plants and ornamental trees, wooing one of the ladies of the garden with great success, his massive executioner’s sword upright in the bushes.

Wooing, perhaps, wasn’t the correct word. Leon did not need to woo.

Each hero was gifted a specialty by the system, arriving in Amnasín with one of their nine attributes unnaturally high. This alone might have been enough to warrant summoning outworlders to the kingdom, but heroes were also gifted a unique skill and a series of unlockable hero skills, only accessible through exploring the culture and world around them.

As a hero, Leon’s charisma was comparable to that of a great performer, someone who spent years practicing music or the performing arts.

Charisma was a difficult trait to increase in comparison to the others.

Strength, dexterity, and agility required physical training. Constitution rarely changed, as it was an indicator of health and the ability to fend of sickness. Increases in awareness and endurance simply happened over time, with life’s moments building up to adjust the attribute level. Intelligence had a clear path of increase, but education and absorbing knowledge took an immense amount of time.

Charisma, however, was built on smiles and nods, in approval and discounts for being a good-natured soul, in performances in front of crowds. It was an extrovert’s dream and an introvert’s nightmare.

Leon had charisma in spades. His new body was tall, lean, and blonde; paired with his hero status (and thus guaranteed lifelong financial support from the kingdom), this made him quite an attractive catch to nobles looking to court… or more.

He quickly learned of this world’s quirks regarding the more portion.

The system required two confirmations for a pregnancy to occur. This meant no threat of accidental heirs or additional mouths to feed. It also led to a more open cultural relationship with the wonders of bodies and sex.

The presence of healing potions, cursebreakers, herbalists, and physicians made things entirely too simple for Leon with his high charisma.

The only thing he needed to fear was being caught with his pants down among the hedges, a lady of the garden working diligently.

Although she took pay from the many soldiers and staff inhabiting the castle, what she wanted from the hero was favor, potentially long-term preference. A free service now could pay, repeatedly and often, later.

The spirit Mimidos had no opinions on this fuckery. It catalogued a series of details to report and moved on.

The hero Sivanos was inaccessible, out hunting in a local [ territory ] with a knight escort. Beasts roamed the world and were indistinguishable from natural fauna, but a [ territory ] was infinitely respawnable, as long as the system permitted.

While the system management certainly seemed like a video game to the heroes, its grander purpose was to regulate and replenish the world. Adventurers and specialized hunters alike flocked to local [ territories ] to seek resources and materials from mines, beasts, occasionally dungeons. There, humans could practically eradicate a species of beast with no penalty on the environment; the system would respawn more in a few hours.

Sivanos couldn’t disturb the natural order with their bow, at least not with their current stats. They hunted small game, like rabbits and birds. Simple beasts to begin leveling their skills with the intent to specialize from the generalized fighter class into the subclass ranger, which encompassed most long-range, dexterity-based melee styles.

Leon was, unfortunately, the natural leader of the heroes so far. He expressed ideas of grandeur and valor, hinting that his [ unique skill ] would benefit from an audience. A tall, beautiful man with a big sword drew attention, and that was without considering Leon’s charisma attribute.

Sivanos, in comparison, just wanted to learn an offensive skill. They spent more time with the knights and outriders, while Leon swapped between humoring nobility and getting aggravated at combat practice.

The spymaster had very little information about Sivanos, aside from physical description and general preferences noted by the castle staff. They were enigmatic, initially presumed female, but decidedly vode once that concept was explained. They wore the four-petaled flower emblem on their clothing now, seemingly relieved when no one batted an eye at the chosen pronoun shift.

Mimidos returned to the Court Mage’s study, only bothering to spare a single glance at the hero currently in the training grounds.

He was, quite frankly, a simple man with simple needs. This hero was particularly upset to hear that Leon picked, well, Leon as his name.

Lion was the brawler’s #1 choice. Jaguar was too difficult to say, apparently. And Tiger felt like a luchador name.

He settled, reluctantly, on Gryphon after learning they were a real thing here. An eagle and a lion was a cool combo; he couldn’t wait to take one down.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Though only a few days had passed since the summoning, Gryphon continued with a very consistent schedule. Breakfast, meditation, training, lunch, training, dinner, drinking with the knights.

His quarters were among the other soldiers, wanting to be a man among men to have the full experience.

The spirit did not need to spy on the remaining hero, instead reporting its observations and disappearing into the air.

The Court Mage’s next task was to check on Cait, the only hero who picked mage instead of fighter.

While Anton did not want to cast doubt over the girl’s abilities, she did seem overwhelmed by the summoning process and even more so by her fellow heroes’ enthusiasm. Sivanos remained reserved; however, both Leon and Gryphon spent their first day discussing the sheer potential of this world, of the ability to start over and become powerful.

Cait had little to say; it was hard to gauge her exact thoughts.

She hesitated and held back, letting the others take first dibs, take the first step, make the first decision.

She needed glasses, which was not an unusual problem, but the lack of lenses seemed to slow her reaction time. They were on order. Magic and artisan skills could only speed up the process so much.

Her days were spent in the library with an apprentice mage to supervise and fulfill Cait’s research requests. She was intrigued by the wide variety of mage subclasses, finding it difficult to think about starting magic without knowing where she was going.

The development of mages tended to take slightly longer than fighters. It was easy to pick up and swing metal, even without finesse or accuracy. Channeling magic through a staff or other focus took practice and a finer understanding of how the system works.

Swords could be painful; the practice ones left bruises.

Improperly channeling magic usually resulted in a four- to five-foot-tall stick exploding into splinters at eye level.

Magical incidents cost beginners more time in recovery than practice weapon accidents, in the end.

The Court Mage eyed the young lady as she read. He approached with staff held at an angle, metal ferrule kept from hitting the stone and announcing his presence.

The apprentice mage stiffened as they watched their employer approach. The attempt to look busy was somewhat thwarted by the position of their hands, picking at the grubby bits under their fingernails.

“Has anything interested you, Lady Cait?”

The hero in question flinched, startled into dropping her book on the table with a loud thunk. She brushed her brown hair back behind her reddening ears before carefully picking up the tome once more. It was old and likely invaluable.

“I’m not sure, Ser Morozov.”

What Cait wanted to say was this:

My [ unique skill ] is so specific that I’m unsure how to use it. I don’t want to waste energy into developing a certain style of magic, only to realize it conflicts terribly with my [ unique skill ], but also with the other heroes’ and their abilities. It is very stressful. Leon keeps joking that every party needs a healer.

What Cait said:

“I don’t think harbinger or gravecaller are for me, if that’s okay.”

She wasn’t interested in curses and the smell of rotting vegetables in her parent’s compost bin made her gag, let alone that of corpses.

Anton nodded. “That is more than reasonable.”

He continued, subtly allowing his staff to click against the floor. “Have you picked your materials yet?”

The Court Mage glanced up at the apprentice, as if to inquire if they made a visit to the magesmith today. The young mage nodded.

Cait pursed her lips then looked up at the Court Mage. “I did. How—how do you know you picked the right materials?”

With an amused huff, he replied. “A mage’s first staff is always wood and bone or stone. Only mages with intense magical alignments would deviate.”

The hero tilted her head but didn’t ask the question.

Anton answered it, regardless. “On rare occasions, the events in a person’s life align their soul, if you will, with specific types of magic. A fire elementalist cannot have a wooden staff, unless they want kindling.”

She snorted, covering her mouth immediately. “Sorry! I didn’t mean any disrespect, Ser—”

The Court Mage repressed a laugh, finding the girl’s capitulation amusing. “Unfortunately, Lady Cait, you were summoned in a time of peace and prosperity. You are permitted to have some levity in your life. For now.”

Cait couldn't relax, not with this pressure to be the sole mage of the heroes, but she did smile. And it helped, a little.

➳ ➳ ➳

“So what was out there? Your typical fodder?”

Gryphon sprawled out irreverently on the sofa, gazing pointedly at Sivanos whose glassy eyes indicated they were checking something in the system.

The brawler wore a sleeveless shirt and a loose set of trousers with too many leather straps, like he planned to go to a nightclub with rainbow neon in June. He thought it was cool, which offset the questionable decision to put easily grabbed straps on a hand-to-hand combatant.

“Mhm,” Sivanos replied, their voice low and quiet. “No.”

“Fuck, you’ll give me nothing?” Gryphon complained loudly.

He was neither stupid nor unintelligent, as the tropes went, but his boisterous nature came from happiness and self-confidence. It did come off to outsiders as a bit dumb, which could be to Gryphon’s advantage.

“Will you give me a moment to read?” Sivanos retorted, glancing with narrowed eyes at the pouty man.

“What’s more interesting than us?” Leon joined the fray, speaking up from his comfortable armchair, a glass of mead in hand.

Although Gryphon dressed for cool and Sivanos dressed for ambiguity, Leon chose instead to dress as if he were heir apparent, a princeling in disguise. It didn’t help that the King-Consort was playing clear favorites, lavishing expensive silks and brocade on the blonde fighter.

“Cut that out,” Sivanos grumbled, finally focusing on the group. “You don’t need to layer charisma into everything.”

Leon pretended to be shocked. “I can’t help it! Can you turn off your agility?”

A glare was leveled at Leon, but Sivanos chose not to engage further. The fight seemed pointless.

“The [ territory ] had regular animals and monsters, but not slimes or skeletons if that’s what you’re asking.”

Gryphon sulked. “I wanted to punch a skeleton’s skull off.”

This time, Leon chided the brute. “This is a kingdom of magic and monsters; you should show it some respect.”

Cait sat in misery in a corner of another sofa, a book held on her lap. She thought about telling the princely Leon that the library and the mage’s quarters overlooked the gardens. With quite a clear view.

Instead, she posed a question at Sivanos. “Was it difficult?”

The archer considered the question, knitting their dark eyebrows together. “We stayed along the outskirts, so the equivalent of a first level dungeon in an RPG. The outriders say that the level of the monsters increases as you move toward the center of the [ territory ]. Sometimes they wander outwards and the bigger ones can leave the [ territory ] if unchallenged.”

Beasts. The creatures of this world were called beasts. Not animals, not monsters.

Perhaps all Cait did was research, but at least she knew a little about this world. Leon received all his information from gossip and confessionals. Cait hardly believed that Gryphon spent much time asking questions about semantics. And Sivanos was focused on practicality, not terminology.

“Did the outriders mention recommended party size or—”

Cait was interrupted by Leon, who arched an eyebrow upwards. “Oh, you’re finally considering the healer role? We do need one. Gryphon can’t punch to heal.”

“Not at this level,” the brawler added enthusiastically, refusing to write off the possibility.

The mage attempted to hide her grimace. She didn’t want to be a healer.

These heroes, these people made their motivations very clear over the last few days. An archer needed melee, no matter how they designed their party. Leon, with his executioner’s sword, would make an interesting vanguard. He wanted all the attention anyways. Gryphon was blessedly simple in his wishes.

She didn’t want to be a healer because she was from… from a place with a lot of cartoons and animated series. Healer girls were always demure and weak, falling into the arms and beds of the stronger characters.

The idea of that disgusted Cait; the idea of sex alone was entirely unappealing in this new world, too. What was it people said? Maybe she hadn't met the right person yet?

Ugh, anyways...

In some video games, healers had great power, the ability to let their teammates die if they didn’t follow fucking orders. But this wasn’t a game; Cait couldn't hinge real lives on a power play. The others still talked as if it was a game, as if they could just respawn, but they couldn’t.

Cait glanced at her [ unique skill ] which popped up upon the thought.

phoenyx phylactery

Upon death, respawn at the location of your phylactery. Infinite uses. Ceases to work upon destruction of phylactery with permanent death to follow. Delay of regeneration determined by level of Unique Skill.

Current delay: 72 hours.

generate phylactery? yes | no

“I can learn a healing spell without choosing a subclass.” Cait thought that was a pragmatic, sensible answer. “Until our subclasses are unlocked, a single healing spell wouldn’t be that useful anyways.”

“A standard healing potion is 200, low quality is 125. An herbalist’s heal over time is 73. Copper. The King said we get 50 silver heads each, which one of the knights said was basically 25 horses.”

Three of the heroes turned to look at Gryphon in great confusion.

He grinned. “The soldiers bitch about healing potions every training session because they’re expensive and they get chewed out if they use one without permission.”

Cait suddenly liked Gryphon a lot more, thrilled to have an easy out. “That means I don’t have to be the healer, if we have other options.”

Leon sighed into his glass, taking his sweet time to reply. “A party of heroes isn’t complete without a healer. It’s simply not done.”

The conversation dissolved into awkward silence. No one wanted to argue. Perhaps Leon’s charisma didn’t affect his ability to outline his points from the perspective of logic, but Cait suspected the dread of debate was a result of the charisma in action.

One day soon, Cait thought silently, she would be able to set that man on fire with her mind.