You have selected the Assassin class.
You are now a verified ranker! Defeat more monsters to progress to the next rank.
Current rank: Iron.
Due to the presence of the trait [Born of Fear], you cannot select an affinity.
This section has been skipped.
You have unlocked a ranker-specific skill!
[Meditation] has been added to your repertoire.
You have unlocked technique choices!
You may now select one each from a list of fighting styles, skills, and abilities!
A dizzying array of notifications swarmed my field of vision.
I remained stuck in . . . whatever this place was supposed to be, surrounded by the oppressive darkness. However, I didn’t feel like an Assassin. Call me naïve, but I’d expected the selection to bestow me with all the skills—the relevant ones, at least.
A new screen blinked in the corner of my eye: a prompt of some kind that needed consideration. I closed the other notifications and focused on the one, bringing it to the forefront.
A simple box unfolded:
No class is complete without a fighting style.
[Knife-fighting] or [Fencing]?
Uh . . .
I inspected the boxes.
[Knife-fighting] [Common]
You are a master of knives, daggers, and short swords. You also manage to avoid pricking yourself!
The Knife-fighter is a devotee of quick and dirty wet work, choosing to get the job done above all else. They abhor wasted movement in favor of precision strikes and can slit a throat while blindfolded with two arms tied behind their back!
Despite being an expert at using the environment, the Knife-fighter shines best in narrow spaces. And, if the enemy refuses to yield, a kick in the nuts should solve it!
PS: You probably shouldn’t rely on this style in protracted combat.
Cost: Passive.
I chuckled at the text. The [System]’s use of two different voices had been jarring at the start, but I’d since come to appreciate the levity the alternate voice provided.
[Fencing] [Common]
The Knife-fighter’s antithesis. Imagine a bird with beautiful plumage performing a mating ritual. That’s what you’d look like, you twat, if you pick this option.
Blessed with expertise in multiple [DEX]-based weapons, including the deadly rapier, the Fencer aims to debilitate their opponent with gaudy moves and distracting techniques. The more chaotic the battlefield is, the better! A Fencer won't lose their footing, whether fighting on a stool or a boat in a stormy sea!
PS: This technique flourishes in direct confrontation.
Cost: Passive.
I loved both options, but I already had a playstyle in mind.
“Um, knife-fighting?”
A migraine went off in my head. Memories I couldn’t parse flooded my senses: of fighting kata, backstabs, and duels in the dark. I screamed as my head split open from an information overload caused by the [System]’s intent to smother me in a lifetime’s worth of experience.
This was more in line with what I’d expected, but, my gosh, a warning would have been nice.
An eternity later, the anguish passed, and I rose from where I’d fallen covered in sweat. A congratulatory message notified me of my success in unlocking the [Knife-fighting] skill.
I didn’t look any different, but I sensed a change. Muscle memory informed me that I’d just learned new ways to twist a knife. I flexed my knees and tried a roundhouse kick out of curiosity.
I executed it flawlessly.
Very nice.
Aside from the nod to The Matrix, I could now understand why rankers of Nana’s caliber didn’t care much for training. My entire body itched to put my newfound skills into practice, but other [System] matters needed my attention.
You have unlocked a skill choice from the Assassin tree.
Please, pick a skill.
A skill tree, with a total of twenty or so options, opened up in front of me. Most of the options were locked behind chained boxes save for two skills which proceeded from the starting point.
The first skill provided a brief description:
[Stealth] [Common]
A Rogue’s bread and butter. Ever wonder how someone as clumsy as you might infiltrate an enemy camp? Wonder no more!
This skill helps you avoid detection by wiping your footprints and concealing your movements. It also muffles noise emissions, so consider using it on crowded nights for solo leveling! (Wink, wink).
Warning: Enemies with a higher level of Perception may see through this skill.
You probably shouldn’t perform solo leveling in public.
Cost: 2 VP/min.
[Stealth] was definitely a skill I could find some use for, but not without inspecting the other:
[Trap Expert] [Common]
Sometimes, mean people do mean things . . . like layer their lair with enough traps to obliterate an army or boil any intruder that breathes. How unfair!
This skill evens the odds and makes things a little more balanced. You can now detect mechanical traps within ten meters and, provided you have the right tools, even disarm them!
You're not exactly a lock-picking expert but say bye bye to simple padlocks and bolts. Want more from this skill? Level it up!
Also, notice the use of the words ‘layer’ and ‘lair’. Pretty cheeky, right? Try to repeat both as fast as you can!
Cost: Passive.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Silly [System] AI,” I grumbled under my breath.
[Trap Expert] and [Stealth] both promised to improve my survivability, but the latter filled a more urgent need. I couldn’t discount the threat of traps, however. Should a second opportunity arise in the future, I’d make sure to pick the skill.
“Stealth.”
A [System] message confirmed my choice. Data about the skill flooded my brain, though nowhere near as intense as earlier.
One last set to go.
You have unlocked an ability from the Fear tree.
Please, make a selection.
A fresh chart of decision boxes filled my vision, replacing the former. This tree stood noticeably larger than the last one, with over fifty boxes locked behind chains. I went straight to the unlocked pair at the bottom and tapped each in rapid succession.
[Summon Ghostling] [Common]
An ability from the summoning school. You can’t claim to master fear until you force demons to do your bidding!
The ghostling is pretty much the only demon a ranker of your level may summon. However, it lacks corporeal form, therefore it can’t hurt you . . . or anyone else.
Use it to spook your enemies, and if you catch them off-guard, you might just inflict [Dismay]!
Note: This ability qualifies as a foundation technique. Drastic changes may occur in the future.
Cost: 5 MP.
I so wasn’t choosing this. [Fear Aura] already provided a reliable way to trigger [Dismay], and the ghostling’s incorporeal form didn’t help matters.
The second ability was also kinda redundant.
[Dark Stalker] [Common]
A staple of the Fear tree. Terrorize little children by mimicking the things that go bump in the night.
Upon activation, this ability covers the user in a veil of shadow, allowing them to strike or escape unseen. Attacking or being attacked while undercover instantly dispels the veil.
Note: This ability erases the user’s scent. Caution should also be exercised in bright lighting . . . if you don’t want to be gutted.
This is a foundation technique. Drastic changes are likely to occur in the future.
Cost: 5 MP.
It was basically a different kind of [Stealth]. Was it too late to return and pick [Trap Expert]? Nevertheless, since the alternative was just too shitty, I went with [Dark Stalker]. I didn’t understand the part about foundations, but there was no one nearby to consult.
The blue screens collapsed.
Specialization complete.
3 charges expended.
Prepare for ejection and onset of adverse reactions. You have five seconds.
5 . . .
Hold on. What kind of adverse reactions were they talking about?
4 . . .
Oi.
3 . . .
How was I supposed to prepare for this?
2 . . .
1 . . .
Ejection complete.
Go break a leg!
I slammed back to the real world. The Dark Elves halted what seemed like a raging debate to glance in my direction. The tendrils of the World Shrine loosened their grip, triggering a relaxation in the formerly thorny headgear.
I rose to my feet. “Hey, I don’t feel any different—”
Blood spurted out of my nostrils, dyeing the floor in red. A searing heat roared from my toes to the tips of my hair. Pressure rose in my skull until my brain erupted like a supernova, blinding my eyes. Black holes littered my sight.
“Help me,” I managed through another mouthful of blood. And then, I puked and fell flat on my face.
“A warning would have been nice,” I muttered, curled around a pot filled with vomit.
Mavari dabbed a wet cloth around my neck. “Oh, stop whining, you big baby. Your symptoms should pass sometime in the night. No one has ever died from Specialization.”
“I think I’m on my way to breaking that record,” I moaned, falling back onto the mattress. “This pain . . . oh, god. Why are there freaking ulcers in my stomach? Is that supposed to happen?”
Mavari rolled her eyes. The setting sun cast a red glow through the window, bathing the hut in dim lighting. The fever hadn’t abated ever since I’d awoken a few hours ago, but I was apparently in the lucky percentage. About one in ten persons who underwent the ritual suffered a bout of diarrhea. That would have been so uncool.
“Everyone reacts differently,” Mavari repeated for my benefit, wringing the towel in a bowl of water. “Specialists tend to have an easier time than rankers due to the absence of an affinity. A few hours of anguish is a good trade-off for being reborn. You should be grateful.”
I glanced at my health bar, which had fallen by over seventy percent due to my illness. HP functioned as a kind of armor-slash-life aura, so it was interesting to note all the ways it could be breached.
I forced down a surge of vomit. “Can’t I get a health potion at least?”
“You can, but it’s pretty useless. Ritual sickness refreshes faster than your potion cool downs. Normal health potions don’t cure diseases, anyway. You’d need a cure ailments or restoration potion for that.”
She dabbed the towel across my torso, leaning forward far enough that I caught a brief glimpse of skin. She had taken off her cloak and jerkin to nurse me, and my gosh, why did her sweaty skin smell so nice?
I averted my gaze. “Piggybacked again, huh? I guess we couldn’t avoid a reenactment.”
“That we didn't,” Mavari said with a small chuckle. “But, I don’t mind. Elves are rather lightweight. Plus, you're a pretty pleasant burden, all things considered. I even forgive you for getting vomit on my hair.”
Why was she so cool?
“Shouldn’t you be resting though?” I asked. “You were out all night on patrol.”
“I was. But then, I got some shuteye while you were asleep. I also thought you’d appreciate a familiar face in this drab hut.”
I did prefer a familiar face. And, Mavari did a good job of looking both familiar and fine. Mighty fine, in fact.
Our gazes locked as she pressed the towel to my forehead.
Was this the start of my first true love? I didn’t have any experience in relationships, so I wasn’t sure how to proceed. The stories always portrayed elves as romantic people who tended to fall in love at first sight. Should I just go for broke?
“I enjoy your company, Mavari,” I began.
“Same,” she said, somewhat wistfully. “I love spending time with you. The village could use more outsiders with your perspective. If only my fiancé could emulate your character.”
The background music stopped.
“Y-you're e-engaged?”
“What? You didn’t know? I’m betrothed to Tybalt." She pushed a few errant curls out of her face and adopted an apologetic tone. "I know his actions can come across as a little . . . disagreeable upon first impression. But, he's really thoughtful in his own way. He just needs more positive influences around him. People like you . . .”
Her voice blended into word soup, entering one ear and vacating through the other. I spiraled into a bottomless chasm, bereft of both heart and soul. The images I had conjured of a romantic future shattered like glass.
Why was she stuck with that bastard?
“So . . . Assassin,” Mavari said, piercing my thoughts. “That’s a good choice for you, now that I think of it. I assume you got the [Stealth] skill?”
“And [Meditation], and [Knife-fighting], and another ability called [Dark Stalker]. The last is also a foundation technique or something of the sort.”
Mavari nodded in approval. “Can’t go wrong with those. Foundation techniques tend to be weaker than others at the start, but the possibility of a future evolution makes up for the early dip in power.”
“You’re saying I should always go with a foundation technique if given the choice?”
“Heralds, no, Damien. Don’t put words in my mouth. Foundation techniques are rare to begin with, but they are hardly the most useful of options. Lesser, Common, Greater, Grand, and so forth”—she held up her fingers as she spoke—“All items are categorized by tiers, as are attributes and techniques. Your techniques improve by a noticeable amount each time you gain a new rank. Why trade the advantages of steady payoffs for a gambit you could end up regretting?”
She had a point.
“Heed me,” Mavari said, leaning back on her haunches. “You’re a ranker now, Damien, which makes you a member of the greatest caste in Vizhima. You may not fully appreciate the implications of your decision, but you will come to do so in time.
“Within your grasp lies the power to ruin realms and become a nation unto yourself. I just want to be certain that this is your desire.”
She trailed off at that, which was just as well because I didn’t have an answer. We settled into an uneasy silence punctuated by bouts of dry-retching.
A loud horn blared from somewhere within the village.
“What’s happening?” I croaked, managing to sit up in bed. I still felt like crap, courtesy of the migraine, but the nausea had started to wane.
Mavari frowned in the direction of the lone window. “The horns of Barren-tide. With this, Harkonean has now expended the last of its Specialization charges. We’ll hold a small festivity in honor of the new classers and offer a prayer for the hasty renewal of the World Shrine.”
She gestured at a pail in a corner of the room. “Freshen up if you can and join in on the fun. The days following this are sure to be arduous.” She riffled through her inventory and dropped a silver potion on the ground. “Cure Ailments potion. Don’t tell Nana I did this, but you of all people should get a chance to enjoy the last round of merriment we'd see in a while.”
She vacated shortly after, escorted by the faint rumbling of drums. I glanced at the potion and then the pail and faced the wall in half-hearted defiance.
The last social gathering I’d attended had been my mom’s funeral. I didn’t trust myself to act anything but awkwardly among the elves.