The grave I managed to dig wasn't all that deep. Not for lack of effort, but the soil by the cliff didn't go very far before it just turned into solid rock. There were chunks of stone and clay, and roots. So, my wish for Gregory to be able to stay by the sea, was a bitter one. It took hours, but in the end, with the help of a spare oar for a shovel, at least I managed to build a mound.

On the far side of the clearing, I made my peace and left him there.

None of that came close to what the man deserved, in my opinion, but it was the best I could do for him. The only way I could have done better, was if I'd gone to town and asked for help.

But I hadn't done that.

The risk was too great, and he was already dead. Revealing myself for nothing more than sentimental values seemed foolish... So, really, I guess the grave wasn't the best I could do for him, after all. It was just the best I was willing to do for him, because I didn't want to take any more risks.

Oh, such thoughts were only the start. There were worse, which followed. Needless to say, it wasn't a good night.

After my initial moment of indecision on the path, I had made a long and painful walk back to the shack. I left the wolf where I'd killed it, and carried Gregory back. The man may have been old, but he was made entirely of muscle, and I was hardly so lucky. As a result, it was evening by the time I was finally done, and alone with my thoughts.

I didn't have a clue what I was supposed to do.

Stranded in an unfamiliar land, with unfamiliar values and systems ruling it. I had no friends, likely had many enemies, and everyone who saw me would be able to recognize my title.

My choices were limited, and my mind was rattled.

Sitting there at the low table, beneath a thatch roof. Covered in blood,and dirt, with a half-empty bottle of spirits. Filthy and tired: I felt as if I'd just come back from war, for a second time. As if, any moment, Kepler was going to casually strut into the room and slap me on the back.

Mars and Jones, sitting by the cookpot...

For a second, I let myself imagine I was back there.

Then, I opened my eyes.

"What the fuck." I whispered. As if that was truly a place I wanted to remember fondly. "What the actual fuck."

Reaching for the bottle, I took a swig.

The liqour was like rubbing alcohol, but mixed with bourbon. Coughing violently, I felt as though I had swallowed fire. Just one drink of that terrible concotion, and I had to set the bottle back down: all but pushing it away.

"How the hell did you drink this, Gregory?" I asked. "It's like poison, but worse."

The fumes of that sip must have cleared my nostrils, because the next breath of air had me gagging for an entirely different reason.

God, I smelled terrible.

Despite the dark, despite how tired I was, in that moment I wanted nothing more but to walk down the cliffside stairs. To march into the ocean, and scrub myself to the bone.

But, I suddenly found that I wasn't certain I could even stand back up.

Maybe a part of this, was the alcohol, but letting my body relax, for just a second, and that was all it took. Getting back to my feet seemed an impossiblity. Enough, that I began to wonder if the Fernwolf Saliva that had dried on my skin, had still been dangerous.

If it was, I knew I had to accept that there was nothing more I could do about it.

Name: John

Title: Summoned Hero*

Class: None

General Skills:

> Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive

>

> This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

>

> Identify Lvl 5 - Active

Special Skills:

> Hide Presence Lvl 2 - Active

>

> Void Walker Lvl 1 - Passive

>

> Blessing of Forgotten Gods Lvl 5 - Passive

Status:

> Vitality: 17

>

> Endurance: 23

>

> Strength: 20

>

> Dexterity: 21

>

> Intelligence: 45

>

> Wisdom: 52

Health: 42/50

Stamina: 8/20

Mana: 100/100

I'd improved.

My Strength had gone up after killing the wolf, and my Endurance increased after carrying Gregory's body back to the cliff. In light of how horrible the events of the day had been, it seemed that I was being rewarded for my suffering.

Rewarded for the first time in awhile, I recognized.

Yet still: no class.

Most of my attributes were over twenty, though. From what I'd gathered, that was important.

Then again: my vitality was lower. Was that the problem?

Maybe.

Rationally I felt as though there had to be some sort of class for my current attributes. Quite a few of the others in my group had gotten a class with a few of their attributes lacking. Mars had gotten her Brawler class, and she hadn't had everything past twenty at the time. So, maybe it was the event which triggered it, that I needed?

Killing a monster really wasn't enough?

I felt outraged at that.

If killin a monster wasn't enough, then what the hell was? The thought, alone, almost made me angry enough to reach for the bottle a second time. Instead, though, I let out a long sigh.

As if I were releasing steam, I let myself drop back down, until I was completely on the floor.

There had to be some sort of explanation.

Was it indecision? Some sort of mental trigger I was missing, or lacking commitment for?

It wasn't as though I hadn't tried. I'd worked myself to the bone, spent hours upon hours in the training yard... when I thought back to everything I'd done back among the Golden Wing company, all the things I remembered: there was only one statement which really stood out.

What was it, that Kepler had told us that day?

"Shame we're not a company of Mages."

I'd thought about that, more than once. He'd meant it in a mocking way, but that didn't mean it wasn't relevant.

Mage.

I knew that was a class. Probably a powerful one, if what had happened to the Golden Wing camp that last night was any indication. Those fire spells were nothing to joke about. Even compared to weapons on Earth, the level of destruction was terrifying.

Could I become a Mage?

When he'd heard our attributes, Kepler had certainly insinuated. Or, at least, he'd seemed to think we'd be a better fit for Mages, than soldiers, but the only time I'd ever seen Mages in-person was when we were still at the castle. The Mercenary Camp didn't have anyone like that, at least that I remembered. The closest was probably the Healer.

Mana: 100/100

I mean, I had the potential, right there. That's what mana was... wasn't it?

Though I had no idea how to put the resource into use, I had to assume it could do something for me. For whatever reason, though, my [Hide Presence] skill didn't seem to need any, and I didn't know anything else that resembled a spell, aside from [Identify] which clearly didn't use mana either. Or, if it did, it was negligible.

I let out another sigh.

I'd already gone over this subject in my head, at least a dozen times. It never helped. Revisiting, without any more information to help me solve the problem, was just going to drive me mad.

Clearly, if becoming a Mage was something I could just "will" into reality, I would have already done so.

Until then...

Class: None

If I was going to survive in this world, was I really going to have to keep doing this?

Fighting monsters, killing things... I wondered, laying there.

If I didn't get stronger, I supposed my alternative was just getting killed by the next dangerous thing to cross my path.

Back against the wooden floor, I stared up as my thoughts kept circling. Rudderless, as if I were trapped in a slow-moving whirlpool, drifting without any hope of recovery. The weaves of the roof faded to black, as the menu glided across my vision. My status was like a ghost.

One that just wouldn't stop haunting me.

Title: Summoned Hero*

I hated it.