Ashton leaned forward, the warped and cracked interface still impeding his vision. “What kind of classes are there in this world?” he asked, hoping for some clarity. The way Holly had mentioned levels made it sound like everyone was following some kind of system.

The wolf-man, who had been watching him carefully, pushed away from the bar and joined Ashton and Holly at the table. He took a seat across from Ashton, his broad frame filling the space, but his demeanor was more relaxed now. “You’ve got a lot of questions, human,” he said with a hint of amusement. “I’m Malkar Darkpaw.”

He nodded and couldn’t help but glance at the wolf-man’s hands. Sure enough, Malkar’s paws were noticeably darker than the rest of his gray-and-white fur, almost black. The name suited him perfectly.

Malkar noticed Ashton’s glance and gave a small grin, showing his sharp teeth. “Yeah, the name’s not just for show,” he said, flexing his clawed hands slightly.

Shifting focus back to the question, Malkar leaned forward. “As for classes, they’re a reflection of what someone does with their life. You earn classes based on your skills, your profession, and what you choose to dedicate yourself to.” He gestured toward the orc bartender, who was still polishing glasses behind the counter. “Take Rurgash over there. He used to be a warrior, but now he’s got innkeeper classes too. His level in bartending may not be as high as his old fighting skills, but it gets the job done.”

Ashton’s eyes widened. “So you can have more than one class?”

Malkar nodded. “Absolutely. You’re not stuck with one path. A warrior can become a blacksmith, a hunter can become a scholar, if that’s what they choose. It all depends on what you focus on and how you use your time. The more effort you put into something, the stronger your class in that area gets.”

He leaned back in his chair, taking it all in. “So, what’s your class?”

Malkar’s golden eyes gleamed with pride. “I’m a guardian. It’s part of the city guard’s path, but I also have Ranger and a few combat classes. Been training in those for years.” He tilted his head slightly. “But I’m guessing this is all new to you, huh?”

Ashton nodded. “Yeah, really new. Back home, we don’t have anything like this. People don’t have classes or levels. It’s just… life.”

Holly, who had been listening quietly, suddenly piped up, “But classes make everything more fun! You get to learn new skills, and every time you level up, it means you’re getting better at stuff!” She beamed at Ashton, proud of her own small achievements.

He smiled at her enthusiasm but felt a pang of anxiety. He didn’t have any classes or levels here. If this world worked anything like the games he was used to, that could be a huge problem.

Malkar leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Don’t worry too much,” he said, noticing Ashton’s uneasy expression. “Everyone starts somewhere. You just need to figure out what your strengths are—and what path you want to take.”

Ashton nodded, feeling a little more at ease. But the mystery of why he had no class or level yet still lingered in the back of his mind, along with the question of how he had arrived here in the first place.

He squinted, his vision still blurred from the strange interface floating in the corner of his eye. It was getting harder to focus on anything, and the constant distortion was making him dizzy. He had to do something about it.

Fingers extended, he hoped a digital keyboard might pop up, like something out of a futuristic game menu. Nothing happened. Frustrated but undeterred, Ashton racked his brain for ideas. He had bricked a PS4 once trying to install homebrew software, so he knew a few basic commands that might work here—if this system was anything like the ones he was familiar with.

LS, he thought, hoping the interface would register the command. The letters appeared in the small box, but then the system flashed back at him: Syntax Error.

Okay, Ashton thought, let’s try something else. He went with another basic command, dir. Again, the same error flashed in front of him.

His frustration mounted. Maybe this wasn’t about pulling up files. Maybe the system wanted him to choose something directly. Classes were the key here, right? He knew enough about isekai stories to get the idea—someone from one world ends up in another, often with special powers.

What if I just input my class? Ashton thought. Taking a shot in the dark, he mentally typed out Isakai hero.

The screen flickered for a second, and then a message appeared: Are you sure you wish to become an Isakai hero?

Ashton’s heart skipped a beat. This was it. Without hesitating, he mentally replied, yes.

The system responded instantly: Applying new class… Warning: Unauthorized terminal usage detected. User dubbed uninvited.

Unauthorized? His stomach tightened as the warnings scrolled past his vision. But before he could panic, the distorted interface snapped into place. The cracks in his vision smoothed out, and the sharp ringing in his ears faded.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

A box popped up in front of him, clearer than the other one, with the words: Isakai Hero—Level 0.

A long breath of relief escaped him. His vision was back to normal, and though the system had clearly flagged him as an “uninvited” user, it didn’t seem to be stopping him from functioning within it.

He glanced at Malkar and Holly, who were both watching him with confused expressions, unaware of the chaotic process that had just unfolded in Ashton’s mind.

Malkar raised an eyebrow. “You alright there? Looked like you were deep in thought.”

Ashton nodded, still a little shaken but grateful his vision had fixed itself. “Yeah… I think I’ve got it under control now.”

The terminal vanished from his view, but the status window remained fixed in place, floating in his peripheral vision. Curious, he tapped the side of his head again. The level window flickered on and off with each tap, but everything else stayed stable. I guess there’s no going back now, he thought, a mix of unease and determination settling in.

Above his newly assigned level, the system began to automatically fill in his name, Ashton, followed by a small “U” icon flashing next to it. His stats populated—Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Charisma—all set to 5. Basic, unremarkable, just like in every other game he’d played. It seemed like starting from scratch was inevitable.

Below his class listing, a new section labeled “Skills” appeared. Underneath it, Isakai Overload popped into view, with an empty progress bar beneath it. He frowned. What’s that supposed to do?

Breaking his focus on the screen, he glanced at Malkar. “Looks like I got a class,” he said, still a little uncertain about what it all meant.

Malkar’s ears perked up slightly. “What class did you get?” he asked, curious but calm, leaning forward in his chair.

He opened his mouth to reply, “Is—” but the words were cut short by the sudden blaring of loud horns, their deep, urgent tones vibrating through the tavern walls. The sound was unmistakable, primal, and demanding immediate attention.

Malkar’s expression changed in an instant. His calm curiosity vanished, replaced by the sharp focus of a seasoned warrior. He bolted to his feet, muscles tensing beneath his fur as his ears twitched, listening to the rhythm of the horns.

“We’re under attack!” Malkar barked, his voice fierce and commanding. He grabbed a long-handled weapon that had been resting against the bar—a spear-like staff with intricate carvings running up its shaft.

Holly, who had been sitting with wide, curious eyes just moments ago, jumped up from her chair, the playful energy in her replaced by something more serious. She clung to her father’s side, understanding the gravity of the situation immediately.

The once lively tavern shifted into a state of chaos. Patrons scattered, some running for cover while others grabbed weapons from sheaths and scabbards that had been resting against their chairs. The air buzzed with a new kind of tension, thick and heavy, as the city outside roared with the sounds of preparation for battle.

He stood frozen for a second, unsure of what to do next. His new class, his stats, his skills—it all felt useless in this moment of raw panic. He wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

Malkar looked back at him, eyes sharp but steady. “Stay close,” he growled, motioning for Ashton to follow. “I’ll get you through this. But be ready.”

“Okay…” he muttered, his heart pounding in his chest.

Before he could ask what to do next, the orc bartender, Rurgash, pointed toward the far corner of the tavern. “Check the lost and found,” he rumbled, his voice low and gruff. “Find yourself some gear—a weapon, maybe armor if you’re lucky.” He turned back to polishing a glass without much concern, his tusks glinting in the dim light.

Ashton nodded, pushing himself up from the table, the sense of urgency finally sinking in. His feet moved fast as he crossed the room to where Rurgash had gestured. In the corner, he found a large, battered wooden bin and an old coat rack with mismatched garments hanging from it. The scene felt oddly out of place in a world so chaotic, like someone had forgotten to clean up after a long night of rowdy tavern-goers.

He knelt by the bin and started rummaging through it. The first thing his hand brushed against was a small dagger, its hilt wrapped in worn leather. The blade was plain but sharp enough. Next to it, resting at the bottom of the bin, was a short bow with a few arrows tied together with a piece of fraying string.

Perfect, he thought, lifting the dagger out of the bin. He turned around to ask Rurgash if he could take the bow too, but the orc had vanished from behind the bar.

“Of course,” he muttered, sighing. Great timing.

He decided to keep the dagger, but as soon as he reached for the bow, a red box appeared in the corner of his vision, flashing with a single word: Steal?

He blinked in surprise. “Nope!” he said quickly, pulling his hand away from the bow like it had suddenly turned hot. The last thing he needed was to trigger something in the system—especially something that marked him as a thief.

Moving on, he turned to the coat rack. There was a heavy-looking cloak draped over one of the hooks, along with a single metal gauntlet resting on the shelf underneath it. He reached for the gauntlet first, figuring it might give him some protection, even if it was only for one arm. The moment his fingers touched the cold metal, the gauntlet hummed to life. Ashton slid it on, and with a sharp click, tiny tools sprang out from hidden compartments—small knives, screwdrivers, even a wrench-like device. It was like a medieval version of a Swiss Army knife.

“Whoa…” he muttered, flexing his fingers in the gauntlet as the tools whirred back into place. At least he had something useful, even if it wasn’t exactly a weapon.

Emboldened, he reached for the cloak next, but as his fingers brushed the fabric, that familiar red panel appeared again: Steal?

“Damnit,” he whispered under his breath. He was quickly learning how the system worked—he wasn’t about to steal anything, not here. He gave up on the cloak and turned back toward the front of the tavern.

Malkar stood near the door, his large frame filling the space as he peered outside, ears twitching, listening intently. Ashton hurried over to him, the dagger and gauntlet feeling heavier than they should in his hands.

“What’s it like out there?” Ashton asked, his voice low.

Malkar glanced at him briefly, his sharp eyes narrowing. “Not good. They’re coming fast. Too many for the guard to handle alone.”

Ashton’s pulse quickened. Whoever “they” were, he had a sinking feeling he was about to find out.