There are three commonly accepted types of class, though many would argue the specific definitions. Mage-type classes use their souls to power personalized spells, while physical-type classes get personal augments. Non-standard types receive neither of these, but almost always something equally powerful.

----------------------------------------

Headmaster Dalin Larenok was not having a good week. First that disaster of an initiation, letting a sword his contacts later informed him was Legendary slip through his very fingers, and into the hands of the swamp-brat nobody of all things. Then the kid went on to spectacular heights in the exhibition, going from nobody to one of the richest houseless bachelors in the country on a single day's gambling. Who did that?

And then, to top it all off, there was a dragon attack. A. Dragon.

Dragons didn't attack schools. Dragons didn't attack cities unless they had been provoked.

But there was exactly one anomalous person running around doing provocative things, so he was pretty confident in who to blame.

In all the chaos, though, Welburne escaped and multiple witnesses said the dragon had snatched the Serin heiress right off the transit platform as she desperately tried to escape.

Which, of course, someone would eventually blame on him. Larenok knew better than to assume anyone would do anything but their utmost to destroy him at every turn. So he needed to unlock the transit platform before Lord Serin thought to check it against their family tokens. It wouldn't do at all for someone so influential to find out Larenok had been preventing his daughter from escaping.

How was he supposed to be prepared for a dragon? If it had attacked in the city, it would have been just as unstoppable. If anything, Larenok was doing them a favor by preventing an angry dragon from getting into the transit network. Why, if he hadn't locked Raina and Welburne out, that dragon could have gotten anywhere!

He'd never be able to persuade a distraught father of that, though, so ensuring no one ever realized he was involved in any way would be a better path.

He stepped into his office after a long morning of forging personal authorization tokens, ready to dig out the inforeels on how to adjust the platform, when he saw the last thing he ever imagined he'd see.

Welburne, sitting in his chair, with his feet crumpling and scattering the neatly ordered piles Larenok had put so much work into preparing.

The insolent brat leaned back with the most self-assured smile Larenok had ever seen, pointing to the subordinate chair, ready to demand answers.

"You! How dare you?" Larenok took one step toward the boy, ready to smack some sense into him, and the arrogant child flicked his hand as though throwing something.

Larenok staggered back a step, but it took a moment for the impact to really register. He looked down to see a black and green hilt sticking out of the center of his chest, burning his body to ashes around it.

He didn't even have time to panic. Cold heat burned through him, turning all that he was to nothing.

Dalin Larenok stumbled unsteadily, then grabbed for the chair to steady himself. He felt calm, focused, and entirely free of all the mental and emotional chaos that had been so prevalent these past weeks. Perhaps, years. His whole life, even.

"Take a seat, Larenok."

He blinked up at the boy. "You shouldn't be putting your feet on the desk like that. Those are important papers you're sullying."

The kid raised his eyebrows. "No insults today? I don't think I've ever seen you this relaxed. Tell me, what just happened?"

Larenok frowned. "You ignored my reminder of the importance of Institute paperwork."

"Before that."

"You're sitting in my chair."

"After that."

Larenok straightened and scowled at the boy, but without his usual weight behind it. More because it was a thing his face liked to do than out of emotional necessity. "I've important things to do. If you're only going to waste time and disrupt work, I'll ask you to leave."

"Ask? Not demand?"

"I can make it an order if you prefer." Larenok distantly had the feeling that he should be angrier at this, but his tone remained mild and his mind untroubled. "I do like having people obey me. But I somehow doubt you'll cooperate no matter what I say, so why bother?"

"So you're alright with this? You don't have any particular desire to, say, murder me on the spot?"

"Why should I do that?” Larenok snorted. “Idiot child. You think murder looks good on your resume? If I need you to disappear, I’d do it much more covertly than that."

Welburne raised an eyebrow at that. "Have you had troublesome students you needed to have disappear in the past?"

Larenok hesitated. This wasn’t the sort of conversation he usually had with a student. This wasn't the sort of conversation he usually had with anyone. But something about Welburne just seemed… trustworthy today. He frowned uncertainly. "Haven't we all?"

Welburne chuckled. "I'm the wrong person to deny that." He gestured again to the chair in the center of the room. "Do have a seat, please."

Larenok did so.

Welburne set down the sword and swung his feet off the desk to sit up properly, hands clasped on the desk before him. "You know, a thousand years ago, this is the sort of position I would've given anything to have. But now I find I just don't care. I already know what you've done, hearing you admit to it is meaningless."

Larenok nodded. That made perfect sense. "So what do you want?" When you had sufficient blackmail material over someone, there was no point in making them feel worse by forcing them to verify things. You danced around the issue, let them keep their pride intact at least a little… as long as they kept paying you and doing you favors.

Larenok was unused to being on this end of the arrangement, but he found it oddly untroubling. He knew this was how the world worked. He’d lived by it his whole life. It was only natural to come to this in the end. He’d feared it and hidden from it, but now it had come to pass he didn't know why he fought it so long. After all, what was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like there was much of his career left to be destroyed at this point.

“I can't help but notice that you are very calm,” Welburne observed coolly. “I've never seen you this calm. Please tell me how you feel."

Larenok frowned slightly at the odd jumping conversation. Who'd blackmail someone and then promptly go to inquiring after their health? "You have no idea what you're doing, do you boy? Might I suggest you partner with me instead of…” he waved a hand to indicate the boy sitting behind his intimidating desk, “whatever it is you think you’re doing here? I can teach you a lot that you'd never learn elsewhere. And you should know that being a loud and flashy presence," his eyes flicked to that gaudy monstrosity of a sword lying across the desk, "isn't always preferable to silence."

"We're not talking about me and my career in blackmailing. I'm quite capable of carrying it out without your assistance, thank you. However, you are not behaving as I'm used to, and I want to know why. So, again. How do you feel?"

"I feel normal. Pretty good, actually." Larenok shrugged and stretched his arms out, rolling his shoulders. "I think I feel about ten years younger, to be honest. You have no idea how exhausting it is being so worried about everything all the time. In a way, having the worst already happen is a relief. At least now I know."

"So being interrogated by one of your own students is your worst case scenario?"

Larenok snorted. "You aren't just interrogating me in my own office, you also stabbed my…" He trailed off, frowning down at his chest. "Didn't you stab me? I feel like you stabbed me."

"So I did. Not that you'd know it to look at you. It wasn't your body that was primarily affected." Welburne seemed oddly irritated about that fact, as though burning someone alive wasn’t good enough.

"Yes, well, it is rather more than that.” Larenok began listing things out on his fingers. “Being stabbed, blackmailed, and interrogated. My Institute is in ruins, one of my students is dead. My reputation is already in shambles.” He pointed at Welburne with two fingers pressed together. “So if you think blackmailing me over that is going to get you much of anything worth having, you're probably mistaken.” Then again, the boy came from nothing and should have nothing, so maybe what meager scraps Larenok had left to be taken would be enough to satisfy him. Nothing but a buzzard snatching up the remnants left behind.

"And this doesn't upset you?"

"I've already told you, I feel fine. Though I’ll admit to growing irritable at your insistence on this ‘how are you feeling’ nonsense. If that's the only thing you have to say, then get out of my chair."

"You think you're in any position to be making demands now?"

"I think you're very young to be doing this, and very stupid to be doing it now. If you knew so much about me, why would you wait? If you had this sword, why would you go through this whole charade? What exactly is it you want? None of it makes sense, which points to amateurish overreach. You’d get much more value from having me as a mentor than an enemy."

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Welburne considered this, tapping his fingers together contemplatively. "I just really need to know what Darkflame does. So far it seems to be a straight reset, imposing some sort of emotional calm and rationality, but that doesn't make any sense. Why would it do that?"

"Darkflame, that's what your sword did? When it burned away all the worry and…" Larenok waved his hand in a vague circle to indicate all the other mental gunk that had been weighing on his soul, stealing bits of his attention for far too long. "If that's your soulspell, you can sell your services anywhere in the country."

Welburne laughed. "Sell burning people alive?"

Larenok shrugged. "It's not like it hurt. It was more confusing than anything. If you tell them what to expect, yeah." He leaned forward, hands on his knees eagerly. "If you don't know where to start, I can ask around through my connections. We can get you up and running in less than a week. Give it another few months and you'll be in such high demand you can't keep up with it."

Welburne shook his head like he had never considered such a strange idea.

"I'm serious. The way I feel right now… people would pay for this. You have no idea how freeing it is to be able to think fully rationally."

"Is that what you're doing?"

"Of course. If it weren't for being so disconnected from my biases, you can be sure that I would never dream of working with someone like you, no matter how much you could offer or threaten me with."

"So you're even willing to admit to the fact that you're biased?"

"Everyone is, whether they admit it or not." Larenok’s irritation was definitely noticeable by now, though still far from the level it’d been a few hours ago. "You're biased, I'm biased. Why does it matter? As long as we can work well together, make things happen and earn us a nice profit along the way, why not? Aelir, we don't even need to stay in Veor. We can leave as early as Dark Night, if you're willing to step outside your comfort zone."

For some reason, that made Welburne laugh. "So your proposal is that we monetize Darkflame, and you become my publicist while we travel through illegal ghostmoon channels? Is that right?"

Larenok considered, then nodded. "It seems the most reasonable outcome at the moment. You have a service, I have connections, and it's not like this place is going to do any good for either of us. I was going to try and salvage something from the whole wreck, but I don't know if it's even worth trying. You, on the other hand, have something the whole world will be eager to get their hands on. All we need to do is collaborate and we can build a whole new future for us both."

Welburne leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head to stare down at Larenok.

Larenok really had to hand it to himself, the way that the room was laid out really made that pose intimidating. If he were anyone else, he would've felt very pressured sitting here, staring up at this powerful figure. But since he was still the headmaster and Welburne was still only a student, however impertinent and aggressive of one, he could be appreciative of the intimidation factor without feeling it himself.

"Can I use Darkflame on you a second time, just to verify if anything changes?"

Larenok shrugged. "I don't see why it would change anything, but go ahead."

Welburne's eyebrows rose, and he threw the sword.

Larenok, being prepared for this time, paid very close attention to the sensations. The sword tip pierced his chest, a brief warm pressure as it sliced clean through.

It didn't feel like being sliced into, or perhaps it self cauterized so fast that his body didn't have time to bother sending pain impulses. He watched the blade sink into his body curiously. The black and green fire along its length began to spread through him, leaving a gaping ashen hole where his heart should—

Larenok stood by the door, scowling faintly. A moment of disorientation. He shivered at the sudden cold, stumbled and caught himself on the chair.

“You could probably get away with charging more if you can come up with a version that doesn't do that part,” he said, somewhat blearily, "but on the whole, as long as you warn them in advance that it’s a disorienting process, it'll be fine."

"You don't feel any different from a minute ago?"

"Why would I feel different? Nothing's changed." Larenok frowned as he concentrated inward. Was there anything different about him? Should there be anything different?

“So, what if I were to ask you to attack me, would you be able to do it?"

"You're offering me the chance to kill the impertinent student who is trying to blackmail me? You think I wouldn’t jump on that? If this is some kind of trick, you're going about it very strangely."

"No trick, just a test. Please try to kill me."

Larenok frowned, then shrugged. "All right. What's the worst that could happen?"

He focused inward and summoned his sword from his soulspace. It had been manufactured to look like a heavily upgraded soulsword, but if anyone were to inspect it they’d see it was in fact not a soulsword at all.

Larenok's class was squire, not mageblade; one of the many ways his life had been ruined by circumstances outside his control. He'd never been able to upgrade the class to anything worth having. A minor boost to weapon skills and an increased soulspace capacity were the best he had to work with.

He couldn't do anything particularly flashy with his sword, couldn’t light it on fire or fly through the air on it, but it was a good weapon and served him well.

He stood with the sword in his hand, staring down at it fondly. He really hadn't appreciated his sword as much as he should have, over the years. He'd polished it, sharpened and oiled it, taken it to an enchanter every few years to have its enhancements updated, but he'd never really shown it the respect it deserved.

"Were you going to be killing me anytime soon, or just stare at your sword all day?"

Larenok blinked. Oh yes. Welburne. Still waiting to be stabbed.

He looked down at the sword. Perfect for stabbing wayward students. It made perfect sense. Welburne had stabbed him, more than once.

It was only fair. He could do this.

… Why couldn't he do this?

Larenok frowned. Welburne was right there. Larenok had his sword right here in his hand. Welburne was threatening him. He didn't approve of students threatening him. He didn't approve of students stabbing him, even if it had a different effect that he was expecting. And he'd probably pay to have it happen again if he ever got as uptight obsessive as he had been those years.

"I'm waiting."

Larenok got to his feet slowly, still not sure why his body hesitated so much. Why his mind flinched instinctively away from the thought of destruction. He could still imagine it, still think about it rationally, but there was a full disconnect when it came to actually executing. He… couldn't attack?

"Maybe if I attack you, it’ll make it easier." Welburne jumped across the desk, sword flashing down.

Larenok flinched back, bringing up his own sword to block.

Welburne’s weapon sheared directly through his sword, leaving him with an uneven hilt as the blade clattered to the ground, then Welburne’s sword continued and sliced off Larenok’s left arm at the shoulder.

This one hurt. Larenok screamed, a pained roaring bellow that he didn't recognize even as it left his lips.

“Dovak take you!” he shrieked, clutching at his bleeding shoulder. “What are you doing? You think you can get away with this?"

Welburne stood there, sword bared, frowning down at him.

"Do you have any idea how expensive this is going to be to fix? You can't just go around chopping people's arms off like that!"

"So you say. Can't I?"

Larenok snarled inarticulately. “If you hadn’t already discarded your position as a student here, I’d have you kicked out for this.”

"Yet I can't help but notice… you still haven't stabbed me. Even after I cut your arm off. Can't quite bring yourself to do so?"

“So eager to get yourself stabbed?” Larenok waved his broken sword defiantly in the air with his remaining arm. “I’m not interested in playing into your deviant fantasies."

That, for the first time, seemed to genuinely surprise Welburne. He choked out an uncertain laugh. "Excuse me, did you just call me deviant?"

“You're the one with the magic sword that burns people alive.”

“Which isn’t nearly as good at killing as you’d think."

Larenok shook his head pityingly. Wasn’t that just how it went? These ungrateful students had such immense power they never cared for, when Larenok would've given anything for the same chances. Yet here he was, yet again, years later with nothing to show for his efforts.

Once again, he cursed his family’s insistence that he take the first class he ever unlocked. If they’d just given him another five years, he could have gotten something worth having. But, no. He’d be stuck with squire forever. It would never evolve into anything good, even if he'd been able to pursue greater advancement.

All his potential had been stolen, his future, all of it. And then people like Welburne traipse around, taking what they had for granted, and—

Welburne lunged again without warning.

Larenok instinctively tried to block, tried to deflect his strike away with the sheared off hilt he held, but that only resulted in having even less of a sheared off hilt in his hand.

Welburne’s sword scored a deep gash down Larenok's thigh.

“Dovak!" he cursed vehemently. "What is wrong with you? If you’re planning to kill me, just get it over with. Aelir! I don't understand what you're trying to accomplish here."

“You can't hurt me," Welburne said, wonderingly. "You genuinely can't hurt me."

Larenok hurled the hilt remnant at him with a scowl. Teeth gritted, vaguely furious.

Welburne knocked it away easily, then leaned against the front of the desk, leaving himself wide open. “Well?”

"What… have you done to me?" Even now, with an arm missing, blood from his deadly injury soaking his trousers, Larenok couldn’t quite bring himself to attack Welburne.

"Pacified you, it seems. How very strange. Well, that leaves one thing left to try."

Welburne stabbed him for the third time in under a half hour, straight through the chest. It was a relief this time as the warm nothingness enveloped him, consuming all the pain and the shock—

Larenok stumbled by the door, caught hold of the chair to steady himself, and then he stood blinking in disoriented uncertainty. He patted himself over—his chest, his leg—and only after he had checked both did he realize he'd been using both hands to do so.

He stared down at his hand, right where it belonged, then at the bloody arm lying on the floor. The pool of his blood.

His clothing was still torn and bloodied—his shirt perforated by multiple stabs, his leg damp with his blood—but his body was restored.

"How did you do that? How long does it work for? Can you heal an old injury, or only a new one?" Shock forgotten, he lunged forward and took Welburne by the shoulders, grinning in his face. "Forget what I said. This isn't just something we can monetize, this is something we have to monetize. Healing fire. Imagine it! ‘Unleash your mind, restore your body.’ I can see it now."

Larenok always had been good at convincing people to part with their money. The fact that he’d just been handed such a perfectly gift-wrapped opportunity to do so while conveniently escaping the fallout of this whole current disaster? That was better fortune than he would ever have hoped for.

"I don't have that much time,” Welburne said slowly. “I need to be in Orard first chance on Dark Night."

"No need to worry about travel plans, my boy! Here." Larenok crossed to the desk and shoved all the papers aside, flipping one over to write on. "Tell me your itinerary and I will arrange everything."

Welburne's eyebrows rose again. "Everything? Really?"

"When I tell you that this is going to be the biggest sensation of the year, that this’ll be the only thing anyone is talking about come Solaria, you should believe me. I know how these things work."

“And you think that how these things work involves you as my manager, going around healing people with my fire?" There was a note of incredulity in Welburne's voice.

"Of course it is, stupid boy. You know what you have here?"

"I do not. That is exactly why I am testing it." Welburne sighed. "But if you can arrange everything with travel, I’ll leave it in your hands. I want to know the extent of what the sword can do as well. I just never thought it would be you who I'd be discovering it with."

Larenok scowled happily. "You’ve come to the right man. Trust me. This is going to be the best decision you’ll make in your life."

----------------------------------------