《The Luck of Four》


 Chapter 1 - An Exercise in Futility

    The prison cell was cold and dank, a cage of grey concrete and rusty iron bars. Dirt creeped along the stained and marked walls, an exhibition of the prison¡¯s poor maintenance. The room was stark and bare except for a single bed and a toilet. The bed was a harsh metal construction, boasting a single mattress which although must have gleamed a bright white at some point, was now a macabre grey, crusted and stained with dirt and dust. No sheets or pillow graced these sleeping arrangements. The cell however, did have one redeeming feature, one many inmates coveted but never received. A tiny window, at the top right hand corner at the back of the cell. It stood encased in ancient faded brown iron bars which in some places glittered in the sunlight. A tiny ray of luminescence could just penetrate the fog of darkness that permeated the room like a noxious gas. This shard of light illuminated a solitary prisoner, lying on the floor, curled into a protective ball. Bruises marked his face and he sported a black eye. Despite this and his somewhat demeaning position, the boy had an expression of fierce anger upon his face, a demonstration of defiance. A showcase in strength. While his body might have been pummelled and defeated, his spirit was in no way broken.


    The boy, as if shuddering awake from a nightmare, began to rise, forcing his burning muscles through an excruciating haze of pain and into use. Slowly and unsteadily, the boy rose onto his hands and knees, and then to a standing position. As if guided by the fragment of light, the boy turned to stare longingly out of the miniscule window.


    Slowly returning to him, through a foggy cloud of pain, the boy remembered the events that had lead him to this place. It had been a week before his sixteenth birthday, when the God would bestow upon him a class and he was given the ability to manipulate life essence. He only had to survive until then. He had been walking the streets of Lorlen, the small town which for this year he had had no choice but to call home, when he spotted an opportunity too good for his empty stomach to miss. Ahead of him in the crowded market, a merchant had just left his stall, probably chasing after a thief. A stall that was covered in sweet treats and delicious pastries, dusted with sugar, bursting with jam and honey, all freshly baked. Their taste bud tingling aromas were wafting through the market and overpowering the usual smell of refuse causing the boy¡¯s mouth to water and his eyes to widen.


    This opportunity was too good to be true.


    His stomach urging him on, the boy slowly walked to a destination slightly to the right of the stall. Averting his eyes from the stall using the power of sheer will, the boy casually darted out his left hand to grab onto a pastry before, at the same walking pace as his previous one, ducking into an alley and then darting into the shadows. All this was done quite inconspicuously and the boy was quite pleased with himself. Without wasting any time he bit into the pastry, heavenly tastes flooding his mouth in a cacophony of wondrous flavour, he couldn¡¯t believe his plan had worked.


    And then everything went to shit.


    Three armoured men rushed into the entrance of the alley. Each had a metal breastplate with the house symbol of Lorlen painted on it in black, a mage¡¯s hood. The artwork was fairly good, although the boy was too busy trying to stuff the pastry into his mouth to care. He couldn¡¯t escape the guards, he might as well be beaten on a full stomach instead of an empty one. He cursed himself, he should have ran once he reached the alley, saved the pastry for later. Oh how his stomach had damned him.


    The rest of what happened that day was a blur, he remembered being thrown to the cold hard stone of the alley¡¯s floor, his fall only broken by discarded refuse and probably some other worse things the boy refused to think about. His memory of the beating was hazy but he remembered the guards dragging him through the street and into the prison, he remembered the door being slammed shut in his cell and then he remembered falling into the pain-numbing darkness of sleep.


    And here he was: alone, bruised and beaten, with little chance of escape. Slowly, mindful of his bruised muscles and aching limbs, the boy began to rise, his legs wobbling beneath him. Once he reached a shaky standing position, the boy moved towards the door of the cell. He noticed that the metal lock was firmly fixed to the door, without an inner keyhole. Anyone with the skills of a contortionist would find it easy to bring themselves into a position to pick the lock. Anyone else was stuck in the cell. Sighing, the boy moved to the bed, it was stained and dirty and the boy wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it was infested with lice. It was better than the rough stone floor in the boy¡¯s opinion though. Easing himself down onto the bed, the boy relaxed, there was nothing he could do about his current situation except wait.


    While waiting, the boy had time to think, to ponder his life and the decisions that had lead him up to the awful situation he was now in. The boy¡¯s first memory was of him sleeping on the street while he was around four or five. After begging that day a kind philanthropist had given him a small blanket, although scratchy and patched in certain places the blanket was able to keep the icy winter air at arm¡¯s length.


    One night, a few weeks after the boy had received the unexpected gift, the boy noticed a hardness in the blanket, almost like a stone was embedded into it near one of the corners. Curious, the boy ripped through the material in the corner, careful not to damage the blanket too much, after all, it was the only thing ensuring his survival in the glacial winter climate. Looking inside the blanket, the boy found a solid stone, its composition likened to onyx. Wondering if the stone was valuable and perhaps worth a few hot meals, the boy held it in his hand and pinched it between two fingers. The tiny amount of pressure seemed too much for the stone and so it crumbled into a fine dust which seemed to disappear. Shocked and disappointed the boy couldn¡¯t help but wonder how the stone had survived this long inside his blanket when it seemed to be that fragile. The boy had just wanted to check its hardness. Shrugging, the boy decided to forget about the stone and decided to catch a few more hours of sleep before he would be forced to work.


    After that, the boy had travelled from small village to small village, avoiding the guards who worked to remove vagrants from their towns. The boy did a succession of odd jobs for members of every class from farmers to merchants to labourers, of course no noble would need him nor offer him a job. Through this, along with a few acts of well-placed theft, the boy managed to eke out a living, doing nothing but trying to survive until his sixteenth birthday. On that day the God could free him from his life or cement it. On their sixteenth birthday every child would be given their class by the God. No one was ever given more than one class, but classes differed immensely in strength. A young adult given a strong class such as a warlock would almost immediately be snapped up by a noble house and given a cushy life; as long as they promised service, that is.


    The boy hoped to be given a combat class such as a warrior, maybe even a ranger, a spearman, or perhaps knight if he was unbelievably lucky. He was most likely to become a labourer though. There were at least ten warrior classes and receiving one could allow a young adult a way to escape the cycle of poverty, they could become guards for illustrious noble houses or become soldiers in an army. They could see the world and live comfortably with the amount of money the nobles had to throw around. A magic class would unlock even more doors, but they were exceedingly rare.


    The boy had only days until his sixteenth birthday, but since he was locked in prison, it was unlikely he would ever have the opportunity to complete the ritual allowing him to be assigned a class. He had to enter a temple and kneel before the altar, a flash of light later and a symbol would appear on his right wrist showing the classification he had received. Once he could manipulate life essence he would be able to view his stats and upgrade his classification. Although a person might share a classification with another, one could upgrade their classification and become immensely powerful, increasing their statistics until they were practically invincible compared to their former selves. By earning world essence from killing monsters and other humans alike a person could upgrade their classification and unlock new skills and new magic. No two people would end up with the same two skills or statistics unless they planned it that way.


    The boy had heard there was a temple in Lorlen and so had decided to travel to the small town almost a year ago in preparation for his birthday. The smaller hamlets he had once called home were much too insignificant to warrant a single priest let alone a temple itself. For this reason the boy had to enter Lorlen. Feeling fairly confident upon entry, the boy quickly became more and more disheartened as he realised that it was unlikely he would ever find any sort of work in the town. The inhabitants seemed to hate him, calling him an undesirable and a vagrant. There seemed little work free, even less that would be offered to him. That was until, he had met an old bookseller. He was a kindly old man, definitely in his late sixties. He wore ancient wire spectacles and was slowly balding, his slate grey hair sticking from his head in unruly tufts. The man was once married but his wife had passed on years ago. Akkarin the bookseller was a speck of light in the darkness for the boy.


    Immediately after watching the boy beg for work in the street and being snubbed, Akkarin approached the boy and asked if he would be interested in a position at his book store. Approaching his seventieth year, Akkarin was in no state to be lifting and carrying heavy tomes and so he seemed to need the boy as much as the boy needed him.


    Almost three quarters of a year later, the boy had filled out his frame somewhat, after being fed decent meals every day by Akkarin. The bookshop turned a tidy profit and with Akkarin¡¯s help the boy had even learnt some basic reading skills. This, along with a copper coin a day kept the boy in decent health, especially considering that the boy was allowed to sleep in a bed, for the first time in his life.


    The boy had an incredible thirst for knowledge, constantly barraging Akkarin with questions about everything he could think of. Akkarin had done his best to sate the boy¡¯s knowledge but had found his own lacking in some respects, despite his class as a librarian, granting him much superior knowledge compared to other classes. Despite this the boy had still learnt more than he had dreamed possible.


    It had been a dream, a long luxurious dream the boy had no intention of waking up from. His life became an exercise in decadence compared to what it had been before. For a time the boy was truly happy, truly free. He had something he had never experienced before. A home.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    That was, until, the guard came. It seemed Akkarin had angered the local lord. Why? The boy had no idea. But when three members of the noble guard smashed through the front door of the bookshop, shattering the large glass window and sending shards of glass careening through the air, the boy felt a hatred bloom for the lord. Not stopping there, the guards drew their swords all at once and began to converge on Akkarin. Being of the librarian class, Akkarin could do little but watch in horror as he was impaled upon the first guard¡¯s sword. The boy had tried to intervene, he had ran straight at the guard, fury and rage burning through his eyes. But it had been no use, the guard simply held his hand out and the boy crashed into it. The guard didn¡¯t even flinch. He was an impenetrable barrier, insurmountable at this moment to the boy. The guards then turned as one and left, leaving a corpse bubbling with blood and a boy with a broken heart.


    A week later, the boy had ran out of money, the bookstore had been seized by the lord and the boy was kicked out, turned back into a street vagrant. The lowest scum of the city. The starvation mixed with grief had been main factors influencing the boy¡¯s descent to prison. Becoming more and more desperate, the boy found he had no choice but to resort to drastic measures he would have previously shied away from. In a way, the local lord, Lord Lorlen, could be blamed for all the boy¡¯s misfortunes. But the boy blamed laid no blame at his feet. Instead the boy blamed one person, one who was too weak to fight back and defend what he loved, one too slow and foolish to avoid being caught. The boy blamed himself. Lying on the lice infested mattress, the boy scolded himself. He should have been stronger, faster more powerful, he should have done more to help Akkarin; he should have done more to fight the guards.


    All of these thoughts however, were useless. The boy was stuck in this prison, he would be likely executed and he had no hope of redemption. The city wasn¡¯t forgiving. It was hard to be in such a land as this, where crops grew in small numbers and poor quality.


    Jolting the boy from his self-pitying thoughts a clang reverberated through the dungeon.


    Proceeding it were heavy footsteps, the sound of hard boots hitting even harder stone. Guards he mused. Although whether they were coming for him, or for some other unfortunate prisoner, the boy had no hope of guessing. He had yet to hear any screams or moans in the prison, so he assumed that either he was alone, or that the guards forced prisoners to remain silent.


    Slowly, the footsteps loudened, sending vibrations through the prison, the slap of boots on the rough ground rising to a forte, until a guard emerged from the shadow of the corridor and approached the boy¡¯s cells. Studying the guard, the boy took in his chiselled muscles and toned physique. Matched with this, the guard stood rigidly, wearing an immaculate suit of chainmail. The guard¡¯s face was grey and coated in stubble, lines crossing it like tilled fields. They were a testament to all that the guard had seen and experienced, evidence of the torment of humanity. Seeing the boy studying him, the guard¡¯s expression darkened.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± The guard questioned his voice rough and gravelly.


    ¡°Never had one,¡± the boy replied.


    Frowning in confusion the guard looked the boy over. Surely even a street urchin would have been given a name at some point in his life? It seemed odd the boy had no name. But, perhaps that was an advantage on the harsh world of the streets, the guard considered. No matter, the boy¡¯s execution was already scheduled. It was a well-known fact that Lord Lorlen gave the pleasure of executions to those who pleased him. It was a very useful position, not only did it remove criminals from the city and stop them causing any further damage, but it also allowed the executioner to gain some easy life essence, allowing them to level up their class slightly faster. Whenever a human killed another human, life essence, or as it was sometimes called, experience, was given to the killer based on the strength of the deceased. Little to no life essence was given to a person for killing another that had not already received a class. Therefore, killing children was in no way a lucrative business strategy.


    The guard asked another question: ¡°Have you received a class yet?¡±


    ¡°No¡± the boy replied simply. He did not know what the guard wanted, he was hoping that by keeping his replies monosyllabic the guard would be forced to share his intentions.


    ¡°Show me your wrist,¡± the guard commanded.


    The boy did so, exposing his skinny and pale wrist through the iron bars of the cell. His wrist was bare of any mark indicating the boy¡¯s class, proving the boy¡¯s statement was true to the guard. A shame, the guard thought, he could have been useful. Maybe the boy was close to receiving a class though, his execution could be useful for Lorlen, given as a favour to another.


    ¡°How old are you?¡± the guard asked the boy again, in his gruff tone.


    ¡°I should be sixteen soon, what¡¯s the date?¡± The boy replied slowly. Still wary of revealing too much information but deciding not to antagonise the guard further the boy kept his reply succinct.


    ¡°Two weeks and a day till God¡¯s day.¡± The guard replied in his signature rough tone.


    The boy¡¯s eyes rose in surprise, he had either been unconscious much longer than he thought or he had managed to completely lose track of the calendar. It was his sixteenth birthday today. The day he should have been receiving a class. Instead he was rotting in this dark hellish prison. The boy wondered why the guard wanted to know when his sixteenth birthday was, they would obviously have checked his class before throwing him into the prison, some classes, the boy knew, would be able to break out of this prison blindfolded and with both hands tied behind their back. Shrugging internally, after a long silence, the boy finally replied: ¡°I¡¯m sixteen today it seems.¡±


    This seemed to make the guard visibly brighten, the array of creases on the guard¡¯s weathered forehead seemed to lose their severity and the corners of the guard¡¯s lips rose slightly, although almost imperceptibly.


    Reaching for the keys on his belt, the guard stared at the boy, a harsh glint in his eye: ¡°come with me.¡± The boy did as he was told, rising, even as his aching limbs roared in protest. The guard opened the cell door and attached a pair of manacles to the boy¡¯s hands, preventing him from moving them almost entirely. The cold metal ached and chafed but at least he still had his hands the boy mused, many thieves in cities just like this one were unlikely to be as lucky.


    Descending a large staircase, the boy proceeded to follow the guard through a maze of dank passageways and tunnels. Each was shrouded in an army of deep shadows, only curtailed by the flaming torch the guard brandished. It seemed to the boy that the prison was almost completely underground, apart from his cell apparently. He wondered how long-term prisoners would be able to cope here. Surely they must lose their sanity awfully quickly. Especially with the prevalence of moisture and the feel of thousands of tons of earth pressing down from above. The prison was a claustrophobic nightmare which seemed almost fathomless, he doubted even if a prisoner escaped their cell that they would ever be able to find their way out of the prison.


    The boy wondered, not for the first time, how the guard was able to navigate this maze after passing through a long series of junctions. But before he could ponder this anymore he was jolted from his thoughts by the sight of light just ahead of him. Not natural light, but the light of torches and braziers. These glowing torches illuminated a staircase, carved out of the earth. Six guards stood, safeguarding the staircase, obviously preventing escapes. Each guard was holding a spear and standing impossibly still. Meeting the guards, the boy¡¯s guard gave a nod. At his gaze, the six guards saluted and then moved aside, allowing the guard and his prisoner through. Glancing furtively at the guard¡¯s wrists, the boy saw a spear on one of the guard¡¯s wrists and a short sword on the other. The guards boasted spearman and warrior classifications. These were quite common classifications, almost as common as merchant classifications. However, the guards looked poised and professional, definitely able to subdue the boy with ease. Curiously, the boy glanced at the guard ¡°escorting¡± him trying to surreptitiously see his wrist. The boy gasped at the sight, a tiny picture of a knight¡¯s helm. The boy had never seen a knight before, they were a rare and powerful class that only the most powerful of nobles could afford to recruit in large numbers. The boy¡¯s guard was obviously powerful. Deadly, in fact.


    After ascending the staircase, the boy and his guard finally reached the light, they emerged in what seemed to be the basement of the Lord¡¯s fortress. Although the boy was too busy thinking internally about his predicament and ways to escape it, he did manage to take in some of the surroundings. The fortress was a monolithic square building made entirely of grey stone. It was ugly and uninviting but it had tall walls that would be difficult to climb. In each corner of the fortress was a stubby guard tower fixed with crenulations. Exiting the fort through the raised portcullis the boy and his guard continued onwards, walking a well maintained road until they reached the town. From there, they walked through many different winding streets, navigating the maze of the city until they reached the temple.


    The temple was the oldest building in the city, or so it was claimed. It was an elaborate structure constructed almost entirely out of pure white marble with golden leaf decorations. The temple boasted two spires which flanked its entrance. The temple was open to everyone, as evidenced by the wide open gate lit with torches that stood as its entrance.


    Internally, the boy grinned, maybe he would have a chance to receive his class after all.


    Walking through the centre of the entrance along with his captor, the boy took a second to look over the interior of the temple. Emancipated hooded figures walked around him like wraiths, the cowls of their hoods hiding their faces. Where the temple wasn¡¯t lit up by torches a strange etheric light seemed to permeate the darkness, illuminating the faceted marble walls.


    Looking forward, the temple¡¯s altar finally came into sight. It was surprisingly humble compared to the rest of the temple. The boy assumed this was because it was a level 1 altar. This was by no means a prestigious temple and most of the priests there were low level. Shrugging, the boy continued, it wasn¡¯t like his captor would give him a choice about what temple he could level his class at, after all it was doubtful the level of the altar would even impact such a low level ritual as receiving his class. The altar was a simple wooden table, covered in a clean white cloth. A candelabra stood in its centre, three out of its six candles lit, marking the level of life essence around the altar. Stepping towards the altar, at the nod of a priest from his right, the boy touched his hand to the white cloth and then kneeled. Almost instantly, a bright purple light began to glow, surrounding the boy in its luminescence. The boy was completely submerged in purple, his vision became pure violet and his other senses were dulled to the point of uselessness. The light was a strange mixture of calming and numbing, but it also seemed to be infused with vitality. The boy¡¯s muscles relaxed, the strain and worry which had once permeated every pore of his person abaited.


    Without warning, the boy felt a searing pain in his right wrist. He opened his mouth to scream, but his exclamation was swallowed by the all-encompassing purple light. The burning pain continued, spreading along his arm like wildfire, the fury and rage of an exploding supernova screaming across his skin. When the pain became so unbearable that sweat began to roll down the boy¡¯s brow and darkness began to overcome the boy¡¯s vision, the pain stopped.


    Whole. That was how he felt. As the darkness receded, the boy¡¯s vision was overtaken by another screen. The infamous status screen.


    Name: Unknown


    Class: Blade God (level 1)


    Age: 16


    HP: 30/100


    Mana: <sub>¡Þ</sub>


    Strength: 9


    Agility: 10


    Dexterity: 11


    Charisma: 7


    Resilience: 9


    Intelligence: 10


    Luck: 0


    Experience: 0/100


    (Two skills waiting to be assigned)


    (Name ready to be assigned)


    (One incoming mail)

 Chapter 2 - The Beginning of The End

    The boy silently gaped. This was incredible, he couldn¡¯t believe what he was seeing. Infinite mana, that was insane, no one ever had infinite mana. The usual person would have one hundred base mana with a regeneration of one mana a second when they first received a class. To have infinite mana was unheard of. Even the most powerful mages could never hope to achieve anything close. Even more than this, the boy had received a class that no one had ever seen before. Blade God? What even was that? The boy was somewhat disappointed that he had not received the warrior classification, but perhaps, blade god was some other type of combat classification. As the boy focussed in on his class, a small tooltip appeared below it. The tooltip read: ¡°Capable of becoming a master of every weapon, a BladeGod uses cold steel, agility and strength to cleave through opposition.¡±


    The boy grinned, a combat classification it definitely was. He was sure to find work now, even if he had to join an army. Moving onwards and reading down the list, the boy took in his stats. The average person would start with about ten of every statistic at base level before upgrading them. He was happy with what he saw. He was about average when it came to every statistic, better in some cases. He could have been handicapped much more from the start.


    The boy¡¯s happiness plummeted however, when he saw his luck value. A zero? Seriously! He couldn¡¯t believe what he was seeing. He didn¡¯t even have a single piece of luck. This perhaps explained the boy¡¯s orphaned status, inability to find work and loss of his home. It might also explain how the boy was caught in his act of theft. A zero in any statistic just didn¡¯t occur. But here the boy was, with no luck and a powerful knight ready to imprison him. It seemed, the whole universe was against him.


    The boy cursed his fortunes and cursed the universe, how could he ever hope to level his character and escape capture or even survive, when it seemed the whole universe was stacked against him.


    Not giving into despair, the boy rallied himself. He had survived on the streets sixteen years, he had lived with zero luck for his whole life. He could survive. He would survive.


    Moving down the list, the boy stared at the prompts inviting him to respectively choose his skills and to choose a name. Deciding he couldn¡¯t think of a name at this moment and that there were definitely better times to be opening mail, the boy ignored that prompt and instead focussed his will on the prompt inviting him to choose skills. Upon doing this, a list of different skills caught the boy¡¯s eyes:


    Bladelock: Prevents a single strike from doing any damage with a powerful block. This skill has a three minute cooldown and costs 30 mana.


    Blademaster: (passive) instantly gain +10 points in usage of all bladed weapons


    Ethereal armoury: Gain the ability to summon twin swords from the ether. These swords are of average quality and are magic resistant.


    Disarm: all bladed weapons within a ten foot radius explode violently, costs 150 mana per use and has a two day cooldown.


    Bladesinger: (passive) +10 dexterity +10 agility +2 swordskill


    StrongCut: when activated, bladed weapons will deal double damage. This skill has a two minute cooldown and costs 5 mana per second.


    (You have two skill points available and may choose two of these skills.)


    After carefully reading the selection, the boy was practically buzzing with elation. These skills were no basic abilities that most people received after their class. These were incredibly powerful skills, ones that the boy would desperately need to escape his current predicament.


    Examining the list slowly once more, the boy quickly ruled out two skills. Bladelock, although useful, would be no help if the boy had no swords and couldn¡¯t fight with them in any case. Often offence was much more important than defence in the lower levels. In the same way StrongCut: was a waste of time when the boy was too slow to use a sword and didn¡¯t have one anyway. Blademaster would be interesting and very useful as a passive, perhaps allowing the boy to defend himself much better. However, the boy decided that Bladesinger, giving the boy incredibly increased agility and dexterity would be much more powerful than blademaster. The boy also knew that without swords he was almost certainly defenceless. As interesting as disarm sounded in his situation, allowing the boy to easily defeat larger numbers of people, the boy knew that he needed weapons. Therefore, he exerted his will on Bladesinger and Ethereal armoury, deciding they would be the most important skills.


    A message appeared in the boy¡¯s vision:


    ¡°You have learnt ethereal armoury and bladesinger. No free skill points are left to assign.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The boy hoped he would have the opportunity to learn disarm in the future. It could be an incredibly useful skill. One he was sorry he couldn¡¯t learn presently. After doing this, the boy had one more cursory look at his status screen, taking in his increased agility and dexterity statistics, before closing it. The boy did not know how he closed the screen, he only had an awareness that he could open and close it at will.


    Opening his eyes, the boy once again took in his surroundings. His vision still had a purple tinge, but it was not nearly enough to inhibit his eyesight. Eight priests flanked the altar that had once only housed one priest. Staring at the priests, the boy watched each of them recoil in shock. It was almost comical. Confused, the boy looked down at himself to see that his appearance was unchanged. He wondered what had caused the shock.


    That was until, the boy gazed at his right arm. The boy wore a sleeveless tunic which although was ragged and dishevelled after weeks of the streets and the prison, the boy had still valued as one of his best and only pieces of clothing. His right arm, bare to the world, now had a massive snaking mark around it. It looked like a tattoo in that it was black and decorative. It looked like a wreath of snakelike flames had encircled the boy¡¯s arm. Peering closer, the boy realised that the tattoo was an elaborate mosaic depicting an explosive wreath of fire. However, the tattoo itself was made up on hundreds of thousands of tiny swords, each elaborately sketched and positioned to create the illusion of fire.


    It was a masterful piece of artwork, beautiful in its simplistic complexity. But the boy stared down at it in confusion. It wasn¡¯t the small mark that depicted a class that every other person possessed. He was forever marked as different. The realisation that he could never be normal suddenly struck him. His zero luck had struck again.


    The guard beside the boy remained stoic, his eyes betrayed no emotion, his face no hint of surprise or astonishment. Signalling the boy to get up, the guard gave the priests a hard look, before instructing the boy to follow him once again.


    The guard walked through the street briskly, half dragging the boy. Even with his increased agility the boy found it hard to match the guard¡¯s long strides. A strange amethyst haze had overtaken the boy¡¯s vision, covering the streets of the city in a light purple shade. The boy, after glancing at the few people he and the guard passed by, noticed that the purple seemed to be stronger and darker around humans. He wondered if all living beings would be as accentuated by the purple as humans, it would make hunting much easier. The boy also noticed, his guard had a much darker shade of purple secreted from his skin compared to the rest of the people he passed. Musing to himself, the boy decided that it might be to do with both the knight¡¯s strength, class and level. The purple was faintly starting to annoy the boy at this point, his normal vision was easier to comprehend, at the thought, the purple tinge vanished and vision snapped back to normal.


    Slowing and eventually stopping to a halt, the guard in front of the boy signalled that they had reached their destination. Paling visibly, the boy gulped. They were at the town square. A hundred or so people had gathered there. Each staring upwards at a wooden stage. The stage was flanked by ten guardsmen, discouraging any hint of rebellion. The guardsmen all looked young, most bearing the warrior or spearman class. The stage had one man on it and was bare except for one object. An executioner¡¯s block. It was made of jet black stone, the sides rough and jagged; the top as smooth as polished marble. It was covered in reddish brown stains.


    The crowd was baying for blood. As they saw the boy arrive in shackles, they shouted ever louder. Demanding his death. A few rotten pieces of food were thrown towards the boy. However, an angry glare from his guard convinced the crowd to quieten. No one wanted to risk accidentally hitting the knight it seemed.


    The boy felt dejection envelop him in waves. It was an almost entirely hopeless situation, one that he knew he had little chance of escaping from. Even with increased agility and weapons he could never hope to defeat a knight that had obviously spent a massive amount of time levelling.


    Wondering bitterly who was to be his executioner, the boy looked towards the stage. A boy about his age stood to the right of the executioner¡¯s block. He was pale and fair haired. His eyes were a deep sapphire shade, a few purple flecks within just visible. In his right hand, the boy¡¯s apparent executioner held an ornate sword. Its blade was sharp shining steel, bending and refracting sunlight to create a deadly glow. The handle of the blade was a metal faintly resembling gold with red gems embedded into it to create a spiralling pattern of wealth and strength. Staring at his executioner, the boy noticed the mark on his right wrist, an omega symbol, the mark of a mage. The boy¡¯s eyes rose in surprise, mages were powerful, deadly in many respects. It was an incredibly rare class, not one the boy wanted to trifle with, even now he had received a new class, a completely unique one. Magic classes were different to other classes in one crucial aspect. Each possessed a passive skill which drastically decreased the mana cost for manipulating life essence to create feats of magic. Every class had the ability to use magic to create shields and weapons as well as to enchant objects, but the cost of mana was so high that even a person with a thousand mana would be unlikely to create little more than a strong shield without the special passive. Their mana would simply be drained much too quickly. Maybe the boy could learn to channel magic he thought, he could probably become more powerful than most mages, especially with his apparently infinite mana. There were definitely more pressing concerns though, the boy thought as he was thrust back into reality by a pressure on his shoulder.


    The boy was pushed up to the stage by his guard, stumbling every few steps. The guard then gestured for the boy to kneel at the executioners block. When the boy refused to comply, the guard kicked the boy, forcing him to fall to both knees. This done, the guard held the boy in position, pushing the boy¡¯s head down onto the block.

 Chapter 3 - First Blood and an Unlikely Ally

    Dennis hated Lord Lorlen with a passion.


    Immediately upon receiving his class, Dennis knew he was blessed by the God. He had received his mages classification and instantly rose from the son of two labourers who was destined to a life of poverty up to the noble class. Lorlen had insisted upon adopting Dennis himself, when Dennis¡¯ father had complained to Lorlen, Lorlen merely snarled and ordered his father publically whipped. The screams and the agonized expression upon his father¡¯s face had haunted Dennis¡¯ nightmares for weeks. The half formed ghost of his father¡¯s agony invading Dennis¡¯s few moments of sleep. Lorlen was a conceited bastard. He might be the local lord, and he might be a Machiavellian manipulator but Dennis was determined to repay the slight against his father. He swore that one day he would send a magebolt flying through Lorlen¡¯s throat and watch his lifeblood bleed into the dirt.


    Lorlen, of course, had made some efforts to shift Dennis¡¯ loyalties. All manner of luxuries had be thrust upon Dennis. He had been gifted the finest robes he had ever seen, embroidered with gold and striking red rubies. He had been given a mage¡¯s sword, capable of channelling mana and also giving him a 5% mana recharge bonus. Dennis had made it clear to Lorlen that while the gifts were appreciated, Dennis would rather die than help Lorlen consolidate his power. He would never work for Lorlen as a mage.


    In a fit of rage and fury, Lorlen had ordered his two knights to subdue Dennis whereupon Lorlen forced Dennis to wear a necklace enchanted to allow the lord to control Dennis. Dennis could only watch in horror as he was pinned down. His struggling was futile against the knight¡¯s heavily levelled strengths. The collar was fitted around Dennis, he was powerless to stop it. The collar itself subjugated Dennis¡¯ will. He could no longer willingly disobey Lorlen¡¯s commands. Spitting with fury, even thinking about what Lorlen had done, Dennis was in a permanent state of rage. He couldn¡¯t even defy his captor. He was little more than a slave.


    In his permanent quest to control Dennis, Lorlen was still offering gifts to Dennis. Each gift was little more than a penny, thrown away by a rich man. But Dennis took them gladly, happy that he was able to waste at least a little of Lorlen¡¯s apparently valuable time. He was especially thankful that Lorlen had paid for him to be tutored in the arts of magic. An untrained mage quickly became a dead mage in this cutthroat environment.


    Today¡¯s gift, however, was completely different. Lorlen had commanded Dennis to carry out an execution. Lorlen¡¯s orders had simply been: ¡°go to the town square, I have a prisoner waiting there to be executed by you, do not leave the city. Do what the knight tells you.¡± He expected Dennis to be grateful at the life essence he would gain from making the kill; he expected Dennis would be happy at the chance to level up. But something inside Dennis screamed at him, screamed that he shouldn¡¯t do it. Intrinsically, Dennis was no killer. He wasn¡¯t a murderer and he refused to allow Lorlen to forge him into one. Self-defence was one thing, but he would never resort to cold blooded murder. Dennis did not know what he would do, but one thing was for sure, it wouldn¡¯t be what Lorlen wanted.


    A few hours later, Dennis stood, looking down at the pale faced boy that had his head forced onto the executioner¡¯s block. His skin was pale and frigid, as if he had seen little sunlight. It looked papery and thin. His body was painfully skinny, evidence of malnourishment and starvation. Hair the colour of bleached chestnuts highlighted the boy¡¯s head, unruly and obviously uncared for. Bruises marred the boy¡¯s body emphasising his ¡°humane¡± treatment by Lorlen¡¯s ¡°civilised¡± guards. The only thing that seemed to mark the boy out, suggesting he wasn¡¯t the usual street urchin was his right arm. It was covered in a beautifully elaborate and complex tattoo depicting black wildfire. Dennis shrugged, the boy probably knew a street tattooist, although Dennis had never seen a tattoo quite as magnificent as the one the boy sported.


    Jolted from his thoughts by a tap on the shoulder, Dennis looked up to see one of Lorlen¡¯s knights. ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± the guard commanded, although in a somewhat respectful tone. Lorlen didn¡¯t want to see Dennis completely ostracised by his soldiers.


    Reaching for his sword, Dennis lifted it up in the air, while simultaneously lowering himself down a small amount, so that his mouth was by the boy¡¯s ear. ¡°Do what I say if you don¡¯t want to die,¡± whispered Dennis, before rising again.


    Channelling as much mana as he could, Dennis forced it into his sword. The sword glowed with a faintly purple light, its edge becoming sharper, its blade becoming lighter. Beads of sweat growing on Dennis¡¯ brow, he forced mana into the sword, until it was close to breaking point. Without pause, Dennis lifted the sword slightly higher, before swinging it down viciously.


    The boy clenched his fists tightly, certain that this would be the end. He prepared to summon two etheric swords, to meet the boy¡¯s blade, perhaps to have a last stand before being cut down. Before he could summon the blades, however, the boy felt a gust of wind travel across his neck.


    Dennis averted his sword stroke, just above the boy¡¯s neck. He could not go through with this execution. Swinging his sword forward, carried by its momentum, Dennis slashed at Lorlen¡¯s knight to his right. The knight had far too much resilience and strength to be take down by such a blow, but Lorlen knew that he could perhaps stun the knight with a magebolt from his sword. As the stroke connected with the knight, cutting through his breastplate and making a small slash across the knight¡¯s chest, Dennis released his magebolt. A flare of blue light erupted from the sword, shattering it to pieces. One such piece shot through the air and cut Dennis¡¯ cheek, leaving behind a shallow cut.


    The knight however, was not so lucky. The magebolt¡¯s powerful knockback effect had shot the knight at least two metres backwards into the hard stone wall of the town hall. It seemed the knight¡¯s head had bared the brunt of the impact. Dennis knew he was lucky to have knocked the knight unconscious so easily, he knew he would have had no chance without the element of surprise.


    He had lost the element of surprise now though, the ten guards which had once flanked the stage had now turned, preparing to storm the stage and engage Dennis.


    ¡°Come with me!¡± Dennis shouted to the boy, ¡°Help me deal with the guards.¡± The boy on the executioner¡¯s block, spun and rose, a sword appearing in each hand.  His manacles seemed to shatter, as the summoned swords had been materialized inside of the manacles.


    Running to the right of the stage, Dennis fired another magebolt at the swarm of guards, much smaller than the previous one. It was a glancing blow, barely enough to cause the guard it hit to stop running. Dennis and the boy moved as far to the right of the stage as possible, intent on facing the least number of guards possible so that they could break through the line and escape the stage. The boy stepped forward, to meet the first guard who had already made a thrusting attack. Stepping right to avoid the thrust, the boy parried the blow with his left sword, holding the guard¡¯s blade in place, while slashing straight for the guard¡¯s throat with his right sword.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    The sword connected, slashing the guard¡¯s throat in a shower of blood. The guard managed one horrified look, before collapsing to the ground in agony, foam spewing from his mouth.


    Wasting no time and engaging the second guard which had just rushed towards the boy, the boy struck high with one sword and low with another. The guard had only one sword, he could only parry one blow. Both strike if landed would be likely fatal for the guard. The indecision of which sword to parry caused the guard¡¯s death in the end. He parried neither and so found himself impaled through the gut while his throat was ripped to pieces by the boy¡¯s darting blade. A mixture of shock and sudden realisation, the guard¡¯s mouth parted in an O even as he crashed to the ground, dead before he hit the floor.


    Watching in horror, the boy realised he had just killed two men, he had reacted on pure instinct and now was reeling from his actions. He felt violated and ill, like he was about to vomit. He couldn¡¯t believe his ruthless actions¡­


    But before he had the chance to actually throw up, a third guard rushed towards the boy striking for his left side. Without flinching, the boy brought his right arm up, as if he were looking at his watch while his sword was pointing downwards, his left sword was raised above his head like a scorpion. The guard¡¯s thrust was met by the boy¡¯s left sword, prevented from striking the boy. Stepping inwards, the boy blocked the guard¡¯s sword with his body, preventing the guard from striking since the boy was so close. Slashing with his raised left sword, the boy spun his sword downwards, stabbing the guard through the chest, his sword passing through the guard¡¯s leather armour and met some resistance, but not nearly enough.


    The whole encounter took but a few seconds. In that time, the boy cut down three guards with deadly ease, Dennis hadn¡¯t even reached the fight before it was over. Shuddering, Dennis grasped a new awareness of the boy. Perhaps it would have been better if he had executed the boy. He was a one man army. A deadly whirlwind of icy steel. The boy was relentless, fearless and expressionless as he killed. He seemed to have a malicious disregard for human life. Dennis wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew with this scheme. The boy could probably kill him without a second thought. He was a level two mage and had barely enough power to make a basic shield. How could he defend himself against such a cold blooded killer?


    Calling for the boy to follow him, Dennis decided to move forward with his plan, he was too far gone to have a chance of being forgiven if he gave it up. Lorlen would likely kill him despite his worth.


    Dennis and the boy ran through the gap in the wall of guards that the boy had cleaved and sprinted to one of the many exits in the town square, the crowd backing away from them in fear. They then dashed through the streets of the city, sprinting around corners and pushing the city¡¯s inhabitants out the way. They were greeted with many angry shouts and a few rude gestures but their mad dash stopped any angry labourers from chasing them. They were too fast, the labourers simply couldn¡¯t catch up.


    The boy noticed that he was much faster than Dennis, he was slowing his pace to stop Dennis from lagging too far behind. He knew that the mage would be incredibly useful in his escape attempt. Even more so if he would consent to being the boy¡¯s travelling companion. He knew he would be much more likely to survive if he wasn¡¯t alone. Lone travellers would be at the mercy of all manner of threats including bandits and monsters. Wolf packs and stray demons would be much more likely to attack a solitary traveller than two or even a group of travellers.


    Before he could continue down this line of thought, the boy realised that him and his executioner turned rescuer had reached the gates. The exit to the town. Four armed guards, two with bows were stationed at this gate. Without pausing Dennis and the boy continued to run towards the gate. The guards, noticing the commotion, raised their weapons and stood in their combat positions ready for an engagement. The first archer, most likely a ranger, after spotting the two boys nocked his bow, ready to fire. ¡°STOP, in the name of the law,¡± he shouted furiously, ¡°I will not hesitate to kill you.¡± The second ranger raised his bow, pulling back his bowstring.


    The two boys were in no position to stop now. They had no hope of surviving a surrender.


    Seeing the hardened determination in the boy¡¯s eyes, the first ranger fired his bow, aiming straight for the boy¡¯s chest. Feeling an odd itching sensation just over his heart, the boy instinctively moved his right sword to cover it. A millisecond later, an arrow smashed into his sword and rebounded away. The force of the arrow was staggering, it was obviously a ranger ability. The boy was surprised his sword hadn¡¯t broke, but then it was resistant to magic. Dennis, to the boy¡¯s right, was not as lucky, the arrow aimed at him, was deflected by absolutely nothing. It shot forward at deadly speed and slammed straight into Dennis¡¯ heart. A fatal wound. Dennis¡¯ body seemed to stop mid-air, before crashing to the ground. ¡°My fucking luck¡± the boy growled under his breath furiously. He had to be confronted by two guards, the universe was conspiring to kill him and any companions he brought along for the journey.


    He felt an odd sort of sadness at Dennis¡¯ death. He had known the boy for a few minutes at best and didn¡¯t even know his name. But this boy had obviously risked everything to save him. The boy respected Dennis and admired his mage class, he was sorry that Dennis hadn¡¯t survived. He would mourn Dennis.


    The boy couldn¡¯t stop now though. Charging at the archers, so fast they had no chance to draw another arrow, the boy the cut first down with a deft swipe. Slicing the archer¡¯s jugular the boy danced towards the second archer and quickly repeated the manoeuvre on him. Two down, four more to go. The boy would have liked to have decapitated the first archer, it would have been easier from a tactical standpoint, but he had such a low strength value that it would have been almost impossible.


    The two guards with swords, that were supposed to be protecting the archers, looked on with shock. The boy had moved with blinding speed, massacring the archers before they had the chance to draw their knives. As if suddenly awakening, the guards began to fight for their life, taking up swords against the boy. Knowing he had little time, the boy charged the first warrior in what was known as an arrow attack. The boy purposefully lost his balance in a controlled fall designed to move him towards and then past the guard as quickly as possible while also confusing the enemy as to his motives. With a quick parry from his left sword, the guard¡¯s defences were left open and the boy quickly sliced through another guard¡¯s throat. Crimson blood and gore sprayed from the guard¡¯s throat, covering the boy completely. The second guard, after seeing the first guard¡¯s grisly fate quickly backed away, unprepared to sacrifice his life meaninglessly.


    Although the boy seethed with anger that burned brighter than ten thousand dying suns and wanted to avenge his mage companion, the boy knew he had minutes, if that, to escape the town before knights and more competent warriors found him. He had to run.


    Without looking back, the boy left the final guard and sprinted through the city gates, running as if his life depended on it. Which it did. The boy followed the road far out of the town, until he reached the forest, before plunging straight into the green canopy, intent on making himself as difficult to follow as possible.


    As the adrenaline faded, the boy noticed a slight pain coming from the side of his ribs. His entire tunic was soaked in blood. Red rivulets mixed with dried rusty brown painted a picture of slaughter all over his body. Lifting up his tunic, the boy felt excruciating pain as his body complained wrathfully. Below his tunic, was a cut, quite a large one. Definitely not fatal, but one that if not treated could and probably would kill him. His muscles spasming with exhaustion, the boy knew he could run no further. Tying his tunic around the cut, in a makeshift tourniquet, the boy collapsed and fell into the embrace of unconsciousness.

 Chapter 4 - A Cunning Survival

    Knight Aristotle couldn¡¯t believe it. Lorlen was going to skin him alive for this catastrophic fuckup. He was in shock. After slamming into the dispassionate stone wall, Aristotle was left with a splitting headache, that overcharged magebolt had hurt. The excruciating pain of his protesting head seemed to travel through his body and merge with the fury bursting through his blood like molten iron. Aristotle would have killed Dennis slowly, made him suffer in ways that could only be imagined, although quite reluctantly by most people. But Dennis was dead anyway. Lorlen was going to blame him for that too. The idiotic archers that had decided to shoot a mage would have been stripped of their military rank, if they too were not dead. How could a single boy, who had only just received his class, a boy without one level to his name, have been capable of decimating so many guards? Although the knight had been unconscious during the fight, he had been awake to see the aftermath. Three clean kills. Uncaring slaughter, simplistic in its brutality. The boy must have been truly skilled to have won such an engagement, especially considering his level. Of course the guards, were low level, but who expected a level 1 boy to be capable of winning a ten on one fight. Aristotle was in a depressing amount of trouble.


    After waking up from his unconsentual nap, Aristotle had been directed by one of the main guards to the gate where the boys had ran to. Aristotle had arrived at the scene to find four dead bodies. The inept guards he cared little about, they were fools for being defeated by a mere unlevelled boy, no matter what the hell his class had been. After seeing the tattoo the boy had received at the ceremony, Aristotle was inclined to believe the boy had been cursed and branded by the God. But now he was not so sure. But there was nothing Aristotle could do about that. The glowing purple eyes the boy had sported for a few minutes after receiving his class were creepy though. They had seemed to writhe with exploding power, desperate to break free.


    When Aristotle had seen the Mage¡¯s body he had practically groaned in dismay, Lorlen had gone to extreme efforts to control the boy, mages were powerful and Lorlen needed magical support for his small army. Aristotle knew the gem which controlled Dennis was incredibly powerful. Lorlen had included Aristotle in the enchantment, allowing him to take control of the mage, something incredibly useful in battle. Especially considering Lorlen would never be caught in the front lines ordering around the mage. Lorlen had mastered the armchair patriot discipline. Aristotle had been told the enchanted gem which controlled the boy was worth three knight¡¯s weight in gold and so he took the necklace from the boy¡¯s corpse. He was sure Lorlen would find a new person to control with the gem and he didn¡¯t want to be responsible for its loss lest he invoke even more punishment. Aristotle moved away from the chaos left behind by the fight, allowing the lesser guards to retrieve the bodies of the dead. Pale faced and scared, the remaining seven guards from the stage stood in anticipation, waiting to see the reaction from Aristotle. Beckoning them to follow him, Aristotle led the guards to Lorlen¡¯s mansion, where they would receive their punishment.


    Dennis couldn¡¯t believe his ruse had worked. It had spent weeks of dreary practice to master magical illusions, but once he had, it wasn¡¯t difficult to make it appear as though he had been shot and killed by the arrow. The hard part was maintaining the illusion, such a powerful and convincing construct cost him about five mana a second. The effort of channelling that much mana must have made Dennis look like a corpse for real. His face was pale and sweat had leeched off his body. He had had to drop the illusion at one point, when the guards stopped paying attention to him. When Aristotle arrived, Dennis had made sure to keep the illusion up, he knew the knight had the observational skills of an eagle and would notice if the illusion fluttered at all. Illusion was a difficult skill to master as a mage, one that Dennis had only been able to do since he had unlocked the illusion skill straight away after receiving his class. It seemed like fun at the time, but now it could save his life. Every mage started off with the ability to make manabolts and mana shields but other abilities came at the cost of skill points. The main issue with illusion was that anyone with a higher intelligence than Dennis himself wouldn¡¯t see the illusion at all. This meant Dennis risked discovery if any of the guards had levelled their intelligence once. A priest would instantly see through the ruse. Dennis had to take the risk though.


    Engrossed in his thoughts, Dennis almost allowed his illusion to slip, then caught himself at the last second, using a burst of mana to reinforce it. As if he had seen Dennis¡¯ sudden burst of power, Aristotle moved towards Dennis. Staring him dead in the eye, Aristotle reached downwards. Dennis had kept his eyes closed, aware he would find it difficult to mirror the glassy eyed look of the dead with the illusion since he had never seen it first-hand. Dennis felt a sudden pressure on his neck and then felt a weight lift from him.


    His plan had actually worked! The compulsion stone was gone. He was free!


    Lying as still as possible, Dennis waited until he heard no voices and felt no one near him. Carefully, Dennis opened his eyes, hoping that he was alone. He was. No guards had been sent to replace the ones the boy had killed. The gate was open, anyone could just walk into town. Or walk out. Slowly rising to his feet, Dennis glanced furtively around him, before walking casually to the gate. He continued his ambling gate for a few minutes, until he was well out of sight of the town. Then he began to jog, moving as far from the town as he could without tiring too quickly, even though it was tempted to break out into a sprint.


    After having watched the boy slash through the guards effortlessly like a sword cutting through air, Dennis decided that he didn¡¯t want to travel alone anymore, although he was almost a master at illusions after countless nights studying, his offensive capabilities were poor and his defensive ones almost non-existent. The boy was a deadly warrior and Dennis wanted his protection. That was why, before Dennis had faked his death, he had fired a small amount of mana at the boy. This mana burst attached itself to the boy, refusing to be dispersed. Dennis could feel this mana¡¯s presence, waiting to be recalled. By following this presence, Dennis could follow the boy and eventually meet up with him although it did decrease Dennis¡¯ overall mana reserves by ten. He only had one hundred mana because of it. With any luck, the temporary loss would be well worth it. Hopefully the boy would be in need of a companion just as much as Dennis was.


    *  *  *


    Something had jolted the boy awake. For a millisecond, the boy felt a faint presence. As suddenly as the feeling came, it receded into nothing. Battered and bruised, the boy took in his surroundings, he was lying flat under a tree, the first hints of daylight, breaking through the verdant green forest canopy. Groaning the boy recalled the events of the previous day. He still felt the sense of shock around his cold-hearted killing of the guards. Even though, the boy knew they would be just as happy killing him - anything for a bit of life essence. Remembering the shock and terror on the guard¡¯s faces, the boy wondered if it had truly been worth it. Six lives snuffed out, six bereaved families, six poor souls suffocating in their own blood, dying in the dirt. Shaking his head, the boy felt a single hot tear streak down his face. Surely it would have been better for him to allow the guards to slay him. At least then he wouldn¡¯t have had to slaughter the inexperienced youths.


    Wiping away the tear, the boy resolved himself. He had done what any of the guards in his place would have tried to do. He had survived. They couldn¡¯t begrudge him that. The boy better make sure that the guards hadn¡¯t died for nothing. He would honour their names by staying alive. Although perverse, this logic made a strong kind of sense to the boy, he wondered whether the dead guards would have agreed with it. He wondered if they would have forgiven their slaughter. Not likely, thought the boy glumly.


    Deciding to start increasing his survivability as soon as possible, the boy willed his status screen to open. Instantly, a prompt appeared:


    You have received 270exp:


    160exp from Killing warrior x4


    50exp from Killing ranger x1


    60exp from Killing archer x1


    The boy¡¯s eyes widened in surprise - that was surely a large amount of experience, maybe he could level up with it?


    After accepting this prompt, another prompt appeared:This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    You have levelled up


    Blade God: Level 2 (170/200 exp)


    (Four attribute points available)


    A new screen appeared, this prompted the boy to increase his statistics. The boy was shocked, when a person levelled up, two points were automatically added to their statistics. These points were always in the same attributes. This ensured that warriors would only have increases in strength and resilience while merchants would only increase their charisma and dexterity. This provided definite class boundaries which made each class suited to their tasks. It seemed the boy was able to level up any statistic he wanted. Furthermore, the boy received four points, every other person received two per level up, the fact that the boy received four and that he could decide where the points were added to, was incredible. It made the boy exceedingly powerful.


    Deciding that the most intelligent decision would be for the boy to apply every point he had into luck, he exerted his will on luck, trying to assign his points. Nothing happened. An error prompt appeared. ¡°You may not level up this statistic.¡± It read. The boy exhaled furiously. His goddamned luck. Not only was the whole universe against him, but he couldn¡¯t even stop it. Swearing, after a little contemplation the boy decided to add his points to strength and resilience instead. Two points for each would go a long way to improving the boy¡¯s combat skills. Many higher level players would have skin so tough the boy would be almost unable to penetrate it without at least 15 strength. The boy also knew that without at least a little more resilience, a warrior with a little more strength than him could easily cleave him in half.


    Satisfied with his choices, the boy assigned the attribute points, then looked once more at his statistics. They read:


    Name: Unknown


    Class: Blade God (level 2) (170/200)


    Age: 16


    HP: 45/110


    Mana: <sub>¡Þ</sub>


    Strength: 11


    Agility: 20


    Dexterity: 21


    Charisma: 7


    Resilience: 11


    Intelligence: 10


    Luck: 0


    (One incoming mail)


    It was a good a time as any to open his mail the boy thought. He wondered who could have sent him a message. Only a select few classes could send messages through life essence mail. This form of communication was entirely private and instant. Therefore it was coveted by many nobles. Few priests and some clerics learnt the skill but the boy knew no priests or clerics and so had no inkling of where the mail could have come from. About to satisfy his curiosity and open the message, the boy heard a sudden snap. The crack of a tree branch breaking. Someone was watching him.


    Colliding back into the real world, the boy quickly closed his status screen and summoned his twin swords. They felt unbelievably light in his hands and they seemed to exude a pale blue glow. Definitely not weapons of stealth. But the boy was sure brute force would make up for it.


    ¡°Who¡¯s there,¡± the boy called, expecting to be attacked at any second.


    Stepping out from the underbrush, his hands up in the air, Dennis called: ¡°It¡¯s me Dennis, I¡¯m the mage. I wondered if we could travel together.¡±


    The boy felt as if he were looking at a ghost, his mouth opened and his eyes stared at Dennis uncomprehendingly. ¡°But, you¡¯re, you¡¯re dead¡­ How are you here?¡± questioned the boy, somewhat in shock.


    ¡°It was an illusion,¡± called Dennis ¡°made it easier to escape.¡±


    Huh, thought the boy, he didn¡¯t even know illusions were possible. Dennis was a mage though, he would be capable of many things the boy didn¡¯t even know were possible. Unless this was a trick, maybe Lorlen sent someone who looked like his saviour to capture him. Dennis would keep his guard up, ready to engage in combat. But, after a little thinking, he felt sure that if the lord wanted to capture him, he would be more likely to send a few knights. He had no need of illusions.


    After a little thought, the boy replied to Dennis: ¡°I¡¯ll travel with you, but I don¡¯t have a clue where the hell we¡¯re going.¡±


    ¡°Neither do I¡± laughed Dennis, ¡°but it¡¯s got to be safer with two of us.¡±


    The boy didn¡¯t quite trust Dennis, but he definitely had a good point. He needed a travelling companion and Dennis was a powerful one, he would gladly travel with him. The boy was quite curious about Dennis too. Dennis was obviously a powerful mage and had risked everything to save the boy. Why?


    Dennis moved slowly towards the boy, they clasped hands and a flash of purple life essence pulsed around them. As quickly as the life essence appeared, it disappeared. A prompt appeared in both of the boy¡¯s vision.


    Party created:


    Exp Share enabled (active within twenty metres)


    (Do you want to create a party name?)


    The boy closed the prompt, he obviously wasn¡¯t good at creating names. He didn¡¯t even have one himself, how was he ever going to create a party name? The boy decided to keep the party nameless, just like himself.


    ¡°Hmmm,¡± Dennis inquired, ¡°I never did ask, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    Obviously Dennis hadn¡¯t received the same prompt or he would now be deciding to create a party name. ¡°I don¡¯t have one. Never had.¡± replied the boy.


    That was odd thought Dennis, even the lowest of the low were given a name at birth. To not have one suggested that the boy had never even met his parents. To not be given one by someone else seemed strange, it suggested the boy had little in the way of social interaction throughout his life.


    ¡°Well that won¡¯t do. How am I supposed to call you? What if we get attacked? Maybe I should choose a name for you.¡± Dennis replied, half in jest.


    The boy considered for a second, not realising Dennis was joking. He had never been good at thinking of names and he couldn¡¯t think of a good name for himself. Maybe it would be better if Dennis named him. ¡°Sure,¡± the boy shrugged, ¡°do your worst.¡±


    Dennis thought for a moment, the boy was a deadly fighter, one who had escaped an impossible situation. A swordsman stronger than almost every other. He needed a name that fit him, something powerful and strong. Something to showcase his fighting prowess and strike fear into his enemies¡¯ heart. ¡°Beats me,¡± replied Dennis ¡°I can¡¯t think of anything fitting, I¡¯ll just call you Four for now.¡±


    ¡°Four? Why Four?¡± the boy questioned confusedly.


    ¡°Because you¡¯re better than the other three, but not that lucky apparently and numbers are supposed to make good names according to a few pompous fighters out there.¡± Replied Dennis, a mask of seriousness on his face. His ability to turn everything into a joke seemed to be returning now that he had finally escaped Lorlen¡¯s clutches. At least, for now.


    The boy shrugged once again. He seemed to be shrugging a lot in the presence of Dennis. As long as Dennis had something to call him, the boy didn¡¯t care too much, even if the explanation for the name made no sense whatsoever. ¡°Come on we need to move and get as far away from Lorlen as we can manage,¡± the boy nonchalantly replied.


    ¡°Four, the harshest of taskmasters,¡± Dennis joked, following the brisk pace that the other boy had set.


    The two boys moved in companionable silence. The only sounds following them was the music of the forest: the piercing chirp of forest birds mixed in with the constant rustling of tiny forest animals moving through the plentiful brush infesting the ground.


    Occasionally, a bright strike of white fur would shoot past the boys, a wandering rabbit. The forest seemed to be infested with them. Even with Four¡¯s massively increased agility he found it almost impossible to catch a rabbit, often receiving numerous cuts and lashes from tree branches for his efforts. Both the boy¡¯s stomachs were growling with hunger and they needed to successfully hunt for food. After countless failed attempts, Four was ready to give up.


    Finally, Four decided to try a new tactic. After hearing the tell-tale rustling of an impending collision with a rabbit, instead of chasing after the animal instantly, Four stood stock still. His arms were tensed by his side, ready for action. Just as the rabbit shot past Four, unaware of any danger, Four darted out his hand, catching the rabbit by the scruff of its neck.


    A single twist and snap later, the rabbit was dead. The act made Four feel slightly sick, familiar revulsion spewing through his veins. But it was kill or starve and Four had no intention of compromising his survival.


    Dennis, who had been standing a few metres away from Four, watching the hunt, smiled. ¡°Well then, that¡¯s dinner sorted, but how are we gonna cook the damn thing.¡±


    Four looked up at Dennis, ¡°I thought you were a mage, don¡¯t you have some magical flames or something.¡±


    ¡°Hah, I wish,¡± replied Dennis, laughing softly. ¡°An ability to do anything like that would be something I¡¯d receive around level twenty. There¡¯s no way in hell I could do it now. Even using all of my current mana, I¡¯d be unlikely to create more than a spark.¡±


    ¡°Well, Four replied, I guess we¡¯ll have to set out some kindling and hope the spark¡¯s enough. I read about how to set up a fire in a book once.¡±


    For around twenty minutes, Four and Dennis walked around the forest, gathering stones, twigs and an array of dry leaves. Four placed the stones in a crude circle, mindful that the fire was kept away from the heavier brush. Balancing twigs into a cone-like shape, Four did his best to imitate the picture of a fire he had seen in the book so long ago. Finally, when this was done, Four dropped the dry leaves over his construction, hoping they would serve as adequate kindling. Standing back, Four admired his masterpiece of engineering. Seeing Four¡¯s expression Dennis brandished his hands flamboyantly: ¡°Time to light her up,¡± he grinned.


    Moving slightly backwards, Four watched in anticipation as Dennis gestured wildly at the soon to be fire. Channelling all of his mana, Dennis began to break out in a sweat, his face turning a ghostly white. This was much more difficult than he¡¯d previously imagined. Not one to give up, Dennis slowly herded his mana through his body and into his finger, the steady trickle growing larger and larger. Triumphant, Dennis pushed the purple haze through his finger, his entire mana reserve, willing a spark to appear.


    Jolting from Dennis¡¯ finger, a pure white electric spark shot through the sky. It would certainly be enough to light the fire, thought Four. The spark shot through the air, spinning and cartwheeling like a falling star, before landing directly on top of one of the stones that encircled the fire.


    ¡°Shit¡­¡± Dennis groaned.

 Chapter 5 – Nature Troubles and Kill Stealing

    A few hours of waiting for his mana to regenerate over and over again later, Dennis had learnt how to aim his sparks and had proceeded to light the fire. It was relatively anticlimactic, the spark landing on the kindling and causing a little pale smoke. A second later a tiny flame formed, spreading slowly and surely through the whole construct. Quite pleased with themselves, the boys quickly realised they had to way to cook the rabbit, it wasn¡¯t as if one of them could just hold the meat above the fire. Even so, they hadn¡¯t even skinned the animal, they couldn¡¯t cook it anyway.


    In hindsight, Four realised that it may well have been cleverer to skin the rabbit and construct a makeshift spit before starting the fire. Although, knowing Dennis¡¯ aim, he would have been likely to burn any wooden spit to the ground.


    In a strangely coordinated show of teamwork, Dennis began to build a rudimentary spit at Four¡¯s direction while Four did his best to skin the rabbit. Neither of the boys had any knives so Four had no choice but to summon his etheric swords for the job. The two rapiers were completely unsuited to the task. They had incredibly sharp tips but no actual blades along their sides. Instantly, the boy knew it would be impossible to skin the rabbit with swords like those. He would be more likely to mutilate the body beyond all recognition, making it inedible.


    The boy released his hold on the etheric swords mentally, watching in fascination as the two swords faded into nothing, their strangely pale light extinguished. Focussing his will Four decided to try something new. Visualising his power, the well of mana that rocketed through his body along with his blood, Four dragged the mana towards his fingers. The mana writhed and spun a discordant dance, expanding and contracting in the same movement, spreading outward like a vapour and then being sucked inwards until it was almost solid. Resistant to anything forcing the mana to move, it was an internal tug of war. Four needed his will to be stronger than his rebellious mana. The mana moved at a crawl, so slowly that it took minutes of mental strain for Four to move even a tiny amount of the purple substance to his fingers. Once he had finished his frustratingly slow task, Four visualised a pair of short swords in his hands, their blades would be much shorter than an average sword¡¯s but they would be razor sharp. Keeping the visualisation clear in his mind, Four used his ethereal armoury ability. The mana in his fingers vanished. Surprisingly, two razor sharp short swords appeared in his hands. Their blades were longer than he had imagined and their handle was shaped completely differently to what he had visualised. Four was elated, being able to customise the swords summoned from his Etheric armoury could prove an incredibly useful skill. Even if it mentally exhausted him to do so.


    Happily, he went to work skinning the rabbits, even though he could feel fatigue pulling at his senses. He had often been commissioned to skin animals by hunters when he visited smaller towns and begged for work, he had just enough experience to complete the task. Although the swords were unwieldy at best and definitely not suited to the task, they were able to do an infinitely better job than the twin rapiers Four had summoned previously.


    When the gruesome chore was finished, Four stood, to see the mage watching him, a primitively constructed spit already standing above the quietly burning fire. At least the fire hadn¡¯t gone out. It could take Dennis another hour to light it again and Four was starving.


    Attaching the rabbit to the rudimentary spit, Four and Dennis sat down near the fire, facing each other. Both boys were far too starved for decent conversation, deigning instead to stare at the rabbit meat which was slowly browning. Every so often, Dennis would adjust the spit, allowing a different side of the rabbit to be cooked. Although usually, consuming food would increase HP and heal injuries much faster than they could ever be healed naturally, food that was prepared incorrectly could actually impede healing and lower HP quickly. For this reason, both Four and Dennis were making very sure they cooked the rabbit all the way through before eating it. There was little chance of them finding a healer in the woods after all.


    Finally, after what seemed like an age, the meat was cooked enough to be eaten safely. Dennis used his over-shirt as a plate - they couldn¡¯t just put the rabbit on the forest floor, and Four cut it into pieces using his sword. ¡°We really need camping supplies,¡± Dennis groaned, ¡°We can¡¯t use my shirt every time we need plates. And anyway, I doubt it¡¯s clean at all.¡±


    Four nodded his head in agreement, but was too busy stuffing food into his mouth to care. Dennis¡¯ shirt would have been soaked in sweat but at least it wasn¡¯t drenched in blood and filth. The rabbit was simply delicious, it was juicy and well cooked, filled with flavour. It was crispy on the outside, but soft and succulent inside. He hadn¡¯t had such a good meal in weeks. He was ravenous and had little self-control at this point. Dennis wasn¡¯t far behind him. He seemed to forgo any conversation and instead set his mind to filling his stomach.


    A little while later, although not that long, both the boys were sated, their stomachs full and their spirits high. Lying on the ground, they laughed together, chatting about good times and Lorlen¡¯s old gossip. The boys gossiped long into the night, remembering their pasts nostalgically, looking to the future with hope sparkling in their eyes. They shared life stories, Dennis explaining his sudden transformation into magehood which had ripped his life apart, while Four explained the events leading up to his planned execution. Four didn¡¯t know how Dennis would react to his class - new classes were practically unheard of, so he kept that information to himself, deciding to tell Dennis at a later date. The boys chattered until they drifted into the calm embrace of sleep. Neither knowing which had succumbed first.


    A cacophony of howls split the silence, slashing though the frigid air like a hail of arrows. Snapping their eyes open and jumping to their feet, the boys stared at their surroundings, wondering where the howls had originated from and more importantly if whatever had made them was moving closer towards the two.


    Another howl split the silence. It was to the boy¡¯s right. One more howl split the frigid winter air, to the boy¡¯s left this time. More and more howls, shot through the silence, coming from what seemed like every direction. The boys were surrounded. Suddenly, a mist began to encircle their campsite. Curling and twisting like gnarled fingers, the mist was an opaque but pale white. Spinning and writhing it enveloped the ground and turned the forest a foggy grey. Like an inexorable battalion, the mist rushed through the campsite, obscuring everything. Without warning, a roaring wind began to howl through the clearing, devouring the landscape. The roaring icy wind gave no quarter and expected none in return, practically vanquishing the mist. Harsh and sharp as steel, the wind battered trees, causing their leaves to cower in fear. Swathes of fog still spun through the clearing, but they were quickly defeated until the boys could just see their surroundings.


    Nine pairs of blood-red eyes stared at them.


    From the darkness, nine creatures emerged, stepping somewhat hesitantly into the flickering firelight. The creatures themselves seemed to be likened to wolves. They stood hunched on all fours, their bodies covered in a forest of grey matted fur stained with patches of dark brown. The wolf like creatures all wore a furious snarl, saliva dripping from their ravenous maws. Each creature had a set of terrifyingly sharp fangs, curved and deadly not unlike a sabretooth tiger¡¯s. Each wolf was muscular and strong, toned legs allowing the creatures to pounce on unsuspecting prey. Sleek and streamlined, the wolves looked to be accustomed killers, capable of ripping flesh from the bone. If the wolves were any bigger than the average dog, the boys would have been doomed. As it was, they were still in a huge amount of trouble.


    Despite their overwhelming numbers, the wolves themselves seemed to be unwilling to attack. The modest fire¡¯s flames reflected in the wolves¡¯ eyes, promising fiery ruin and burning retribution. Thinking furiously, wondering why the wolves hadn¡¯t slaughtered the two boys already, Four realised that they must be afraid of fire. It seemed the tiny blaze was just unnatural enough to prevent an attack. With any luck, Dennis and Four could cower near their fire all night, hoping the wolves would move on and find easier prey.


    A sudden gust of iced wind shot through the campsite. The frozen current kniving the two boys, causing an involuntary shiver. The boy¡¯s fire shuddered at the contact, sputtering and then collapsing into nothingness. Four¡¯s luck had struck again.


    ¡°Well shit,¡± Dennis muttered, before the first wolf pounced, howling into the soft moonlight.


    Four stood to meet the wolf¡¯s suicidal charge, his sword pointed directly towards the animal¡¯s gaping maw. Unable to stop its mad attack, the wolf impaled itself on Four¡¯s sword, skewering itself from head to toe. The wolf exploded in a shower of putrid guts and dark red infested blood. While Four had been distracted by the first wolf¡¯s folly, two wolves were closing in upon him, these animals more hesitant. Another wolf pounced at Four, he merely sidestepped it, having no time to create another oversized kebab without the others rushing him. Stepping to meet the next closest wolf, Four slashed with his sword, cleaving the wolf¡¯s head straight from its body. As if unaware of the mortal wound it was afflicted with, the headless body began to walk in disorientated circles. Knowing he had little time to watch the gruesome scene play out in front of him, Four turned, ready to engage the next attacking predator. Except the wolf was much closer to Four that the boy had gambled on. Four couldn¡¯t move his sword fast enough to stop the wolf. The small animal was in the midst of charging, its fangs extended and claws outstretched, straight towards Four¡¯s right leg.


    Sweeping his sword downwards towards the animal, Four could only stare in horror as the wolf bit down into his leg, its fangs scraping against bone. Emitting a furious scream, Four cleaved the wolf in two, blood pouring from his leg wound. Two massive gouges had ripped his leg to pieces, exposing bone and bright red tissue. Excruciating pain wracked Dennis¡¯ body, he could no longer support his weight with his injured leg and was forced to drop to one knee. Four could no longer avoid any wolf that attacked him. He was now a very defensive bastion, unable to meet an attacker.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Another three wolves rushed towards Four wildly, trying to take advantage of his wounded state. In a flurry of blows, Four hit the first wolf hard enough for its attack to miss and throw it out the way, he then turned his swords towards the other wolves, decapitating the first and scoring a deep hit in the side of the second. Howling in agony, the animal paced away, trying desperately to move from Four¡¯s swords. It had no chance though, Four¡¯s second sword already slashing towards it in a fatal blow.


    Free of assailants for now, Four turned, wondering how Dennis was fairing. The sudden chaos of the battle had been too intense for Four to spend a second defending his companion. That could have been a fatal mistake, thought Four, sudden terror piercing him. If Dennis was dead, Four would never have been able to forgive himself. He had formed a strong bond with the boy, despite having known him little more than a day.


    The sight that greeted Four as he turned towards Dennis was incredible. Dennis was surrounded by three wolves, scraping and howling at him. Trying desperately to attack Dennis. They couldn¡¯t reach him though. A strange sphere of fluorescent blue light seemed to surround Dennis, almost like a magical aura. The light seemed to be impenetrable for the wolves, preventing them from any attack. In fact, the wolves seemed to be hurting themselves more than Dennis, as they threw themselves against his magical barrier. Dennis seemed to be safe. Four sighed in relief, he would probably be able to deal with those three wolves, if he could move closer to them that is.


    Preparing to move towards Dennis, Four watched in sudden apprehension as a jagged crack formed in Dennis¡¯ shield, where a wolf had just struck it. Looking towards Dennis, Four noticed that his face was hunched in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead. Dennis was struggling.


    Dennis¡¯ plight gave Four a new determination. Unsteadily, Four rose to his feet, his injured leg screaming in protest and wobbling unsteadily. He made a few jolting steps towards Dennis, his left leg taking almost all of his weight. Slowly, he reached the first wolf. Dennis hadn¡¯t noticed Four yet, his eyes scrunched shut in concentration. Four slashed at the wolf, crippling it in his first strike. A pitiful howl of protest rose from the wolf, causing its companions to rush towards it, ignoring Dennis¡¯ weakening shield. Four raised both his swords, crossing them. Sinking to both knees as his leg finally gave out, Four prepared to fight the remaining two wolves.


    The animals stood little chance really, they were too small to overwhelm Four and they had no chance of parrying his blades. They would be impaled if they attacked. As if realising their impending deaths, the wolves changed their tactics. Slowly they circled Four until one stood behind the boy and one stood in front. Four was royally and truly fucked now. He could defend one side but not the other.


    As if seeing the resignedly fearful expression on Four¡¯s face, both wolves pounced, ready for the killing blow.


    Four turned to the first wolf, leaving his back completely exposed. He couldn¡¯t take out both wolves but he could certainly kill one, leaving Dennis with a much larger chance of survival. Raising both of his blades, he prepared to impale the animal, standing for one last time. He met the wolf with cold eyes and an unbroken spirit. He would die, but he would not die a coward.


    The snarling creature pounced towards Four, thrusting itself straight into Four¡¯s extended blades. Its body shattered, bones snapping and eyes popping, ripped flesh and putrid blood spraying everywhere. Dennis braced himself for the coming blow from behind, ready to receive his fate, his eyes closed in prayer. He felt a sudden wind whip the back of his neck. He had but a millisecond to live. Sending one final prayer to the God, he wished Dennis well.


    A sudden fizzing sound exploded through the forest¡¯s silence. Dennis felt a small object slam into his back, knocking him over and causing him to sprawl onto the ground. It hurt like hell and would leave him with a massive bruise. But no claws ripped into his flesh, no animal mauled him to death. The skin of his back felt clean and unbroken.


    Confused, Four slowly turned around, mindful of his damaged leg. The sight that greeted him as he turned caused him to burst out laughing. Dennis stood, legs splayed apart and right arm extended in a casters pose, little streaks of purple mana leaking from his fingers. The pose was just so exaggerated and unnecessary that Four couldn¡¯t hold it in. Looking to his side, Four saw the object that had hit him. It was the final wolf, the one that had flanked him. It was dead, a burning hole the size of Four¡¯s fist gaping in the animal¡¯s head. The stench of burning flesh was sickening, but the smell of victory overpowered it. Finished with his maniacal laughing, Four grinned at Dennis: ¡°Thanks for the help.¡±


    ¡°Least I could do,¡± Dennis smiled back, ¡°You did most of the work anyway; it feels like I¡¯m stealing your exp at this point.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be alive without you,¡± Four retorted solemnly. Pointing to his injured foot, Four winced: ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you know any healing spells do you?¡±


    Dennis¡¯ eyes widened at the terrible wound, his mouth parting a little in shock. He had thought Four invincible. Cold reality crashed down on him. He didn¡¯t have any healing spells, a mage would be unlikely to get any before level fourty. The wound was likely to be infected soon. There was no way Four would heal naturally, he¡¯d need a boost from something, preferably a healer but a lot of good food would do too. Their victory over the wolves could quickly prove pyrrhic if Dennis didn¡¯t succeed at hunting. After a few moments of contemplation, Dennis answered: ¡°I¡¯m sure that with a little food you¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯ll go throw some manabolts at some rabbits,¡± Dennis smiled half-heartedly and turned away.


    Four knew the wound was a few orders of magnitude more serious than Dennis was implying. It was already bubbling with pus, one edge of it turning slightly green. Hopefully it was just a grass stain. But at any rate, Four was in for a bumpy ride.


    After Dennis had succeeded in moving Four a little further away from the battlefield strewn with wolf corpses, by half dragging half carrying Four, Dennis left to go hunting. Maybe if Four ate soon he might be put in a good enough position to recover.


    As he was alone, with nothing else to do, Four decided to open his status screen. He dematerialised his swords and then concentrated. A little bit of will later, the purple screen appeared in his vision, a prompt appearing straight away.


    You have received 106 exp:


    1 exp for killing rabbit


    105 exp for killing wolf x7


    After dismissing this prompt, another one appeared in its place:


    You have levelled up:


    Blade God Level 3 (76/300)


    (four attribute points available)


    Dennis quickly debated where to add his attribute points. He decided to do exactly what he had done the last time he levelled. Adding two points to both resilience and strength would ensure Four would be less likely to be severely wounded in later fights. If he had even one more point of resilience his wound would have been half the size. Resilience and strength worked in opposites against enemies. Four had learnt in one of Akkarin¡¯s books that for every point his strength was higher than his enemy¡¯s resilience, his attack would do around ten percent more damage. Four had also learnt inversely that for every point an enemy¡¯s resilience was higher than his strength, his attack would do 10% less damage. This made it incredibly important that the boy increased strength and resilience early on. After assigning the points, the boy checked his stats once more.


    Name: Four


    Class: Blade God (level 3) (76/300)


    Age: 16


    HP: 10/120


    Mana: <sub>¡Þ</sub>


    Strength: 13


    Agility: 20


    Dexterity: 21


    Charisma: 7


    Resilience: 13


    Intelligence: 10


    Luck: 0


    The boy was happy with his stats for the moment. It wasn¡¯t like he could really do anything about them anyway. He wished he had levelled up a few more times from the fight though. The wolves had given a depressingly small amount of experience, the boy thought, it seemed odd that after such a hard battle, the animals would give only 15 experience each. The guards the boy had killed were much weaker than the wolves, but had given a huge amount more experience.


    A small thought nagged the boy though. Something he couldn¡¯t quite remove from his mind. He had killed seven wolves according to the prompt. The fog of battle had been much too confusing for him to count how many he had killed. But apparently he had killed seven. Dennis had killed one wolf. But he had counted nine pairs of eyes. Looking around wildly, the hairs of the back of Dennis¡¯ neck rose, his eyes widened in fear. He was a sitting duck.


    A rustling in the trees to the right of Four alerted him to a presence. A big presence. From the foliage, stepped a creature. It was like the previous wolves Four had fought, only, it was twice the size of a horse. Four arrows covered in dark black blood and infested puss coated the wolf¡¯s side. It was obviously injured and walked with a limp. But its fangs were dripping bright red crimson blood. Staring into its gruesome maw filled with lifeblood soaked teeth and pieces of ripped flesh, Four recoiled in horror. The cavernous expanse of the terrible creature¡¯s mouth was Four¡¯s death. The wolf was massive. Even at full strength Four stood no chance. The creature fixed its blood red eyes onto the boy. They were massive orbs of fiery ruby, enrapturing but deadly. Four couldn¡¯t look away. He saw death in those eyes. His death. But he was powerless.


    The wolf limped ever closer to Four. It was now a bare few feet from him. The wolf knew Four was immobilised and was taking its time. Lording over its prey. Practically mocking Four. Agonizingly slowly, the creature approached. The animal was close enough now, practically on top of Four. Raising its head, the creature howled, before opening its gigantic mouth. The stench of rotting flesh and fresh blood assaulted Four¡¯s nose, making him queasy. He wanted to vomit, but was in no position to do so. The wolf opened its mouth, until it was wide enough to crunch Four to pieces in one bite. Descending, the wolf prepared to end Four¡¯s life.


    But it was interrupted by a furious roar. The beast, somewhat startled, turned its head, looking for whoever had interrupted its lunch. Dennis ¨C Four thought. Taking advantage of the wolf¡¯s distraction, Four materialised both his swords, stabbing them straight through the chest of the gigantic animal. They only penetrated a few inches, the wolf was too strong. Four heard the tell-tale fizzing of a manabolt. Dennis was trying to save him! The bolt struck the wolf in a blaze of blue glory, but the creature barely reacted, absorbing the bolt easily. Knowing he had little chance, Dennis focussed all his strength on forcing his swords into the wolf¡¯s body. He knew it was his best chance of killing the creature. Even after shoving with all his might, the thrashing creature above him barely even seemed to notice. He was just too low levelled.


    Finally shaking off its shock, the wolf above Four moved in for the kill once again. Four knew he had seconds until he was dead. There was nothing he could do. Closing his eyes, Four focussed his final efforts on impaling the creature. Suddenly, a clang struck through the battlefield, accompanied by the whizz of arrows. The sound of a dozen bowstrings being drawn and released in harmony.


    The wolf on top of Four shuddered at the impact of over a dozen arrows. It Howled in pained fury, then jumped away from the boy, crashing to the ground and impaling itself on Four¡¯s twin swords up to their hilts. The monstrous wolf shuddered, its whole body shivering with rage and fear. Then, it collapsed, breathing a final breath, the creature became no more than a lifeless corpse. Shaking his head in pained amusement, Four grinned. He may not have had the strength to kill the creature himself, but at least his sword had struck the final blow. They had won. It felt good.


    Still smiling to himself, Four collapsed into unconsciousness, fatigue and pain finally besting him.