《Sword and Scrolls : An Orderly Blade (Book 1)》 Chapter 1 - The Night Before the Stones The evening was calm, the light of two rising moons filtering through the windows and casting a soft glow over the humble Redbones home. Vaan breathed in deeply, savoring the warm scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and savory herbs that filled the air. The simple feast laid out on the table was a stark contrast to the weight of the upcoming ritual, but Vaan could hardly contain his excitement. Tomorrow was the day¡ªthe night before his class initiation, a moment he¡¯d been waiting for his entire life. The table was laden with dishes that spoke of his mother¡¯s skill as an herbalist. A platter of roasted pheasant, glazed with honey and thyme, sat at the center, its skin crisp and golden. Beside it was a loaf of crusty bread, still warm from the oven, and a bowl of moonroot stew, a hearty soup made with tender chunks of rabbit, wild mushrooms, and fragrant herbs. Vaan could already taste the subtle hints of rosemary and sage, a testament to his mother¡¯s mastery of herbs. A pitcher of elderberry wine, sweet and slightly tart, completed the spread. It was a feast fit for the occasion, and Vaan couldn¡¯t help but feel a swell of gratitude for his mother¡¯s efforts. As he reached for a piece of bread, Vaan caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished surface of the dining table. His features were stout but not heavy, a blend of his mother¡¯s soft warmth and his father¡¯s sharpness. His warm brown eyes gleamed with eager anticipation, and his messy, curly hair¡ªbrown like Garix¡¯s¡ªframed his face in a way that made him look both rugged and approachable. He¡¯d heard others describe him that way before, often comparing him to his father¡¯s handsome features. Personally, Vaan thought his father had more presence, especially with that patch over his eye¡ªit looked dashing, like a mark of a life fully lived. The years spent working alongside Garix in the forge had rewarded Vaan with a robust physique. Vigor, finesse, mettle, and even acuity¡ªthese were all attributes that could be honed through the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel, the precision of shaping metal, and the endurance needed to work long hours by the blazing furnace. Vaan didn¡¯t know exactly what his attributes would be, but he was certain they¡¯d be on the higher end compared to others his age. He¡¯d seen the way his peers struggled with tasks that came easily to him, whether it was lifting heavy loads or maintaining focus during intricate work. As he flexed his calloused hands under the table, Vaan couldn¡¯t help but hope for the swordsman class. It felt like the natural path, a way to honor his father¡¯s legacy while carving out his own. The thought of wielding a blade, of stepping into the world as a warrior, sent a thrill through him. But even if the ritual didn¡¯t grant him that class, he knew he¡¯d make the most of whatever came his way. After all, he¡¯d already proven to his father that he could thrive under the heat of the forge¡ªwhat was a little more pressure? Across from him sat Elijah Ferrell, his half-brother, every bit the contrast. Elijah¡¯s hawkish dark eyes scanned the room, narrowing as he appraised those around him. His sharp, aquiline nose lent him an aristocratic, almost snobbish air, as though he considered himself above them all. His black hair, sleek and straight, framed his pale face, but his expression remained aloof and distant, tinged with a near-dismissive arrogance. Elijah¡¯s looks were more effeminate than handsome¡ªdelicate, almost fragile¡ªthough it was hard to mistake for vulnerability, given the sharpness of his tongue and his knack for cutting remarks. Vaan, however, could hardly contain his excitement, and even Elijah¡¯s scornful demeanor failed to dampen his spirits today. He was seventeen, finally old enough to attend the class ritual. His father, Garix Redbones, had graciously welcomed Elijah to their home for the occasion. Elijah was technically his elder brother, Brenda¡¯s son from her first marriage, and though his visits were rare, Garix always treated him with respect. Still, there was a certain tension at the table, and Vaan couldn¡¯t help but feel a flicker of annoyance. He¡¯d never liked Elijah much¡ªthe boy was too much like his father, Vincent Ferrell, with his airs and pretensions. Garix sat at the head of the table, his presence a quiet but steady force. His once-powerful frame, honed from years of swordsmanship, had softened slightly with age and his transition to the forge. A patch covered his left eye, a relic of a battle long past, and his right leg, crippled in the same skirmish, rested stiffly beneath the table. Despite these marks of a life lived hard, his remaining eye gleamed with a sharp, knowing light, and his hands¡ªcalloused and scarred from decades of wielding both blade and hammer¡ªrested gently on the table. The transition from swordsman to swordsmith had not been easy, but Garix wore his new role with quiet dignity, his craftsmanship now as renowned as his skill with a sword once was. Brenda Redbones, Vaan¡¯s mother, sat beside Garix, her eyes soft but wary. She had learned over the years to be patient with Elijah¡¯s self-absorbed nature, but it didn¡¯t make it any easier to watch him now. The strained bond between her eldest son and the family was always a sore spot, but tonight, she chose to remain quiet, letting the meal settle into a gentle lull. ¡°So,¡± Vaan said, breaking the silence with an infectious grin, ¡°tomorrow¡¯s the big day. The moons align, and I finally get my class. I can hardly wait! Feels like a lifetime to get to this point.¡± Elijah stirred his wine, not meeting Vaan¡¯s gaze. ¡°Yes, I suppose it is. But I don¡¯t see why we should make such a big deal about it. Shouldn¡¯t we be celebrating after the selection, not before? It¡¯s just a ritual.¡± Elijah was nineteen, and this was actually his third initiation ritual. Vaan chuckled, his enthusiasm undeterred by Elijah¡¯s dismissive tone. ¡°Of course it¡¯s a ritual, but it¡¯s the kind of ritual that defines our futures. Don¡¯t you feel anything? A little bit of excitement?¡± Elijah sighed, his words laced with sarcasm. ¡°I¡¯m not wasting time getting excited over something I already know is going to happen. I¡¯ve opted out of the archivist class twice. If I get that again, I¡¯ll reject it and acquire the scribe class from my father directly through the legacy ritual.¡± Vaan raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a teasing grin. ¡°So, did your old man finally seal the writ? Third time¡¯s the charm, huh? But isn¡¯t this your last shot? I heard if you waive off a class three times, the Empire forces you to take whatever you get. Unless, of course, you¡¯ve got that legacy scribe class waiting.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Elijah¡¯s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone cool. ¡°Yes, my father did acquiesce to share the scribe¡¯s class in case I don¡¯t get it myself. Not that it¡¯s any of your business.¡± ¡°A scribe¡¯s life would suit you! No running through the dirt, no bloodshed. Just quills and coins. Whatever floats your boat, I guess,¡± Vaan shrugged. The ¡®System¡¯¡ªor the ¡®Weave,¡¯ as his mother preferred to call it¡ªpermitted the inheritance of non-combat classes. A parent could pass their class to their progeny without losing it themselves, though the transfer came with limitations: no skills, no perks, just the bare class framework. Even then, the heir had to meet the progenitor¡¯s original attribute thresholds and any lingering class requirements without exceptions. For the life of him, Vaan couldn¡¯t imagine wasting his days as a scribe. But Elijah? That pretentious prick was practically made for it. He could already see him hunched over some noble¡¯s parchment, that same insufferable sneer on his face as he peered down at the world from his cushioned scriptorium perch¡ªanother spoiled Ferrell drowning in ink and arrogance." ¡°Boooring! What¡¯s the big deal with Archivist and Scribes anyway? Both sound the same to me,¡± Marianne muttered. She had the same brown eyes as Vaan, but her curly hair was longer and even more troublesome than her brother¡¯s. Elijah¡¯s voice sharpened slightly, though his tone remained cool. ¡°Scribes and scholars are more well-rounded than archivists. Archivists are too specialized and focused, with specific conditions for progression. Scribe, generic though it may be, offers more room for diverse growth and all-around opportunities for progression.¡± He paused, realizing he¡¯d actually deigned to reply. He quickly tried to regain his aloof unbothered stance, scoffing dismissively. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. If I get an archivist again instead of a scribe, runesmith, or scholar, I''ll simply claim my father''s scribe lineage through bloodright.¡± His gaze turned pointedly to Brenda as he spoke of his father, Vincent Ferrell. His tone was deceptively casual, as though trying to incite a reaction from her, but it never worked. Brenda merely glanced at Garix for a brief moment. Garix, who had been quietly watching the exchange, cleared his throat softly. ¡°Don¡¯t dismiss the value of any class just because it¡¯s not what you expected. There¡¯s no such thing as a bad class¡ªat least not when it¡¯s drawn through a properly sanctioned imperial ritual, with a runesmith, priest, or approved ritualist overseeing it. That¡¯s the way it¡¯s meant to be.¡± He turned to Vaan, who would actually listen to his advice. ¡°Remember, while you can always opt out of a class during your first selection, if there¡¯s a powerful resonance, you¡¯d be a fool to ignore it.¡± Vaan grinned at his father. ¡°And if something powerful comes my way, I¡¯ll take it. But whatever I get, I¡¯ll make it work.¡± Elijah rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with condescension. ¡°I¡¯m sure you will, Vaan. Always the moon-chaser.¡± Garix chuckled under his breath. ¡°It¡¯s not about optimism. It¡¯s about recognizing what¡¯s inside you. Tomorrow¡¯s about finding your spark. The stones will reveal that.¡± ¡°Right, yes, it¡¯s all written in those stones,¡± Elijah said drily. Brenda, watching the exchange, sighed softly but didn¡¯t speak up. She hated that it was always so difficult to bridge the gap between them. At least Garix had a way of handling Elijah¡¯s barbs without letting them bother him. Marianne, noticing the tension building between the brothers, decided it was time for a little mischief. She crept toward Elijah, who was still brooding in his chair. Vaan watched, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. Before Elijah could notice, she ¡°accidentally¡± knocked over the bowl of moonroot stew, letting it spill down the back of his robe. Elijah froze, his eyes going wide as he turned slowly to face her. ¡°What¡ªwhat in the¡ª?¡± he sputtered, his calm demeanor cracking under the surprise. His eyes darted between the mess on his robe and Marianne, who was struggling to contain her laughter. ¡°You¡ªwhat the hell, Marianne?!¡± Vaan couldn¡¯t help himself and burst out laughing. ¡°Guess you needed a little luck before tomorrow¡¯s ritual, huh? Some people spill salt for luck, I guess you prefer stew.¡± Elijah¡¯s face turned a deep shade of red, his usually composed expression now giving way to frustration. ¡°Stupid girl! This is my dad¡¯s robe, and you¡¯ve ruined it! Forget it... I¡¯ll... I¡¯ll be in my room!¡± He muttered before standing up quickly, storming out of the room. "And there goes the finicky princess", Marianne said as he disappeared. Brenda stifled a sigh. Garix, however, looked exasperated. ¡°For the love of the saints! I¡¯ve never seen someone this strung up before their own class ritual!¡± ¡°He¡¯s just nervous, dear,¡± Brenda smiled. Vaan wiped a tear from his eye, still laughing. ¡°What¡¯s the big deal? He can always be that damned scribe whenever he wants. He said so himself! Just needs to ask his daddy.¡± ¡°Well, there¡¯s the chance he might get a better resonant class, maybe even a runesmith,¡± Garix frowned. ¡°It¡¯s common for nobles to attempt multiple times for stronger affinities. But he¡¯s burning time... especially with the Grand Trial only a few months away.." "Someone should tell him that he is not a noble", Marianne remarked. ¡°The kid¡¯s not wrong for trying,¡± Garix admitted. ¡°But that attitude of his¡­ it¡¯s worse than his father¡¯s ever was. And I didn¡¯t think that was even possible.¡± They grew silent at that. The topic of Elijah¡¯s father was taboo in their family. Though Garix didn¡¯t mind using some choice words about that asshole with Vaan, he only did so when Brenda wasn¡¯t around. The tension gradually faded, and soon they slipped into familiar banter¡ªspeculating on what class Vaan might receive. Guardsman, Swordsman, Spearman, Duellist¡ªthe usual contenders were tossed around. Marianne, never one to keep things simple, chimed in with increasingly absurd suggestions: ¡®Doom Herald,¡¯ ¡®Butcher Saint,¡¯ ¡®Soul-Eater of the Hollow Flame.¡¯ Each one more outrageously grim than the last, until they were all laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it. Garix launched into the tale of his own initiation, a story they¡¯d heard countless times. Yet Marianne and Vaan listened as if for the first time, caught in the rhythm of his voice, the warmth of the hearth, and the comfort of family. Outside, the twin moons cast their silvery glow across the fields, their mana essence gently seeping into the land. Somewhere out there, the ritual stones drank in the moonlight, preparing for tomorrow¡¯s rites. Tomorrow, the ritual would arrive. Tomorrow, Vaan¡¯s future would unfold. And whatever class the fates had in store, Vaan knew one thing for certain¡ªhe was ready for whatever came next. Chapter 2 - At the Altar Vaan had barely slept. Dreams had come in flickers¡ªhalf-formed images of runes glowing beneath his skin, of grasping at flickering lights in the dark, only for them to vanish before he could understand. The moment the sky began to lighten, painting the thatched roofs of Wragford in pale gold, he was already up, slipping into his tunic and fastening the belt with nervous, clumsy fingers. Despite the early hour, the square buzzed with anticipation. Farmers in rough-spun wool rubbed shoulders with merchants in dyed linens, all gathered before the raised altar platform where the semi-silver basin gleamed under the rising sun. Vaan noted with some satisfaction that he''d arrived early enough to claim a decent position near the front, though the prime spots closest to the altar had already been secured¡ªno doubt reserved by the retainers of noble houses well before dawn. He recognized a few local gentry¡ªthe mayor''s plump son in his embroidered doublet, the miller''s daughter with her hair done up in expensive ribbons. But others were strangers, their fine clothes and haughty bearing marking them as visitors from neighboring fiefdoms. One particularly ornate carriage bore the crest of House Veldrane, its gilded trim catching the light as a pale youth in velvet was ushered to the very front. Vaan couldn¡¯t help but wonder if they had chosen his village for its lack of competition, where fewer noble-born challengers could contest their standing. He shrugged¡ªlet them buy their advantage. The ritual would judge them all the same. Tal and Ronald stood off to the side, near a cluster of villagers at the edge of the gathering. They leaned against the worn wooden fence separating the main square from the adjacent market stalls, their expressions equally amused. "Could''ve bet on you being up before the dawn''s dew dried," Tal said, voice thick with amusement. His sandy hair was still unkempt from sleep, one sleeve half-rolled while the other dangled over his wrist like a wilted flower. "Sleep at all?" Vaan shook his head with a lopsided grin. "Like a baby. One that''s dropped and screamed every hour." Ronald snorted. "He''s shaking like a plucked chicken." "That''s ''cause he knows," Tal added, elbowing Ronald. The motion sent a small cloud of dust rising from his threadbare shirt. "If no flair stone glows for him, he''s doomed to muck out stables with Old Man Herrin." Vaan rolled his eyes. He wasn''t worried. Even if no flair stone called to him, he knew his attributes were strong. Maybe not like those who trained in knight academies, drilling from dawn till dusk, but years of working the forge with his father had hardened his muscles. He wouldn''t end up with some middling class. That much, he was sure of. Not that he didn''t hope for a strong resonance. That could elevate a class to its fullest potential. If fire called to him and his attributes aligned, he could become a Fire Mage, wielding flames with unmatched power. Or if his vigor was high, perhaps he''d become a Fiery Fist, channeling fire through his strikes with brutal force. And who knew? If his resonance was ''might'' and his ''vigor'' stood strong, even a Knight class might not be out of the cards. Now that would be a dream¡ªa path forged in steel, a warrior of legend. The altar loomed ahead, an ancient stone platform carved with runes, crowned by a basin of semi-silver liquid that shimmered in the early light. Statues of the three saints stood solemnly at its edges, though one was conspicuously absent. Wragford, part of the Ashwa¡¯s fiefdom, did not recognize Romi as the fourth saint. Vaan found himself staring at Saint Saria. He had never been devout¡ªnot like his mother had wanted. But when he was younger, alone in his father¡¯s forge with only the sound of hammer on steel, he had whispered to her. She was the Saint of Metal after all. His fingers flexed unconsciously, the old calluses a familiar comfort. He had always prayed when he was afraid, or when things loomed too large. Maybe that was why he had a certain fondness for her, or maybe it was because, in the quiet moments, he felt as if she had always answered. Vaan exhaled softly and, in a gesture so small that his friends wouldn¡¯t notice, he bowed his head, murmuring a silent plea. His gaze drifted to the altar platform where Guard Chief Petros stood vigil, his massive axe resting against a shoulder corded with muscle. The chief''s sharp eyes swept over the crowd like a wolf watching its den. "Don''t block the steps," Petros called, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "You''ll all get your turn." Beyond the initiates, the village had gathered in force. Blacksmiths still wearing their soot-streaked aprons stood beside farmers smelling of hay and earth. Mothers clutched the hands of wide-eyed children who''d never witnessed a Choosing before. But most striking was the figure in green and silver leaning against the empty fourth plinth - the adventurer''s cloak fluttering slightly in the morning breeze, the guild insignia on his breast gleaming like a challenge. "Is that really a guild scout?" Vaan murmured. "Sure is," Tal replied, keeping his voice low as if afraid the man might hear. "Came all the way from Darven''s Roost. That''s a night''s ride even on a ringhorn''s back." Ronald scratched his chin, leaving a smudge of dirt across his jaw. "Means they are hoping someone here might be worth a contract." Vaan swallowed, suddenly aware of the weight of the moment. The Choosing Grounds seemed to hum with possibility, the ancient stones thrumming with some deep magic as the first initiates began their trials. The scent of incense from the altar mixed with the earthy aroma of the crowd, creating a heady perfume that made his pulse quicken. ¡°If I don¡¯t feel a strong resonance, I¡¯ll just pass,¡± Ronald said suddenly, a rare note of seriousness in his voice. ¡°No point locking into something weak. I will just train hard to improve my stats and that way I will have a better chance next time¡± ¡°Unless you get a powerful flair. Then you have to take it,¡± Tal added, giving Vaan a meaningful look. ¡°You¡¯ll know if it¡¯s strong enough to pull you.¡± ¡°And if you get free attribute points, don¡¯t waste them on Flair or Muse,¡± Ronald muttered. ¡°Pop says they¡¯re trap stats for warriors.¡± He nodded sagely. ¡°Diminishing returns, you see.¡± Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Vaan nodded absently. His father had said the same. "Don¡¯t have to allocate anything right away. You¡¯ve got a day before unspent points fade. No rush." The crowd stirred as another initiate exited the altar tent, blinking under the morning light. Then, amidst the shifting bodies, a familiar face caught Vaan¡¯s eye. Risa appeared, walking with quiet confidence, her chestnut hair tied back, eyes sharp and unreadable. She was the same age as Vaan, a reminder of simpler times when they had all been neighbors¡ªthough technically, she had lived next to Elijah. Back then, long before Elijah had become the insufferable snob he was now, the three of them spent days climbing trees, exploring caves, and wading through lily ponds to collect Dewspine Reed for his mother¡¯s poultices¡ªbarring Elijah, of course, who¡¯d always been too concerned about dirtying his precious robes. Vaan could still hear their laughter, the teasing, the races they¡¯d had under the open sky¡ªthough some of those memories had grown fuzzy over time, as if something had been lost after the accident. He often wondered if Elijah had pushed him out of jealousy, or if it had really been an accident. The trio had never been the same afterward. It wasn¡¯t that they hadn¡¯t tried to stay close. Vaan had joined the troublesome group with Tal, Ronald, and others, while Risa had... well, become a girl. The dynamics shifted. A year ago, Tal, Ronald, and Vaan had voted her the village beauty. The title had somehow reached her ears, and when she¡¯d scowled at him, Vaan felt an unexpected pang of guilt¡ªthough he couldn¡¯t say why. It was after that when Elijah made it clear to his mother that an arrangement had been made for Risa to become his future bride. Vaan had been shocked. She was too adventurous, too wild, to be tied down to a life in a scriptorium or librarium. But then again, maybe that was simply who Risa had always been to him¡ªthe girl who climbed trees, collected reeds, and was always ready for adventure. She was still his friend, despite everything. As he watched her stand alone, without the usual entourage of girls, Vaan recalled that two of them had completed their initiation the year before, while one was still too young. "Look who finally decided to show up," Vaan called out, grinning as Risa approached. "Thought you might sleep through your own Choosing." Risa rolled her eyes. "Unlike some people, I don''t need to arrive hours early to prove I''m eager." "Ouch," Tal said, clutching his chest dramatically. "And here we were, saving you a spot." "Saved me a spot at the back, more like," Risa countered, though there was no real bite to her words. Vaan chuckled, nudging her shoulder with his. "Still quick with the comebacks, I see.¡± "Elijah Ferrell!" Petros''s voice boomed across the square. "Aye, and there he is!" Tal laughed. "Archivist Extraordinaire, back for his third attempt!" ¡°What¡¯s the big deal anyway? Scribes, archivists. Potatoes, tomatoes,¡± Ronald scoffed. Risa¡¯s lips thinned. ¡°Just because you don¡¯t know the difference doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re the same, Ronald.¡± Ronald snorted. ¡°Why should I care? Non-combat classes aren¡¯t worth losing sleep over.¡± Risa¡¯s eyes flashed. ¡°Tell that to your mother, then. Make sure she knows you think tailoring is a waste of time.¡± Tal grinned, holding his hands up. ¡°Alright, alright, no need to start a revolution, future knight. Didn¡¯t realize you were the champion of the underdog.¡± Before Risa could respond, Elijah strode past them, shoulders stiff, robes pristine. He didn''t even glance their way as he entered the altar tent. Vaan raised a brow. ¡°More importantly, how is he getting ahead of us all? He wasn¡¯t there when we came¡± ¡°Probably his dad pulling some strings¡± ¡°Nonsense. The order is completely random¡±, Risa said. All three of the boys glared at her. She coughed, ¡°Disregarding the nobles of course¡± The minute stretched. When Elijah finally emerged, he was pale, hands trembling, his eyes darting wildly across the crowd before fixing on their group¡ªspecifically on Risa standing so close to Vaan. His expression twisted for just a moment before smoothing into its usual mask of superiority as he pushed through the murmuring crowd. "Three times Archivist probably," Tal said, shaking his head. "At least he''s consistent." They watched a few more youths step forward¡ªsome returning with triumphant grins, others pale and shaken. The ceremony continued, and the crowd buzzed with excitement. Vaan looked over at Risa, his curiosity piqued. ¡°So, what class are you hoping for?¡± Risa¡¯s lips curled into a small smile. ¡°Hoping? Not really. But I¡¯d like something that gets me out there. Away from all this.¡± Vaan raised an eyebrow. ¡°Out there? Adventuring, you mean?¡± She shrugged, though her gaze was steady. ¡°Something that lets me see the world, beyond the village and the books. I¡¯m done with staying in one place.¡± Vaan couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°I guess I¡¯m not that surprised.¡± Ronald snickered. ¡°Risa, the adventurer. That¡¯ll be the day.¡± Tal chuckled too. ¡°Next thing we know, you¡¯ll be leading a band of rogues.¡± Vaan for once didn¡¯t join in the teasing. ¡°You two really know how to make someone feel like a daydreamer.¡± Risa looked at him surprised but before she could respond, Petros¡¯s voice cut through the banter. "Vaan Redbones." As Vaan stepped forward, he thought he heard Risa wish him luck but he couldn¡¯t be sure over the sudden pounding of his own heart. His stomach dropped as he approached the stone archway, passing into the altar tent where the runes pulsed faintly, casting shifting shadows across the shimmering basin of semi-silver liquid. Runesmith Eldra stood nearby, hands folded over a bronze sigil-rod¡ªits surface etched with glowing channels that pulsed in time with the altar''s rhythm. "Do you understand the process?" Vaan nodded. "Flair stones will call to those who resonate. If none call, your attributes will determine your class. You may accept or reject, but once chosen, there is no turning back." Vaan stepped forward, inhaled sharply, and thrust his hand into the liquid. As Vaan''s hand submerged into the semi-silver basin, for a moment, nothing happened. The liquid remained still, and no stones glowed. His breath caught in his throat as the silence stretched on. But then, all the stones began to tremble but none had a dominant glow or reaction. But this¡ªthis was unlike anything he had seen before. All the stones jittered and shook energetically, creating a mesmerizing spectacle. Yet, the truth was the resonance wasn¡¯t focused. It felt scattered, with no single element drawing attention. For a heartbeat, his chest tightened, and a wave of fear gripped him. Was it a mistake? Was I failing the ritual? He quickly steadied his breath, pushing the fear from his mind. It¡¯s fine. My attributes will see me through, he reassured himself. He waited, tension coiling in his chest, until one stone rose from the center of the basin. It ascended above all the others, commanding the space like an emperor. The other stones quivered beneath it, as though applauding in unison before meekly falling back to the bottom. Vaan¡¯s gaze fixed on the stone, his heart skipping a beat. It bore the image of a scale and a sword¡ªsymbols he recognized but couldn''t fully place. Justice? No, wait¡­ The realization clicked in his mind with a small spark. It¡¯s order. "Nobody ever gets Order, of course," his father¡¯s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and laced with a quiet reverence. "But it¡¯s the imperial decree, the symbol of order... it needs to be there in all imperially sanctioned rituals." Chapter 3 - Class initiation For the first time in his life, Vaan saw what he had only ever heard and wondered about. The blue screen of the Weave flickered into existence in his mind¡¯s eye. Class Acquired: Orderly Blade
Name Vaan Redbones
Class Orderly Blade A blade is more than metal. Order is more than law. Strikes are not attacks; they are inevitabilities, enforcing victory through absolute discipline.
Vigor 15
Finesse 13
Mettle 12
Acuity 11
Flair 6
Muse 3
His breath hitched as another notification followed. His heart pounded as the Weave revealed his level-up distribution: He exhaled sharply. That was a rare allocation. Guardsmen only gained +2 Vigor, +1 Finesse, +1 Mettle per level, while spearmen received +2 Vigor, +2 Mettle. Worse still, they only got 2 free points every five levels. Compared to them, his growth was¡­ remarkable. Anything above 2 per level in an attribute was already exceptional. And then another line surfaced. Perk Gained: Orderly Vaan¡¯s eyes flicked over the description, his fingers curling in anticipation. Orderly ¨C In the presence of allies, your movements become instinctively synchronized. When fighting alongside comrades, your strikes flow with theirs, reducing wasted motion and increasing efficiency. He let out a slow breath. That¡­ wasn¡¯t normal. Most early perks were passive resistances or minor bonuses¡ªnot something that actively enhanced battle coordination. And his skill? Skill Unlocked: Unwavering Blade Vaan clenched his fists in exhilaration. His class wasn¡¯t just about power¡ªit was about control and endurance. A class like this could only mean one of two things: Both options left him with more questions than answers. He also noticed that there were two general skill slots available¡ªstandard for a combat class. These shall remain the same once chosen and he will get no more general skills unlike the non-combat class types. "Orderly Blade?" The voice snapped him out of his daze. Runesmith Eldra was still staring at him, her monocle glowing faintly¡ªmore a question than a statement. What did she see? Before he could react, Petros called the next name, forcing Vaan to step aside. Yet, even as he walked, he felt the weight of Eldra¡¯s gaze lingering on him. And she wasn¡¯t the only one watching. The guild scout had taken an interest in him, too.
Vaan sprinted home, ignoring the eager calls of other initiates wanting to know his class. He wanted to share the news, but not here. Garix would have come with him, but the forge was too busy. The initiation season always brought business, with parents from neighboring villages commissioning swords and spears for their children¡¯s awakenings. His father had mentioned an especially good haul this year, but that only meant longer hours in the forge. His mother helped where she could, mostly with food and morale. Recently, Garix had been pushing Vaan to stay out of the forge, telling him to focus on his initiation and his future. But Vaan loved the forge. It was home. He reached the threshold, breathless, eager to share his stats. Hopefully, Marianne, that lazy poke, was awake by now. The warm glow of the forge greeted him, the steady clang of his father¡¯s hammer grounding him. Brenda and Marianne were already there, safely out of the way of the hammer and tools, sitting on a pair of wooden crates near the edge of the forge. The moment he stepped inside, they straightened, eyes sharp with anticipation. Vaan had barely stepped inside before his father¡¯s voice rang out. ¡°Well?¡± Garix set aside a heated bar of metal, turning to face him. Vaan exhaled, preparing to share his class details. His father¡¯s brow furrowed slightly as he listened, nodding at the mention of stat distributions and skill acquisition. "Flair of Order? That¡¯s unexpected. I always saw it as a structured element of the Imperials'' ritual rather than a flair stone. The runesmith''s reaction makes sense, though. Perhaps the guild scout knows someone with more insight¡ªthis may not be the first time it¡¯s happened" But before Garix could continue, Marianne leaned in, eyes alight with curiosity. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Wait, what about the attribute descriptions?¡± she asked. Her curiosity was justified. Sometimes, the Weave gave different interpretations. Vaan had never given it much thought, but it was a subject scholars had debated for centuries. There were entire tomes dedicated to analyzing these descriptions¡ªsomething Elijah would probably obsess over. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth, and he pushed it aside. Instead, he turned to his sister and began reciting the Weave¡¯s words aloud. ¡°VIGOR ¨C The body surges, energy ignites! To move, to strike, to act¡ªpower burns like fire, fleeting but undeniable. Fuels strength and speed. Garix nodded in understanding, while Marianne listened eagerly, hanging on every word. Brenda, however, regarded the descriptions with a kind of reverence, as though the Weave were a sacred link to the Three Saints and the Divine. To Vaan, though, it was just familiar information. Vigor was the energy that fueled strength and speed. Finesse, on the other hand, was about the measured control of that energy, refining agility without the wild, unrestrained force of Vigor. Mettle represented the regeneration of energy spent. Acuity was about senses and mental clarity. Flair and muse were just there to fill the mana pool and skills used mana. He still read through their descriptions, humoring his sister¡¯s curiosity. ¡°FINESSE ¨C The undisciplined flail, the skilled strike swiftly with purpose! Poised and graceful, measured and sharp.¡± ¡°METTLE ¨C A storm passes. The mountain remains! To break is to be weak, to endure is to heal and triumph. ¡± ¡°ACUITY ¨C Flawless eyes, faultless ears, senses that cut through veils and guises clear. Sharpens perception, precision, and mana control. Acuity is physical and mana-world perception.¡± ¡°FLAIR ¨C A spark manifested is deep and true, a force attuned is unleashed anew! Represents affinity and specialization in power. Flair is the intelligence or will to manifest mana in the external world, shaping it to the user¡¯s intent¡ªfire, might, swiftness, and more.¡± ¡°MUSE ¨C A call to ponder, vast and deep, beckoning the mind to wisdom¡¯s sweep! Governs Flair recovery and magical insight. Muse is untamed, wild mana¡ªnot bound to a single Flair but touching all.¡± A quiet moment followed as they absorbed the words. Even Garix, usually pragmatic, seemed momentarily lost in thought. ¡°The Weave really does have its own way of speaking,¡± Marianne murmured. ¡°Poetic nonsense if you ask me,¡± Garix muttered, though there was no real bite to his words. ¡°It¡¯s more than poetry,¡± Brenda said reverently. ¡°It speaks truths in ways we don¡¯t always grasp immediately.¡± Vaan refocused and read through the level up descriptions as Garix crossed his arms. ¡°That¡¯s a damn generous haul,¡± his father said thoughtfully. ¡°Most people would kill for +3 Mettle per level. And +5 free points? That¡¯s unheard of for a non-advanced class.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Vaan muttered, drumming his fingers against the wooden table. ¡°A normal Guardsman gets only two to three skills before ascension at level 25. I wonder how many I¡¯ll get.¡± Garix smirked. ¡°You¡¯ll find out soon enough. But I¡¯ll tell you this¡ªOrderly Blade sounds disciplined. That means it¡¯s likely structured around growth through experience. If it¡¯s anything like what I suspect, you¡¯ll be getting more skills than most.¡± Vaan¡¯s mind raced at the possibilities. But before he let his imagination run wild, there was something else to consider. Vaan explained the unallocated points. His father¡¯s brow furrowed slightly before he leaned back, arms crossed. ¡°If I were you, I¡¯d put them in Finesse.¡± Vaan nodded slowly, already expecting that answer. ¡°Your class looks like it isn''t raw force¡ªbut is also about control? You¡¯ll already grow in Vigor and Mettle naturally, but Finesse decides how well you use that power. I would assume Order isn¡¯t about brute strength but perhaps it¡¯s about balance?¡± Vaan considered it. A well-placed strike carried more weight than a powerful yet clumsy blow. His skill description had emphasized surgical precision, and if speed and control were the essence of Finesse, then investing in it was the logical choice. He nodded. ¡°Yeah. That makes sense.¡± There was no rush to allocate the points immediately, but waiting too long wasn¡¯t an option either. Unused points tended to dissipate after a day, sometimes two. If he had to choose, Finesse was the right call. Brenda, watching him, smiled proudly. ¡°You¡¯ve done well, Vaan. I¡¯m proud of you.¡± Marianne, leaning on the table, teased, ¡°Ha! I knew you¡¯d be a monster in the stats that mattered. You¡¯ve got the perfect balance¡ªVigor, Finesse, Mettle¡­ even Acuity¡¯s good. Not to mention your Flair and Muse are high for a melee class. You¡¯re going to be unstoppable!¡± Vaan chuckled, feeling a mix of pride and relief at his sister¡¯s banter. He had always known that the physical stats hovered around 10 for the average human, with Acuity sitting at 11, but to hear his own stats reflected back with such approval made him feel stronger. With the high Flair and Muse, he¡¯d stand out even in a class that traditionally didn¡¯t require much mana. The path ahead was uncertain, but at least for now, it felt like it was his to carve.
Later that evening, Tal, Ronald, and Risa stopped by, eager to share their own class awakenings. Tal had gained Guardsman, a steady and reliable choice for city defense. Ronald had received Spearman, emphasizing endurance and reach. Risa, on the other hand, had gained Archer, which required high Acuity and Finesse, as well as a solid foundation in Vigor and Mettle. Vaan couldn¡¯t help but notice something strange. Risa, usually full of energy and confidence, seemed unusually meek and respectful when she interacted with Garix. She lowered her head slightly and spoke in a softer tone, her typical boldness replaced by a polite, almost deferential demeanor, as though eager to win Garix¡¯s approval. Vaan had to admit, it struck him as somewhat amusing. ¡°Vaan, yours is weird,¡± Ronald admitted, breaking the tension. ¡°Never heard of it.¡± ¡°Neither have I.¡± It wasn¡¯t just the name¡ªit was the way his class worked. He was familiar with Guardsman, Swordsman, and Spearman, but his class seemed different. While those classes focused on physical prowess, his seemed to emphasize control and strategy, a much more measured approach. Before Vaan could think too much on it, his father had another revelation. ¡°I¡¯ll be leveling up too,¡± Garix announced, his grin widening. ¡°Got a commission for a rare blade.¡± Vaan perked up. ¡°What kind of metal?¡± ¡°Duskiron,¡± Garix replied, his voice low. Vaan frowned. He had never heard of it. ¡°Not surprising. You don¡¯t mine it¡ªyou make it,¡± Garix explained, his eyes darting to make sure no one else was listening. ¡°It¡¯s a blend of void-tempered steel and embercore alloy. Needs to be forged under controlled weave infusion, and it takes five days to temper properly.¡± Vaan took a deep breath, understanding the difficulty. His father rarely took on commissions like this unless secrecy was involved. ¡°A noble wants it?¡± Vaan asked, already sensing where this was going. Garix nodded, lowering his voice even further. ¡°Yeah. Paid a good sum upfront, with a promise of more. Explains the feast before your initiation.¡± Vaan nodded absently, his mind already on helping his father with the forge. But then, Garix''s voice softened again. ¡°I need your help, Vaan. It¡¯s... difficult with Duskiron. The heat required for tempering, the precision¡ªit¡¯s not easy to work with. The only reason I even know about it is because of my adventurer background. I¡¯ve heard of it only rarely, but it¡¯s a metal few know how to handle. The noble wants it kept a secret, too. Swear to me, Vaan. No one can know about this.¡± Without hesitation, Vaan nodded. ¡°I swear.¡± Garix nodded, a knowing grin spreading across his face. ¡°We¡¯ll work on it tonight, but before that, you need to celebrate. Your initiation only happens once, after all. And it looks like all your friends are going to have a merry time today,¡± he added with a wink. ¡°Including Risa, of course.¡± ¡°What? Hmm... she¡¯s just a good friend. Yeah, I¡¯ll see what they¡¯re up to... I meant Ronald, Tal, and everyone else, of course,¡± Vaan stammered, his cheeks reddening. ¡°She probably misses the old times. You two were inseparable.¡± ¡°We were just kids. Besides, she¡¯s practically Elijah¡¯s fianc¨¦e now.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just Elijah¡¯s father¡¯s nonsense,¡± Garix said, his voice dripping with distaste. ¡°Look at that ungrateful boy¡ªdisappeared as soon as his initiation was over. Not a word to his mother,¡± he muttered with a sigh. ¡°What matters is how you feel, and how she feels. Now, go out and enjoy yourself.¡± Vaan nodded, feeling the weight of his father¡¯s words. He excused himself, eager to see Petros about enlisting for patrol duty now that he had a combat class. It would give him the chance to train with the veterans and, hopefully, level up. He would catch up with his friends, who were probably thinking the same. Chapter 4 - Boar & Barrel Vaan scrolled through the list of General Skills, his finger hovering over each option as he considered his choices. Inspect, Hide Status, Reading, Polishing, Maintain Arms, Quick Sleep, Cleaning, Climbing, Swimming, Steady Grip¡ªa mix of practical and specialized skills. Some people had even more options, but whether that was due to their background or sheer luck, he wasn¡¯t sure. Most initiates took Inspect and Hide Status without thinking. The first was essential for gauging people and objects, while the second kept others from doing the same. But what did he have to hide? He thought about Climbing and Swimming, both skills he¡¯d already honed over the years. Taking them might refine his ability, but Steady Grip felt more useful. A versatile skill that could help him wield a weapon properly, steady his strikes at the forge, maybe even keep his hands from shaking under pressure. Garix would approve. With a decisive tap, he selected Inspect and Steady Grip. A quiet chime confirmed his choices were locked in. It wasn¡¯t until late afternoon that he met up with Ronald and Tal. Apparently, the altar square was still full, and the class initiation ceremony was still not complete for some of the folks. Though they heard the crowd had gotten thinner and Petros had delegated to one of the deputies and made his way back to the watch. They didn¡¯t go there though. Instead, they slowly made their way to the training grounds near the watch. "So where is Risa? I thought you guys were all hanging around," Vaan asked, his tone casual. Ronald and Tal exchanged glances, then identical grins stretched across their faces. "What? I just saw you all leaving my home in a crowd, didn''t I?" he replied defensively "So, you sure you just want to see her?" Tal nudged him with an elbow as Ronald waggled his eyebrows obscenely. Vaan rolled his eyes. "Piss off, You¡¯re both pigs". ¡°Our lovesick pup has some guts, I''ll give you that," Ronald continued, ignoring him. "Chasing after a girl who''s practically got ''Lord Elijah''s Future Wife'' tattooed on her¡ª" ¡°Elijah¡¯s a wimp for letting his noble father handle his love life," Vaan snorted. Tal whistled. "Damn, don¡¯t hold back or anything. Let it all out, my man" Vaan sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Well, it¡¯s a mess, isn¡¯t it? Not that it¡¯s any of my business. She¡¯s a good friend¡ªdeserves better, that¡¯s all." He muttered the last part, clearly not convincing either of them. "Friends look out for each other," he added with more conviction. Tal nodded dramatically. "Mhm. And I ''look out'' for the miller¡¯s daughter for her very kind heart, of course. You know, the one she wears so proudly." "Yeah, man," Ronald chimed in with a wink. "Me too." Vaan shot them both an incredulous look. "You¡¯re both disgusting," he growled, shaking his head. "No wonder she barely spoke to me this whole year." He turned and stormed off, his friends chuckling as they followed in his wake. The training grounds were busier than usual, with initiates practicing their forms and older guards overseeing them. Vaan observed them all with his inspect turned on. He got most of their names but only because he knew them beforehand. They were all of Spearman, Swordsman, Guardsman classes. Their levels and other details came out blocked due to the level disparity despite his high acuity. They walked on slowly and then Petros, Galantis, the ¡®Elite Guardsman¡¯ stepped into the view of his inspect. He carried himself with the ease of a seasoned warrior, his armor well-worn but pristine. Petros wasn¡¯t just another guardsman¡ªit was rumored that he was almost near ''Ascension'', but Vaan did not know if it was true. "Vaan had seen him plenty of times but had never spoken to him directly. A friend of Garix from their adventuring days, Petros still relied on his father¡¯s forge for weapon maintenance. He looked younger than Garix¡ªmaybe forty-five¡ªbut Vaan didn¡¯t know for sure. After all, those who neared Ascension aged differently, their vitality stretched by power. Not that warriors often lived long enough for age to be a concern, as they often succumbed in battle. Wragford, though, was relatively peaceful, which was why someone nearing Ascension was considered a huge feat, worthy of awed gossip and, of course, rumors. Level 25, the first milestone, was termed ¡®Awakening,¡¯ and Level 50, the second milestone, was called ¡®Ascension.¡¯ Apparently, each of these milestones offered a choice on how their class progressed, and it was a crucial decision." "Glad to have you," Petros said, nodding at them. "But formal enlistment isn¡¯t until Aerisday. Today¡¯s Viros, so that¡¯s in two days." Only after that did he register that it was Vaan. ¡°Vaan, how fares Garix?¡± he asked solemnly. ¡°Hale and healthy in the forge, sir! He often speaks of you.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± Petros twirled his mustache, looking proud. ¡°Well, a fine swordsman, he was. Pity we lost him in the watch, but let¡¯s see how you fare in his path.¡± He nodded, and Vaan recognized it as a dismissal. That left them with time. While loitering around the village, wishing other initiates and family members, they spotted Risa and her friends. Ronald and Tal exchanged a glance, grinned at each other, then called out to her. She made her way over, and they immediately picked on her and Vaan. "Risa!" Tal called with a grin. "You joining the celebration? or are you just gonna leave Vaan here to miss you terribly?" Vaan rolled his eyes, clearly unfazed by the teasing. "Forget them, Risa. They¡¯re just trying to pick on you." Risa raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "Oh? So, you weren''t really inviting me, then?" ¡°Of course we were! It¡¯s a celebration!¡± Ronald replied. Tal gave him a covert jab and a pointed look. ¡°Well?¡± she asked Vaan. ¡°We¡¯d love for you to join, Risa. No pressure. You can bring your friends with you. It¡¯s going to be big today, and I heard Gaffar has lined up the tavern with imported ale barrels just for today. Everyone¡¯s going to be there.¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Risa smiled but shook her head. "Alright, alright. I¡¯ll join, but only for the food. No ale for me." Ronald raised his eyebrows in mock shock. "Food only? Where¡¯s the fun in that?" With that, they left, leaving her to invite her own friends. Later that evening, the trio found themselves at Wragford¡¯s tavern, the Boar & Barrel. The place was alive with celebration¡ªthe scent of roasting meat mingling with the rich, hearty tang of ale. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the crackle of a bonfire outside added to the warmth of the gathering. The tavern was packed with fresh recruits, their faces flushed from the heat and drink, all buzzing with excitement. Tankards clinked in rhythm with cheerful toasts, and every now and then, someone would burst into song. "About time we did this properly," Ronald declared, slapping a hand on the rough wooden table, the sound ringing through the bustling room. Vaan smirked. He and Ronald had snuck ale before, but for Tal, this was a first. Vaan had tasted it two years ago, stealing a sip from Garix¡¯s hidden stash. His father had kept the bottle carefully stashed away since then. More initiates poured in, some shouting greetings to old friends, others laughing at inside jokes. A few nobles made an appearance, though they kept mostly to themselves, huddled near the fire with their own group. The tavern had set up extra seating outside, where a massive bonfire crackled under the open sky, illuminating the darkening evening and casting flickering shadows over the revelers. They vacated their table in favor of one near the bonfire outside. Risa arrived soon after with her usual entourage of girls, much to Ronald and Tal¡¯s delight. They immediately tried to convince them to join their table. Near the fire, the old man, Herrin, hunched over a mug, his voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Ah, to be young again..." ¡°Oi! Herrin,¡± someone called out. ¡°That¡¯s the third Hag¡¯s Kiss you¡¯re on. About time you quit. Aren¡¯t you too old for this?¡± ¡°Bah! A man¡¯s got to live some, especially under these troubled times!¡± Herrin shouted back, his voice loud enough to draw attention. ¡°Troubled? Old man, are you fully drunk? It''s a celebration after the choosing ceremony, what are you on about?¡± ¡°Undead spirits,¡± Herrin muttered, his voice lower now. ¡°Wandering the burial grounds at night.¡± ¡°Oh, here we go again,¡± the same guy who¡¯d yelled at him muttered under his breath. ¡°Specters haunt the village, I say. Searching for blood and vengeance,¡± Herrin rambled on, his gaze distant. ¡°A while back, didn¡¯t he say it was direwolves that stalked at night?¡± someone else murmured. Herrin looked at Vaan, wagging his finger threateningly. ¡°It¡¯s the curse of the witch Romi, I tell you. Romi¡¯s curse.¡± Vaan snorted. "Romi¡¯s dead." The old man¡¯s milky eyes gleamed. "Saints don¡¯t truly die," he insisted, his voice taking on a more mystical tone. "They live on as Sparks." Vaan took another sip of ale. "Then let¡¯s hope Saint Saria protects us all." "Ashwa Kingdom rose in her time," one of Risa¡¯s friends whispered, her voice hushed with pious reverence¡ªan expression oddly out of place in a tavern full of drunks. "Some say she even set foot in Wragford." "Yeah," Tal scoffed, "like every village claim, just to feel special." She scowled at him, immediately vacating her seat in favor of the one near Ronald. ¡°Hush, man! Don¡¯t you be blaspheming our village like that!¡± Ronald immediately chimed in with a fake sailor¡¯s accent. ¡°I¡¯m sure she came here, just as sure as ye look pretty, miss.¡± He smiled at her, causing her to blush. Vaan wished his friend luck. The tavern was full of energy, a riot of fun. The ale, ¡®Hag¡¯s Kiss,¡¯ was strong and bitter, but it made him feel light. Garix had asked for his help at the forge tonight, but surely one more drink wouldn¡¯t hurt. He gulped it down, savoring the burn, as the sensation of warmth spread through him. Just as Vaan was lost in the revelry, somewhere in the distance, he felt a sharp, unblinking gaze. Turning his head, he noticed the Guild Scout sitting alone in the corner, watching. Two nobles¡ªa father and son¡ªtried to engage him in conversation, but the scout barely responded, disinterested. The moment Vaan made eye contact, the scout quickly looked away. Vaan tried to get a read on the Guild¡¯s class with his inspect, but either the scout was too high-level, or Vaan had drunk too much to make sense of it. Before he could dwell on it, movement near the fire caught his attention. Risa stood stiffly as a young Spearman¡ªone of the older village boys who had gotten his class years ago¡ªpressed her to dance. Vaan could see the discomfort in her posture, her forced smile barely hiding her unease. The spearman¡¯s hand was gripping her wrist too tightly, his other hand resting a little too low on her waist as he tried to pull her into the dance. The way the spearman leered at her made his blood boil, and he could tell she wasn¡¯t enjoying a moment of it. Andryr, Gobert Level 9, Spearman Ronald was too drunk to notice, while Risa¡¯s friend, seated near him, looked cross, clearly feeling ignored. Meanwhile, Tal had moved on and was busy twirling the miller¡¯s daughter in a carefree, laughing spin. Neither of them had noticed Risa¡¯s predicament. Vaan shifted, ready to step in¡ª ¡ªbut a level 1, Archivist beat him to it. Elijah moved effortlessly between them, murmuring something low enough that only Risa and the spearman could hear. The spearman¡¯s jaw tensed, but after a moment, he stepped back. Vaan cursed under his breath, stepping closer. Elijah¡¯s presence always grated on him. "Didn¡¯t think you had it in you to stand up to someone," Vaan quipped. Elijah barely glanced his way. "Go back to your drink, Vaan. You¡¯re wasted." Vaan huffed a laugh. "Scared? Not everyone would back away just because daddy¡¯s name is dropped." Elijah¡¯s jaw twitched, but instead of rising to the bait, he turned to Risa. "You should leave. It¡¯s getting rowdy." "I¡¯m fine," Risa said, her voice steady. Elijah frowned and took her hand with force. "It¡¯s not safe." Vaan stepped up beside her. "She said she¡¯s fine." The tension between them thickened. Vaan was itching to punch Elijah¡¯s smug face. Unfortunately, one of the housemen stepped in. Vaan recognized him from the village circle¡ªVic Goodson, a Brawler, level 14, according to his ''inspect''. It was surprising as he knew Vic had only gotten his class three years ago. "Enough," Vic said, guiding them all toward the exit, Elijah included. Elijah¡¯s face twisted, looking as though his nose was offended by the air, genuinely shocked that he was being escorted out along with the others. It lifted Vaan¡¯s spirits just a little. Ronald and Tal trailed behind, looking sheepish. Elijah cast one last glare at Vaan before leaving. The cool night air brushed against them as they walked. Tal mumbled an apology and guided a drunk Ronald toward the south end, where their homes were. Vaan and Risa walked in silence as he escorted her home. His head was clearer now, the effects of the ale fading, but a strange guilt and something else¡ªsomething lighter, not brought on by the drink¡ªsettled in his chest. He wanted to say something. Maybe apologize, but the more he hesitated, the harder it became. Soon, they arrived. They arrived at her yard gate, and she stopped, turning toward him. Under the glow of the twin moons, her chestnut hair, loosely tied back, shimmered, casting soft, fleeting shadows on her face. Her sharp eyes still sparkled with that mirth and joy he remembered from childhood, but now they held a depth, a maturity. She was no longer just the girl he had known; she was also a woman, he did not know. Her eyes studied him intensely, reading him, waiting... The magic of the moment hung between them, and Vaan felt as if he might shatter it with even the slightest movement. Then, without a word, she leaned in and kissed him. It was brief, but the warmth lingered. She pulled away, a small, knowing smile curving her lips before she turned and walked away. Vaan stood there for a moment, stunned. Then, a slow, stupid grin stretched across his face. The night had taken an unexpected turn. As he stood there, still caught in the spell of the kiss, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. Was it that brat Elijah spying on them? He wouldn''t put it past his petty self. Vaan stood still for a moment, then realized that the ale and the kiss had likely muddled his imagination. With a shake of his head, he turned and walked away. Chapter 5 - Thornhare As Vaan walked the cobbled path, his steps lightened by the warmth of Risa¡¯s lips and the lingering taste of ale, he let out a low whistle. The crisp night air cooled his flushed skin, and above him, the twin moons winked between scattered clouds, their silver glow painting the rooftops in soft light. The village was quiet, save for the distant hoot of an owl and the occasional creak of wooden shutters shifting in the wind. But soon, the path darkened as he veered off the main road, slipping onto an old, abandoned trail where the moonlight barely reached. Thick canopies of gnarled oaks loomed overhead, their twisted branches tangled like skeletal fingers, swallowing the light whole. The air here was different¡ªcooler, damp with the scent of earth and moss. Somewhere beyond the withered hedgerows and lichen-covered stones lay the village''s burial grounds, the resting place of those long forgotten. This was the shortest way home, cutting through the outskirts instead of the well-lit main road. He could have gone the longer way¡ªthrough the market square and past the watchtower¡ªbut that meant running into the night patrol. And after three mugs of ale and a stolen kiss, the last thing he needed was a lecture from Petros¡¯s men about "proper conduct." A chill brushed his spine, sudden and unnatural. He stiffened. That feeling again. Someone was watching. Vaan turned his head slightly, eyes scanning the thick shadows pooling between the trees. The night had gone eerily still. No wind. No rustling leaves. Even the distant owl had gone silent. "Spectres haunt the village, searching for blood and vengeance." Old Man Herrin¡¯s words slithered unbidden into his mind. The drunkard was full of nonsense, always weaving tales of vengeful spirits, but this¡ªthis wasn¡¯t just drunken fancy. This was something else. His breath hitched. His fingers twitched toward his belt, reaching for his blade. Nothing. Right¡ªhe hadn¡¯t brought it. Why would he? No one carried steel just for a walk through the village. His pulse pounded against his ribs. The ale could explain the dizziness, the way shadows twisted like grasping hands, but it couldn¡¯t explain the sheer, crawling sense of malice pressing against his skin. Darker than dark. The air thickened, suffocating. His body screamed at him to move, to run¡ªbut he stood frozen, as if unseen fingers had wrapped around him, squeezing, drinking in his fear. Then¡ª [Inspect] has leveled up! (Lv.1 ¡ú Lv.3) A shock jolted through him. What? His mind reeled. That was impossible. Inspect wasn¡¯t even a combat skill¡ªwhy would it level up just from looking at something? Unless¡­ What did I just see? His breath came fast and ragged. The weight pressing down on him sharpened into something sentient, something aware. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to act. If he couldn¡¯t cut it down, he¡¯d use what little he had. Unwavering Blade. He swung his arm. A reflex, desperate. The skill ignited inside him¡ªhe felt it stir¡ªbut there was nothing in his hand. No steel. No edge to strike with. No arc of power. No invisible slash. Just him, swinging at air helplessly. No impact. No enemy. But the moment he moved, the suffocating terror loosened its grip. And then¡ª The pressure vanished. Like smoke curling into the night, the crushing malice slipped away. The alley was really empty now. The shadows lay still. Even the bone-deep cold had lifted, as if it had never been there at all. Vaan didn¡¯t wait to question it. He turned on his heel and ran. His boots pounded against the stone as he burst from the alley, the looming trees falling away behind him. The moment he reached the forge path, the warmth of home greeted him¡ªthe golden flicker of embers still glowing in the smithy. The scent of iron and burning coal filled his lungs, grounding him, anchoring him back to reality. Everything was normal. Vaan staggered into the forge, shutting the door fast behind him. The warmth of the embers still burning in the smithy wrapped around him like a lifeline, a stark contrast to the chilling void he had just escaped. The scent of iron, oil, and burning coal filled his lungs, grounding him, anchoring him back to something real. Garix was at the anvil, hammer in hand, his broad back turned as he worked on shaping a blade. Near the workbench, Brenda and Sister Marianne were chatting, their voices soft, easy. The familiar scene sent a wave of warmth through Vaan¡¯s chest, so starkly normal that for a second, he almost forgot what had just happened. Then Brenda looked up, her eyes sharpening as she took in his disheveled state. ¡°What happened?¡± Vaan wanted to shrug it off, to mutter nothing and leave it at that. But in front of her concerned gaze, surrounded by the glow of the forge, the presence of his sister, his father¡ªeverything came slipping out. Vaan had always thought of himself as brave. Growing up, he''d never flinched from a fight, whether it was with the other boys and sometimes men who had a class even. His courage had always been more instinctive than calculated, a confidence born from the certainty that he could handle whatever came his way. After all, he wasn¡¯t afraid of anyone¡ªnot even the stern Petros, whom he respected. But what had happened back there, in the shadows of the alley, was something else entirely. Something he couldn¡¯t explain. It had been different. The weight of it had pressed on him, suffocating him in a way that no threat, no danger ever had before. That was the kind of fear Vaan wasn¡¯t used to. The kind that gripped him without a blade to fight back against it. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. His mind raced. Unwavering Blade ignored mental debuffs. Maybe that¡¯s why he had snapped out of it¡ªwhy he had been able to move when every fiber of his being screamed to stay still. He had somehow triggered his skill partially, even without wielding the blade. Brenda¡¯s expression darkened, and without another word, she began whispering prayers to Saint Saria. She nudged Marianne, who, despite her rebellious streak, for once joined in without complaint. Garix, however, simply paused his hammering and turned to him with a thoughtful look. ¡°You were using Inspect all day, weren¡¯t you? Hoping it would level up?¡± Vaan frowned. ¡°Yeah.¡± He had used it on nearly everyone in the watch. And then again at the tavern, just in case. Garix nodded as if that confirmed something. ¡°Then maybe you just hit the threshold. Could¡¯ve been a squirrel or a rat in the dark. That should¡¯ve been enough to push it over.¡± A rational explanation. Vaan wanted to believe it. He nodded, even though deep down, he knew that wasn¡¯t it. His ¡®inspect¡¯ didn¡¯t just level up. It leveled up twice! Garix set down his hammer and gestured toward the forge. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s start. There¡¯s a new sword to forge, and it''ll take your mind off things.¡± That, at least, Vaan could agree with. Vaan stepped up to the anvil, ready. Garix had already begun working on the Duskiron, the rare alloy glowing with an eerie sheen under the forge¡¯s heat. The metal shimmered faintly, shifting from deep, dark shades to something brighter as Garix expertly manipulated it with his tongs. The sword¡¯s blade had already taken its rough form, its edges still jagged and raw. It was not yet ready for tempering¡ªfor now, Garix was carefully adjusting its thickness, ensuring the heat spread evenly across the metal. The shaping process was meticulous, requiring precise strikes to bring the blade closer to its final form. The work had taken hours, but there was still much left to do. By Vaan¡¯s estimate, it would take at least a few more days to complete the full forging and tempering process. Duskiron wasn¡¯t like any other metal he¡¯d worked with before. It was as if the alloy itself carried an ethereal weight, a strange energy that stirred beneath his skin just by being near it. Taking a steady breath, Vaan focused. Steady Grip A skill acquired over years of hands-on labor, Steady Grip eliminates trembling or unsteady motions, keeping the user¡¯s grip firm and their focus unbroken. He activated the skill, feeling it flow into his hands like a wave of controlled energy. His fingers flexed, and the tension he hadn¡¯t realized was there vanished. The steady pressure of his grip on the tools felt natural, as if they were an extension of his very being. Garix glanced at him, waiting. Vaan set his stance, eyes on the glowing metal, and lifted his hammer. The familiar weight of the tool was comforting, grounding him further. He could already feel the warmth of the forge seep into his skin, the steady heat calming his nerves. Vaan struck. The clang of metal on metal was like a call to arms, clearing his mind, driving away the lingering fear and doubt. The rhythm of hammer against anvil replaced the shadows of unease still chasing him from earlier. With each strike, the blade took shape, the once-ragged edges smoothing out under Garix¡¯s expert guidance.
The next day, Vaan, Tal, and Ronald met up just outside the village, eager to test their newfound abilities. Like any new initiates, the thrill of gaining quick level-ups and discovering their class skills fueled their excitement. Ronald, as a Spearman, had the skill Thrust¡ªa deceptively simple ability. It wasn¡¯t a flashy technique, but rather an innate sense of his spearhead¡¯s position, allowing him to control his movement with precision. Every strike conserved energy, ensuring the full force was concentrated at the spear¡¯s tip for a more piercing impact. Tal, on the other hand, had a defensive skill linked to his shield as a Guardsman. Blunt Wave allowed him to redistribute the force of an impact across the shield¡¯s surface, reducing direct damage. That was probably why he had shown up with a cheap wooden shield reinforced with strips of iron¡ªit wouldn¡¯t hold up against a heavy blow, but with his skill, it would last longer than expected. He also carried a spear, making him adaptable for both attack and defense. Vaan was the only one wielding a sword. Their plan was straightforward: head to the outskirts and hunt small quarry to gain combat experience and level up. The village watch, well aware of how reckless newly initiated youths could be, had forbidden them from venturing too far¡ªespecially during the first few days. Too many accidents, too much misplaced enthusiasm. But the three of them knew the land better than most. Between them, they could navigate the lesser-known trails leading beyond the village. Ronald, whose house was at the furthest southern edge, knew all the small game paths and hidden trails. Though thorny undergrowth and prickly bushes would make passage difficult, it was better than risking an encounter with the watch patrol. Heading westward would lead toward the burial grounds¡ªa place Vaan had no intention of going near after last night¡¯s experience. He hadn¡¯t shared what had happened in the alley with Tal or Ronald. They¡¯d probably mock him for it, and in the daylight, it almost felt foolish to dwell on. The morning sun brought with it a renewed sense of courage. He felt no fear now¡ªonly anticipation for the hunt. The first creature they encountered was a large rabbit-like beast with powerful hind legs and sharp incisors. It wasn¡¯t just a defenseless herbivore¡ªwhen cornered, it lunged with surprising speed and could easily injure an unwary hunter. A bite from it wasn¡¯t lethal, but it was far from pleasant.
Thornhare Level: 3 A swift, aggressive creature known for its powerful hind legs and razor-sharp incisors. While not particularly intelligent, its speed and stealth make it a tricky opponent for novice hunters.
Ronald, who spotted it first, grinned, probably leveling up his Inspect. "Not exactly the kind of beast you brag about taking down," he muttered, twirling his spear in his hand. "Yeah? You want to test how sharp its teeth are?" Tal smirked, stepping forward. "Go on, Ronald. Let it chew on your leg first." Ronald snorted. "I¡¯ll pass. But at least let me land the first hit." He lunged forward, spear striking with practiced precision. Thrust guided the movement, ensuring the force concentrated at the tip, but the Thornhare was fast. It twisted mid-leap, dodging the attack with an agility that made Ronald curse under his breath. Before it could escape, Tal took a step forward, raising his shield¡ªbut instead of blocking, he held it out slightly, almost as if he were offering it up. The Thornhare, known for speed and stealth but not intelligence, took the bait. With a snarl, it sank its teeth into the wooden shield. "Gotcha," Tal muttered. He twisted his arm sharply, yanking the shield sideways and slamming the Thornhare into the dirt. It struggled, momentarily dazed. Ronald readied his spear again, but before he could make his move, Vaan was already stepping forward, sword in hand. His Orderly perk was probably acting up, as he found his movements aligning instinctively with the flow. As Tal knocked the creature off balance, Vaan stepped in fluidly, his sword already in motion. He struck cleanly, the blade slicing through its exposed side. The Thornhare convulsed once before going still.
Level Up! (Lv. 1 ¡ú Lv. 2)
Vaan felt a faint pulse of energy wash over him¡ªproof that the battle had been recognized by the system. His Unwavering Blade, however, remained unchanged, which surprised him. He had expected the fight to push it forward, but perhaps it wasn¡¯t enough. "Come on!" Ronald gestured at his spear. "At least let me get a hit in before you start claiming all the glory!" Vaan smirked, stepping back. "Didn¡¯t see your name on it." Tal joined in and gave Ronald a playful shove. "What glory? You do realize it''s just a hare, right?" Ronald scoffed, then suddenly jabbed his spear into the already dead Thornhare. A fresh trickle of blood seeped out, dark against its fur. Tal stepped back, grimacing at the sight. "Whew¡­ you know, you don¡¯t get points for killing something that''s already dead." Ronald shrugged. "Unless it¡¯s undead," Tal continued, "in which case, you probably get double." Vaan shook his head, sheathing his sword. They were just getting started. Chapter 6 - Blood and Tusk The thrill of leveling up settled into their bones, a fresh spark of energy in their limbs. Vaan and Tal had already hit their next level, but Ronald¡ªwell, Ronald was still waiting for his moment. ¡°Bollocks and a goblin¡¯s stinky arse! Feels wrong you¡¯re ahead¡ªI¡¯m the one who¡¯s supposed to be carrying your sorry hides back!" Tal smirked. ¡°Jealousy isn¡¯t a good look on you.¡± ¡°Neither is being behind,¡± Ronald shot back. ¡°But here we are.¡± Vaan chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re acting like we stole something from you.¡± ¡°You did! My rightful place at the top.¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± Tal clapped him on the back. ¡°Tell you what¡ªyou get the first strike at the next kill.¡± ¡°No promises,¡± Vaan added, grinning. ¡°You want it, you better be quick.¡± Ronald scoffed. ¡°You two are just hoping I mess up.¡± ¡°Oh, definitely,¡± Tal said without hesitation. They pressed on, eyes sharp, watching for movement¡ªdartfrogs, thornhares, maybe even a bogweasel if luck was on their side. The forest stretched around them, quiet except for the distant rustle of leaves. Then Ronald stiffened. A noise. Something shifting in the underbrush. He stepped over a thick root, lowering his stance, spear tilting forward. ¡°Could be a thornhare,¡± he muttered, creeping ahead. ¡°Hey, genius,¡± Tal called after him. ¡°Ever heard of not splitting the party?¡± Ronald ignored him, eyes locked on the rustling ahead. They moved with steady anticipation. Every snap of a twig beneath their boots sent a twitch through their fingers, weapons shifting toward the sound¡ªonly for it to be nothing. Just the woods playing tricks on them. Then the ground shuddered. The underbrush exploded outward. A boar. Not the meager kind that scurried at the sight of steel, but a hulking, snarling mass of muscle and rage. Its tusks gleamed like jagged daggers, caked in old blood, its beady eyes wild with hunger. It didn¡¯t hesitate. It charged. The attack hit before their minds could catch up. Ronald reacted first, spear flashing forward. ¡°Thrust!¡± His voice rang out as his skill activated, the weapon lancing toward the beast¡¯s side¡ªtoo slow. The boar veered, unnaturally fast for its size, its hooves tearing up the earth as it lunged straight at him. A heartbeat later, Ronald was airborne. The boar¡¯s tusks rammed into him, lifting him off his feet. His body crumpled as it flung him aside like discarded meat, crashing into the dirt with a sickening thud. Then¡ª Stillness. No groan. No breath. ¡ªRonald didn¡¯t move¡ª Vaan¡¯s pulse hammered in his ears. He barely had time to think, his body moving on instinct. He stepped in, calling upon his skill. ¡®Unwavering Blade!¡¯ His sword arced in a perfect, unyielding strike, slicing into the boar¡¯s flank¡ª But it wasn¡¯t deep enough. The boar twisted, and before Vaan could react, its tusks slammed into his side. Pain exploded through his ribs as he was thrown back, skidding through the dirt. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself up, vision swimming. ¡°Tal!¡± Vaan barked. Tal was already moving. His shield came up, catching the boar¡¯s second charge with a crack. He pushed back with all his strength, activating Blunt Wave¡ªa surge of force rippling outward. The boar staggered, if only for a moment. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. But Vaan wasn¡¯t looking at the boar anymore. He was looking at Ronald. Still down. Still not moving. Something ice-cold slid down his spine. ¡°Ronald?¡± Tal¡¯s voice was tight, uncertain. ¡°Get up.¡± Nothing. Then¡ª A sharp, ragged inhale. Ronald¡¯s body jerked, his chest heaving as he gasped in air like a drowning man breaking the surface. His fingers clawed at the dirt. Blood dripped from his nose, but he was alive. His eyes snapped open, and without hesitation, he lunged. His spear rammed deep into the beast¡¯s side. The level 6 boar screamed. A raw, guttural sound. But it didn¡¯t die. It didn¡¯t even slow down. With terrifying speed, it turned¡ªtusks slashing upward. There was a wet, sickening rip. Ronald¡¯s head snapped to the side as the boar''s tusk tore through flesh and cartilage. A spurt of blood shot out, trailing in the air as he stumbled back, his scream strangled by the sheer shock of it. His hand shot to his head. Something was wrong. Something was missing. His fingers met raw, torn flesh where his ear had been. Vaan saw the exact moment realization hit. The moment Ronald¡¯s knees buckled. The moment his breath hitched in his throat, eyes wide with uncomprehending horror as blood ran hot down his neck. His chest heaved in sharp, ragged gasps. Vaan didn¡¯t waste the opening. He struck again, this time with precision¡ªhis blade carving through the beast¡¯s underbelly. At the same moment, Ronald¡ªdriven by sheer rage¡ªplunged his spear deeper. The boar¡¯s shriek was deafening. Its body convulsed. And then, finally, it collapsed. Silence. Vaan stood there, sword lowered, breath unsteady. The metallic stench of blood filled the air, thick and cloying. Ronald stumbled back, skin deathly pale. He touched his head again, trembling fingers pressing against the torn mess where his ear had been. ¡°Gone,¡± he croaked. ¡°It took my ear.¡± Vaan swallowed hard. The wound was ugly. Torn flesh, exposed cartilage¡ªraw and wrong. His stomach churned. Tal took a step forward. ¡°We should¡¯ve been more careful¡ª¡± Ronald¡¯s head snapped toward him, eyes bloodshot. His grip on the bloody spear tightened. ¡°You think?¡± The words came low and sharp, edged with something that made Vaan¡¯s muscles tense. For one terrible moment, Ronald looked ready to lash out¡ªlike he would drive his spear straight into Tal¡¯s throat without a second thought. Then his legs buckled. He hit his knees hard. A low, broken whimper rattled from his throat as he hunched forward, rocking as the agony tore through him. Vaan moved fast. ¡°Hold still.¡± ¡°Get¡ªoff¡ª¡± Ronald jerked his shoulder, but Vaan grabbed his wrist, forcing him still. ¡°Stop moving.¡± Tal stood frozen, his breath unsteady, eyes locked on the blood running down Ronald¡¯s neck. His shield hung limp at his side, fingers twitching like he wanted to help but couldn¡¯t make himself move. ¡°Tal!¡± Vaan snapped, urgency slicing through the haze. ¡°Cloth¡ªnow!¡± Tal flinched, jolted from his daze. He fumbled at his tunic, fingers trembling as he tore the hem free and shoved it into Vaan¡¯s waiting hands. Vaan pressed the cloth against the wound, tying it tight. It darkened instantly, crimson spreading through the fabric. Ronald panted, fingers curling into the dirt. ¡°Fucking¡ª¡± He swallowed hard, teeth bared against the pain. ¡°Should¡¯ve just¡ªkilled it quicker.¡± His blood seeped into the ferns beneath him, a stark contrast against the damp earth. Nearby, the boar¡¯s carcass steamed where it lay between twisted roots, its ruptured belly spilling half-digested acorns and bile¡ªa grotesque testament to their recklessness. Tal slumped against a moss-crusted log, wiping a shaky hand over his face. ¡°We¡¯re idiots.¡± ¡°No shit,¡± Ronald rasped. ¡°Twisted Romi¡¯s tits¡ªgerroff me, Vaan!¡± He weakly shoved at Vaan¡¯s hands. ¡°Ya tryin¡¯ to finish me off or what? ¡± Vaan kept his grip firm, pressing harder. ¡°The stink of blood¡¯s gonna become worse. We can¡¯t sit ¡®round like fools. We need to move¡ªnow.¡±
The forest pressed in around them as Vaan dragged Ronald forward, his blood leaving dark smears across the ferns and moss. Vaan¡¯s muscles burned with the effort, though the recent level-ups¡ªfrom Level 2 to 4¡ªhad strengthened his base stats: Vigor 25, Finesse 25, Mettle 18. The Weave granted no free points for these small gains; those only came every five levels for his class. Tal moved beside them, unharmed but pale, his eyes darting between the darkening trees. ¡°Ronald,¡± Vaan gritted out between breaths, ¡°if you hit Level 5, dump your points into Mettle¡ªnow.¡± Ronald just grunted, his pupils blown wide with pain and frustration. Vaan didn¡¯t press. Spearmen and Guardsmen¡ªlike his own class¡ªonly got free attribute points every five levels. That damn boar had taken three spears to the gut before it finally fell¡ªexcluding Vaan¡¯s sword strikes and the blunt force from Tal, of course¡ªand Ronald had been the one to land the killing thrust. Still, Vaan doubted whether it had been enough to push him past Level 5, especially considering Ronald had been at Level 1 before the fight. Vaan didn¡¯t get the chance to ask. A snap. A deliberate step in the underbrush. Then¡ªsteel at his throat. Vaan froze. Tal stiffened beside him, his breath hitching as another spear hovered near his neck. A bowstring creaked, drawn taut in the fading light. A low chuckle. Andryr Golbert, Level 9 Spearman. His stance was easy, almost lazy, but the cruel glint in his eyes told a different story. ¡°Looks like the prey mistook itself for the hunter.¡± His spear pressed just enough for Vaan to feel its bite. ¡°Slipping past the watch, sneaking in without clearance¡­¡± Andryr''s grin sharpened. ¡°You know the rule.¡± A pause, deliberate, savoring the moment. ¡°Punishable by death.¡± Chapter 7 - An Ear for Trouble Cold metal prickled at Vaan¡¯s skin as he assessed the situation. The two spearmen had them cornered. One of them, Andryr Golbert, had a spear pressed against his neck and the other nameless guard, also at level nine, pointed a spear at Tal¡¯s throat. And somewhere in the distance, a bowman lurked, too far to see, too dangerous to ignore. "Whoa! Easy there!" Tal''s hands shot up; his voice all practiced charm. "You know us¡­ just a couple initiates grabbing some field experience. Guys like you get it, right?" His grin turned disarmingly sheepish. "Hell, we were trying to imitate your lot, proper watchmen, yeh see¡­ figured we¡¯d see if we could pull our weight before joining y¡¯all. Not that it¡¯s easy! Town''s lucky to have pros like you keeping things safe¡­" A dry chuckle. Then silence. Tal barreled on. "Anyway, great timing¡­ we thought we were goners! Our buddy here''s leaking all over the place. Boar took his ear clean off. Ate it, actually. You can see the blood''s still-" ¡°Quiet, dog,¡± Andryr¡¯s smirk sharpened. ¡°We aren¡¯t speaking to you.¡± He tapped the tip of his spear against Vaan¡¯s jaw, amusement flickering in his gaze. "You¡¯re that insufferable archivist¡¯s brother, aren¡¯t you? The one who thinks ink stains make him untouchable. Do you believe the whole village bends to you too?" ¡°Elijah, Who?¡± Tal feigned confusion. ¡°You are mistaken. This here, my friend is in no way-¡± THUNK! The other spearman who was probably feeling ignored, shut Tal up with a blunt and impactful hit on the head that said shut the fuck up. ¡°He¡¯s not speaking to you,¡± the other spearman said, and Andryr gave a careless nod. "You." Andryr¡¯s lip curled as he studied Vaan. "Elijah¡¯s brother. Same ma, different pa, same rotten blood," he announced, and his friend laughed on cue, like a badly trained dog. "What¡¯s wrong?¡± Andryr prodded. ¡°Scared? Want to fight? Beg?... or cry perhaps?" ¡°Fucking get to the point!¡± Ronald growled. Fresh blood clotted across the pus-streaked bandage of torn cloth where his ear had once been. Pain fueled his anger, making him lash out. ¡°First a boar, now a swine. If this is about Risa preferring that ink-stained loser over your drunken groping, go bother Elijah. Oh wait, you won¡¯t.¡± Andryr¡¯s face darkened. Ronald was never the smooth talker, especially when he had an ear missing. Tal in the meantime looked like he had eaten shit for a pie. It had escalated quickly. Vaan took a slow breath, realizing that it isn''t going to end without a fight. ¡°If you want to fight me, fine! Any other day. Any other time. You call it and I¡¯ll be there. Right now, he is bleeding, and we need to get him to my mother. We don¡¯t have time for this¡± Brenda wasn¡¯t a healer, but as an herbalist, she always had salves and balms on hand. She could probably find something to numb the pain and stop the worst of the bleeding. Once she¡¯d done her part, they could see if Garix could arrange for a healer, though it would be costly. But they had to move quickly! Andryr sneered. ¡°Listen here, bastard. I¡¯m the watch. That means right here, right now, you answer to me.¡± Vaan¡¯s patience snapped. In a blur, he slapped the spear¡¯s tip aside and braced himself. ¡°Now, hold on a bit,¡± the bowman¡¯s voice rang out from a distance. Vaan finally spotted him¡ªa man in green, carrying a large bow. ¡°Come on, Andryr. They¡¯re fresh initiates, barely standing. And that one,¡± he nodded toward Ronald, ¡°needs urgent attention.¡± His gaze hardened. ¡°Let them get treated. This can wait.¡± ¡°Stay out of this, Jion.¡± ¡°No.¡± The bowman exhaled sharply. ¡°I¡¯m all for showing the newbies the ropes, putting a little fear of steel in them¡­ but you¡¯re not seriously thinking of fighting them, are you?¡± ¡°That depends on this one.¡± ¡°I joined to keep the peace, not settle your tavern grudges!¡± Jion shook his head. ¡°I want no part of this. We know how it goes when you get carried away.¡± He turned to the second spearman. ¡°Malik, you really want your first stint to be a murder charge? Think about it¡± With that, Jion disappeared. The second spearman shifted uncomfortably, his spear tip dipping ever so slightly Vaan had known this would end in steel the moment Andryr refused to back down. Some men only understood violence, and the watchman had "bully" written in every sneering line of his face. But initiative mattered. Two level-nines against three wounded initiates. The odds weren''t with them, so he needed to strike first. So, when Malik hesitated, spear dipping that crucial inch, Vaan struck. He lunged inside Andryr¡¯s reach before the spear could steady, his sword flashing. Unwavering Blade thrummed through his muscles, the skill¡¯s precision guiding his powerful strike like a smith¡¯s hammer to anvil. He aimed not to kill, but to maim: a slash toward Andryr¡¯s dominant wrist. If he could disarm the bastard¡ª Shock widened Andryr¡¯s eyes. I¡¯m fast. Faster than when I fought the thornhare! Vaan thought, surprised to see that in his mind''s eye, he could clearly sense the positions of his friends. Tal stood protectively in front of Ronald, his broken shield raised, while Malik hesitated, uncertainty in his stance. It was his perk, Orderly, Vaan realized. Andryr recovered from the initial surprise, his years of training with the watch guiding his footwork as he shifted, creating distance. And yet Vaan pressed forward, not giving him the space to wield his spear properly. Five levels higher, yet I¡¯m matching him somehow! I need to keep pressing. Tal remained still, careful not to provoke Malik into joining. Ronald, in pain, could offer no help either. It was all up to him, but he could do it! Vaan kept charging onwards, not giving an inch or space for maneuvering the spear. Just as Vaan thought he gained the upper hand¡­ Andryr pivoted. A blur of motion that was too fast. His spear parried Vaan¡¯s sword in a sharp, precise motion. A Watch-trained combat skill. Jarred by the impact, Vaan stumbled forward! ¡°Die.¡± The spear came down. Tal screamed; Ronald roared. Even Malik moved, desperate to stop it¡­ but too late. Vaan saw everything at once. Ronald¡¯s wide-eyed and bloodied stare of horror. Tal, reaching out. Malik, in a panicked half-leap. Andryr, his strike reckless, fueled by anger. A slight imbalance. A mistake. Unwavering Blade. Vaan¡¯s sword moved. In an orderly, clean arc, his blade empowered by his skill. The steel met steel. A sharp clink. Silence. Andryr staggered back. His spear¡ªcleanly severed at the head¡ªclattered to the ground. For a moment, no one breathed. Then, Andryr¡¯s shock twisted into rage. ¡°You!¡± He was on Vaan in an instant. Too fast. Too strong. The differences in their raw stats, clear as a day¡­ Vaan¡¯s sword flew from his grip. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. A fist crashed into his face. The world blurred. Pain exploded through his skull. Blood filled his mouth, warm and coppery. He gasped out a laugh, teeth red. ¡°You¡­¡± He spat crimson onto the ground. ¡°Are pathetic.¡± Andryr drew back, fist raised for another blow. ¡°That is enough.¡± The words cut through the air, crisp and commanding. Everything stopped. Petros, the guard chief, strode forward, his presence undeniable. He was a stern man, his face set in hard lines, a thick mustache resting above a tight mouth that rarely smiled. His armor gleamed in daylight, not just steel, but something finer, reflecting a legacy beyond the simple duty of a village watchman. Andryr stiffened, adjusting his grip on his spear but not speaking. ¡°Andryr.¡± Petros¡¯s voice was calm, but the weight behind it silenced any protests before they could form. ¡°Attacking someone a day after their initiation? Shame on you.¡± Andryr¡¯s spear dipped instinctively, but his voice burned with frustration. ¡±Chief! They are outside the walls! You said it yourself after the Miller boy died - initiates stay within bounds until they can block a proper strike.¡± His glare shifted to Vaan. ¡°Yet here they come strolling back, covered in blood and arrogance like-¡± Petros didn¡¯t blink. ¡°The watch is here to protect, not punish. We are watchers of peace, not enforcers of our own grudges.¡± He stepped closer, his gaze locked onto Andryr. ¡°Tell me, what is a greater sin than fighting those you have sworn to protect?¡± Andryr hesitated. ¡°What?¡± Petros¡¯s mustache barely twitched. ¡°Losing.¡± The words landed like a hammer¡¯s blow. Vaan saw Andryr¡¯s shoulders drop, his prideful face contorting with anger and humiliation. ¡°Three years in the watchtowers,¡± Petros continued, ¡°and you nearly lost to someone who got his class yesterday.¡± His head tilted slightly. ¡°Pathetic.¡± Andryr inhaled slowly, struggling to keep his voice even. ¡°I was going easy on them¡­ to teach him a lesson. Besides, I had him on his knees.¡± Petros exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. ¡°Get out of my sight.¡± Andryr¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. He bowed stiffly, then turned on his heel and walked away, his movements precise, controlled. Petros shifted his attention. ¡°Malik.¡± Malik tensed. ¡°You cling to that uniform like a beggar¡¯s stolen cloak,¡± Petros said, quieter but sharper, Malik stood frozen for a moment before lowering his gaze. ¡°Decide. Worm or warrior¡± Malik¡¯s hands twitched at his sides, fingers briefly curling into fists before relaxing. He gave a small nod, then followed Andryr without a word. Petros let them go before turning to Vaan. ¡°Did it level up?¡± Vaan blinked. ¡°What?¡± Petros arched a brow. ¡°Your skill. Unwavering Blade.¡± Vaan frowned, then glanced at his status. Only then did he notice it¡­ his skill had leveled up. He hadn''t even felt it happen. Unwavering Blade - Lv. 1 ¡ú Lv. 2 A subtle warmth pulsed through him, the lingering aftershock of improvement. The skill felt¡­ sharper, more refined, as if the movements were settling into muscle memory. He knew the skill greatly amplified his strength and speed, but during the fight, it had felt like more than that. How did his blade simply break the spearhead? His eyes flicked across his status screen again, searching for more details. But the Weave offered no new notifications on what the level increase actually did. Petros merely gave a small nod before shifting his gaze to Ronald. His eyes lingered on the makeshift dressing wrapped around the torn stump of his ear, then lifted to meet Ronald¡¯s. ¡°You¡¯ve already given up a part of yourself,¡± Petros said. ¡°One day, you might understand what a gift that is.¡± Ronald frowned, but Petros had already turned away. ¡°Enough standing around,¡± the guard chief and captain said, voice brisk. ¡°Get moving.¡± Vaan bowed and turned to leave. Before they could leave, Tal, ever the enterprising spirit, cleared his throat and gestured toward Ronald¡¯s wound. ¡°Sir, does the watch have anything he can use?¡± Petros studied him for a moment, then nodded. ¡°We do.¡± Tal¡¯s face lit up. ¡°He can have them when he joins the watch,¡± Petros finished. Tal¡¯s expression soured, but he tried again, his voice patient. ¡°Uhhm, sir, we plan to on Aerisday , but his ears are bleeding now¡­¡± Petros gave Ronald a passing glance. ¡°He¡¯ll live! Pain carves lessons deeper than words.¡± Tal hesitated, then pressed on. ¡°But sir-¡± Petros cut him off. ¡°Do you want to stay and discuss the matter of your punishment. The consequences of flouting the village¡¯s perimeters in these perilous times?¡± Tal straightened. ¡°No! Uh... We were just leaving, sir...¡± Petros gave a single nod. ¡°Off you go. Straight back. No detours.¡± Tal exhaled, defeated. Without another word, they turned and made their way toward the village.
Back home, Brenda was the very picture of a kind and doting mother. She carefully applied balm and salve to Ronald¡¯s wound, murmuring reassurances as she worked. "Such a shame, losing an ear. But you¡¯re strong, dear. You''ll manage." She gave Tal an affectionate pat on the arm. ¡°And you, always looking out for your friends. Good boy.¡± Ronald, his pain eased, looked touched and disarmed by her kindness. His hardened exterior softened as he looked lost in gratitude as he thanked her profusely. Even Tal looked like a pleased child after being complemented. ¡°Now, off with you two,¡± Brenda said warmly. ¡°Rest up.¡± Tal and Ronald exchanged grateful glances, their thanks as genuine as the warmth in Brenda¡¯s eyes, before stepping out. The door shut behind them. Brenda¡¯s smile vanished like mist in the sun. She rounded on Vaan. ¡°You absolute fool,¡± she hissed, smacking the salve jar down onto the table. ¡°What in the blazes are you thinking, running around with those two senseless idiots? Tal¡¯s got the brains of a lost goose, and Ronald!! He¡¯s just a walking brawl waiting to happen!¡± Vaan barely had time to blink before she pressed on. ¡°You! You actually have promise. You can¡¯t afford to be running wild with those two good-for-nothing troublemakers! Saint Saria preserve me! First, you three set a ringhorn¡¯s tail on fire, for a paying customer, no less! And now you¡¯re prancing around the woods, picking a fight with a boar? A boar!¡± Garix, leaning tiredly against the wall, scratched at his sleeve before clearing his throat. "I¡¯ll have a word sent to an apprentice healer." Vaan caught the subtle glance he gave a departing customer as the man adjusted his belt pouch and nodded before slipping out the door. A favor, then. From an apprentice healer. Apprentice meaning, not a real healer, but good enough. The village couldn¡¯t afford better, and they sure as hell weren¡¯t about to trek to Darven¡¯s Roost over a missing ear. Poor Ronald. At this rate, he¡¯d end up looking like a half-peeled potato. Brenda huffed, still glaring at Vaan but let the matter drop. For now.
Name Vaan Redbones
Class Orderly Blade, Lvl 4 A blade is more than metal. Order is more than law. Strikes are not attacks; they are inevitabilities, enforcing victory through absolute discipline.
Vigor 25
Finesse 25
Mettle 18
Acuity 11
Flair 6
Muse 3
Perks Orderly In the presence of allies, your movements become instinctively synchronized. When fighting alongside comrades, your strikes flow with theirs, reducing wasted motion and increasing efficiency.
  • (+5% damage, +5% defense when fighting in formation.)
  • (+10% synergy bonus if fighting alongside a trained ally.)
  • (+1 Vigor, +1 Finesse, +2 free distribution point.)
Skills Inspect lvl 2 Unwavering lvl 2 While using this bladed attack skill, Vigor and Finesse may be amplified as needed at the cost of mana. This attack is a surgical strike that ignores all mental debuffs.
Chapter 8 - Half forged Night fell, but the forge never slept. Shadows twisted against the workshop walls, flickering with each pulse of firelight. The air hung thick with iron, coal and sweat¡­ the scent of creation and destruction entwined. Vaan and Garix had worked tirelessly the previous night, refining the blade¡¯s shape, smoothing its rough edges, and ensuring the Duskiron remained evenly tempered under the forge¡¯s heat. But there was still much to do. Now, as they stood at the anvil again, the sword had begun to take on its true form. The jagged rawness had been replaced with a sleeker, more defined silhouette, and the metal¡¯s strange, shifting glow was even more pronounced. Tonight, their focus would be on refining the balance and adjusting the weight. They would then even out the taper, and prepare it for the delicate process of final tempering. He flexed his fingers around the hammer¡¯s worn grip, meeting Garix¡¯s gaze. A nod. No words. Just the weight of shared purpose. Vaan raised his hammer, steadying his breath, and struck. And then he repeated. Sparks flared. The night stretched. The rhythm was only broken when Garix limped away, his steps unhurried as he made his way toward the coal stash to fetch more of it. Vaan remained at the anvil, his thoughts unwillingly drifting. The confrontation with Andryr, the boar hunt, and the strange encounter the night before. He had used his skill, Unwavering Blade, three times now. Each instance had felt distinctly unpredictable, yet undeniably powerful. The first time, there hadn¡¯t even been a blade in his hand! Only raw instinct surging through him, enough to drive back the creature of the night. The second time, wielding an actual sword during the boar hunt, he had felt the rush of focused energy, a sharpened edge to his vigor and finesse. But even then, it was more than just power or speed. The skill had amplified the blade¡¯s intent, as if it moved with a will of its own. The third time against Andryr had been the most different. Sharper. Controlled. The weightless pull, the eerie precision. He could still perfectly recall the vivid, orderly slash that chopped off the spearhead. Skills were often manifested expressions of one¡¯s spirit through ¡®flair,¡¯ a primal affinity that each being had. Garix had speculated that Vaan¡¯s flair could be either Order or Blade. Vaan had always thought Order was simply a surge of power, a burst of energy and speed. His Unwavering Blade skill certainly aligned with that. But there was more to it. The way his sword had sliced through Andryr¡¯s spear was strange. It wasn¡¯t just any spear! It was of the watch¡¯s finest quality, and his father, the swordsmith, had vouched for its craftsmanship. So how had Vaan¡¯s blade cut through it so easily? Could his flair perhaps be for the Blade itself? One thing he was sure of was that both ¡®Order¡¯ and ¡®Blade¡¯ were definitely resonant flairs. It had worked seamlessly until now, leveling up his Unwavering Blade just after his third use. How had Petros known that though? The guard chief had in fact noticed it leveling up even before Vaan. Was it just because of Petros¡¯s proficiency with swords that he could easily sense when someone¡¯s else¡¯s skill had improved? It couldn¡¯t have been through the inspect skill alone! Inspect can give only high level details of one¡¯s class and levels depending on many factors. Vaan had always thought Vigor and Finesse were the most important attributes for his class, given the skills he¡¯d gained. After all, the description of his singular class skill stated that it would amplify those two attributes at the cost of mana. The more points he invested in Vigor and Finesse, the more powerful he would become. Almost everyone he knew generally thought that for any combat oriented class, physical attributes like Vigor and Finesse were what truly mattered. Flair and Muse, however, were the most perplexing attributes, especially in the village, since they didn¡¯t contribute anything to physical strength. Some referred to them as the Mystic attributes, dismissing them as largely useless. Vigor, Finesse, and Mettle, on the other hand, were categorized as the Vital attributes, crucial for any melee class like his, and even for rangers and archers. Focusing on the mystic attributes was often dismissed as a fool¡¯s errand, offering diminishing returns. It was said that mages or those with pseudo-mage archetypes might perhaps find value in investing in them. Perhaps runesmiths or scribes, too. Personally, Vaan had never met a mage. Scribes, he already knew one of them and had never cared to find out about the class. He sighed and yawned. Given everything that had happened, he was happy for his skill to have leveled up. His goal was to grow strong quick enough to compete in the Grand Trial that could happen in a few months time. The first time he had used his skill was without a blade. His arm had moved as if guided by something beyond his control. The spectral presence of the creature had been fleeting, but his force had driven it back, even without a weapon. Was that the true power of the skill? Could he replicate it again without a blade? He focused within and tried summoning his skill. Unwavering Blade. It didn¡¯t work. Strange. It had worked without a blade yesterday night when that wretched creature had accosted him! Perhaps, an element of danger was missing now. Nothing he could do about that. He still felt like it would work¡­ he just needed¡­ an anchor of sorts to his skill to materialize! He focused on Garix¡¯s clay teapot that lay near the table. Unwavering Blade! The inanimate pot stared back at him. Vaan sighed. What was he expecting? Vaan¡¯s gaze then fell on the unfinished blade of Duskiron that seemed to radiate heat. The metal was still raw, unshaped. Why not? Taking a steady breath, he activated the Unwavering Blade. It felt strange, like trying to reach for something unseen. An invisible weight pressed against his palm. As if a hand waited to grasp his own but never quite made contact. The sensation, familiar yet amplified, thickened the air around him. It was as if something was ready to be used but was waiting for the right moment. Then, he felt it. A strange hum filled the air, a pulse flowing through the forge. The blade before him shimmered, almost imperceptibly, as though it was responding to his skill. For a brief moment, he could swear the metal was alive, shifting beneath his hands. The Duskiron glowed brighter, its eerie sheen intensifying as if the blade itself had reacted to his command. The raw, unfinished blade bent¡­ just a fraction. His hand twitched, and the metal snapped back, the pulse fading like it had never been. Vaan stared at the blade in awe. Had his skill just activated the metal, or had the metal responded to his focus? At that precise moment, Garix returned, holding a fresh batch of coal. He cast a curious glance at the sword they were working on and frowned. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Strange,¡± Garix remarked, his voice tinged with excitement. ¡°I thought it would take two more days to get to this stage of forging... The Duskiron¡¯s shaping up well.¡± The blade shimmered softly, its eerie glow flickering in the forge''s heat. Garix was right. The progress seemed ahead of schedule. Normally, it would have taken at least another day of steady hammering to refine the thickness, followed by another round of heating and shaping to unlock the metal¡¯s true potential. Though a hint of confusion lingered, Garix¡¯s excitement quickly took over. ¡°We¡¯re already in the rough shaping stage,¡± Garix explained enthusiastically as he adjusted the coal into the fire.¡°Look! This Duskiron¡­ it¡¯s not just any metal. It¡¯s responding quicker than I expected. Now we need to smooth out the edges, make sure the spine is properly aligned. After that, we¡¯ll temper it, let it cool, and harden it. But... something feels different with this one, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Vaan''s gaze returned to the blade. The resonance in the air was undeniable, as if the Duskiron itself was eager to reach its final form. After adjusting the fire, Garix tapped the blade gently with the back of his tongs, his smile widening. ¡°Let¡¯s get to work. With Saira¡¯s blessing, we could finish it in a day or two, if the forge is kind to us.¡± He chuckled, his lone eye glinting with the excitement of a blacksmith who could already feel the shape of something extraordinary taking form. Vaan nodded, lifting his hammer. His mind, however, was still racing with the implications of what had just happened. What had he felt when the Duskiron responded to his skill?
The sun hung lazily over Wragford, casting long shadows across the market square. Tomorrow was Aerisday: the day Vaan and the other initiates could finally enlist in the Watch. But today? Today was just another stretch of empty hours. Ronald was still recovering, and though Vaan meant to visit him later, it was Tal¡¯s absence that gnawed at him. The boy was usually underfoot on quiet days like this, spinning wild tales or pestering the merchants for scraps. But today? Vanished. Vaan wandered into the market, boots scuffing against the worn cobblestones. The air smelled of roasting meat and overripe fruit, but the usual bustle felt hollow. He really didn¡¯t need to buy anything. What he would really like was armor, and that wasn¡¯t something that could be bought in a market stall. Tomorrow, when he joined the Watch, armor would be provided at a discounted price. And so, he meandered around aimlessly. Until he caught the whispers¡­ Tal¡¯s name. Echoing from the baker¡¯s stall. Humming between the fishmonger¡¯s barrels. "¡ªsingle-handedly fought off a boar¡ª" "¡ªsaved both of them, you know¡ª" "¡ªRonald would¡¯ve been gutted if not for him¡ª" Vaan clenched his jaw. Tal had always been a storyteller, but this? Vaan frowned. This was a masterpiece. Tal should have gotten bard for a class! He chuckled. A hand caught his sleeve. "Vaan!" The miller¡¯s daughter stood before him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with the thrill of secondhand heroism. "Is it true?" she breathed, leaning in like they were sharing a secret. "Did Tal really save you from that boar?" Vaan forced a smirk. "Oh yeah. Absolute legend, that one." She gasped, gripping his arm tighter. "How big was it? They¡¯re saying it was monstrous! Tusks like daggers!" He could¡¯ve indulged her. Could¡¯ve spun the tale taller. But it somehow felt wrong after what had happened to Ronald. He still didn¡¯t know how he was faring and there was also this guilt¡­ sure, the boys were always up to mischief, but Vaan knew they would have never ventured beyond the village perimeters if he hadn¡¯t pushed them. His restlessness had cost them the disaster. The girl was totally oblivious to Vaan¡¯s turmoil and kept chattering. "Ah¡­ Mirren needs me," he lied, nodding toward the far stalls. "Delivery to finish." Before she could protest, he slipped into the crowd, letting the chatter swallow him whole. The market¡¯s edge brought quieter company, a cluster of village girls by the fruit stalls. One waved, and Vaan ambled over, hands in his pockets. "Hoi. No Risa today?" Giggles. Smirks. A shrug. "She¡¯s practicing. Out by the old mill." Vaan stilled. The old mill. The place was near the village outskirts, with the burial grounds further beyond. A cold prickle traced his spine.The night before last, shadows flickered in his memory¡­ the unease, the silence, the way the trees had seemed to breathe. "Why there?" he asked, too sharp. The girl blinked. "Says the Watch won¡¯t bother her as she practices her bow. Likes the quiet." Or the danger, he thought. Silly girl! He was moving before he¡¯d decided, boots kicking up dust as he cut toward the village outskirts. The mill¡¯s skeleton loomed ahead, its broken wheel creaking in the wind. And there stood Risa. Risa, Tiller Archer, Lvl 1 Bow drawn. Spine straight. An arrow hit the target right on target. She wasn¡¯t bad! Maybe she was even better than him. There was a fluidity in her movement. Was it her class already acting up? Or had she always been this good. Unfortunately, Elijah stood close beside her, clutching a book like a drowning man grips driftwood. "I brought you the next volume," he said, uncharacteristically hesitant as he thrust the volume forward. "It¡¯s really good. I don¡¯t mind shar-" Risa¡¯s bowstring stayed taut. "I don¡¯t want it, Elijah!" He recoiled as if struck. ¡°Elijah? Since when do you¨C¡± His voice cracked. ¡°It''s Eli. And this is a sequel to the one you begged me last year!¡± "Eli." She turned; eyes flinty. "If I wanted tales, I¡¯d listen to Tal." His knuckles whitened around the book which he was still thrusting. ¡°You loved these,¡± he muttered. ¡°And then I grew up.¡± The bow creaked as she adjusted her stance. ¡°Surely, you must realize now. We aren¡¯t kids anymore and there is a world out there!¡± Vaan cleared his throat. Risa¡¯s gaze snapped to him¡ªand changed. The ice melted. A smile of relief lit her lips. ¡°Oh, Vaan,¡± she said, her shoulders relaxing. ¡°Thank the three saints! I¡¯ve been practicing, but I¡¯m getting nowhere.¡± Vaan''s pulse jumped as his eyes caught the tree line beyond the mill. The shadows between the birches looked too deep for midday. He remembered how the branches had clawed at the moon last night, how something had moved just beyond¡­ "Not the best place to practice," he said, forcing his voice steady. The south clearing had better sightlines anyway. Open ground where nothing could approach unseen. He reached for Risa''s quiver strap before thinking better of it. "Wind''s cleaner by the oak grove. No distractions." Risa was already nocking her last arrow. "Lead the way." Behind them, Elijah made a choked noise. Vaan didn''t look back. Let him think he was being possessive. Maybe he¡¯d complain to his father, Vincent. Vaan didn¡¯t care. The truth was that every rustle in the undergrowth made his shoulders tighten. He wasn¡¯t going to explain that to anyone! They would think him mad. Risa''s bow bumped against his arm as they walked, solid and real. That was enough. Chapter 9 - Soulbound The morning air bit lightly at his skin. It smelled of wet earth and smoke drifting from the village hearths. Vaan slipped into a light tunic. It was simple, functional and meant to be worn beneath an armor. The fabric clung to his skin with the slight chill of dawn, but he barely noticed. Today was enlistment day. When he finally made it to the watchtower, only a few others had shown up. The wooden structure stood tall at the edge of the village, solid but clearly worn from years of battling the elements. A ladder led up to the lookout, where a lone guard was slouched against the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon. Down below, the meeting area was just a small patch of open ground next to the palisade, with an old weapons rack leaning off to one side. Tal showed up not long after, moving with the steady confidence of someone who already belonged here. He would make a solid fit for the Watch, his Guardsman class lending itself well to the role. He just needed to keep his mouth shut. Not everyone took to his humor well. And then there was Risa whose presence he had not expected. Vaan turned toward her, raising a brow. "Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d sign up." Risa smirked, adjusting the bow slung over her shoulder. "I don¡¯t. Aiming to be in reserve." It made sense. Hunters weren¡¯t full-time Watchmen, but the role came with privileges... Discounted gears, access to weapons, free use of the training grounds. A smart trade for little commitment. Only three other initiates showed up for enlistment as they waited. A Spearman, a Brawler, and a wiry boy he had seen somewhere with a strange class: Quickfeet. No sign of Ronald. Vaan had checked on him the day before. The boy had been glad for company, but pain still clung to his features. The missing ear made him look... off. The apprentice healer had done well. The wound was clean, neat. But it still felt wrong. Ronald had thanked him for the salves he''d taken from his mother¡¯s cabinet. In any case, Vaan wondered about the low turnout. He had seen plenty of initiates during the ceremony and he recalled many had gotten combat classes. But looking around now, most of those faces were missing. Likely they had either not enlisted or perhaps they had moved on to neighboring villages where they could start afresh with their classes? There were two other small settlements on the west after which there were the mountain ranges of Gogor and then ocean. At the north were several happening towns and villages embroiled in conflict. Many of the folks who had come for initiation were from these western and northern settlements. Wragford? Just a dot on the map. As Garix had said, a handful of Watchmen was plenty here. The Ashwa Kingdom¡¯s summons came every so often, and when they did, Petros would send out a few of his men to serve in the imperial army. They always came back stronger, and with heavier coin purses. Few took a liking to adventure and moved on to the towns and cities. But Petros himself? Vaan couldn¡¯t recall him ever leaving the village. And now Petros stood before them. His presence was solid, unshaken, like the heavy timber beams of the watchtower. ¡°We don¡¯t need a lot of stupid men,¡± he said bluntly, voice like iron scraping against stone as his eyes swept over them. ¡°Or women¡±, his gaze paused on Risa¡¯s bow, then swept across the rest. ¡°What we do need is the good ones. Who can stand firm for the village and protect it when needed. This isn¡¯t for coin.¡± A pause. ¡°If you want only gold, walk away. There are better jobs out there that would align with your interests. This job is for giving back to the village. Respect, honor and satisfaction for a job well done will be your rewards. And some coin on the side. If you feel it is not enough, speak now.¡± Vaan stayed silent. So did the others. Vaan didn''t care about coin though he would rather have more of them than less. He didn¡¯t plan to stay on the watch forever though. Someday he would leave the village to the southern or northern settlements which offered more adventure. Maybe he will join the imperial army and gain experience. See the world, grow stronger. Spending an entire life in Wragford, never seeing what lay beyond the forests and hills felt tragic. Even Risa, sharp-eyed and strong-willed as he recalled from their shared childhood, had dreams of exploration beyond the village. Maybe someone like Elijah, who lived in pages and quiet thoughts, could find contentment here. But Vaan couldn¡¯t. That life wasn¡¯t for him. Petros frowned. It was as if he was expecting one of them to balk. Vaan saw it too. They didn¡¯t need this many recruits. Not in Wragford! Someone would be sent away. He thought it would be Quickfeet. But it wasn¡¯t. Petros¡¯s gaze settled on the Brawler. ¡°Thomas,¡± he said. ¡°Come back next year. If we¡¯re short, maybe then.¡± The boy stiffened. ¡°What? Why?¡± Petros crossed his arms. ¡°The Watch doesn¡¯t need lone fighters. We need teamwork. Brawlers don¡¯t fit.¡± Thomas stared; jaw tight. Petros softened a little. ¡°Vic¡¯s still in town. He made it without the Watch. Go talk to him.¡± The boy didn¡¯t reply. Just turned and walked away. His glare burned into their backs as he left. Then came the oath. One by one, they spoke the words Petros demanded of them. A vow of service, a promise to protect. Vaan said them without hesitation, feeling the weight of them settle into his chest. This was it. He was part of the Watch. After the oath, there was no celebration. No handshake. No warm welcome. Just Petros giving a curt nod and muttering, ¡°Training begins now.¡± The clearing behind the eastern watchtower was little more than packed earth and sun-bleached training dummies, with a rack of battered shields leaning against a fence like forgotten relics. Beside it, a wooden crate sat half-sunk into the mud. The lid creaked when Petros kicked it open with a boot. ¡°Spears,¡± he said simply. Vaan peered in. The weapons inside were plain shafts of wood tipped with blunt iron heads. Scarred, chipped, and dull with use. Training spears. The real Watchmen carried better ones! He¡¯d seen them during festivals and village alerts, shining under sunlight, their grips wrapped in treated leather. But these looked like they''d seen two generations of recruits. He picked one that felt right. It had a bit of a curve in the shaft, but the balance was decent. ¡°Thrust, parry, withdraw,¡± Petros said, standing before them like a black cliff in the morning sun. ¡°Again. And again. No flair. No spins.¡± They lined up, four across! Vaan, Tal, Risa, and the Quickfeet boy. Risa adjusted her grip awkwardly. Spears weren¡¯t her thing. Her fingers naturally twitched toward the quiver that wasn¡¯t there. ¡°You serious about this, bowgirl?¡± Tal asked, grinning. Risa smirked, stabbing forward. ¡°I can still poke a rat¡¯s eye with this.¡± Petros didn¡¯t smile. He watched silently, arms folded, eyes moving from footwork to elbows to wrists. He corrected no one. Just took note. Then, without a word, he turned and walked toward the tower. The old man who replaced him had a wiry frame, his muscles lean but defined. Deep wrinkles and a jutting jaw gave him a permanent scowl. ¡°Name¡¯s John.¡± he said without fanfare, planting his spear in the dirt. Vaan knew him of course. He had visited Garix aplenty and had always been kind and up for a laugh. Now in duty, his eyes didn''t show any form of recognition. John Allweather Level 24 Tal whistled. ¡°That¡¯s near the milestone!¡± If he reached Level 25, he would be awakened! ¡°Precisely why I don¡¯t have time to babysit! All of you! Line up and RUN¡± They blinked at him. Tal blinked. ¡°Running? With the spears?¡± John stabbed a finger toward the watchground perimeter. ¡°Ten laps. Spear in thrust position. First five laps anticlockwise! Keep the spear to your right. After that, clockwise! Switch to your left. Don¡¯t drag your feet. Don¡¯t drop the weapon. GO.¡± Tal groaned, but Vaan was already moving. The hard-packed dirt made for a decent track, circling the main clearing and passing by the training dummies, the fence, the old sheds. The first few laps were manageable. Vaan¡¯s grip stayed steady; the spear held out like a lance. His right arm burned from the awkward tension, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. Risa started strong but slowed after three laps, shaking out her wrist. ¡°Didn¡¯t sign up for frontline drills!¡±, she panted. Tal lagged behind after lap five, muttering curses between gasps. Quickfeet¡­ what was his name again? started with energy, light on his feet, but his posture was off. His spear wobbled with each stride, and by the fourth lap, he was already adjusting his grip often. At lap five, John barked from the center, ¡°SWITCH!¡± The direction changed. Now clockwise, with the spear in the left hand. That was worse. Vaan¡¯s form dipped slightly. His off hand wasn¡¯t as steady, but he held his pace. Quickfeet¡¯s breathing was audible now, heavier and more ragged with each lap. Lap seven. Quickfeet stumbled and dropped his spear with a curse. He bent to grab it, falling further behind. Lap eight. Vaan pushed ahead, sweat streaming down his temples, but his legs still held steady. Lap nine. His shoulder throbbed. His lungs burned. But he could see the end. Lap ten. He didn¡¯t sprint. He didn¡¯t lunge. He just focused and endured, finishing with a grim, silent determination a good stretch ahead of the rest. Vaan stopped, chest heaving, hands numb around the shaft of the spear. But he¡¯d finished. First. ¡°Not bad,¡± John said, voice flat. ¡°Next time, don¡¯t wobble when switching arms.¡± Risa was sitting on a log, already sipping from the water ladle. Tal lay flat on his back in the grass, wheezing. ¡°I hate running,¡± he croaked. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Vaan didn¡¯t say anything. He just drank deep from the barrel and let the cold water settle the fire in his chest. Two older Watchmen leaned against the fence, watching them with half-smirks and crossed arms. One of them called out, ¡°That a parade or a workout? Thought the Watch trained fighters, not marchers!¡± Tal, still red-faced, sat up with a sheepish grin. ¡°We just swore the oath!¡± The man snorted. ¡°Oath¡¯s good. Now swear to hold that spear like it won¡¯t poke your eye out.¡± They walked off, still chuckling. Vaan recognized them. Mikel and Boren. Familiar faces from the forge, back when their swords needed more fixing than swinging. Funny how now they were all on the same side of the fence. Still, something nagged at him. He scanned the grounds again. No swords. None at all, except for Petros and the short blade John carried. Vaan stood there awkwardly, the training spear still in his hands. He looked around. Risa was already slinging her bow back over her shoulder. "That''s it?" he asked. Risa gave a dry chuckle. "Looks like it. Petros and his grand speeches, and then we''re left standing around like sheep." She turned to leave, walking toward the treeline where the fields curved into the woods. Halfway there, she glanced back over her shoulder and caught Vaan watching her go. A smirk tugged at her lips. "Keep staring like that, Redbones, and I''ll start charging coin for the view." Then she was gone, her laughter lingering in the air like a soft breeze, leaving Vaan standing there with a quiet grin on his face. Tal, having splashed his face with water from the barrel to cool off, walked over with a heavy sigh. He gave a long groan and stretched his arms. ¡°Spear drills and sprints... I¡¯m dead. I need food. Maybe two ales. Maybe four.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just afternoon,¡± Vaan shook his head with a smirk. ¡°Don¡¯t get drunk!¡± ¡°I¡¯m Tal,¡± he said, waving a hand dismissively as though that explained everything, before trudging off without a second glance. Quickfeet was chatting with a girl near the palisade, animated and grinning. He seemed to know everyone. It was just that Vaan couldn¡¯t recollect the boy¡¯s name. Vaan hesitated. No orders. No next steps. Just the quiet hum of the afternoon and the faint sting in his legs. He eventually trudged toward the weapon racks, resting the spear gently beside the others. He was just turning to leave when a familiar voice cut through the quiet. ¡°Joined the Watch, did you?¡± Vaan turned. The man leaned against a crumbling stone wall, arms crossed and smirking. His green cloak caught the breeze, revealing a silver-and-blue badge stitched into the fabric. The guild scout. Vaan remembered him clearly. ¡°I saw you then,¡± Vaan said. ¡°At the ceremony.¡± Even then, he''d looked like he didn¡¯t belong among the villagers. ¡°Remy,¡± the man said, pushing off the wall. ¡°Guild scout. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not here to test you.¡± Vaan frowned. ¡°You have been observing me for a while now!¡± Remy tilted his head, assessing him. ¡°Saw your form out there. You¡¯ve got grit. Too much to waste your time holding a spear for village squabbles. What if I said you could be in Darven¡¯s Roost by dawn? Start your name with a real party.¡± Vaan didn¡¯t respond. He wasn¡¯t sure what to say. ¡°So, here¡¯s the pitch,¡± Remy continued, stepping closer, voice low, like he was letting Vaan in on a secret. ¡°You start with me. Tonight. We head to Darven¡¯s Roost.¡± Vaan stiffened slightly at the name. He¡¯d never been, but he¡¯d heard the stories. A city of towering spires and endless lantern light. Streets alive with music, trade, and whispers of magic. Nobles strutting in enchanted cloaks. Guild banners fluttering above bustling squares. A place where ambition could make or break a man. And where everything cost more than it should. ¡°That place is expensive,¡± Vaan muttered. ¡°I can¡¯t afford to live there.¡± Remy gave a knowing grin. ¡°If you fit in with the party I have in mind¡­ you won¡¯t have to worry about coin.¡± Vaan¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°What kind of party?¡± Remy tilted his head, eyes gleaming with that same unreadable glint he¡¯d carried during the initiations. ¡°Can¡¯t say,¡± he replied smoothly. ¡°Guild¡¯s rules. I¡¯m just a scout, not a recruiter. But this group? Let¡¯s just say they¡¯re not your average alley-chasing, mud-eating greenhorns.¡± He gave Vaan a moment to let that sink in. ¡°They don¡¯t take in just anyone. But I¡¯ve got a feeling. You¡¯ve got something¡­ different. Could be exactly what they¡¯re looking for.¡± Vaan didn¡¯t answer right away. A sponsored party, a real chance¡­ It sounded tempting. Too tempting. ¡°And if I don¡¯t fit?¡± he asked. Remy shrugged. ¡°Then welcome to life. You¡¯ll still be in the Roost. There are always parties forming. You can rent a room with other rookies, pick up odd quests, train in the guild yards. It¡¯s hard, though. No lies there. Until you get some levels and a patron? Every copper¡¯s going to count.¡± He thought of the boar hunt. Of Ronald. Of how much it had taken to bring down just one beast without magic. He knew he would leave the village one day after he had settled his affairs. Perhaps, after the Grand Trial, when he had grown stronger. Maybe Tal and Ronald would accompany him. Perhaps, Risa too. He hoped she would. He recalled the kiss under the twin moons. He would one day leave the village, but not today. ¡°I¡¯m not ready,¡± he said finally. ¡°Not yet.¡± Remy didn¡¯t look offended. Just nodded, like he already knew. ¡°I¡¯m around till sundown. Don¡¯t take too long to think. You¡¯re not the only one I¡¯m after anyway.¡± He smirked. ¡°Got a friggin¡¯ noble to chase down next. Real joy, that one.¡± He turned, whistling a low tune as he strolled back toward the edge of the fields. Vaan stood alone again, the wind tugging gently at his tunic. Opportunity had just come knocking. And for now, he¡¯d closed the door. But something told him¡­ that wouldn¡¯t be the last time. Vaan reached home with a strange mix of excitement and unease still lingering from the day¡¯s events. He was eager to talk to Garix about the training and more importantly, about the guild offer he¡¯d turned down. But as he approached the house, he slowed at the sight of a carriage parked just outside. Not just any carriage. It was the same one he¡¯d seen during the initiation. The insignia of House Veldrane gleamed on its lacquered door. Silver sword crossing golden pickaxe over a black field. In Wragford, where nobility was more myth than presence, the Veldranes were one of the few names villagers actually recognized. Traders of rare metals, their wagons passed through now and then, bound from the southern mines to the northern strongholds. But a noble visiting their home? That was something else. Inside, the living room suddenly felt too small. A young woman sat elegantly on the bench near the hearth, her posture flawless, every gesture precise. She wore rich silks layered in deep forest green, a crest-shaped brooch bearing the Veldrane¡¯s insignia fastened at her shoulder. Her features were striking, high cheekbones and a quiet grace with which she looked at him, her hands folded gently over her lap. She looked like she belonged on palace balconies, not the worn cushions of a blacksmith¡¯s cottage. She turned toward him with curious eyes. ¡°You must be Vaan,¡± she said with a soft smile. Vaan blinked. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s me.¡± His voice came out rougher than intended. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ uh, not from around here.¡± Her smile widened slightly. ¡°Priscilla Veldrane.¡± Of course she was. She stood and gave a faint dip of her head. Polite. Measured. Noble through and through. Vaan rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°You always travel around with your own fancy carriage and show up in stranger¡¯s homes?¡± ¡°I do try to be discreet,¡± she smiled again. There was a sparkle of amusement in her voice this time. She didn¡¯t seem put off by his bluntness. If anything, she seemed intrigued. At the table, Garix sat across from the man Vaan immediately recognized¡ªthe unmistakable Erik Veldrane whom he had seen in passing during the ceremony. His fine attire and sharp, calculating expression had made him stand out during the choosing ceremony. Vaan understood that he had probably accompanied his daughter. The conversation paused as Vaan stepped in. Garix stood. ¡°Please wait here, sir,¡± he said to Erik, before nodding at Brenda, who moved to serve refreshments. Then he gave Vaan a pointed look. ¡°Come with me.¡± Vaan stepped into the forge with Garix, the scent of iron and ash still thick in the air. Tools hung in careful rows, and at the center of the worktable lay the sword¡ªlonger now, elegant in its final shape. The duskiron gleamed with a muted luster, a strange metallic sheen that seemed to shimmer faintly when caught in certain angles. The hilt had been completed! A leather-wrapped grip, tight and dark, inlaid with subtle metal rivets. The pommel bore no crest, only a rough, stone-set core of the same duskiron. It wasn¡¯t decorative. It felt... functional, like it belonged there, as though the blade had somehow told Garix how it wanted to be finished. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting it to come together so quickly,¡± Garix said in a low voice. ¡°The forge¡¯s heat felt like it responded to it. The grip¡­¡± he ran a finger along the hilt, ¡°it practically shaped itself. That¡¯s not normal. Not for any metal.¡± Vaan stared. The blade pulsed faintly again, and he felt that hum in his chest. The sword was complete. At that moment, Erik Veldrane pushed open the forge door without waiting for permission. Garix stiffened, but only slightly. His expression barely changed, but Vaan caught it¡ªthe minute flicker of irritation in his one good eye. He never let customers into his forge. But Erik was a noble. The rules bent around them and not the other way around. Garix feigned a smile as though his entrance was most welcome. ¡°Sir Veldrane. The sword is finished. You¡¯re welcome to inspect it.¡± Erik approached without hesitation. He reached for the sword. The moment his hands touched the hilt, the forge flared. Sparks burst from the coals behind them, and a loud metallic snap echoed through the space. Erik staggered back, his expression twisted in pain. ¡°What¡­ hell?!!¡± he shouted. ¡°It¡¯s draining me! My mana¡ªit¡¯s pulling it out!¡± A searing red welt was already forming on his palm where he¡¯d gripped the hilt. He dropped the blade, eyes wide with fury. Vaan saw the notification flash before his eyes. Soulbound Duskiron Sword The blade landed flat on the table, humming softly like it had just taken a breath. Garix¡¯s eye widened. ¡°No¡­¡± he whispered. Vaan already knew. He felt the pull. Like the blade had found its other half. Like it had always been meant for him. A notification popped into his weave screen and Vaan was sure Garix and Erik saw it too. [Soulbound Duskiron Sword] Erik Veldrane turned sharply toward Garix, his voice laced with fury. ¡°What trick is this?¡± he barked. ¡°You...! You conned me! Was it the Sinclairs? Did they get to you? Paid you to forge this and tie it to their heir?¡± Garix raised his hands slowly, his voice calm but edged with caution. ¡°No one paid me off. I swear it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t believe you,¡± Erik snapped. ¡°Then who is it bound to? Tell me now!¡± Garix hesitated. His good eye flicked to Vaan¡ªjust for a heartbeat. Sharp. Intent. A silent plea. Then he turned back to the noble, voice even. ¡°It¡¯s bound to me.¡± ¡°To you?¡± Erik scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re telling me a common blacksmith-¡± ¡°Swordsmith, and once a swordsman, as you know, my lord!¡± Garix corrected. ¡°I don¡¯t know how,¡± he said, his voice tight. ¡°But yes. Maybe¡­ maybe I can unbind it. Soulbound weapons are rare, but not impossible to reforge or cleanse.¡± Erik stared at him, suspicion boiling just beneath his noble bearing. Garix limped forward cautiously, hands still raised in a calming gesture. ¡°If it¡¯s about the coin¡­ I¡¯ll repay it. Every last copper.¡± That earned him a cruel laugh. Erik tilted his head, sneering. ¡°Repay? You insult me. Do you think the House of Veldrane can be recompensed by a village forge and a few stacks of coppers and silvers? This is duskiron. Do you understand what that means? The Empire itself barely sees three of these blades in a decade.¡± Garix¡¯s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head. ¡°Still¡­ I¡¯ll find a way. I just need time.¡± Erik was silent for a moment. Then, almost thoughtfully, he said, ¡°Soulbound swords can sometimes transfer. I¡¯d be remiss not to try.¡± Garix¡¯s shoulders sagged in relief. ¡°Thank you. I swear, I¡¯ll make it right.¡± Erik nodded seriously. ¡°Let us see.¡± And then, with no more ceremony than one would swat a fly, he stepped forward¡ªand drove a dagger into Garix¡¯s gut. Vaan¡¯s scream tore through the forge. ¡°Father!¡± Garix staggered back, one leg buckling beneath him. His mouth opened in shock as blood soaked through his tunic. He collapsed against the anvil, then slumped to the ground, unmoving. Brenda¡¯s scream rang from the house. Then the pounding of footsteps. Vaan lunged forward, fury clouding his vision, his unwavering skill flaring with raw power¡ªonly for Erik to pivot smoothly, catching him with a backhanded strike that knocked him off his feet and slammed him to the ground. ¡°Sword¡¯s still bound,¡± Erik muttered, glancing at the weapon as if it had betrayed him. His voice was all calculation now. ¡°Maybe it takes time.¡± Vaan lay gasping, vision swimming, his body aching with grief and pain. In the doorway, Priscilla appeared¡­ her face pale, her expression stricken. Her eyes found Garix''s body first¡­ then Vaan. Their gazes locked. There was no smugness in her face. No aloof noble mask. Only shock. And something else¡­ apology? Regret? Erik turned, impassive. ¡°Priscilla. We¡¯re leaving.¡± Then she turned and followed her father into the carriage. The forge stank of blood and steel. Of fire and grief. Vaan stared at Garix. His face held the same look of shock, frozen in time. His mouth was slightly open and trying to speak. ¡°Garix?¡± Vaan whispered, half hoping Garix to sit down and answer calmly. The hearth was cold. Only Brenda''s shattered sobs filled the stillness, soon joined by Marianne''s wordless wails from the doorway.