Chương 2: 2-But you didn't die.

Vraxious - Hope's End Village Vrax dashed toward the creature gently floating from the curtain of water within the fountain. It was the size and rough shape of a very ripe melon. Luxurious, white tufts of fur covered its entire body, only broken up by two massive eyes dominating the center of the orb-like body. It was an odd creature with no visible arms or legs or mouth, for that matter. Still, anyone who'd lived in Hope's End for any amount of time would recognize it instantly on sight.

The Bloodsick Devourer let out a sound somewhere between a coo and the gasp of a dying man while Vrax gently ducked under it to retrieve his spear. Gregory had frozen where he stood, looking from the Devourer to the pooling blood at his feet and back again in obvious concern.

Of course, Vrax knew his affinity and interactions with many of the monsters within the Forsaken Lands was considered odd at best and irresponsibly insane on average, but that was just a lack of understanding on the "normal" person's part, in his opinion. He reached out to the fluffy orb in front of him and gave it a fond pat above the eyes. The brackish bulb he'd covered himself in masked the scent of blood from his half-dozen scrapes and abrasions.

The little guys were just always hungry, but—if they didn't smell blood on you—they were almost friendly. Gregory, for his part, stood two dozen strides away, slowly pulling a massive, curved tower shield from his back and angling it toward the Devourer. A look of concern and consideration crossed his features. Oh, bad call. Gregory, you should have charged. Giving him? Her? It? Ehh, whatever, a running start is the wrong way to deal with something this fast.

Gregory focused intently on the duo halfway in the fountain, mana gathering in swirling gray rivers from the activation of a skill. His shield fractured into ragged shards of metal and swirled around him in a shell of metal until his armored form was barely visible through the gaps in the maelstrom. It's now or never, little guy. Vrax gently pushed the Devourer out of the fountain and toward Gregory, spinning it with his free hand until its eyes faced the flurry of metal.

A confused coo escaped the Devourer before a sudden and disconcerting shudder ran through its fur. The black eyes dominating its body shrank to slits of malevolent red light. It made a noise like a man gagging as its feeding tendrils snaked from where they hid within its fur; then it moved, slowly at first but building to a speed far past that of a mundane arrow by the time it reached Gregory. It impacted Gregory right at his shin, punching through the flurry of whirling metal with the sound of a window breaking.

Armor deformed, and Gregory flipped, legs taken right out from under him and all the way around again. He landed on his back with a pained grunt. The Devourer was latched onto his leg, tendrils greedily probing toward his wound. It wasn't unscathed, however; crimson streaked the white fur where it'd been cut by the man's Blade Shield. Vrax ran toward the scuffle, spear held low and primed for a devastating thrust.

The Blade Shield had dropped, and Gregory was a bit too preoccupied to immediately respond to his approach. Vrax leaped, adding as much momentum as he could to his spear thrust and aiming it right for the shoulder joint. He was slapped out of the air with so much force that he barely registered his own blow never landed before he slammed into the fountain in a shower of water and broken potions. The malformed dagger Gregory had relieved him of was sticking through his forearm, pinning him to the fountain.

Vrax tore his gaze from his mangled arm back to the scuffle in time to see Gregory's shortsword more or less dice the Devourer harassing him. Oh, shit. Vrax looked around at the demolished market stalls and blood-soaked cobbles. I think he already trashed the backup plans. Gregory hauled himself to his feet, absolutely coated in gore, a look of sheer, stoic purpose on his face.

With a flicker of intent, a dozen links from his armor flowed like liquid silver down to his rent shin guard, slipping through the cut and into his wound. A moment later, the flowing wound slowed to a trickle, and he put his full weight back on the leg. His sword returned to his grasp, and he thundered across the ground toward the fountain. A cape of scintillating metal shards trailed behind him when Blade Shield struggled to reform during his charge. He lunged, blade point first, directly for Vrax's throat.

A thunderclap of metal on metal rang out. A man in red-tinged full plate armor with heavily reinforced joints and a blackened greatsword intercepted the blow with the pommel of his sword. The force sent Gregory stumbling past Vrax; his shortsword stabbed into the duke's statue and sheared off a marble arm instead of beheading its intended target.

Whirling in confusion, Gregory started to raise his weapon defensively before pausing in recognition of the armored intruder, his thick brows wrinkled in a questioning expression.

"Enough!" the figure in full plate commanded, removing his helm to reveal a man well past his fortieth year. Severe crow's feet highlighted his furrowed brows and sharp nose—a face more used to frowning impressively than smiling humorously. He sighed deeply and placed his sword back into a tight-fitting leather sheath over his shoulder.

"Captain, what…?" Gregory started, then he looked toward the battered form of Vrax pinned to the fountain, spear still stubbornly hanging in his grip. A sudden realization struck him like a divine inspiration.

"No, not even you are this damned insane…" he muttered without conviction. He took a step towards Vrax and stopped, looking over at the writhing patch of mushrooms and the smear that remained of the Devourer.

"You… Vrax? Have you lost all of your fucking senses? You fool, I almost killed you!" he blurted out in a mix of anger and horror.

"Meh, that felt like a pretty even fight for a bit to me," Vrax quipped in a pained breath.

"Cedric, can you… ya know…?" He gestured with his spear toward the pinned arm and half a dozen trickling wounds, a hopeful look on his face as he looked at the guard captain.

"Silence. You took this far beyond what was agreed upon. You will live until the cleric gets here." Vrax visibly blanched beneath his hood.

"Oh, I don't think we need to get my father involved." He sounded somewhat panicked.

"I have a few healing potions stashed still. Those should do it, if you could just help with this." He gestured at his arm again a bit more urgently this time, teeth gritted in pain as the adrenaline wore off. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"He's already involved. Who do you think gave me the okay to go along with this… unorthodox attempt at gaining a rare class option? Although it was cunning of you to try and frame it as a training exercise for my protégé, I suppose, if a very base cunning," Cedric intoned, almost sounding bored. He cast a meaningful look at the battered form of Gregory, whose guard's uniform was nearly in tatters at that point. Gregory looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel, his face was turning so red.

"He almost died, Captain!" He gestured at Vrax, whose battered form had finally slumped into unconsciousness.

"I almost killed him," he whispered.

"But you didn't" Cedric argued, effortlessly pulling Vrax's arm free and pouring a potion over the worst of his wounds. He looked back to Gregory as he tossed the unconscious man over his shoulder.

"Learn from this, and for fuck's sake, you fool, always question free beer," he finished with the slightest hint of a smile as he carried Vrax's limp form toward the chapel a few streets over from the town square. Standing numbly in the town square, Gregory looked at the absolute fucking mess he'd made of the market. His thoughts still swirled in disbelief. Vrax was a goddamned classless twenty-year-old; how had he managed this? It was well known that he was a bit… different.

He'd been exploring the fringes of the Forsaken Lands for years now—without a class; not because he didn't have options. Gregory had helped him sort through the absolute plethora he had available to him at this point, but none were ever the right fit or rare enough, so he'd held off for two years, relentlessly continuing his training but never advancing in level. Unable to use the Essence, he had to be gaining in droves within the forest to improve his Sanctuary.

As it was, he was risking falling behind his peers, even with how skilled he was in some areas. Vrax had been trying to achieve a feat the system deemed worthy of rewarding a class beyond rare for, Gregory was sure of it.

Attacking an opponent basically a full tier above himself as an unclassed would normally be considered a dramatic way to commit suicide, but Vrax had come uncomfortably close to doing real damage; Gregory had fully stopped holding back for the second half of the fight, and the system would recognize that. If Vrax had used more lethal poisons or been a bit more ruthless, he could well have won. Gregory couldn't help but smile.

"Little shit pulled out all the stops and put his life on the line but still wouldn't use his meanest tricks on a friend." The Blisterweed to the face had certainly hurt like the hells and played havoc with his depth perception, but he knew for a fact Vrax had a hell of a lot worse than that in the horrific alchemist's shop he called a bedroom. Gregory gazed down the street, the dark edges of the forest visible only hundreds of strides from the farthest building.

Sweeping lines of gray-green willows formed a curtain separating civilization from the horrors that lurked within.

"Really not a fan of the woods," he muttered to himself while applying some low-tier healing salve to his wounds and picking bits of Devourer out of his beard. * Vrax woke with a start, staring toward a worn but well cared for domed ceiling. Immediately, he tried to still his breaths and keep his body relaxed.

"If you ever get knocked senseless, pretend to be sleeping for a bit longer once you're up so you can figure out what the fuck is happening around you." Yet another nugget of wisdom from his father. Vrax had made it a habit to practice—he had plenty of chances, what with the concerning frequency he was rendered senseless in his daily training. His tutors were good, caring people, but they certainly weren't gentle. His eyes opened to slits, tracing to the left and right without head movements.

Repurposed wooden bookcases lay against the wall to his right, packed with gently glowing golden grass floating within a patchwork of mismatched jars. To his left, another four wooden beds led to a simple stone wall with a gently flickering blue-white evertorch mounted high. Piled against the stone wall was a tower of clean linen; a metal cart with tubs of various magical salves sat peacefully in the center of the room. Vrax let out a sigh. He was, yet again, in the chapel infirmary.

The sound of a conversation in the adjoining office caught his attention. He smiled mischievously and focused on his enhanced hearing. Most people in town knew he'd cobbled together a rudimentary Identify, but no one knew he'd managed to enhance his hearing within his Sanctuary.

With how often he was crawling around in places he had no damn right being, hearing the scary shit coming and then being able to tell what flavor of fucked it was is half the battle—more accurately, quietly starting to run away before it noticed you and knowing if you should pray while you ran or if that would only make it angrier. Vrax shuddered involuntarily at that last thought. He had learned that was actually a thing the hard way. Vrax stopped daydreaming and began eavesdropping in earnest.

He caught the gravely stoic voice of Cedric raised slightly in frustration.

"Yes, I heard you say you would pay for the damages the first two times, William, that isn't the problem here. I need to know why you asked me to agree to this… experiment your boy cooked up." A kind, also world-weary voice answered, "If I coddle that damned fool boy of mine, he will die."

"Pardon?" Cedric asked, slightly taken aback.

"And what he just did wasn't likely to get him killed?"

"Bear with me for a moment, old friend." A humorous tone laced William's voice.

"Do you remember the first time Vrax flew the nest and went into the Nightmare Wood? How old was he?"

"Of course I remember. You were beside yourself in panic; it was the only time in the last decade you donned your armor and went right in after him, leaving me to deal with the town's problems for a week."

"And…?" William continued with an expectant tone. Cedric sighed mightily.

"You came back half dead and coated in gore, a half dozen levels higher and beside yourself in grief, certain he was dead."

"Andddd…?" William drew out.

"Vrax came out a day after you with a few bruises and scrapes, an entire pack stuffed with the herbs we needed to deal with that summer's fever, proud as a pig and with the first few pages of his Bestiary." He paused for a moment.

"Probably saved my lad's life too. I don't know if Torvald would've survived the fever without his friend's help."

"He was twelve, Cedric, twelve. Nothing I can do will stop that boy. He has taken to sword and spear far better than I at his age. Gods know where his woodcraft skills come from, it certainly isn't us." Cedric grunted in agreement at that. William's voice rose, a more serious timbre to it.

"Why I asked you to do me this favor and allow him to try and earn an epic class was to give the boy a reality check, to show him how badly he's outmatched by the things in the dark he flutters about with in those woods. Gregory was supposed to quickly beat him senseless and convince him that clever Sanctuary design and clear purpose are enough, even with just an uncommon class. Instead, the little shit almost won against goddamned Gregory.

The only things in life that man likes are rules, fighting, and beer, and he's only really any good at the first two!" Vrax chuckled to himself. It was like his dad couldn't help himself. He had to throw the joke in there at the end. He tuned out the conversation, a bit proud and slightly touched at his father's reasoning. His father didn't need to worry; Vrax knew very well how much he flirted with death every time he delved deeper into that place. It was wondrous, but it was utterly deadly. On that note…

Vrax rubbed his hands together, he'd felt a change deep within his soul earlier, after the fight. Maybe he had finally unlocked the right class for him. He closed his eyes and delved deep within himself, stilling all thought until he was drawn toward his System Sanctuary.