Chương 2: -2- Wrath Of The Kind

Calder-Rime Rest Township Calder's wooden sword fell down like a sledgehammer towards Ricktus; to his credit, he only flinched slightly before using his system-enhanced speed to angle his body and then his sword into a sharp deflection. The blow crashed past him, gliding down his sword. The strike nearly made him drop his own training sword from the sheer painful impact.

"Fuck that!" Ricktus cursed, going on the offensive before Calder's overcommitted blow even stopped. He brought his pommel straight up into Calder's chin with a sharp crack, sending the big man's head reeling. Then jumped up trying to stab down at the staggered Calder. Calder barely brought his sword up in time, sending the stab off course with a painful punch block.

Calder's sword was terribly out of position, but where Ricktus fought like a battlefield surgeon, careful angles and exacting slices always using his sword like the only tool in his arsenal. Calder was much more used to using what the gods gave him to bully smaller opponents. His short temper over matters of right and wrong had gotten him plenty of practice in proper scraps over the years. Ricktus's blade swung downward, and Calder didn't even try to block it.

He shouldered forward and caught the sword near the base with his gauntleted hand. Ricktus's eyes widened as Calder pressed even closer, and he realized how much danger he was in. Calder's sword hand shot out, dropping the blade and snatching Ricktus by his leather chest piece. Calder's whole body heaved as he hefted Ricktus off the ground and swung him brutally over his shoulder, turning his frame for a full-body toss. Ricktus's feet faced the sky briefly as he flew over Calder's head, held in an inescapable grip.

Calder slowed at the last second, setting him roughly down instead of smashing Ricktus down onto his own sword and the frosted earth. Ricktus stared at the sky for a moment from his back.

"Gods man, what was that!?" Calder smiled and shrugged, picking up his sword and assuming a ready stance once again. Phil had stopped and looked over in amused curiosity.

"You know, boy, you might not ever be a great swordsman, but you sure might be decent in the chaos of a real fight. Calder was about to respond when he felt a chime deep within himself. He instinctually knew that the system had granted him another class option. Calder waved his hands excitedly at Ricktus.

"Hold up! Hold up! I got a new class; give me a second!" Riktus started congratulating him, but Calder was too excited to respond, sitting down and crossing his legs right where he was so he could go to his sanctuary and check. Maybe this is it! Was that finally enough to show that I deserve the same class my father had? The path of the tomb guard? Calder had often heard you were supposed to calmly will yourself into your sanctuary; 'it's like slipping into a warm bathtub' was a common example. That…

had never worked for Calder; for him, he had always had to visualize leaping from a cliff into the darkness below. A bit unorthodox, but it worked. He thudded into his sanctuary and gazed around, putting out his hand to catch the omnipresent slowly drifting snowflakes. Ahead of him stood a mostly featureless stone archway atop a rough-hewn staircase. Flanking it on either side were fluttering blue and silver banners carrying his father's old heraldry: a longsword piercing through an icy heart.

He turned around and looked at the mausoleum that dominated the center of his sanctuary. A sanctuary was just a representation of your soul; you used to spend the essence you had earned to level up and craft skills once you had a class. It was supposed to be a deeply personal thing, different for every person. Calder never understood why his was so barren. He stepped into the mausoleum and looked down at the simple but fine marble floor. Candles above cast glittering patterns around the room.

But there was no one interred here; rows of empty shelves flanked him on both sides. The only thing in the entire room was his [Core Statue]. He walked up to the systems representation of himself and grimaced a bit. It didn't show a warrior or a dashingly handsome hero. Calder saw his rugged frame wrapped in simple gray clothes that barely fit. A shovel that looked diminutive clutched in one hand. His lightly stubbled face was too severe and brutish to be considered handsome.

Small grey eyes peeked out from thick brows that were slightly hidden by his long dark hair. His free hand was extended up in greeting towards the ghostly figure of the maiden frozen in time. She reached back in greeting, an almost amused expression on her face. This is how the system sees me, the kindly gravetender who greets the spirits. I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to become as warlike as my father must have been to receive his Tomb Guard class. Calder willed his status screen to appear.

There was very little on it for now. Other than a talent he had apparently been born with. [Calder Loamish Tier-1] (lvl 0) [Unclassed] Talents [Friend Of The Lost] Allows you to see beyond the material and view souls that have failed to pass on. As well as see creatures that dwell in both the materium and immaterium preying upon lost souls. That description had scared Calder since the first time he read it a few years ago when he got access to his sanctuary.

He still didn't know what those creatures were, but he prayed if he ever found out, he would be equipped to deal with them. Calder let out a long sigh that misted into the cold air and then willed open his available classes. He sorted out everything below uncommon. Like most people who waited for a year or two to try and earn better classes, he had a massive list of common classes ranging from groundskeeper all the way to lumberjack.

His father's class was a rare one, which was honestly just wishful thinking; Calder had only earned a handful of uncommon classes. He froze as he saw his list; his fight with Ricktus had earned him a Rare class. [Steward Of Honored Dead](Uncommon) You will tend to the graves of the honored fallen; your back will not bend and your strength will not ebb. By your hand alone will you consecrate and purify the crypts of the gone but not forgotten.

You will hold the skill and means to create edifices that suit the final resting place of the legends of your age. [Contemplative Warrior](Uncommon) A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Your blade sings not in rage nor wrath but in the subtle song of necessity. You will protect those you love with calculated blows and careful actions. Your body and mind will both become equal weapons of war that call forth not fear but respect. Ha…

I still don't know how I got that one... I may not be quick to anger, but hoo boy… it's not great when I finally reach the tipping point. [Overpowering Knight Initiate](Uncommon) You will use your impeccable timing and limitless aggression to overwhelm your foes with an endless series of efficient attacks. Your body was forged by training for war, and your might and toughness match this purpose. With time and training none can stand against the weapon you will become. Now this one I know how I got...

it's from training with Dectus. If I showed anything other than a modicum of proficiency for it, it would probably turn into a rare swordsman class. As it is, I flail around too much and generally "survive" for about ten seconds in most of our duels, and that is with him going easy on me. [Conqueror of Fist and Sword](Rare) You wield the blade with overpowering might, smashing aside all defenses against you. Who needs tact and skill when a good slash and a bone-shattering kick can solve any problem?

You were born bigger, harder, and meaner than the others. You will lean into the natural advantages the gods gave you and become a juggernaut whose footsteps shake the very earth. Well damn! That actually does sound up my alley, well, at least it fits the kind of fighting that comes naturally to me. I'm working my ass off to try and incorporate feints, counters, and everything else Dectus shows me, but what wins me fights right now is honestly just being a straightforward bruiser. Surprised it's rare though…

that last line shake the very earth. Oh, maybe it has a touch of earth magic talents. Melle classes with a splash of magic are quite powerful. Calder was roughly shaken back to the real world. Ricktus stood above him, a hand clasped on his shoulder, his face stricken with concern.

"Calder! Calder, snap the fuck out of it! Hey, Duncan's back! He's in danger! Where is your real sword?" Calder shook his head slightly as the world came into focus. Duncan, a stout lad about Calder's age that had joined the warfront a few weeks ago, was bleeding heavily from a dire slice that went from his cheek down across his shoulder. Calder could see his exposed teeth through the side of his face as he slumped against Phil, trying to desperately warn him.

"They are coming, Phil, they are coming. It was a scouting party... they, they, we saw them and they. Killed everyone; they are after me. They." Phil kindly but firmly looked him in the eye.

"Slow down! Who's coming? What do you need done before we get you a healer?" Phil's firm, commanding tone pulled Duncan back from his panic. Duncan coughed out a breath tinged with foam and blood and spoke with more purpose, "Kalderan Scouts They are inside the lines. We have to let the garrison know. They were chasing me." Everyone grew even more tense at that news.

"Found you actually…" Hissed from a shrouded figure who stepped from behind the mill. His rust-red armor was barely visible; the shadows of early morning seemed to cling to him as he predatorily circled between the small group and the town beyond. The lack of sound as his boots crunched through the snow was jarring. Another three figures circled from the outskirts of the mill, all wearing the same rust-colored armor with mottled white cloaks that blended in with the snow and stone of the coast.

Calder looked at the one closest to him; his face was covered with a thin sheet of fabric, but the man's eyes were cold, and he held his sword ready in one hand and shield forward in the other. Calder's grip grew so tight on his training sword that the wood creaked. I hope I'm ready… Phil's features drew taut and serious; his eyes flared briefly with mana as he scanned the men surrounding them. The leader stepped closer to Phil, a dagger in one hand and a short sword in the other.

"One guard, four trainees, and a half-dead conscript…do you really think you have a chance?" Phil spoke commandingly towards Calder and Ricktus.

"This isn't training, lads; they will kill us all… The leader is beyond you, but the rest you have a chance. Don't hesitate…" The man closest to him struck in a blur of shadows, bringing his weapons down in the middle of Phil's warning. Phil was ready, bringing his sword up and dashing sideways in a burst of speed so great the hard-packed ground tore at his steps. Their blades met in a shower of sparks. Calder turned towards the shielded warrior nearest him and took a deep breath.

His heart was hammering wildly in his chest, and his hands had a noticeable tremble. For your family, if you don't stop them, they will tear through the town... ricktus, even Grandpa. He squared his shoulders and raised his training sword in front of himself. The man in front of him scoffed, "Let's make this quick and join the others." He growled to the man next to him, who nodded and started moving towards Ricktus, a spear held low. Calder's opponent Charged straight at him; his speed was immense.

The man obviously had enhanced attributes from his class. Calder braced, widened his legs, and swung with all his might, trying to stop the man's charge dead. His sword hit an upraised shield that had a shimmering barrier flash across it the moment his sword connected. The man grunted, having to brace against the massive blow, but Calder's wooden sword utterly splintered against the man's shield. Calder looked in dismay at his broken training weapon, and it nearly cost him his life.

The moment his gaze left his opponent, the man swung his sword straight up at Calder's throat. A stumbled step back saved him, but the man lurched forward, his shield extending a wave of force before it and harshly knocking Calder onto his back. The jarring pain finally snapped Calder from afraid to afraid and mad. I'll be fucking damned if I die in my first fight without ever even getting a class! The short sword swung downwards straight for Calder's throat.

He stuck his hand up, and the blade pierced straight through his palm, stopping just before his face. With a roar that surprised even Calder, he sat up painfully and wrenched his foe closer with his impaled hand, his other hand reaching across and grabbing the man's sword arm in a vice grip. Concern crossed the eyes of Calder's opponent for a split second before he smashed his shield across Calder's unprotected face.

Calder ignored the blinding pain and stumbled to his feet, still holding the man's sword arm in place. He received another brutal shield bash across his face that caused the world to spin. Calder Swung his entire body down and forward in a sickening headbutt before the man could swing his shield again. Cartilage broke, and blood spattered across Calder's bruised face. The man tried to stumble back.

Calder didn't let him; he charged forward and tackled him to the ground, getting his legs on either side of the man and pinning his shield beneath him. They struggled like that for a few moments. The man trying to throw Calder free with blasts of force from his shield. Calder leaned his weight down and hooked a hand into the man's tunic, holding himself in place. Dull thuds rang out as he brought his forehead down twice more into his struggling foe's face.

Calder pulled back and looked at the man's mangled features. Calder gasped in pain as the man jammed a dagger into his thigh. He had dropped the sword, and Calder hadn't noticed. The scout pulled back his hand and stabbed again, this time twisting the blade. Calder looked to the side and reached for his broken training sword; he barely reached it by the time the knife fell a third time into his thigh.

With a scream, Calder grabbed the hilt of the broken sword and jammed the sliver of a broken blade down into the man's eye. He pushed until he felt a sudden pop and give. The man went utterly slack under him. Calder pulled himself to his feet and stumbled to the side, looking to see if his friends were alive. Phil was still dueling the scout leader now far away from the others in a dizzying array of sparks and shadows. Ricktus was down on one knee, weakly waving a sword towards the opponent with a spear.

The others... Calder gagged as he saw a blade being pulled from Joel's guts and the headless body of Randal, the other trainee. No Calder let the building anger overtake him; he knew it was the only thing that would let him have the bravery he needed. He looked at his mangled, still impaled hand with detachment born from adrenaline and trauma. He gripped the bloody handle and sickeningly pulled the blade free before turning towards his next opponent.