VengefulBirch
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Chapters 94-95
🕑 Added 2025-08-29 07:52:55 +0000 UTCRamping up productivity. I have a new editor and one in standby in case there was ever any problem.
Thank you for the patience.
Chapter 94
It turned out that Princess Iskara is sneaky.
People had started to like me a bit too much, so she took what happened between us and twisted it in such a way that I seem more than I really am. Now that they do not see me as someone shallow, they are far less trusting.
The banquet hall sits under a vaulted ceiling, lined with braziers that carry heat around the room. Black flames burn in iron bowls along the walls. Stone banners hang from chains and show the sigils of the Academy. Banquet tables run the length of the room, and the nine Champions sit at the central one covered by plates heaped with spiced meat and bowls filled with dark fruit. Servants wander by quietly, averting their eyes. Silverware clinks, and the low murmur of conversation rolls through the room.
“Just call me Iskara, Jacob. Especially after how you’ve already laid your hands on me like that,” she says in a sultry tone, tilting her chin so that the light reflects off of her smooth horns.
She’s good. Very good.
I look into the Princess’s eyes for a few moments and then smile. The room holds its breath in anticipation.
King Baalrek, please never forget something.
What?
I come from the mines.
“Well,” I say, and I let my voice carry, “I did perform a ritual on Princess Iskara. I have this Ancient Infernal knowledge, and she was so sick that I wanted to help.”
A few Champions lean in. Asterion folds his hands and watches me without blinking. Sabrina taps the rim of her goblet with her ring. I see that what I said makes them curious, yet it does not close it.
“What kind of ritual are we talking about, lad?” Boomgar snickers through his beard. “Because I know some rituals you might have been performing, alright.”
“Yeah, so, I think that Princess—sorry, Iskara, took my help too personally and is now acting a bit possessive.”
“Huh?” Iskara turns toward me, confused, and the black flame nearest to her bends.
“I don’t know, it must be how I touched her. See, I may have had to draw runes on her bare body. I found this ritual in an Elite Dungeon and knew I could help. I swear, if you have a spell to confirm this or you can tell if I’m lying, please do.”
“He’s not lying,” Asterion interjects, causing a few Champion’s eyebrows to raise.
I know I’m not. I did find King Baalrek—the one who taught me the ritual—in an Elite Dungeon. This is technically all true.
“Right, and so, I might have helped clean up a few of her mana veins and… I don’t know, she now seems to like me a bit too much, and I think she may be marking her territory. I just want to say, for the sake of clarity among us Champions, I am not looking for any romantic connection, especially one as difficult as ours for the moment.”
Please, Asterion, do not say I’m lying now.
Asterion tilts his head as if he weighs my words on a scale, and he keeps silent. He probably thinks that I like Princess Iskara, and that is the only lie here.
“So, yeah. Sorry, I had to bring this up, Iskara,” I say, and I turn toward the red-skinned woman.
I think you underestimate how mad you just made this woman. Infernals are not as proud and unreasonable as Dragonkin, Jacob Cloud. But that applies only to the men. Infernal women are the most beautiful women of any race. To say that they have the largest pride—which you really just hurt—would be the understatement of the century. So, prepare yourself for death.
“Oof, I’m so full,” I say, scraping the floor as I push my chair back from the table. I move away from Iskara, and I feel the heat from her seat on my face. “How’s it going, brother?” I askKai as I step behind his massive frame on the other side of the table.
Thin wisps of black flame gather along Iskara’s forearms. I remember how that same flame broke the school’s barrier like it was paper, and I feel my skin start to prickle. Around the table, I see satisfied expressions, some laughter, and curious eyes watching my movements.
You might have angered her, but I’ll give you this, you turned the situation back on her. Your insanity worked, once again, in your favor. They now don’t trust her. And with the Highblood confirming you were telling the truth… incredible. Sometimes I wish you were an actual Infernal, Jacob Cloud.
Thank you. Do you think she’ll actually kill me?
Probably. But not now. Just be careful. Also, you still have to tutor her. She’s going to be the crown jewel of my people.
Wait, what? Are you serious? Tutor her?
She looks like she would love nothing more than to kill me right now. The hall feels smaller because of it.
Two people enjoy the show in a clear way. Vyrrak bares his teeth at Iskara and seems to bathe in her anger as if it were the sun. Sabrina Margrave’s eyes carry a glint of joy that she has found a new seam to pull.
“Jacob Cloud, you really are remarkable with your tongue,” the Princess says, as she stands slowly. “I would suggest, though, that we put your Skills to the test. You offered several times to tutor me. Why don’t we step outside and see if you’re worthy of that honour, of standing with the strongest of the Champions? If we must trust you with our lives, I would like to know whether you’re capable of handling them or not.”
I look at the other Champions, and Kai looks at me, too. No one protests. Their anticipation rises like steam above a kettle.
She lost the verbal sparring match, Cloud. Now she is about to humiliate you and remind you that your power is nothing compared to theirs. They might like you, but they’ll soon realize that it’s not kinship. It’s more like having a small, stupid pet that you like but must take care of.
I really don’t like your similes, King Baalrek.
“So? What will it be?” Princess Iskara smiles as the black flames on the wall jump.
I cannot refuse. If I do, any credit I gained here will drain away. I already have a weak standing, and I do not want to look easier to pick apart.
“I don’t think that’s fair, Princess Iskara,” Kai says, and he rises from his seat so his shadow covers the table. “Jacob is not—”
“No, you know what?” I interrupt, and I pat my giant brother’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Iskara. I imagine you can’t wait for me to lay my hands on you again.”
She’s going to kill you.
She’ll try, I think back as I meet the Infernal Princess’s narrowed eyes. But I have my ways, King Baalrek. Don’t worry.
*
We descend into a training courtyard that sits inside a pocket dimension. Vyrrak leads us down a spiral stair and through a stone arch that drinks the light. The air shifts when we cross the threshold. The sky above looks painted and still, with a pale sun that hangs without warmth. A ring of tiles marks the arena floor. White ward-lines creep along the stone. Wooden racks with practice weapons line the walls, and benches rise in tiers for an audience that does not exist right now.
“What were you thinking, Princess?” I ask as we take our places. The other eight Champions take spots several meters back.
“Just a normal sparring match, Cloud. What’s your power level?”
“Huh, what’s that?” I ask, and I frown.
“What monsters do you think you can take?”
“Late Gold, Peak Gold?” I say, and I do not feel sure. “That’s what I’ve faced so far.”
“Not even Platinum,” she says derisively, not bothering to even look at me. “What an interesting Champion you are. Put up your guard.”
I summon Hellbane’s Sword and Dark Blade. The grips sit warm in my palms. I fuse them with care so that the Black Flame coils along their edge like night ink. I breathe deeply through my chest with the Grimoire and Infernal Architect activated at the ready. I anchor my stance.
My ears ring. Without warning, the world flips. The painted sky stares down at me.
Bile comes up from my stomach without warning. I twist to the side and vomit on the stone. Acid and bile burn my throat, and I suck air in short gasps. I push myself up with my hand. My arm shakes with exertion. Princess Iskara stands where I last saw her, face serene.
“You’re fast,” I say, as an acidic burp pushes out of me while I try to steady my breath. “Very fast. Good for you.”
The Infernal Princess does not look happy at my casual tone. This time, my eyes catch a blur that crosses the space. It barely lasts for a blink, as I desperately try to process what is about to happen.
She’s too fast.
I do not even feel the ground hit me. The sound arrives after my lungs forget how to work. I wheeze, ribs aching as I desperately try to suck in breath.
She’s so strong.
Your Rainbow Skill gave you a distorted perception of your strength, Cloud. She’s not even going all out. She’s playing with you so as not to kill you. There’s a realm and a half of power between you two. And, as I said, she’s infinitely stronger than you are. Just give up. Lose face here and move on. You’ll have time to fraternize with the other champions later. A beaten dog elicits sympathy. But they’ll lose all their respect for you, just so you know.
I’m not done yet.
I push to my feet again. My knees feel weak, and my hands tingle.
“So, Jacob, what would you like to teach me?” Iskara says in a mocking way. “What will you tutor me in?”
I smile with my ace in hand. The Grimoire gave me more than just flaws this time. It gave me threads of her origin, a taste of history, and sharp notes about the person behind the Skill.
“We can start with motherly love. You didn’t receive much of it growing up, did you?”
The Champions frown as a group. They do not know if I’m just talking trash or if what I say is the truth. Their heads shake in pity because they expect Iskara to laugh, knock me out, and then leave.
They turn back to her, and they find her frozen in shock, expressionless. Her mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. The black flame on the wall writhes.
“You know,” I continued conversationally, “it affects people in different ways that we can’t even imagine. We push ourselves harder and harder, sometimes. And we even face things that might kill us in order to feel—”
“Everyone, out,” Iskara says.
“What?” Boomgar asks.
“OUT! NOW! I NEED TO TALK TO CLOUD ALONE!” Iskara roars, and her mana surges, causing my bones to ache in response. The others understand just how serious her rage is when the wards at our feet start to glow ominously in response. They collectively shrug and move toward the exit portal, not wanting to test her patience.
Kai looks at me, and I nod. “Go. Don’t worry. I got this.”
When they are out, Princess Iskara looks at me with narrowed eyes. The arena grows even quieter, the tension heavy in the air.
“What did you say to me? Repeat it, bastard. I will take everything from you, Jacob Cloud. EVERYTHING. You think that you can play with me? You think you can just run your mouth and expect there not to be any consequence?! I WILL TAKE YOUR SOUL, CLOUD! You think I don’t know that you’re hiding a Rainbow Skill?!”
“Well,” I say, and I smile, “I didn’t run my mouth. You think I’m hiding a Rainbow Skill, but I know that you’ve got Lucifer’s Veins. It’s not a guess, I know. That’s why I said you missed out on motherly love.”
Iskara’s face moves through several looks and then settles on pure confusion.
“How do you—”
“Part of the reason the Skill wasn’t well integrated was that your body was severely damaged by overtraining. Overtraining that was driven by a female Infernal mana signature.”
The Grimoire only marked these details. It was I who stitched them into the shape that defines who Iskara is.
“You were always very talented growing up, weren’t you? You must have been called the crown jewel of Infernals.”
“How do you know?” Iskara frowns.
That is how King Baalrek referred to her. The small risk I took, lands.
“The kind of trial that would have gotten you Lucifer’s Veins must have been... You weren’t even looking for that Skill, I suspect. You were simply looking for a release from your pain.”
Iskara opens her mouth and trembles.
“I’m sorry,” I say simply. “My mother wasn’t there when I grew up. And I think I preferred it to whatever must have been done to you. I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. I’m just a human, a peasant, and a miner. Where I come from, I don’t have much in the way of responsibility. A few people in my mine shaft relied on me, but that’s the most I’ve experienced when it comes to carrying that level of burden. You probably have all the expectations of your race and your mother on your shoulders. I suspect you channeled all those feelings into your training, just to make the pressure stop. You told me, ‘I will take your soul.’ Is that something your mother said to you?”
*
Iskara has never, ever, in her entire life, felt so naked.
Jacob Cloud might have seen her without clothes. She did not feel naked then. She felt a little insulted at first and tried turning it into leverage. None of her Royal aunts, her mother, her father, her grandparents, her tutors, or her mentors had ever seen her like this. No one looked past her actions and found her pain beneath.
She did not go into the trial because she had a plan to claim a Skill Crystal. She went in because she felt tired down to her bones. She wanted peace and rest and a chance to stop. Sleep called to her more than victory.
The trial was torturous, and it forced her body to accept a Skill Crystal she did not even desire. Everyone else thinks that when Iskara disappears into a hidden Dungeon Room, she did it on purpose. No one suspected that the training left her mind scraped and raw.
Her mother’s training turned her talent into something beyond other young Infernals. She never says out loud what it did to her mind because the words taste like failure when she forms them. Now Jacob Cloud peeled the armor away and looked at her as if he saw her pain without judgment. The hunger that drove her to prove herself, to acquire power, and to become more drains out of her like water from a broken cup.
Tears spill down her cheeks unabated, and a hiccup spills from her throat. Her whole body shakes, and she cannot hold it in. It feels like a blade stabbing her, but it purges her of the foul blood that she kept inside to this point.
She feels a hand on her shoulder. The touch is light and shy.
She turns to him and sees an awkward smile on his face. She sees a boy who does not know any better but who knows her at the same time. Both truths sit comfortably together within her, without a fight.
*
The eight Champions stand in the corridor, just across from the portal arch. The portal hums, emitting a thin whirl of gray light. Stone torches burn with a steady flame. The air smells like chalk from the wards.
Vyrrak breaks the quiet. “If she kills him, do you reckon that stops the effect of the Generation of Legends?”
“It shouldn’t?” Sabrina frowns, rubbing the side of her goblet with her thumb.
“It would interfere. The effect has only just started after all,” Asterion interjects. “It would be most unfortunate if she did. And the Headmaster would execute her, too. A murder of a Champion at the hands of a Champion? Nothing could save her. Then, the Infernals would go to war with the Academy, most likely.”
Everyone but Vyrrak shudders at the thought of that fight. The corridor feels narrow.
Two figures step out of the portal that leads to the pocket dimension.
“Hey, guys,” Jacob waves a hand to them, and they see he still has all four limbs and his head attached.
“How was the sparring session?” Kai asks, and his brow tightens in a confused way.
“I’ve learned a lot,” Princess Iskara says, and she looks at them in a level way. “I’ve learned a lot thanks to Jacob.” Then she turns to me and gives a small bow. “I look forward to our next lesson.”
Every Champion there looks at the Infernal Princess with wide eyes as she walks away with measured steps. Then they look at the young man, the weakest among them, and he stretches his neck and says, “she’s got a lot of talent. She definitely needs to fix up a few things, but she shows great promise.”
PROMISE!? They think in one voice, outraged. HOW SHAMELESS ARE YOU?! SHE ALMOST KILLED YOU WITH TWO EASY HITS!
*
I lie on my bed in the dorm and think about what my future holds.
How am I supposed to level up my Skills? Hellbane’s Sword feels almost undecipherable to me. Even with the Grimoire’s guidance, I risk falling behind like this. Platinum Skills are much harder to master than I expected. The Gold ones are easier, and I could even produce a perfect Runic Notation for them, but the irony is that, despite knowing all the flaws, I am just not good enough at the moment. It’s just… it actually goes beyond my mana control and body awareness. My mastery of both is clearly lagging.
The dorm smells like old wood and lamp oil. A square window shows the tower roofs of the Academy and a slice of the false sun the wards mimic when classes run late. My boots sit under the bed, and my pack leans against the wall with some semblance of order.
I prepare to take a long nap, and an old man appears out of the corner of my eye.
“Elder Lioren,” I say, and I smile at the old Elf.
“Jacob!” the man says with a crooked smile. “I have the list ready for you now.”
“Oh.”
Elder Lioren has been recommending classes, applying on my behalf, and making sure I get the best possible options. He went even farther than when he swore his oath. His white hair falls like thread over his shoulders, and his robes smell like ink and dry leaves. His eyes hold a deeply patient shine that only old Elves can hold.
“So, Monster Felling 201, Runic Notation 202, Traps and Cracks 303, you’ve been signed up without trouble for all three. They’ll be the basic courses you’ll follow. Then, I have here two more that I personally think fit your specific Class. They’re Fire Manipulation 202 and Strategy 101. Strategy 101 might sound easy, son, but it’s actually a third-year course. You would have to be lucky to pass it and reach Strategy 202. It is the hardest course of the entire third year. I’ve had to pull a few favors in order for you to get in. But when the professor heard about your Class, they were very interested in having you join. Strategy is not about battle; it’s also about mana and knowledge. It fits an ‘Architect’ Class like yours.”
“Thank you, Elder Lioren,” I say, and I rise from the bed and bow deeply to the man. “You’ve been nothing but good to me.”
“Well,” Elder Lioren coughs and looks a little embarrassed. “There are also two more things. First, you might have a few more short courses throughout the year meant only for the Champions. They provide Merits but are more akin to practical exercises without much theory involved. There is, however, an Invitation that has been extended to you for an invite-only class after you become a Champion. And trust me, you don’t want to miss this.”
“Oh, what’s the Class?”
“Veins and Body Mastery 101, Cloud. The most exclusive Class you could get into for your first year here.”
Chapter 95
I step through the round portal that opens into the practice hall, and I enter an amphitheater-like structure. The place looks wide and bright, and the light emanates from a sky that has no sun. The air tastes clean and cool. Spell lines run across the stone like faint silver roots, and the bleachers rise in high tiers that circle a flat arena. I take a seat with the other students, the wood under me feels smooth and warm. Robes rustle as the class sits, and the low murmur of conversation rolls up through the stands. This is not Veins and Body Mastery 101, something I was looking forward to. It is instead Monster Felling 201.
I look around while I wait for the other Champions to show up, and my chest tightens when I don’t see them anywhere. The students here move with steady steps, and most of them hold themselves like trained fighters. Their eyes look around the arena and scan the crowd predatorily.
King Baalrek picks up on my searching and starts laughing in my head.
You really think that they’d join Monster Felling 201?!
I recall what Elder Lioren said. Monster Felling 201 opens to those who prove they can take down a Peak Gold Rank monster alone. The Academy brings most Apprentices from Early or Intermediate Gold Rank, and they typically reach Peak Gold Rank by the end of the first year. You can only pass Monster Felling 101 when you have slain a Peak Gold Rank monster of the Academy’s choosing. I already did that during the entrance exam, so the Academy placed me in Monster Felling 201.
Oh, so they’ve already jumped to Monster Felling 301?
To pass Monster Felling 201, you have to slay an INTERMEDIATE Platinum Rank. The more you level up, the harder it is to jump, kid. I’d put the Princess, the Highblood, and the Dragonkin at Early Diamond in power despite being Gold Rankers in level. I suspect that your brother and the Margrave brat are also around this level. Perhaps, the Void Mage, too—at least when it comes to offensive abilities. Although if that bastard is running the Academy like he used to, he probably didn’t make the cut. Offensive abilities are not everything. Stronger monsters are not mindless idiots. To pass Monster Felling 301, you need to kill a Peak Platinum monster, close to Diamond Rank. That’s why I’d say that the Void Mage, the Dwarf, and the Goblin are stuck in Monster Felling 301. They lack the versatility to kill monsters at that level.
Oh. Wait. You left out Kaelrik, the swordsman.
He’s the wildcard of the bunch. It’s hard to say where he would be placed. If I had a body, I could have scanned him with my abilities. As is, he could have ended up in either class.
I thought that I was the wildcard of the bunch.
Don’t flatter yourself.
I keep quiet and fold my hands together, making the leather of my gloves creak. King Baalrek lets out a deep breath.
You’ve got luck, kid. More luck than I’ve ever seen so far. And you’re not an idiot.
Is this you trying to be encouraging?
I didn’t kill you—that was me trying to be encouraging. This is me being nurturing.
He pauses, and I listen as the arena quiets in anticipation of the lesson starting.
You can make it, Cloud. But you need to stay grounded. Shadow the Champions. Survive, and you will keep being lucky. But don’t let your ego kill you and bite off more than you can chew. This is a very long run, and there is time for you to catch up to them. But you don’t want to become a one-trick pony. These Classes will teach you a lot. Study. Train. Keep practicing.
I plan to mutter something sharp back, but I let it go. I focus on the lecture and on the way the arena glows with soft runes. The light makes a red sheen on the polished stone floor, and I can see old grooves cut across the center from past fights.
Snickering rises behind me. “So you’re the rat bastard who somehow managed to become a Champion.”
I turn and see three elves dressed in academy robes. Their hair is straight and pale, their ears peeking through it like curved blades. Each face carries bright golden piercings. Rings thread along their eyebrows and trace their ears, and the metal reflects. Their robes hang loosely, and the fabric looks rich. The sharp smell of cologne clings to them.
“Excuse me?” I frown. “Do I know you?”
“You killed one of our own. You’re the Valemont bastard from Clearwater.”
I look them over from boots to crown. Their gold piercings speak to their wealth and pride. Their eyes carry the timeless elven serenity, eyes cold with judgment.
Elven nobles, Cloud, King Baalrek says.
Right. Of course. They cannot kill me here, and the Academy will punish them if they try. I can ignore them and move on.
“Is that the Fake Champion from the Generation of Legends?” another voice calls from a few seats away.
“Yeah, that’s him! How pathetic. Generation of Legends? Pfff, he looks like he’s from the Generation of Frauds.”
“A Champion in Monster Felling 201? How did he even pass the test?”
Heat crawls up my neck, and a vein throbs in my forehead. I breathe through my nose and keep my shoulders loose. What they say does not matter. I earned my spot, and if I don’t yet match the others’ strength, that will be temporary.
A boot bumps my back. I turn, feeling my eyelid twitch, and am met with three identical smirking faces. I rise from the bleacher to leave and move to pick a new seat on the other side of the auditorium.
“Sit down, now. Class is commencing.”
A gigantic minotaur walks through the bright oval arch that opens onto the arena floor. He steps to the center of the room and squares his horns. His fur looks dark and well-maintained, and his horns shine dully with scars that show past fights. His chest rises like the bellows of a forge. He lifts one hand, and a pearl of light forms above his palm and fills the space with a steady glow.
“I am Sir Braagh. You may refer to me as Sir or Professor Braagh. Welcome to Monster Felling 201,” he says. His red eyes move from face to face. They land on me, one brow rising, yet he says nothing about my presence in his class.
“At its core, this class is simple. You will pass three Quests that I pick for you. We will run simulations here, and I will analyse your fighting style and explain which monsters are bad matchups for your skills. Monster Felling is, at its heart, about judging whether or not to get into a fight in the first place. A bad matchup can kill even the best of us. I will give you a short demonstration.”
Professor Braagh raises his arm, and thick red metal crawls over his entire body. It spreads like quick iron, and it locks into plates that meet at clean seams. The armor covers him from head to toe. Two bright red circles burn where his eyes shine, and there is no slit for a mouth. When he speaks, the voice fills the air and comes from everywhere at once. It sounds deeper, and the stone under my boots seems to vibrate through my legs in response.
“I’m a melee fighter, specialized in the containment of poisonous monsters, undead, and their damn curses, and so on. My Skills are meant to make me invulnerable or more resistant to debuffs that would normally kill anybody else. However,” he says as the armor thickens along his shoulders, “my Skills are not meant to face monsters that are capable of overwhelming force. Don’t get fooled by my armor. If I meet a monster with piercing attacks, I will not feel as confident as I do when I face an acid-spitting monster. This is our first lesson. You need to know what Skills are meant to be used for. Do not base your Skills on how they look, what people think of them, or your underdeveloped intuition. At this moment, you are still weak and unspecialized.”
The red armor plates seep into his body and pull back along his arm like a liquid. The magic glow fades, and his fur shows again.
“Today is all about demonstrations. I will put you in groups of five, and we will run drills in simulations. In the future, you will also have to bring your Squires with you, but for now, we will keep things simple.”
The Minotaur draws out a long scroll that unfurls with a snap. The paper’s faint smell of ash and resin permeates the room as he starts to read out names in a steady voice. “Those called, come to the front now. Give me a brief show of your Skills, then go stand where I say. Do not move around.”
The students leave their seats and form a straight line in front of him. Their feet pad softly on the stone as they arrive, each person calling up a Skill in turn. Flames burst into existence, then vanish. Water splashes and then dissipates. A pair of antlers sprout and sink back into a brow as if it was never there. The professor nods or shakes his head in turn and points each student to a quadrant of the floor filled with runes that seem to mark out categories that I cannot yet read. He divides the room up quickly, watching everyone’s stance and breathing after they’ve finished performing.
He calls the last few names, mine comes near the end. I step down from the stands and walk across the arena. When I stop, Professor Braagh lifts a hand.
“Jacob Cloud. I’ve seen your best Skill already. You’re a Hell’s Sword Skill Set user, right? With some Infernal shenanigans in the middle.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, and my voice carries well in this place.
“Go there, then.” He points to a group of four near the east side.
He looks ready to call the next name, but I frown and ask my question because the word hangs in my head and needs air. “What am I being categorized as?”
“You’re somehow signed up to Strategy 101, Cloud, and Traps and Cracks 301. You’re a Guide-type.”
Confusion moves across my face, and I see it pass over a few other faces as well. The professor nods when he notices.
“Sorry, every year I forget that several of you come straight from your first year. Trap experts, strategists, and those whose best ability is their knowledge are classified as Guides. Guides are the closest thing to a natural leader there is. You might not be the strongest. You might not be the fastest, nor the most dangerous. However, you are meant to be the glue of a party. Infernals, for example, occupy this role very naturally because of their field-control Skills and their knowledge.”
He’s not an idiot, Cloud. I think you might have lucked into a good teacher, King Baalrek says with a tone that I do not hear often.
“Dragonkin, for example, are usually Breakers. Breakers, as the name suggests, break things. They deliver as much damage as possible in the shortest amount of time. Every party needs at least one Breaker. If the Breaker in one team is overspecialized, meaning he’s only able to take a few types of monsters, the protocol is for the team to have a second Breaker.”
“What’s your Class categorized as, sir?” someone asks from the line, and the voice comes from a boy nervously chewing his lower lip when he speaks.
“I’m a Shield. You will find it is rare to find one before you class up fully into the Platinum Rank. As you move further up, you will grow more and more specialized, with a few rare exceptions. You will still need to be an all-rounder. This is Ytrial, not the Adventurers’ Guild. You will be able to fulfill any role as long as the threat is at your Rank. The point of this division is to have you face monsters much stronger than you while you rely on each other’s abilities. The best teams fight at one full Rank above their own capabilities. That usually happens only after many years of practice.”
I listen and keep my eyes on him. These ideas sound basic to a noble who grew up in the field, but no one in Clearwater ever explained it this clearly to me before. Not even Sir Greyson. When I think about it now, I decide that he must be a Shield-type as well.
“So, what are the main types in a team?” I ask.
“Guide, Breaker, Shield, Support, Dagger,” the Minotaur replies. “I have already explained Guide, Breaker, and Shields. It is the enduring nature of my soul and my Skills that let me protect those in my party, that's what it means to be a Shield. I will add that there are different types of each. Some Guides specialize in traps, some Breakers use magic, and some use physical attacks. Shields follow the same pattern, and the point is what they resist best. Supports and Daggers fill the last roles. A Support can empower others with Skills or use tools, like an Alchemist who carries potions or an Engineer who uses contraptions. Some Supports act as Breakers in very niche cases. Daggers are stealth specialists. I even heard that your year has a very special Dagger among your midst.”
“Huh?”
“King Vyrrak is a Dagger,” the Minotaur says. “He is an expert in infiltration, in invisibility spells, and in who knows what else. That is rare for a Dragonkin. They make great Breakers or Shields.”
For a Dragonkin to become a Dagger, King Baalrek says, it means his head was not screwed in right.
Professor Braagh finishes listing the categories and lifts his hand to point us to our new parties. He assigns groups of five with measured care. To my dismay, he points at three Elves and then points at me.
Oh no.
“With the rat?” the tallest Elf says. His voice sounds bored and sharp at the same time.
“I refuse,” the second says.
“I think I can feel my stomach getting upset.”
Professor Braagh shows a small smile that shifts the set of his muzzle. “I am aware of the enmity that you three have with Jacob Cloud, gentlemen. But if I wanted to be political and keep you separated, I would not be a good professor. This is your group until the end of the course.”
He points at each of them and names what they do, and his tone stays even. “Althir is a Breaker, Elyndor is a Shield, and Ithriel is a Dagger. At your level, you three do not need Support yet. Cloud is your Guide.”
“Sir, they’re never going to listen to me,” I say. The words leave my mouth before I can pull them back, and I stand there with open hands because that is the truth.
“Well, sucks to be you, Cloud,” Professor Braagh says, and the grin shows that he means to test us. “The Academy is not a playground for petty squabbles. If you refuse to work with each other, you are free to fail the course. Oh, and if you did not know, Monster Felling is not only about individual prowess. I have the authority to fail you all if you do not pass a group assessment. Would you like to have an educated guess as to whether I will do that or not?”
I shut my eyes for a moment and rub my temples. My skin feels tight, and my fingers pick up the thrum of my pulse.
“If we don’t pass the group assessment, which means we’ll have to fight a stronger monster than the individual assessment, we don’t pass the course?” I ask so that I can hear the rule said out loud.
“Not the class,” Althir says. “The year.”
Comments
ThoMiCroN
askKai->ask Kai*
JW Saxby
Omg 👍🏼👍🏼 excellent chapter here. Side note, the writing and storytelling was noticeably more “top-notch”-like and just super enjoyable to read. Keep all that coming lol keen asf to get more chapters of this story more regularly too 👍🏼😁👍🏼 🍻
