CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was a sad fact that, in his previous timeline, a great number of the major discoveries made on the system and how it operated, were only ever strung together in hindsight—long after the information would’ve been of use to anyone still living. By running surveys, testing small sample sizes, and compiling mountains worth of data, a choice few of the more research oriented profession classes out there were able to make fairly accurate assertions, with a margin for error of less than 0.01%.

  One such near certainty was on the nature of classes. More specifically, how to insure the type, strength, and evolutionary longevity of the class you received. The only caveat? You had to begin this process well before you ever received a class. A thing that universally happened at lvl 15. Ultimately making it useless to the vast majority, if not all living ascended. Most having blown past lvl 15, years since by the time this information was first spread to the public.

  It went without saying that none of this applied to his situation, and in fact he now stood in an excellent position to capitalize on this knowledge. And, perhaps, outdo any who came before.

  Put simply, there was a comprehensive checklist of things you needed to achieve, in order to receive a Rare Class at lvl 15, the highest grade possible at that time.

  #1) You needed to kill an Elite Monster at least 20 levels above you.

  #2) You needed to kill a Named Monster at least 15 levels above you.

  #3) You needed to raise at least one stat to 20.

  No matter your end goals, be that a profession class or a combat one, if you wanted it to be Rare Grade, you needed to meet these three requirements. And as for how you specialized? Well, there were requirements for that too, naturally.

  #4) To obtain a combat oriented class, you needed to kill 1000 enemies at least five levels above you.

  This applied to monsters, but it also applied to other humans, with the exact nature of the classes you were offered depending on your choice of prey.

  #5) To obtain a profession oriented class, you needed to craft at least 1000 Uncommon ranked items.

  This applied to things like talismans, as much as it did research papers or driftwood carvings. So long as the skill you’ve shown in its creation garners an Uncommon Grade rating, essentially, anything goes. With the nature of said class selections, naturally, depending on what you choose to focus on.

  #6) To obtain a hybrid of the two, you effectively needed to hit both requirements.

  Although, even that much didn’t necessarily guarantee you received a hybrid class. There needed to be a certain level of synergy between the craft and combat style, otherwise it was more than likely the system would saddle you with one or the other. Whichever you showed the most proficiency in.

  And finally, what made achieving this so hard at a minimum, and what made achieving a Hybrid Class basically impossible…

  #7) You needed to reach lvl 15 and gain a class within fifteen days of the first time you received experience, or all bets were off.

  Effectively making it a race against time, in which you had to show a rarely seen degree of excellence from the very beginning. Something he hadn’t even come close to managing his first time around. Meanwhile this time, he was already on pace to blow his previous record out of the water.

  Kill an Elite Monster 20 Lvls Above You: (0/1)

  Kill a Named Monster 15 Lvls Above You: (0/1)

  Raise 1 Stat to 20: (0/1)

  Kill 1000 Enemies at least 5 lvls Above You: (1000/1000)

  Craft 1000 Items of the Uncommon Rarity: (1000/1000)

  Days Remaining Until the Cut-off Date: (14/15)

  And while it may not have seemed like much, he really was on record pace. Especially when you considered what’d widely been regarded as the harshest requirements on the list to achieve—less in terms of raw difficulty, and more due to the impossible time sinks they represented—had already been crossed off.

  Also, quick note, while he did already have an attribute that was well past twenty, technically—his resiliency stat, largely indicative of a person’s resolve, willpower, and mental fortitude—he didn’t count it. Largely because he didn’t want the main focus of his class to be resilience focused. And considering whichever stat one raised to twenty held an inordinately high influence on the nature of said class, while he couldn’t avoid certain resilience based elements at this point, he’d rather he didn’t wind up with something like a mental defense class focused mainly on resisting other mental attacks.

  A class that would be largely useless to him, or, anyone for that matter, be they in his unique position or not. All except for in the most narrow of circumstances.

  And speaking of specialization, the ways in which you met the other requirements, the weapons you used, oft used tactics, favored crafting methods, etc. greatly affected the class skills gained upon obtaining said class as well. Affecting the skill selections you’d receive later on as you evolved it. Also the longevity of the class, or how high in rarity it was likely to go, depended heavily on just how above and beyond you went. There were no hard and fast numbers to this, merely a generalized consensus that the greater the feats achieved in those early stages, the higher your class ceiling would be.

  Somehow kill an Elite Monster 100 levels above you, as opposed to a mere twenty, and that could mean the difference between capping out at an Epic Grade class, as he’d done—no matter how many evolution milestones you reached—and, eventually, shooting all the way up to Legendary.

  +++

  Having welcomed into this world, and then subsequently misplaced, what was surely an all-powerful arch demon of sinful predilection—the beast, for whatever sick and twisted reason, masquerading itself as a one month old child—Princess Caerinth was, initially, at a loss for what to do. This moment of ennui lasted not long at all, however, before she’d pulled the frayed bits of herself together, made up her face, and only then, did she finally make up her mind.

  When she first took it upon herself to personally ascend the city’s highest ramparts—this despite adamant counsel to the contrary from her most trusted advisers—in hopes of raising the spirits of the troops who, even now, risked their lives to keep the rest of them safe, she’d expected to be met with all manner of ghastly sights. She’d even prepared her mask of regal poise and serenity accordingly. So that, no matter how dire the straights, or how hopeless the situation, the dirt smeared masses might look upon her smiling visage, and find an unending well of solace therein.

  What she had not been expecting to hear were the ragged sounds of cheering from halfway down the stairwell.

  What in the name of the creator?!

  She’d quick marched all the way up to the final landing before she remembered where she was, who she was, and composed herself accordingly. She smoothed down her braided bun and took a moment to get a handle on her breathing. That done, she donned her court mask once more, before turning the corner and exiting out onto a bright and cloudless mid-afternoon.

  The thing that immediately leapt out at her as strange, was the fact that, for all the very kingdom was at jeopardy of being overrun by the green scourge, not a soul on the wall appeared to be engaged in any fighting. The second thing that garnered her unwavering attention was the monstrous paper contraption that took up a good chunk of the rather wide walkway.

  A deafening explosion rocked the paper contraption back a step, before the lines securing it to the parapet went taught, firmly yanking it back into place.

  Caerinth winced, holding hands to her suddenly ringing ears, eyes frantically searching for someone of consequence amidst all this shameful disorder. Unfortunately, even as she did her best to catch the eye of a superior officer, it was as if she were completely invisible. Not a soul appeared to have even noticed her arrival! Far too keen on whatever spectacle was happening on the far side of the wall.

  This- this is unacceptable! I shall have words with whoever’s in charge here! I might even be forced to reconsider their appointment. I mean, really?! Even considering the recent losses to military leadership, has military discipline really fallen so far? And anyway, what in the world could be so interesting?!

  There came another sharp report, blessedly distant this time, after which followed another round of cheers, backslapping, and all manner of undisciplined behavior. Incensed, and not the slightest bit curious, Princess Caerinth nevertheless sidled her way up to the parapet to see just what all the fuss was about!

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  What she saw nearly had her legs turn to jelly.

  Just barely able to catch herself in time, she ended up scraping her hands rather badly on the rough stone of the parapet. Yet she didn’t even notice the sting, all of her attention fixed on not wetting herself.

  Plague touched abominations for as far as the eye could see. A jumping, rippling carpet of them. Thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, strong. Every misshapen body, or amalgamated horror more nightmarish and unsightly than the last. It was as if a tapestry representing the worst, most vile human imaginings imaginable. Only here, it wasn’t merely colored thread on display, but instead a living breathing catastrophe, growing closer by the second.

  Princess Caerinth wanted to stagger away from the parapet. To run screaming from the wall, find a place where she could hide, and stay there until the thirst or hunger took her, but she couldn’t. She wanted to, but her legs wouldn’t obey her.

  Looking out over the grey-green carpet of stomach churning bodies, she just could not fathom it.

  I don’t understand it! Have they all gone mad?! What exactly about this is worth celebrating?!

  And then she saw it. Or rather, she heard it, felt it first. A sharp bang that left her deaf in one ear. She was about to turn to the wielder of that asinine contraption, and insist they cease whatever was making that noise, right this instant, when she caught the telltale flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. Curiously, she tracked the white and black smears as they sped across the thousand meter distance, separating them from the monsters. Eyes wide, she watched as those peculiar streaks finally reached the oncoming horde.

  Watched as a good tenth of their number simply ceased to exist.

  Utterly obliterated, to the point of being unrecognizable, in a great shower of glowing green blood and grayish gore.

  This time, when the triumphant cry was raised, Princess Caerinth’s voice was the most hoarsely impassioned among them.

  +++

  After the fortieth wave, things really started to ramp up in terms of complexity. Not only had three more variations of the “Plague-Touched” archetype been introduced, but they were actually starting to form loosely militaristic tactics and formations. Long gone were the days when Plague-Touched Skirmishers would willingly throw themselves headlong into the meat grinder. Now they hung back behind the armored front lines. Only ever leaping out from cover to either distract, or else take advantage of a distraction.

  +—|-Plague-Touched Scuttler-|—+

  ?[Lvl 33]?

  These were six eyed crab like creatures with calcified shields in place of pincers. Each about the size of a minivan, their tough shells and shield pincers were a nightmare to punch through—taking two consecutive three cannon volleys to put them down for good—and generally acted as the protective front line.

  +—|-Plague-Touched Needler-|—+

  ?[Lvl 35]?

  Like dog sized sea urchins, it was rather easy to predict these prickly creatures’ M.O. when you considered the auspicious liquid produced from their spines. He imagined, they’d be devastating in a dense crowd. Releasing dozens of what were sure to be poisonous spines in every given direction. Of course, Richard would never know for certain, since he hadn’t allowed the creeping critters anywhere near him.

  +—|-Plague-Touched Centipede-|—+

  ?[Lvl 39]?

  And finally there were these nasty customers. Exactly what they sounded like—mindlessly aggressive centipedes bulging with tumors and dripping green pus—only instead of small-ish nightmares of the hundred legged variety, these were the length and size of train cars. Like he said, some real nasty customers. And they were fast too. Introduced on the forty fifth wave, it was the closest thing he’d come to an elite since the Abominaball. And yet, even as he finished up wave number forty seven, he’d yet to come across another bona fide Plague-Touched Elite.

  It left him feeling uneasy.

  +++

  Scuttler’s scurried to and fro, their frontline in utter disarray.

  A fair number already reduced to unmoving husks, when they weren’t dragging their armored shells across pockmarked terrain with however many legs they had left. Exposed and unarmored, the rest of the putrid pus-drenched parasites were quick to fall one after another. Two Plague-Touched Disgorger’s leapt over the heads of several Plague-Touched Skirmishers. The humanoid creatures reluctantly flanked by the tumbling forms of Plague-Touched Needlers—even the wild berserkers giving these spiky balls a wide birth.

  There came two far off reports. A series of sharp bangs which, were the innumerable horde of sickly creatures not mere brainless fodder, entirely incapable of critical thought, they might have learned to fear by now.

  Like water balloons, the one eyed frog things burst apart—suddenly and irrevocably—raining down acidic fluids onto the unsuspecting heads of the creatures far below. Gray flesh hissed and spiky needlers screeched—the sound like nails on chalkboard. Their cries adding to the unholy cacophony, as some twenty odd Plague-Touched abominations were reduced to steaming puddles of goo. The entire process, from start to finish, taking a scant few agonizing seconds. During this time, three more Disgorgers confidently leapt into the air, evidently having learned nothing from the fate of their erstwhile companions.

  As a result, three more caustic showers rained down.

  One such acidic deluge drenching a particularly unhappy train-sized centipede, turning its already erratic movements frantic with sudden pain and outrage. The creature spun. Coiled. Began its stampede. Acidic droplets burning neat holes through its carapace all the while, to eat away at the vulnerable flesh beneath. Its spearing legs trampling a good number of its fellows in its quest to find the culprit behind the burning pain. So blinded by its berserking state, that it barely even noticed the collateral damage it caused.

  Legs thrashing. Mandibles clacking. It’s rampage went on for nearly a minute straight—the number of kills it racked up on its own side, as opposed to that of the hated enemy’s, crippling to the already weakened horde. And all the while, sharp reports continued to sound off in the distance. Clouds of cutting shrapnel decimating what was left of the wave, before a whistling projectile sheered the upper portion of the Plague-Touched Centipede’s head clean off.

  It’s body continuing forward on pure momentum alone, before it inevitably crashed down with an earth quaking tremor, flattening at least fifty of its brethren beneath its prodigious bulk.

  *DING!*

  ?-|—YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY DEFEATED THE FORTY NINTH WAVE!—|-?

  Fiftieth Wave Will Begin In: 59… 58… 57…

  Richard wanted to let out a sigh of relief. To ruminate on the fact he’d cut that last wave dangerously close—the hoard of five thousand, though greatly diminished, having reached the city’s ramparts despite all his efforts made to the contrary. On how, if that centipede hadn’t gone berserk of its own accord, trampling at least five hundred of its own kind before eventually being put down, they might not have had a wall to defend from right now.

  Naturally, he wanted to do all those things. It was just that he didn’t have the time. As soon as the confirmation that he’d cleared that forty ninth wave arrived, he was rocketing into the air like one of his loosed projectiles. Barely managing to remain upright, atop his wildly bobbing contraption, he skipped across the sky like a stone across a pond. Hands maintaining a white-knuckled grip on the battery/handholds all the while. He ate of the distance at a prodigious pace. One hundred paces. Two hundred. Five hundred. Ten.

  Soon enough, he was closing in on the furthest range his paper cannon could accurately bombard, around one thousand five hundred meters, all things told. The signs rather obvious in the way the earth had been churned up into stinking mulch. Scouting out a little bit further from his furthest range, he came to a stop above a stretch of grassland barely touched by his paper fusillade. He checked the time.

  Fiftieth Wave Will Begin In: 43… 42… 41…

  It’ll have to be enough…

  Thumbing his Ring of Plenty, he retrieved two things. The first was a fresh looking scroll, the ink seemingly having dried just recently, while the other looked like nothing so much as a net of interconnected talismans.

  ?—|-Consumable Ability Scroll: Earthen Excavation-|—?

  ?[Common]?

  ?—|-Talismanic Land Trap: Elemental Scorch-|—?

  ?[Uncommon]?

  Snagging the ability scroll, he swiftly crawled his way over to the lip of his conveyance, directed the rolled parchment toward the earth far below, and then, with a tiny divestment of mana, activated it. A steady stream of his intent all that was required to manipulate the ability embedded in the scroll. The paper disappeared in a flare of cool cyan flames, even as a large section of earth suddenly geysered skyward—nearly reaching him where he hovered ten stories up.

  Unconcerned by the rapidly ascending hill of dirt, Richard quickly produced another Earthen Excavation scroll. Activating it, he ignored the way it burned to ashes between his fingers—ashes which were then carried away on the wind—instead focused on willing the hillock of airborne earth away. And, as if swatted by the hand of god, the column of climbing soil was violently swept to the side. Forming a loamy range of rocks and upturned soil, and leaving a massive pit where it’d once been.

  Next he produced a surplus of talismans.

  ?—|-Leaping Scorch Talisman-|—?

  ?[Common]?

  A simplistic Poor Grade talisman made with the very best possible materials, and graced by the touch of a master crafter—upgrading its rarity from Poor to Common. Once fed with a bit of mana, this talisman will leap forward and release a wave of scorching heat, expending itself in the process.

  Aiming carefully, he sent talisman after talisman into the gaping hole. Waves of scorching heat, accompanied by brief sparks of ignition, rapidly hardening the rich dark soil.

  Another flick of his ring, and five Oil Slick ability scrolls appeared in his hands. He activated each simultaneously, before unceremoniously tossing them into the hole. Each scroll maintaining their structural integrity all the way down. Until they reached the very bottom of the pit, that is. Whereupon they burned away to ash, a sudden explosion of dark oil coating the walls of the hole thereafter. Eventually pouring down to pool at the bottom.

  Reaching back, he grabbed hold of the Talismanic Land Trap. An awkward throw later, and Richard had tossed the unwieldy thing from his flying conveyance—taking care not to completely topple over in the process. With the net airborne, Richard began to straighten out and guide it as best as he could through subtle use of Impetus and Acceleration oriented constructs, until, at long last, the net landed atop the oil slick pit.

  Another thought all it took to fasten the edges of the net to the lip of the pit with a series of binding runes. Looking down on the fruits of his labor, he couldn’t help but shake his head at how obvious of a trap it was. He had measures to better conceal it, of course, although, given the mindless nature of his enemies, he doubted he’d need them.

  Glancing once more at the time, he nearly swore.

  Fiftieth Wave Will Begin In: 33… 32… 31…

  Wasting not a second more, Richard leapt into action. Ideally, he wanted to set down at least five more pit traps before the fiftieth wave began.