Jack told Olric everything and discovered the old farmer was quite the engaged listener.

  He guffawed, laughed, and dropped his jaw at all the right moments. Jack found himself enjoying the retelling of his impossibly complex day. By the time he finished with Felix and Nora’s family, Jack was smiling and leaning forward in equal earnestness as the grisly man opposite him. The emberdraw had passed between them silently and frequently, giving Jack fresh energy to invest in his tale. He wasn’t sure the exact hour, but Jack had no doubt it was quite late at this point. Still, he felt energized and alert, and only part of it could be blamed on the cultural drink.

  “And then I slipped past the night patrol, across the roofs of the slums, through Myrtle’s secret tunnel, and then back here. You know the rest,” Jack finished.

  “Damn,” Olric said in that low and gruff voice of his.

  He took a long pull on the emberdraw, and thin wisps of steam emerged from the lip of the cup. Jack waited as the farmer sat back into his chair and stroked the white length of his trimmed beard.

  “I bet ya got questions, huh, kid? I can practically see ya vomiting them out. Take a breath. Ya look constipated.”

  “I don’t–” Jack began breathlessly. Then he realized just how tense he was with excitement, and forced himself to relax. “I’m not… You know.”

  Olric laughed. It was a low, rumbling sound, and it seemed to seep into the rafters. “Well, go on then. Ask what ya need. Hell if I can guess.”

  Jack had been waiting for this permission, even more than he knew. As such, the questions escaped from him with the force of a tsunami, and he did not breathe until they were all out.

  “What’s the baseline for attributes? I have a couple of guesses, but I’d love to hear it from a local! How do skill quests work? Is the wording vague on purpose, or is there a method to it? How do I get papers so that I can enter Thistlebrush without having to crawl through a tiny crack every time? What is the dreamsnatcher drug? A hallucinogenic, as it sounds, or something else? How come no one killed that kraken? I mean, I know I was lucky, but I feel like at least one of the red knights could’ve managed it with… You know… a sword. And how does Class Selection work? Is it a screen or a portal?”

  Jack took in a breath. He was sure he’d missed a few, but right then, it was all he could do not to shake the farmer for his precious answers.

  Olric took another sip from the emberdraw. When he set the metal tankard down on the coffee table between them, his eyes were sharp, and his shoulders were relaxed.

  “Glad to know I wasn’t crazy about my assumption. Ya sure you don’t wanna wait until you’ve rested before getting into all of–”

  “NO!” Jack shouted. It came out as more of a plea than a vote of confidence, but he didn’t care.

  He knew, with a lifetime of certainty, that he would be up all night contemplating these questions. This was the only way he’d be able to rest.

  “Fine, then. Well, I’ll try to take them in order, I guess.” Olric poured himself another brew of the ember and took a long gulp before he gasped in pleasure. “Baseline for attributes is fairly common knowledge. As you can probably imagine, exercising does help your body grow stronger. It doesn’t increase attributes, which trips up most folk until it’s explained right and proper like.

  “Working out does help your body, but that’s where the help ends. You can push your body to its limits, and there is an advantage to it, but where attributes come in is that they augment your soul, not your body.”

  “What does that even mean?” Jack cut in. “Augmenting my soul? Strength makes me stronger, so how could my soul influence my muscles? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  Olric leveled a flat stare at him.

  “Sorry,” Jack mumbled, and gestured for him to continue.

  “As I was saying, attributes like strength affect the soul, which, because they’re integrated with the body, gives it reservoirs of power to draw from that extend beyond what mere muscle can offer. The best way to think about it is that 10 attribute points in any of the six categories is the equivalent of peak human condition in that area. 10 Strength equates to the prime power a mortal can achieve on effort alone.

  “Where things get interesting is when you exceed that milestone and get, say, 20, or even 30 Strength. Now, you’d have the strength of 2 or 3 men in peak condition. If the strongest man, through muscle alone, could lift a cart on his own, then 30 points of strength would roughly mean you could lift 3 carts on your own. The same logic applies to all the stat pools.”

  “So, if I understand this correctly, the attribute points aren’t multipliers of my own current aptitude in those areas,” Jack said. “Instead, allowing my soul to tap into some sort of ideal standard, and letting me operate as if I had the power equivalent to that quantity. If I have 40 dexterity, that would mean I’m four times faster than the fastest person alive, at least so far as level 1 physiques are concerned.”

  Jack immediately thought of the Olympics from back home. If those athletes were the standard for what 10 attribute points in a given area were equivalent to, that meant he was already stronger than the best of them, and nearly twice as healthy as they were, too. His only stat as of right then that exceeded 20 points was his Resilience.

  By the logic Olric was explaining, this meant that his resilience—or his body’s durability—was twice that of the most injury-resistant person from Earth. He recalled that some martial artists would undergo rigorous training to temper their bodies into weapons so resistant to pain and wounds that they could kick trees all day without worry, and even occasionally bend iron and shatter bricks.

  He’d always considered those examples as skeptical at best, but now he was living proof that it wasn’t all a hoax. His body had taken quite a bit of punishment these past days, and yet he was still standing, and only a few of his bones were fractured. That was impossible unless his 23 points of Resilience were to blame for his survival.

  I can see why Myrtle liked this stat so much.

  From the way she died, Jack had to wonder if there was any way around an opponent’s Resilience stat, or simply that Myrtle was giving him advice she’d wished she had back when she had the choice of which attribute to invest in.

  He sent up a silent prayer for the wild woman.

  “As for skill quests,” Olric continued on to the next question Jack had asked. “They’re as unique as the skills themselves. But, for the most part, their wording is fairly precise. If it says to cut 100 logs, it doesn’t mean merely destroy and bludgeon. It means cut. How ya choose to go about that is up to you, I reckon, but most would say using an axe for the woodcutting skill is a fairly straightforward decision.”

  “So, if my skill quest says to defeat a certain number of opponents, does that mean kill, or simply incapacitate?” Jack asked directly.

  Olric shrugged. “Most every time the ‘defeat’ word is used in any quest, it means to incapacitate, as you said. If the System wants you to kill, it will say so.”

  On an impulse, Jack pulled up his Banisher Unique quest. Sure enough, it said, “Kill a majority of the Orc Army [7/350]”, and “Slay the Orc General Flakerash [0/1].”

  Well, at least I won’t misinterpret the goals now, Jack thought darkly.

  “Now, what was the next one?” Olric asked, mostly to himself. He lifted a finger. “Oh, yeah! Papers.” The farmer rubbed the back of his neck as he refreshed the emberdraw, and then passed it to a grateful Jack. “That’s going to be tricky. It’s going to take me a few days, but I’ll be sure to make your job at my farm official. That should clear things up.”

  “Yeah, Felix mentioned that you were kind of famous for not having any farmhands,” Jack said conversationally.

  One of the farmer’s thick eyebrows rose. “That so?”

  “Do you mind if I ask why?”

  “I do,” Olric responded tersely. “Don’t worry about the papers. I’ll get them to ya right quick like.” He rolled out his shoulders. “Enough about that. You mentioned dreamsnatchers? Why do ya wanna know about that devilish drug?”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  It was Jack’s turn to shrug. “I just keep running into it. Or, rather, the dreamers who are addicted to it. There’s a new gang lord named Rigs who apparently employs a whole bunch of them in exchange for the stuff. Myrtle’s old gang is trying to keep it under control, but without her, I think they’re losing that fight.”

  Olric studied Jack with such an intensity that he was tempted to look away. But he met the farmer’s eyes, feeling that anything less would lose some unspoken battle. After nearly a full minute, Olric’s body language changed, and he gave Jack a solemn nod.

  “Dreamsnatcher is a powder that you burn. It fills a room and allows the user to experience a euphoric hallucination where they are transported deep inside themselves. From what I’ve heard, they claim that they enter their very souls, though I don’t know if such a thing is even possible. It comes from a strange willowblossom that started to spread throughout Aethros around the time the shroud appeared, if the legends are to be believed. Its exact origins remain a mystery, but anything even remotely connected to the shroud and its influence should be avoided or destroyed, if ya ask me. But what I do know is that it is extremely addictive.”

  Olric leveled that same intense glare on him.

  “So hear me once and hear me well,” Olric said seriously. “I’m commitin’ to helping you navigate our world. I’ll get your papers and answer your questions. I’ll do whatever I can. You have my word on that.” He pointed his index finger at Jack’s chest. Unwavering. Unmoving. “But if I find out that you’ve used any dreamsnatcher for any Ardent-damned reason. I don’t care that you’re our first real hope in 200 years. You use that despicable drug, and we’re done. No second chances. No justifications. You use it, you’re out of my home. Is that clear?”

  Jack knew better than most what an idle curiosity, boredom, and a desire to escape could do to ruin a person’s life. His sister was just the latest in a long line of people he was close to whose lives were destroyed by one addiction or another. So, it was more than easy to agree to Olric’s terms. It was natural.

  “I swear I will never use that drug. You have my word.” Jack met his gaze.

  Again, Olric studied him, likely searching for some tell that he was either lying or lacking in conviction. He found neither, for neither existed. Jack didn’t care what his soul looked like. Not if the cost was to become like those shells of people he fought and ran from today. He remembered that little girl, huddled next to the corpse of her mother. That woman had not died from a wound, but an overdose. The memory brought to mind another mother, but Jack forced that old pain down.

  I will not die as she did.

  “Good. I believe you,” Olric said finally, and the tension between them eased.

  Jack took another long drink of the emberdraw, grateful for the distraction and something to do with his hands.

  “Kraken?” Jack prompted.

  “Right. Why did the knights not address the beastie in the pond?” Olric said. “The answer is as simple as it is tragic. There was just not enough incentive for one of the red knights to deal with it.”

  “But it gave me so much EXP,” Jack argued.

  “Sure, but it took ya the quest itself to really get all the benefits, right?” Olric shot back. “The System is many things, but stupid ain’t one. It knew—as you and I know—that most of those tools in suits of red metal ain’t goin’ to lift a finger to help some fishermen get their favorite pond back. They crave a thrill, and EXP most of all. And to get a world quest, ya have to be invested in the outcome of that conflict. Not for the rewards, but the help itself. It’s why this world ain’t some peaceful paradise, Jack. People have got to want to help before the System recognizes their efforts.”

  “That’s messed up,” Jack replied, his lips curling up in disgust.

  “What, ya meaning to tell me you’d prefer selfish bastards performing altruistic deeds just so that they can get rich and powerful? Is that the type of person you’d prefer to benefit from the pain and turmoil of those too weak to help themselves?” Olric demanded, some dormant heat entering his voice.

  “I’d prefer there be less conflict in the world,” Jack replied, not backing down. “Who cares who helps? If the problem is solved, isn’t that enough?”

  Olric shook his head sadly. “You’re not thinking big enough, kid. This is the System, where growth is permanent. That EXP you got? Those levels are gonna stick with you. Forever. The strength you gained from completing those quests? Yours. No one can steal them. Sure, they might be able to take the extrinsic rewards ya got, but everyone knows the real rewards are always the intrinsic ones. EXP. New Skills. Titles. Those are the coveted treasures.

  “Again, the System ain’t stupid. By my best guess, it wants people who are generally not selfish pricks to succeed and grow stronger. And I’d prefer it that way. Better to have a problem fester until someone who cares comes along than have predators leap on the chance to grow more powerful every time the opportunity arises. Is it perfect? Hell no. People die from the sort of things that constitute a world quest. But people die anyway. I’d much prefer the good succeed, even if it takes longer.”

  “Then how do you explain why the red knights are so much more powerful? Why they lord their levels over the weak like they own them?” Jack didn’t realize he was yelling until he heard the silence that followed his outburst.

  Taking in a shaky breath, he fought to keep his volume down. “Olric, I saw a man hanged for disagreeing with your precious knights and their Truthbinders. I saw another get mocked, humiliated, stripped, and robbed just for being weak and different. I saw a merchant get blackmailed by a red knight who had an old history with him, and Felix get strong-armed just because he couldn’t fight against their power. You want the good people to rise up in power? That’s cute. All I see are the corrupt getting stronger while the good wither and die and rot.”

  Jack waited, his chest heaving. He set down the embercup. He was ready for another fight. Ready for Olric to defend his stance with a raised voice and perhaps even raised fists. That’s what he was used to when he argued with others. So when Olric spoke next, he was anything but prepared for what he said.

  “You’re right.”

  All the fight in Jack deflated.

  “What?” he said, barely louder than a whisper.

  “You’re right, Jack. Our world is messed up. Backwards. In void-damned shambles. Everything you witnessed isn’t just true, but it’s normal.” Olric gave him a sad smile. “It’s why we need you.”

  That one statement dealt a greater blow to Jack’s defenses than any fist or barbed word ever could.

  “And it’s why I’m so grateful ya pushed through and got stronger,” Olric continued. “You did a good job, Jack. Thank you. Now, how about I tell you a bit about the Class Selection, and then we get some well-deserved shut-eye?”

  Numbly, Jack nodded.

  “It’s a pretty big deal for us Aethrians,” Olric explained. “Back in the day, it was a coming-of-age ritual that indicated you were reaching adulthood. Nowadays, with EXP as closely guarded as it is, that’s less the case. More commonfolk are puttin’ greater stock in skill levels, but a class is still a remarkable feat. It’s the first true step into power that exceeds what mere effort can attain.”

  The farmer gathered up the embercup and moved to the kitchen, cleaning out the weathered vessel. His hands moved methodically as he rinsed out the ashleaf and washed the cup. Jack remained on the couch, turning his head so that he could still see the tall man.

  “Once you confirm the prompt in your notifications, you’ll be asked to find a place to lie down. Usually, it gives you about a minute to do so. Then, you’ll be teleported to a special place most refer to as the System’s Domain. It’s… Well… You’ll see. All you need to know is that you’ll be given five class choices. They’ll range from combat to craft-focused professions, and have a different rarity depending on the quality of the class itself. The higher the rarity, the better the skills are, but the more EXP is required to level up afterward.

  “For instance, a simple farmer class is considered a Common class. Leveling it up is easy, but the skills are fairly weak. Mass weeding in a field you sowed, or greater accuracy in plowing the same field. That sort of thing. But know that even the weakest class skills are still loads better than skills you can acquire just by learning them through some lessons or trial and error. The same goes for combat classes, but with a catch. Be sure to pay attention to what kind of combat class it is, and what might be required for you to use the skills.”

  Olric lifted a knife by the sink. “My combat class requires that I have a blade to use the vast majority of the skills it provides. The higher the quality of the blade, and the more familiarity I have with it, the more powerful my skills are when I cast them.”

  Around the knife, thin wisps of nearly visible wind started swirling and dancing, billowing the farmer’s tunic and causing a bit of water to splash out from the sink.

  “With a proper sword, my skills are incredibly powerful. But with a basic kitchen knife like this, I’m stunted.” Olric shrugged. “It’s the price ya pay for power like mine. I’m not ashamed to admit it.”

  “So, you’re not an ordinary farmer,” Jack teased.

  Olric chuckled. “Shit, kid. If I were a normal farmer, the shroud would’ve been destroyed ages ago.”

  He pulled out a linen towel and started to dry the various pieces for embering. “Trust your gut when it comes to making the choice, and don’t be afraid with whatever ya get. It’s just the start of the path, after all. Ya get five class skills to start, then one more at level 20, then the chance to choose a new class, or evolve your current one, at level 30. Then again, at level 50. So, if your class doesn’t suit ya, just get strong quickly and pick a new one.

  “That said, I’ve never heard of a Banisher getting anything less than a rare class, so I wouldn’t worry about the quality, just how you’re plannin’ on getting the EXP necessary to level it up.”

  “Thanks,” Jack said glumly, but rose to his feet. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night, as you suggested.” He walked to the hallway, but paused at the edge. He turned around, one hand on the corner of the wall. “Olric?”

  “Yeah, kid?”

  “Thank you. For everything. Thank you.”

  Olric paused in his cleaning routine to glance up at Jack. The smile that followed was worth every ounce of the minor awkwardness Jack felt.

  “You’re welcome. Now, go get some shut-eye, and then in the morning, I say we get that class,” Olric declared and gave him an encouraging wave of his fist.

  “Right,” Jack answered, and turned into the hallway.

  He really didn’t want the old man to see his face. Because if he had, Olric would’ve definitely seen the mad glimmer of excitement there. Jack wasn’t going to sleep.

  It was time the latest Banisher of Aethros got a class.