Merrick looked over the options presented to him, stumbling over the implications of a few of them and wondering about the possibilities of others.

  Outright, he was able to eliminate a few, such as ‘Druid of the Mulberry Grove’. He had no intention of staying within the dungeon and roughing it out in the pseudo wilderness for the rest of his life, he’d have accepted a job with Rod’s father if he had, and that was before considering the idea of ‘binding his soul tightly’ to a core.

  He didn’t have a clue what that meant, but he did know that playing with his soul was well outside of his field of experience. The binding specifically being ‘tight’ also made his avoidant attachment instincts go haywire. No sirs, Merrick was skipping town as soon as possible, no time for tight bonds of any variety.

  Realistically, he didn’t think any of the five classes offered to him were a great fit for what he wanted out of his future. The only one he gave much consideration to was Anima Channeler, but even that had its downsides.

  The soul tether thing sounded a lot like binding his soul, which he’d just decided he didn’t want to do, and egocentric domains had a lot of rumors floating around about them. He didn’t think he was conceited enough to become self-assured to the point he’d be able to properly leverage the ability, he spent too much time wondering how he could get things to work rather then telling himself that they would work because he was the one doing said things.

  ‘Unlocking an Anima pool, the ability to harvest anima, and improved channeling abilities could be really nice though,’ the tiny voice in Merrick’s head whispered to him insidiously.

  Although the impulse to pick a class wasn’t nearly as great as his sense of urgency for completing his task as fast as possible, he made a note that he needed to choose soon because he was still on a clock, he could still feel pressure from the small voice for him to pick a class.

  It was important that he picked a class, for some reason. Just like it was important he finished the puzzle within a certain amount of time.

  “Mew,” the bramblekin cat hopped onto Merrick’s shoulder as he continued walking away from the desk. It dug its nails into his shoulder, lightly enough to not draw blood but hard enough to get his attention and then leaned backwards.

  “Don’t worry little guy, I’m not leaving yet. I just need to see what’s in the chest,” Merrick scratched the creature behind its ears, still fascinated with the texture of the pine-tree needle like hairs that covered the beast.

  ‘After you pick a class. You have to pick a class first,’ the voice insisted.

  “Why would I have to pick a class first?” Merrick asked aloud. The voice didn’t deign to reward him with a reply, so he was forced to think about it himself. The voice was, after all, obviously his subconscious thoughts forcing their way into his consciousness.

  If the tiny voice was telling him it was important it must mean he was equipped with the knowledge to come to that conclusion on his own, he just had to think about it.

  “Oh! Class specific equipment, probably,” Merrick shared his conclusion with his feline friend, since the tiny voice had fallen silent once more.

  Not frequently, but also not so rare that it was unheard of, delvers would leave a dungeon dive with a new piece of dungeon-crafted gear. A staff that conveniently channeled the same element of magic as the party’s caster, a sword that was the correct weight and shape for their warrior much the same way his bramble blade was, or even just a pair of boots that were the correct size.

  Not all rewards seemed to be fitted to the party that collected them, but enough were to have a general consensus form that dungeons would occasionally reward bespoke gear.

  Merrick wasn’t sure what was in the chest yet, but his subconscious seemed to be convinced that if he picked a class first, he’d be more likely to get gear that would benefit that new class.

  How the dungeon would be able to make something like that happen in a short amount of time, he didn’t know. He didn’t think it was possible at all really, but that tiny voice in the back of his head seemed determined to convince him it was worth a try.

  “In that case…” Merrick decided that Anima Channeler was worth a gamble. It didn’t seemed geared toward any specific profession, so it wasn’t likely to lock him out of blacksmithing the way something like ‘Wooden Warrior’ would and wouldn’t require him to form a static domain and lock himself to one region like ‘Grove Tender’.

  Honestly, Merrick didn’t think he’d be able to find a single class that would benefit his innate skill more than Anima Channeler, at least if his assumption about his unknown resource pool that the skill utilized being anima was correct.

  Getting a piece of gear that made it easier for him to utilize his anima pool, or regenerate it, or whatever other ability it might have was probably worth the gamble.

  Merrick decided he’d listen to the quiet voice and lock in his choice. It was, after all, theoretically possible to change his class in the future if it was a bad fit.

  Expensive, yes. Difficult, more so. Worth the gamble, almost certainly.

  Merrick mentally willed his selection of ‘Anima Channeler’ and confirmed his intention.

  Then, nothing happened.

  “Uh, select Anima Channeler.”

  Nothing.

  Merrick pulled up his [Status] to confirm, and his class still showed no results next to it.

  “Pick Anima Channeler.”

  “Anima Channeler.”

  “Fourth Option.”

  “Mew”

  Merrick tried several variations of mentally, and verbally, selecting his class. He felt the pressure that usually came with interacting with his [Status Page], the same light resistance he’d grown used to while meddling with his skill ordering using [Merge], but the actual change wasn’t reflecting in his status.

  It wasn’t until he pulled up his innate ability’s [Skill Log] that he found an answer to his frustration.

  [Class selection currently locked. Sorry for the inconvenience, status overhauls are currently disabled until after Systema Coniunctionis Duplicatae Supremum update completion. Please long rest at your earliest convenience.]

  [Class selection currently locked. Sorry for the inconvenience, status overhauls are currently disabled until after Systema Coniunctionis Duplicatae Supremum update completion. Please long rest at your earliest convenience.]

  [Class selection currently locked. Sorry for the inconvenience, status overhauls are currently disabled until after Systema Coniunctionis Duplicatae Supremum update completion. Please long rest at your earliest convenience.]

  Over and over, the same response for every time he tried to select a class.

  Out of curiosity, he attempted to use his [Merge] skill to move his newest skill, Sledding, into a category and it was also rejected, accompanied by another repetition of the message.

  The terminology in the message, long rest, was unfamiliar to Merrick. He had a feeling he knew what it meant, sleeping for an indeterminate amount of time. Context clues and what not.

  Unfortunately, he knew that going to sleep would likely remove the option for him to select the Anima Channeler class. Most class offerings were like that, you either accepted them within a small window of time or you had to re-qualify for them again on a later date if you decided you did want the class.

  Annoyingly, it was often much more difficult to have the class offered a second time if passed over the first. Both of those behaviors were points for the school of thought that argued that the [Status Page] was ruled by a consciousness of some variety, be it a god or otherwise. They argued that a god offering to grant someone power via a class wouldn’t sit around waiting for a reply, which is why the class offerings tended to fade away if ignored, and that whatever mind was behind the [Status Page] was reluctant to offer something that was already rejected.

  Merrick wasn’t convinced that there was any being of power ruling over their [Status Page]s previously, he’d assumed it was all up to chance and just a force of nature like ocean currents, storms, or raging rivers. It just was.

  The messages that appeared in his [Skill Log] earlier though… They felt like they’d been sent by something alive. Honestly, the [Skill Log] had always been somewhat anomalous which is why he hadn’t disclosed it to anyone before. The last thing he wanted to do was get kidnapped by a cloister of scholars and then experimented on, or worse.

  Regardless, it seemed like his innate ability had locked his entire [Status Page] until after his next rest, however many hours away that was, and in doing so had locked him out of accepting the class being offered to him. It was a bit of a shame, really, since he didn’t think he’d be able to replicate the scenario that led to him being offered the class safely.

  With nothing else to do about it than shrug, Merrick finally finished approaching the strange ivory platform. Up close, he could see the engravings that lightly shone with magic carved into the archway in the center of said platform. He allowed his eyes to linger for a few moments, only if to confirm that he in-fact couldn’t read the text and didn’t recognize the runic alphabet being used, before moving toward the chest.

  His hands pressed against the lid of the chest, and he felt resistance once more, much like when he was trying to select a class. How the chest was managing to interact with his [Status Page] and to what end, he wasn’t sure. What he did know was that the page was currently locked, so he mentally assented to whatever the chest was attempting to confirm under the impression that there wasn’t any risk of negative status modifications.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  After doing so, Merrick felt what he could only describe as a massive spike in localized gravity. He’d already bent over to open the chest, since it wasn’t exactly shoulder height, but in that moment he fell to his needs sharply, letting out a dull thud as his body impacted the ivory platform.

  Merrick’s bones creaked and muscles strained, and he heard several branches snapping off nearby mulberry trees as the intense feeling of pressure intensified even further.

  Just as it was getting hard to breathe, the entire sensation abated itself. He was able to get back on his feet, somewhat shakily, and look around. The clearing looked much the same, perhaps a little more littered than previously, and the archway and platform seemed undamaged.

  A glance at his shoulder showed him that the bramblekin kitty seemed entirely unaffected as it groomed its front paw, barely sparing him a quizzical glance as if to ask what he wanted.

  He shook his head and tried the chest once more. This time there was no sensation requesting approval and the chest opened right away. If he’d thought to check his class offerings in his [Status Page] once more, he’d have discovered that each of the entries had been removed upon opening the chest. He’d even notice a new entry, somehow snuck onto his page even after his innate ability had locked the entire thing down until his next long rest.

  Merrick didn’t think about that though, having already taken his mental notes about each class and given up on selecting one due to his innate ability.

  Instead, his eyes widened as he looked at the loot directly in front of his face.

  The chest opened deeper into the ground than Merrick expected, and was filled with several different objects that he slowly pulled out and placed on the ivory platform next to the chest, one by one.

  Merrick rubbed his hands together as he looked at his rewards for the dungeon puzzle. He wasn’t an artificer or scholar, so he wouldn’t be able to identify any magical properties for special mechanical functions for any of his loot without paying someone to appraise it for him, but he could tell that it was valuable nonetheless and knew he had plenty of time to figure out what things did on his own.

  The first thing he picked up was a very rich-looking cloak. At least, the inside of the cloak looked rich, a deep-purple colored, slick silk-like material with several small pockets sewn into the inside of the cloak. The outside of the cloak looked like any number of travel cloaks one would expect to see, a dull brownish-greenish colored material that appeared to be vaguely water-resistant. He didn’t think he’d stick out too much wearing it, thankfully, and he slipped it over his shoulders to cover his torn-to-shreds outfit he was currently wearing as well as his bare feet.

  The cloak was as comfortable as it looked and after closing it up, the rich inner-material didn’t appear to be obviously visible no matter how he shifted. After a few moments of observation, Merrick decided to slip one of the remaining potions from his bandolier into one of the inner pouches. To his shock, and concern, the glass vial appeared to flatten itself out. Looking at it, it almost looked like someone had sewn a fabric picture of the vial into the area he’d placed it, sort of like a patch. He was able to retrieve the vial though by pinching the patch and pulling, causing it to pop off into his hands and resume its previous properties.

  “Right, magic cloak that makes my glass vials harder to drop or shatter. Nice.”

  The next object Merrick picked up left him clueless. It looked a bit like a bullseye lantern, but with too many openings in odd locations and forged from a metal alloy he’d never seen before. After turning it over a few times he shrugged and it set it off to the side. He’d have to get an expert’s opinion on that one.

  The third item was fairly self explanatory, a very well constructed mail-bag, or satchel he supposed, made of what seemed to be snakeskin. Perhaps even the hide of a plantaconda, the dungeon boss that had chased him into the situation he found himself at that moment. He couldn’t be sure if it had any magical properties, but even if it didn’t the bag looked very nice. It also fit nicely under his cloak to prevent greedy eyes. Considering the poor condition of his current backpack, it was a nice gift.

  The reason the chest was so deep was most likely the next object he was looking at. A long staff, nearly seven feet long if he didn’t miss his guess, made of an unknown wood with unknown properties. The top of the staff appeared to have a wooden cage growing from it and contained within that cage was a glowing mulberry. Or dungeon groveberry, as his [Skill Log] had called it. Tier three from the size and color of it. Merrick wasn’t sure what the staff was used for but figured it probably would have been very beneficial if he’d taken either of the druid flavored class offerings. Lucky for him, he knew a druid that he owed a debt to, as far as he was concerned, and knew exactly where she lived from the few dates he’d walked her home. It was even pretty close to the teleportation archways, so it wouldn’t be much of a detour to drop it off.

  Next, something he was happy and reluctant to see, where high-quality boots. Also made of snakeskin… very vibrantly colored snakeskin at that, will shimmering scales forming swirling patterns across them.

  “Did I remember to thank you for the nice cloak yet, Mr. Dungeon?”

  Finally, his last reward appeared to be two more bramble blades, apparently of the same tier as the one he’d merged earlier. They even came equipped with their own cross-shaped back holster, so he could carry them. Naturally, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that wielding three swords would ever be a good idea but he was thankful for the holster regardless. There was no chance he had the required energy to merge the three bramble blades together in that moment without blacking out again, or worse, so making them easy to transport until after his next rest was appreciated.

  Merrick shrugged the holster on overtop the cloak feeding the straps through two well-disguised slits in the cloak that were presumably there to allow him to use his arms without opening the cloak and sheathed the swords before adorning the obnoxious ostentatious boots. A perfect fit, naturally. While doing inventory of his belongings, Merrick popped the cloaks hood up to cover his wild, stick-filled, mud-matted, and tangled hair. His feline friend wasted no time hopping up into the hood and laying behind his neck as he walked back toward the workbench.

  He'd finished collecting his official rewards, but he still had a few minutes left to loot the area for everything it was worth before his internal timer told him it was time to leave.

  The first thing Merrick did upon getting back to the workbench was load up his partially shredded backpack, which he’d left resting near the table. His hands moved in a flurry of motion as he grabbed the lighter mutated plants, ones large enough that they wouldn’t fall out of the various tears in the bag’s fabric and packed them away.

  As much as he would love to have sold them for coin, he knew that doing so would both take too long and draw too much attention to himself before he skipped town. Instead, he would gamble with the plants either surviving the nexus portaling and hope that they were able to be propagated wherever the settlement ended up being.

  A small part of his mind wondered when exactly he’d decided that he was going to have time to make it to the portal, or even how he came to the conclusion that the portal archway on the ivory platform was going to release him from the dungeon.

  It could just as likely teleport him somewhere deeper in the dungeon, or even not be a portal at all.

  Almost as if to dispute that thought, he heard a buzz as the archway’s runes began to glow brighter and a pane of bright light formed in the center of the archway.

  Merrick knew that he wasn’t subconsciously allowing himself to think about any scenario apart from his freedom as he packed away the plants. Any sort of doubt or despair at that point would lead him to overthinking and spiraling. The portal had to leave to the surface, and he had to have enough time to catch the caravan before they departed.

  “Although.. I could probably sell all of this and pay off a large portion of my debts. Then I wouldn’t have to leave and I could spend more time with Rod and Mary…” Merrick trailed off as he sighed.

  From the moment of his first successful [Merge] the day prior, he knew there was a good chance that he could make a living using his skill and pay off his loans.

  He also knew that there was just as much a chance that the established powers of the Steelhearth Stronghold would crush him beneath their boots, or capture him for experimenting, or disappear him in the night. Hells, even his debt holders would likely use outstanding debts as an excuse to tack on more exorbitant ‘past-due interest fines’ and the like to make sure he could never actually pay it off.

  No, if his skill worked the way he thought it did then he needed to be somewhere new, with a fresh start and a clean slate where he could leverage his abilities to gain political power to protect himself. It’d be best if he could ingratiate himself with whichever noble family was sponsoring the expedition.

  Half the reason he’d shown his skill to his party earlier was because he knew that he wouldn’t be comfortable trying to fly under notice in Steelhearth so long as James knew his secret. Just the paranoia, or really the guaranteed knowledge, that he’d eventually try to sell Merrick out was enough motivation to force him out of his comfort zone.

  By the time he’d finished reaffirming his resolve to flee his debts rather than pay them, like a true man, he’d finished loading the backpack up with the various mutated plants as well. He took a few moments to tie the bag shut with the fishing line that Rod had insisted he keep on him then moved to grab the smaller alchemical tools and put them in his new satchel.

  The gilded pestle and mortar was first, swept straight into the bag with little fanfare, and then a few of the more unique and therefore expensive glass pieces. Measuring cups, little pouches of the rest of the mulberry mint he’d harvested, and jars of his merge dusts. As he packed away his motions slowed, disregarding his time limit.

  “What the…” Merrick put a larger mana-powered heating plate into the satchel to confirm something he’d thought he noticed and, sure enough, it felt like it didn’t impact the weight of the satchel much. It had maybe a tenth as much of an impact as it should have, and that was disregarding the fact that it didn’t seem to take up as much space as it should have either.

  Merrick squinted at the opening in the satchel. All of the items placed within looked to be the correct size and his eyes were telling him that the bag wasn’t any deeper than it appeared to be from its size. Yet, he’d already packed away at least twice as much as should have been able to fit into the bag, and it weighed almost nothing.

  “Mew!” Merrick scooped the cat out of his cloak’s hood and set it in the bag. The bag felt as if it was suddenly full weight again and he fell from the sudden shift in mass. Right after the cat hopped out it self-corrected and the contents went back to near weightlessness, allowing him to grab the table and pull himself back up.

  “Right, so the bag has magical storage properties that I don’t know. Putting in a cat, or maybe a bramblekin, or perhaps anything living, negates the properties temporarily. At least, the weigh reducing ones, it still seems to fit more objects than it should be able to. More experiments will be required, when I have time.”

  Merrick shot a glare to the human-sized, golden and bejeweled scale he’d been using to test weights. Just to verify, he tried to tip it over to no avail. He wouldn’t be able to take it with him.

  Likewise, his chair didn’t fit in the bag. With a sigh, he accepted that we was going to be getting weird looks carrying it down the street with him. There was absolutely no way he was leaving the most comfortable chair in existence behind in the dungeon.

  After gently placing his feline friend back in his hood, tucked behind his neck and under his hair to hide its existence from the guards who had very sternly told him that smuggling bramblekin out of the dungeon was outlawed, he finished putting all the bags, swords, clothes, and various accessories together before walking over to the archway.

  He knew he probably looked ridiculous, and he wasn’t looking forward to explaining to the guards why he had so much stuff, but when he caught up to the caravan he assumed he wouldn’t be the only person packed to the gills with everything they owned. The nexus portal was considered to be, essentially, a one way trip.

  Thankfully, the newbie entrance he and his party used, where he assumed we was exiting, didn’t tax the collection of stuff within the dungeon. It was just the flat-rate fee upon entrance that Mary had paid for him earlier. Higher level entrances would have a flat-rate and then tack on a percentage of perceived value, based on historical data, of the harvests within the dungeon upon exit.

  He shuddered at the thought of having to pay a kings ransom when they discovered how magnificent his chair was and priced it accordingly, and that was before the rest of the never-before-seen magical plants were taking into account.

  Or the magical artifacts, though he guessed he could probably convince them that he entered with all of those. Merrick shot a glance at the glowing mulberry staff that was taller than he was, dangling over his shoulder after having been placed between the two bramble blades mounted on his back.

  Entered with most of them then…

  His appearance and bountiful harvest was almost certainly going to spark an investigation, but with the speed at which the government moved he planned to be long gone before they thought to take him in for questioning.

  "Speaking of bountiful harvest, I guess I should leave you with a tip since Mary took the last one to destroy."

  [Merge Successful. One Bronze Steelhearth Coin returned. See More...]

  With a final deep breath, Merrick flipped the newly minted bronze coin off into the darkness of the dungeon's artificial fields and lifted his chair up in front of him, thankful that the weight helped to somewhat counterbalance the plethora of gear on his back, before stepping forward into the glowing portal.

  Next stop, freedom.

  (hummed to the tune of toss a coin to your witcher)