Her voice was heard by everyone and the conversation died almost instantly.
Beside the chalkboard, the arcane evaluator had been repositioned—its metallic frame etched with faint runes, humming softly. The thing looked as judgmental as ever.
“Before we begin, though,” Celestia added, her tone light—but her eyes were anything but. They snapped toward me with sudden focus. “Lord Vi. May I borrow your plate?”
Hmm. She didn’t phrase it like a command, but her posture said otherwise. Straight-backed. Expectant. Patient in the way only people who already know the outcome can afford to be.
<
“What if I say no—Argh!”
Pain, sharp and immediate.
Shizuku, to my left, swatted the back of my head without hesitation. Reika, to my right, followed up with a precise elbow jab straight into my ribs, like they had both rehearsed the motions.
I hissed, clutching my side.
“Remind me again whose bright idea was this,” I grumbled, rubbing the ache away as I glared sideways. I shoved the plate toward Shizuku. “And why I’m the—”
“Because you might break into song again,” Shizuku snapped flatly, already taking the plate from me.
“Or Ae might do something stupid again,” Reika added, deadpan and merciless.
<
I slumped back in my chair, defeated, muttering darkly under my breath.
<
Not. Fucking. Now. Keep talking like that and I really will name you Retort-o-tron.
The plate left my hands.
The evaluator let out a low chime as Celestia inserted the plate, completely unfazed by the minor domestic violence that had just occurred. No judgment. No concern. Truly a marvel of ancient craftsmanship.
After a few seconds, the display flared to life and my status was projected in neat, glowing lines clearly enough that everyone in the room could read them.
The king barely reacted. He already knew what was there. The rest, however—
The queen’s expression remained perfectly composed. Too composed. The kind of stillness that meant she was already forming at least three conclusions, two contingency plans, and one deeply incorrect assumption.
The knight captains were, well, they were reacting in the way I expected them to.
Captain Godwin rubbed his eyes, then squinted harder, as if the text might rearrange itself into something sensible if he stared long enough. Captain Gendry and his brother leaned closer, silently mouthing the words they were reading, their expressions matching those of confused birds encountering a mirror for the first time. Captain Aldric simply stared, brow furrowed so deeply it looked painful.
“Vi, your titles are weird,” the younger princess declared loudly.
Oh? That was new. She’d upgraded me from weirdo to my name. Progress.
<
Okay…That was not something I had expected. But I’ll take the W.
Before I could process that, the elder princess raised her hand politely.
“Uhm, Lord Vi,” she said carefully, and I turned to her. “Forgive my rudeness—I mean no offense when asking this—but why do you have three titles declaring you an idiot?”
Out of everything on that plate.
Not the anomalies. Not the inconsistencies. Not the things that probably shouldn’t exist. She zeroed in on that. Oh. Bless her honest little heart.
“That,” I said, pushing myself slowly to my feet, “is a very good question. Why don’t we ask—gah!”
Hands grabbed my shirt and yanked down hard. Shizuku and Reika yanked me back into my seat, indifferent to whether I wanted to sit or not.
“Because he’s that big of an idiot,” Shizuku replied smoothly, smiling at the princess. “You don’t need to worry about that princess.”
I glared up at her. She smiled wider. I felt something dark stir within me. Fine. If that’s how it is. I began composing a curse in my head. May she never find a partner. May every confession be awkward. May every almost-relationship fizzle into polite regret—
Mwuha… mwuhaha… MWUHAHAHA—
“Ow!”
I winced, rubbing both spots where the two she-devils had struck me, slumping back in my chair.
<
Thanks for that.
“Okay, everyone,” Celestia said, clapping her hands once to draw attention. “Please direct your focus here.”
The low murmur in the room faded as she retrieved what looked like a thin metal pointing rod from beside the chalkboard. With practiced ease, she tapped the glowing projection of my plate, stopping precisely at the section of my skills where the word [Rare] gleamed faintly.
“Before we can properly discuss skills,” she said, her tone shifting into full lecture mode, “there is one more foundational concept you must understand first. Something that governs not just skills, but everything you see here.”
She dragged the rod upward.
“From here,” she indicated my name at the very top, “all the way down to here,” she continued, sliding it to the debuff section at the bottom, “everything is encompassed by what we call Tiers.”
The rod tapped the board once.
“There are five tiers in total,” Celestia said. “They are, in ascending order: Common, Rare, Epic, Mythic, and Legendary.”
A faint stir rippled through the room at those words. Taka raised his hand. “Lady Celestia,” he asked, “even the classes?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “All of them. You will see this for yourselves once you reach the appropriate levels to unlock your subclasses.”
She paced slowly as she spoke now, the rod resting lightly against her shoulder.
“The difference between tiers is… immense,” Celestia continued. “So much so that it cannot be overstated. To give you an example you already understand—the Soldier class.”
She tucked the rod under her left armpit, and wrote two words on the board.
Soldier – Common. Soldier – Rare.
“As far as we know,” she explained, “the Soldier class exists in at least two variations, determined by its tier. A Common Soldier and a Rare Soldier may share a name, but they do not share the same potential.”
She glanced back at us to ensure we were following.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“In the case of Master Classes, a Rare-tier class provides higher starting statistics than its Common counterpart. The same principle applies to Jobclasses. And—most importantly for many of you—this applies to Subclasses as well.”
Her gaze lingered briefly on the group of would-be heroes.
“A Rare subclass will grant greater stat increases per level than a Common one. Over time, this difference compounds. Dramatically.”
Shun raised his hand next. “Lady Celestia,” he asked, “what tier is the Hero class?”
A knowing smile crossed her face.
“That is an easy guess, is it not?” she said. “Heroes throughout history have consistently reported that their class was Legendary. I see no reason to believe that has changed.”
That earned a few quiet exhales. Relief. Awe. Maybe a touch of fear.
“The Tier system applies equally to skills,” Celestia continued, turning back to the board. “A Common-tier fireball will always be weaker than a Rare-tier fireball. Likewise, a Rare skill pales in comparison to an Epic one.”
She paused, considering her next words carefully.
“As for how much stronger a skill becomes per tier,” she said, “that depends heavily on the nature of the skill itself. However, the commonly accepted baseline is that each tier is roughly twice as powerful as the one before it.”
Beside me, Shizuku tilted her head slightly.
“Then following that logic,” she said quietly, “a Tier Five skill would be at least sixteen times stronger than a Tier One.”
Celestia nodded approvingly. “At minimum.”
“And with that,” Celestia said, turning fully toward us once more, “we arrive at our next topic.”
She tapped the board one final time.
“Skills.”
<
…Yeah.
“Skills, for the most part, will be your bread and butter,” Celestia said, pausing mid-sentence as if reconsidering her phrasing. She glanced around the room. “Did you all understand the figure of speech I just used?”
There was a brief beat of surprise—then several nods.
“Yes,” Trayn’s father replied, sounding faintly amused. “We have a similar saying back on Earth.”
Celestia’s shoulders relaxed, and she smiled. Not the practiced smile she used while lecturing, but something smaller. Genuine.
“I see,” she said. “That is good to know.”
I understood the feeling. Little things like that—shared metaphors, familiar turns of phrase—made this place feel just a fraction less alien. Like the world was strange, yes, but not completely unknowable.
“As I was saying,” Celestia continued, regaining momentum, “skills—especially for heroes—will be your foundation. Your primary tools for damage, defense, mobility, utility. Everything.”
She began pacing again, explaining as she went.
“Some skills are granted directly by your classes. Others must be learned through study, training, or repeated application—this is especially true for magic. Skills themselves also possess internal parameters: attack power, activation speed, casting or invocation time, travel speed, duration.”
She stopped, lifting a finger.
“To activate a skill, you simply invoke its name aloud.”
A pause.
“Please do not do that right now,” she added quickly, her tone sharpening. “We are indoors, surrounded by nobility, and I would rather not explain to the builders how this wing collapsed.”
That earned a few restrained chuckles.
“Tomorrow,” she continued, “you will all be given the opportunity to experiment, under supervision and guidance of course. The knight captains will be handling that portion of your instruction.”
She turned back toward the evaluator.
“As you use a skill, you will gain mastery over it. This mastery increases the skill’s effectiveness, efficiency, and sometimes even its form. Skills can level up through use, up to Mastery Level Ten.”
Arthur’s hand went up—then Celestia smiled wider.
“And yes,” she said, anticipating the question, “I know what you are about to ask.”
She clasped her hands behind her back.
“What happens when a skill reaches maximum mastery?” she asked rhetorically.
She tilted her head.
“Nothing.”
A few blinks. A few frowns. She held the silence for exactly long enough.
“Well,” she added brightly, “not entirely nothing.”
Her eyes gleamed now.
“In extremely rare cases so rare that if I were to compare it to tiers, it would fall somewhere between Mythic and Legendary a fully mastered skill may undergo—evolution.”
The word settled heavily in the air.
“A skill evolution fundamentally alters the nature of that ability,” Celestia said. “It may gain new effects, broaden its scope, or rewrite its internal logic entirely.”
Then—
She pointed at me.
“Which,” she said cheerfully, “is one of the reasons Lord Vi was chosen as today’s subject.”
Her enthusiasm finally broke containment. She all but bounced as the metal rod thwacked lightly against the evaluator display.
Ah.
So that was it. I wondered why she hadn’t commented on that. Now my question should have been, how long she’d been holding that in. Judging by the way she was practically vibrating—impressive restraint. Honestly.
But that raised another question. Who told her? The queen, most likely.
<
…Figures. I leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling.
Zero skills. Zero combat usefulness. And somehow, I’d still managed to become a case study. This world really had a sense of humor.
“His skill evolved!” she said while visibly vibrating.
The dam broke.
“I’ve only read about them!” Celestia burst out, words tripping over each other as if her mouth could no longer keep up with her thoughts. “It’s my first time seeing a skill evolve! Back then it was at [Rare] Tier—now it’s [Epic]! It really changed! Back then it was Identify! Now it’s True Sight Identification! It’s my first time even hearing about a skill like this! Lord Vi, what does it do!? What kind of function does it have? How do you activate it? What can you identify with it? How much MP does it use? Does it hurt when you use it? How does the display look? What variables does it show? Can you let me observe how you use it!? How do you use it? Will it work on anything!? Please show me! How can—”
From the looks of it, she didn’t breathe rather, she forgot to breathe. The words came out in a relentless barrage, a machine-gun stream of pure academic ecstasy. I watched her go with a kind of detached confusion.
Yeah. We lost her.
The king, who had endured exactly three seconds too many of this, stood up with a long-suffering sigh. Without ceremony, he raised his notebook and delivered a devastating—and frankly overdue—thwack to the top of Celestia’s head.
Thwack!
The sound was sharp enough that a few people visibly flinched.
Celestia froze mid-ramble, eyes wide, then reality caught up with her. She cleared her throat, straightened her posture, and tried valiantly but unsuccessfully to reclaim some semblance of dignity.
“As for the finer elements of a skill,” she continued, voice smoothing back into lecture mode as if nothing had happened, “those can be read directly within the skill itself. The method for doing so is through the plates.”
She gestured toward my plate with a practiced flick of her wrist, utterly unfazed by the fact that she had just been physically reset.
“Everything,” she went on, “the MP cost, effects, activation conditions, variables, even limitations—is displayed there.”
I narrowed my eyes. Variables. That word alone promised suffering.
“Before I explain how to access that information,” Celestia added, turning back to the board, “I will first explain titles.”
Here we go.
“Titles are much like subclasses in the fact that they give special buffs,” she said, tapping the chalk against the board, “but unlike subclasses, they are not gained through leveling milestones. Titles are earned through incredible feats, significant achievements, inherited, or—” her eyes flicked briefly toward me, “—in lord Vi’s case, through definition.”
“Definition? You mean how they define themselves?” my father asked.
“Yes,” Celestia nodded. “Some titles are granted by specific individuals or authorities. The title Protector, for example, is bestowed through recognition. Others are the complete opposite—titles that no one formally gives, but instead arise from collective consensus. Reputation, repeated behavior, identity.”
She paused, then added with a smile that was far too knowing.
“There are… a lot, and I mean a lot of ways to obtain titles. The way titles are acquired is the most complex even more so than classes because of how many variables are taken into account. So much so that the church cannot even claim that the god gives them. There are cases where they claim the god gave someone a title only for that title to appear in an individual who had not earned it, thereby disproving their claims.”
She paused to drink another cup of water. Considering how much she exploded earlier, that was expected.
“Just like how all of you have earned it through circumstance, in the case of being summoned here, in our example, lord Vi’s case, I suspect personality plays a role. A fairly large role.”
“Oi!”
The hells was that supposed to mean? I leaned back in my chair, scowling. Taking pot shots now, are we? Do I need to add another name to the list of people I will curse later?
<
Good. Keep the list. I’ll get back to it eventually.
<
Crazy nerd mage Celestia, blissfully unaware or intentionally ignoring my glare, continued on, chalk already moving as if nothing in the world could derail her again.
“And now,” Celestia said brightly, clapping her hands once, “with that groundwork laid, we may finally move to the last part—how to view your status using your plates.”
A ripple of attention passed through the room.
“And to do that,” she continued, her smile sharpening just a little—far too pleased for my liking—“please take out your plates.”
There was a soft shuffle as everyone complied. Plates emerged from pockets and sleeves. Some were placed neatly on the tables before them, others held up with cautious curiosity, as if they might suddenly bite.
“Now, take your plates, put it in a vertical position,” Celestia instructed, “Then, view your status, while touching your emblem. Then simply use a finger and drag down across the plate. Simple.”
People followed her directions. A moment passed. Then—
“Oh wow,” Arthur said, staring at the air in front of him. “It’s like a trackpad.”
Murmurs followed, overlapping voices filled with mild amazement and relief.
“Yeah, we can scroll down,” Trayn agreed.
“Everyone you can also use this method when you want to select a subclass,” Celestia added.
I stayed seated. I had nothing to do anyways. So, I simply watched. Specifically, I watched the two she-devils beside me as they muttered quietly under their breath, eyes unfocused, fingers moving through invisible menus.
“Lord Vi.”
Celestia’s voice cut cleanly through the noise.
I sighed and pushed myself up, every step toward the front carrying the distinct sensation of walking into a trap I could see but not avoid.
<
I nearly stumbled.
The fuck!? You have cheese shields!?
“I have promised your mother,” Celestia said sweetly, far too sweetly, “that I will help you with your circumstance, because it makes you the most vulnerable one here.”
“So,” she continued, stepping aside—
—and with an exaggerated flourish, she extended both hands toward the arcane evaluator, presenting it to me like an offering.
I stared at it.
Then at her.
Then back at it.
Woman, I have no fucking clue what the hell you want me to do.
<
…I hate you.