The next morning Dean rose before the sun. His sister was still asleep, and the house was quiet as he made his way downstairs, pulling on his boots.

  If he’d learned one thing in the Militia, it was the importance of routine. Discipline was something that was learned, and if he wanted a chance at becoming an Adventurer then he was going to need it. Dean stretched, as he did before every session, and then he went out for a jog.

  During the war Dean’s agility stat had been maxed out – or at least as high as a non-combat class was able to go. Now, however, his scrawny body struggled after only a few minutes. Gone was the body honed after long hours of training. He was starting from scratch, and it wasn’t going to be easy. It was a good thing he’d always enjoyed a challenge.

  Dean ran the outer wall all the way to the docks until his lungs felt like they might burst, and a sheen of sweat covered his body. Before now, the city had been sleeping, almost peaceful but for the occasional dog that would bark at his passage. Night Watchmen gave him odd looks as he ran past. His lungs burned but he was determined to push himself and see what his former body was capable of.

  He managed to run the entirety of the east wall before the exhaustion finally caught up with him.

  Dean ground to a halt, hands on his hips as he sucked air into his burning lungs. Opening his personal window, he checked his stats.

  He’d gained nearly half a point in agility from this run alone, and while that wasn’t fast progress, it was a solid start. His strength stat, however, was on the verge of a level up.

  It must have been from the fight yesterday, he thought, amused. Amazing how much difference it makes when you’re on the winning end.

  Dean jogged to the end of the eastern docks, nodding at a group of sailors just getting in. One of the men goggled at him as he dropped down at the end of the dock and began his push-up regimen.

  “You seeing this? Have I had too much to drink?” One of the men muttered to his companion. Dean suppressed a smile. It would have been an odd sight – a scruffy seventeen-year-old working out like a veteran. He managed to bang out fifteen pushups before his arms began to shake.

  I would have been able to do a hundred right here and now in my prime.

  Dean shook his head and went for a second set. On his eighth push-up, the first notification popped up.

  You have gained + 1 strength

  Dean finished his set, but now he really was smiling. Kneeling at the end of the dock covered in sweat, he’d forgotten how satisfying it was to see those numbers rise. He’d need to keep up a steady training regimen if he wanted to see real improvement. Still, regular training wouldn’t be enough to raise his base stats to twenty before the physical exam. If he wanted that kind of progress in that short an amount of time, he was going to need experience. And experience meant risk.

  Wiping his brow Dean finished his third set of pushups before rising and jogging the rest of the way home. A soft river breeze tore at his hair, and Dean allowed himself to soak in the sight of the city rising. Haven had always felt like home to him, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Seeing it raised to the ground had broken something in him that he didn’t realize he’d had. No matter what he knew that he couldn’t let that happen again.

  If this is the beginning of autumn, then I have eight months until the Spring Harvest Festival.

  Eight months to become an Adventurer. Eight months to find out what had happened that day – what events had led to the Rift opening right on top of the city, dooming all of its inhabitants. Eight months… would it be enough?

  Dean’s mind wandered as he organized his thoughts, considering his options and the path before him. He had been granted what many would dream of. A second chance at life. A chance to save all of mankind, and bring down the traitor who had brought them all to ruin.

  As he turned onto his street, dodging past a horse-drawn cabbage cart bearing a angry farmer, Dean felt a surge of determination. This time he wasn’t leaving it to chance. He would do things right, push himself to heights he’d never dared to before. If he could become an Adventuerer he’d have the power to save his city and then….

  You have gained +1 Agility

  By the time he arrived home, Sylvie was already awake.

  She looked up as he opened the door, her mouth falling open.

  “I swear to the God’s Dean If you’ve been out all night again, I’m going to-“

  When she saw him breathing heard and covered in sweat, her brows furrowed.

  “Did you fall in the river?”

  Dean smiled.

  “Nope. I was training.”

  Now Sylvie’s eyebrows really did rise.

  “Training… for what?”

  So he told her his story from the other day watching as her eyebrows rose steadily higher. By the time he was done Sylvie looked like she might pass out.

  “But….” She stammered, stuck between disbelief and worry. “Dean I always thought that being an Adventuerer for you was a piple dream. I mean, you’ve never taken a day of school seriously in your life and you were never a stat grinder. I…I just wonder what’s changed?”

  Her eyes were sharp, and Dean avoided her gaze. He couldn’t tell her the truth – not without risking sounding completely out of his mind. And he doubted she’d believe he changed from the selfish teen he’d been overnight. Instead he settled for a half truth.

  “I’m tired of being weak,” he said. “Sometime a man has to take a stand. Even if the odds aren’t in his favor.”

  An image of the Black Devil flashed in his mind.

  Even when he knows he’ll face certain death.

  “Okay,” she said, uncertainty still creasing her face. He could see the worry in her eyes.

  “But Dean, promise me you’ll have a backup plan. A lot of people dream of being able to manifest Adventuerer as a class, but few ever get to earn their badge. You turn eighteen in less than three months, and if you don’t manifest soon…”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I’ll stay classless, yeah, I know.”

  It was a real fear many had, and the reason most didn’t wait as long as he did to manifest a class. Dean could attempt to manifest a combat class now, but in the long run he knew it would only slow his progress. As it was, he could still gain minor skills and raise his base stats while he prepared for the exam. And time was of the essence now more than ever.

  “I hear you,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow with a sleeve. “I won’t let it get that far, trust me. If I fail the exams, and I don’t intend to, then I’ll choose a different path and stick to it. Fair enough?”

  The tensions in her shoulders eased a bit and she reluctantly nodded her head.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Dean hoped so too.

  As he headed for the stairs to bathe, he heard her mutter under her breath.

  “Gods above, who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

  ***

  “Listen, kid, if you’re looking for a love potion, I hate to break it to ya, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. Whoever started that rumor was lying through their teeth.”

  The shop door swung shut behind him, and when Dean didn’t budge, the dwarf behind the counter looked up, his eyes suspicious.

  “I told you-”

  “I’m not here for love potions,” Dean cut in.

  “I hear you're the best surplus Gear store in Haven. Basic armor, weapons, and potions without the bullshit premiums the Guild’s always charge. Is there any truth to that?”

  The Dwarf behind set down the object he’d been holding, adjusting the glasses on his nose as he gave Dean a second and much longer look. His thick red beard was braided, and he stroked it as he considered.

  “Depends whose asking,” he said carefully. “Guilders rule this city, and they aren’t exactly eager about having any competition, especially when it comes to business. That said, money talks. And if you got it, this Dwarf’s ears are primed to hear it.”

  Grimacing, Dean reached into his pocket and removed the small leather pouch he’d be clutching all the way through the west side. It wasn’t just a precaution against pickpockets in the lower city. The truth was, Dean held in the palm of his hand his meager life savings. Once upon a time, he’d tucked away any spare coin he found or earned in a small pouch in a hole in his mattress.

  It had been his dream to one day make it out of the lower city… to one day make more of himself. The war had shattered that dream.

  “I have money,” he said. “But… not as much as I’d like.”

  The Dwarf shrugged.

  “Don’t we all, kid, don’t we all. So what will you be needing?” he leaned in, his eyes sparkling. “Pickpockets' gloves, perhaps? Or, if you’re looking for stealth, I have a pair of stepless boots you might be…”

  Dean flushed.

  “I’m not a thief,” he clarified. “What I need is basic gear. Something that a hunter might wear. Common items are fine, but I need decent defense starting defense stats.”

  The Dwarf’s bushy eyebrows rose.

  “Aspiring Adventurer huh? Dangerous business for a young person… but I’ve learned not to ask questions. Listen for what you have here I might be able to fish something up, but it will be second hand. Is that alright with you?”

  Dean nodded, and the Dwarf disappeared into the back. Dean took a moment to walk around the shop, eyeballing the items on the shelves. Potions sat on shelves on the wall, content glistening in the half light. He saw swords, spears, shields, and bows mounted on the wall behind the counter of various quality. In a long, locked case on the counter, some sort of enchanted item glowed.

  When he saw the price tag next to it, he whistled. The cost of gear had always been exceptionally high, and with his meager pay as a militia soldier, it had taken him a while to amass s full set. Even without the Guild Premium’s he’d be lucky to come out of this with any coin left. The thought made his palms sweat.

  Dean was taking a risk putting all of his eggs in one basket… then again, in eight months it wouldn’t matter. He’d either succeed and train hard enough to stop the Harvest Festival Massacre, or he’d die in the attempt. Dean clenched his fist. No, dying wasn’t an option. Even if he had to train until body gave out six days a week, he’d see this through.

  The Dwarf returned carrying several bundles with he dumped on the countertop.

  “I got your basic gear here,” he said, shoving a pair of worn leather boots, a leather breastplate with a scratch on it, and some padded trousers. “But if you want a little extra protection, then I would recommend you wear cloth armor underneath. It won’t stop the tusk of a boar, but it will help you weather the small things and that can add up if you can’t afford a proper healer or potions.”

  He was polite, but Dean could tell the Dwarf was well aware of his financial situation. City healers were expensive, and hunting without the means was something generally discouraged. Sometimes, health potions would be enough, but for bigger injuries or specialized monster injuries, usually a trained healer was required. In Dean’s case, he’d have to take care not to take too much damage early on, or he’d find himself in a bad way.

  “I’ll take it,” he said, and the dwarf nodded as he slid a set of grey cloth armor towards him. It had seen some use, the fabric under the armpits a bit worn. But when he went into the single stall to try it on, he found it was a decent fit.

  The padded trousers and leather breastplate felt familiar as he slid them on. Armoring was a ritual he’d become used to on the road. A soldier without his armor was always at a disadvantage, and he’d encountered enough trouble to know the value of being prepared.

  It’s almost like a second skin he thought. I always feel naked without it.

  When he emerged from the stall, the Dwarf took a step back, eyeing him carefully.

  “It isn’t much,” he admitted. “And don’t get big britches and go attacking beasts way out of your league, but I reckon you can hold your own against some basic enemies. Just remember, don’t get carried away. And if you see anything too dangerous, run. Always run, mmm? As for your sword…”

  The Dwarf hesitated.

  “Look, I’ll be candid with you, kid. Swords and the materials it costs to make them aren’t cheap. Then there is the labour of the swordsmiths themselves. I can lend you one, but it isn’t in the best condition. The uh… previous owner failed to take my advice.”

  He banged a small sword down on the counter and stepped back, allowing Dean to handle it. It was an average hand-and-a-half sword, and the iron blade had a long scratch down the center. But when he tested the edge and the weight in his hand, it felt right. Dean gripped the hilt and let his instincts take over.

  Dropping into a stance, he thrust at an imaginary enemy before moving into a series of practiced strikes. Despite his knowledge, his body was no longer conditioned to swordplay, and his arms protested at the unusual weight.

  I’m going to have to work hard to regain my former swordsmanship proficiency. But once I do, killing low-level monsters should be all too easy.

  The Dwarf was still talking, waxing eloquent about Adventurers he’d seen come and go in his time at the shop. Dean grunted, only half listening as he examined his Stats.

  Name: Dean Thompson

  Age: 17

  Minor proficiencies: None

  Class: to be determined

  BASE STATS:

  Strength: 10

  Agility: 13

  Power: 8

  Resilience: 10

  Current Armor: + 13

  Current Damage: + 10

  It wasn’t bad, certainly an improvement to the stats he’d had before. And more importantly, it would be enough protection for him to hunt low-level creatures. Gaining experience and eventually skills and proficiencies would give him the edge he needed to tackle a larger game.

  “Well?” asked the dwarf, arching a thick eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”

  Dean sucked in a breath and nodded.

  “This will do the job,” he said. “Do you take trades here? Wolf pelts, spider fangs, and the like? If you do I’d like to upgrade as soon as I can.”

  The Shopkeepers' brows furrowed in worry.

  “I’ll accept certain drops and material’s of course but wolves and forest spiders aren’t exactly harmless. You should start out with-”

  “Thanks,” Dean interrupted, gathering his stuff. “I know it might not seem like it but I know what I’m doing. Or at least I did.” He shrugged and gave the Dwarf a smile. “I’m Dean by the way. Dean Thompson.”

  He turned to go, but before he made it halfway a thought occurred to him.

  “I suppose you’d know local Adventurers. Would you happen to know any that take on trainees? Someone is willing to sponsor someone just starting out?”

  The shopkeeper stroked his beard thoughtfully, then after a moment, shook his head.

  “I know a few, but the fact is they aren’t cheap. Adventuring is a dangerous business. If we could all manifest a class like that without risk, hell, everyone would do it. That said… I would recommend you try for a Guild Training Hall. They won’t let just anyone in, but if you’re set to take the exams and willing to pay a fee, they might just make an exception.”

  Dean left the shop feeling light for the first time since he’d arrived back in his old body. The day seemed a little brighter, the sun warm on his shoulders. There was so much work that lay ahead of him, but for the first time, he was moving forward towards his goals.

  Now, his path was clearer.

  Pass the exams, earn his Iron badge, and learn to cultivate essence. That way, when the threat finally came to Haven, he would be prepared to face it.