According to the explanation Nick received from the receptionist, there were four government-subsidized places where people could learn skills:
The Four Guilds.
Fighter, Thief, Archer, Acolyte.
The kingdom categorized what it considered to be ‘starter’ abilities into these four types and gathered as many skillbooks as it could find, using them to create basic archetypal roles for soldiers, mercenaries, and adventurers to fill. If a person enrolled in the military, the guilds would provide their initial set of skillbooks for free.
Just like with education and work-related skillsets, there was nothing short of practicality stopping a person from learning skills from all four archetypes. The biggest constraints were time, mana reserves, and money—it takes time to train up skills and it takes mana to cast them. And skillbooks were expensive. If a person spread themselves too widely, they would develop much slower than their peers.
Of course, rare and valuable skills could also be sold by merchants or found on the shelves of collectors, and organizations like governments and guilds would keep a stock to use as rewards and incentives.
Nick stared at the paper the receptionist handed him, listing the four available starter classes and the locations of their respective guild halls in this city. It felt weird, reading through the options like he was making a decision on a character creation screen.
Ray leaned over his shoulder, her eyes scanning the paper. “These are the places we can learn skills?”
“For now, yeah,” Nick replied, tapping his finger on the parchment. “Starter skills. I’m not inclined to sign up for the military, so we’ll need to cover the cost of the first set, and we’ll need to earn money to buy more in the future.”
He glanced at Ray. Her expression was calm, neutral as always, but her sharp gaze flicked over the options with a hint of curiosity. It was the same look she had when they were walking through the city earlier.
“So,” Nick started, considering her carefully, “what do you think? Which one feels right to you?”
Her eyes lingered on one of the options for a moment, then she turned to Nick, her voice resolute. “Fighter. I feel like I should start with that one and pick up Acolyte later.”
Nick nodded. It made sense—in her one and only fight so far, she instinctively fought with raw, brutal strength. If she wanted to play to her advantages, starting as a fighter was probably the best way to go.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, giving her a small grin. “I’m sure it’ll turn you into a real menace.”
She giggled. “I hope so. What about you? Did you decide yet?”
He scratched his chin, eyeing the word ‘Acolyte’ on the page. As a former gamer and novel enthusiast, he wanted to be an acolyte with all of his heart. His starting spell was ‘Fireball’. The fantasy of teleporting around, magically blowing stuff up, and yeeting people through cheap edge cases of the rules…
But Execute seemed like it would lend better to a Fighter or Thief skillset…
“Acolyte,” he decided.
Ray tilted her head. “Are we going to the Acolyte’s Guild first, then?”
He shook his head. “We need to get you some skills first, and we’ll need to save some money for food, weapons, and lodgings. We’ll earn some money and buy my skills later.”
She looked at him for a long moment before giving a slow nod. “Thank you.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure.”
‘Besides,’ he added silently to himself. ‘I have a feeling that my fireball spell is special…’
=Multi-Fireball=
-Active Skill-
->Mana: 20%
->Rank: 10/-
->Description: Throw one or more f*cking fireballs.
The ability evolved after hitting rank 10. Since it didn’t have a maximum rank listed, this spell seemed to also have infinite potential for growth.
***
The clang of steel against steel echoed through the air as Nick and Ray stepped through an archway and entered the training grounds. Sunlight reflected off the armor of fighters sparring in the open field, the air alive with shouts, grunts, and the rhythmic clash of weapons.
Nick studied the field with interest. “You’d think that society would advance beyond this with a few thousand years of development, but its always the same.”
Ray tilted her head, her silver hair still hidden by her hood. “Is this not developed?”
He smiled. “Nah, it’s a timeless tradition for humans to hit each other with sticks. That changed a little when guns were added to the picture, but then they just made better sticks.”
She frowned. “Why bother?” she asked as she scanned the fighters. “They’re all so… slow.”
Nick chuckled. “They’re human. Not everyone’s built like you, Ray.”
She gave a small shrug, her attention drifting to a towering figure in the distance. Three men stood at the edge of the field, observing the sparring matches. The largest of them, draped in plate armor with a massive shield strapped to his back, barked out a command.
“Break for lunch!”
The fighters dropped their weapons in unison, some collapsing onto the dirt in exhaustion, others dragging themselves toward a pavilion where the smell of grilled meat wafted through the air.
Ray made her way toward the three men at the edge of the field. Nick followed after but kept a few steps behind her—this was the Fighter’s Guild, so it would be her show. He was just here for moral support.
The man on the right, armed to the teeth with an impractical collection of swords, axes, and daggers, gave them a suspicious glare. “What’s a kid and her babysitter doing on the training grounds? You lost, or just stupid?”
Ray, unfazed by the comment, held up the map they received from the receptionist. “I’m looking for Siegfried. I want learn some Fighter skills.”
The trainers exchanged quick glances. The towering man in the center stepped forward, his heavy plate armor clinking softly. A scar ran from his chin to his ear, giving his calm expression an edge of danger.
“You guys head on to lunch, I’ll handle this,” he said.
The other two trainers nodded and left. Once they were gone, the large man introduced himself.
“I’m Siegfried,” he rumbled.
He examined her for a moment with a critical eye before sighing. “You’re green and the old man behind you… he’s rough, but not completely inexperienced…”
“We’re only looking to pick up some skills for her this time around,” Nick said.
Siegfried studied Ray for a few more seconds. “The starter set is 100 silver coins. If you’re interested, you can take the test. Passing the test means I’ll throw in a bonus rare skill.”
Ray’s eyes lit up with excitement. “A rare skill? I’ll do it!”
The trainer smirked slightly, then tapped his armor with a fist. It shimmered and vanished, revealing a sleeveless top and shorts. His thick, corded muscles looked like they were carved from stone.
“Begin,” he said flatly, his stance loose, as if he were indulging her.
Ray darted forward, fast enough to blur—most men would have flinched, but Siegfried merely shifted his weight slightly. She feinted a punch at his chest, planning to pivot into a low kick aimed at his knee.
Before her foot even made contact, his hand snapped out, catching her ankle mid-swing.
“Predictable.”
With a twist of his wrist, he flung her backward. She hit the ground hard, her spine slamming into the dirt, but she rolled immediately to dodge the follow-up that she expected…
But instead of following up, he stood there, waiting.
“You move too fast without thought. Speed without purpose is just wasted energy.”
Ray scrambled to her feet. She went low again, aiming a sweeping kick at his ankle—but he anticipated her move. His foot shot out, catching her mid-swing and sending her sprawling sideways.
“Telegraphing,” he muttered. “Your moves scream what you’re about to do.”
“Shut up!” she growled, her eyes burning with frustration. She dashed forward with her arm coiled back and threw a wide, deadly punch.
Siegfried leaned back, the barest of movements. Her fist passed harmlessly in front of his face.
“Sloppy.”
His palm met her chest in an open-handed strike—not hard, but enough to send her stumbling backward. “You over-commit. Leaves you wide open.”
Gritting her teeth, Ray leapt back into the fray, throwing a flurry of rapid punches and kicks, each one aimed with deadly precision.
Siegfried didn’t block or dodge—he simply stepped through her attacks, closing the gap with an economy of movement that was frightening to witness. Each punch she threw missed by fractions of an inch, every kick deflected by a subtle shift of his weight.
“Your form is too rigid. You fight like someone who knows what to do, but has forgotten how to do it.”
Her expression twisted and she threw a wild uppercut, aiming to catch him off guard—but he effortlessly caught her wrist in an iron grip.
“And you have no idea how to control your emotions.”
His other fist shot forward and cracked against her jaw. Her vision blurred as she stumbled back, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.
Then he slammed her into the ground. Bones cracked, but she grit her teeth and tried to regain her feet, the searing pain already dulling as her body began to regenerate.
Siegfried’s eyes narrowed. “Oh…? This is more interesting…” He released her wrist and let her take a moment to recover.
Her breath was ragged, her limbs screaming in protest. Her right arm hung at an awkward angle, the bones splintered from her fall, but she smiled—a feral grin that hinted at madness beneath the surface.
Without a word, Ray threw herself at him again, ignoring her broken arm. She launched her entire body into a reckless tackle, colliding with his solid frame.
He grunted, surprised by the sheer force of her assault. But as soon as she made contact, he shifted, twisting his body to slam her into the dirt once more. Her ribs cracked under the impact.
But Ray didn’t stop. She grinned through the pain, grabbing hold of Siegfried’s arm with her good hand and twisting herself around him like a snake. Her injured bones creaked and shifted unnaturally, regenerating almost as fast as she was further damaging them.
Siegfried frowned. “You’re reckless.”
She didn’t respond. With a surge of strength, she latched onto his arm and tried to force it into a lock, behind his elbow in the wrong direction.
He shifted again—faster than she could react. He flung her into the air like a rag doll, and she hit the ground hard, her body crumpling under the force.
Bones shattered and her vision dimmed as a concussive force rattled her brain. But Ray simply smiled.
Siegfried moved in for the final blow—a heavy strike meant to put her down for good.
Ray welcomed it. She lunged into the punch, letting it slam directly into her ribs. She heard something snap—maybe several things—but she didn’t care. With the last of her strength, she twisted her broken body around his arm and bit into his shoulder, her teeth sinking deep into flesh. Blood flooded around her mouth as she latched on, clinging like a feral beast.
Siegfried grunted in surprise. He tried to shake her off, but Ray’s grip was relentless. Her shattered bones knitted back together as fast as he could break them, her body regenerating with a horrifying tenacity.
He slammed her into the ground, again and again, each blow shaking the earth. But Ray held on. Blood dripped from her mouth, her limbs trembling under the strain, but she refused to let go.
Siegfried staggered—just once, but enough. He dropped to one knee.
Ray released him and rolled away, collapsing onto the ground. Her body was a wreck, her limbs twisted and broken enough to be considered practically shattered.
But she was alive.
And Siegfried was kneeling.
Nick watched in silence as Ray lay on the ground, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood stained her cloak and face, but she was grinning—wild and victorious.
Siegfried slowly stood up, rubbing his shoulder where she had bitten him. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re insane, kid.”
Ray coughed, spitting blood onto the dirt. “I win.”
He laughed again. “If that’s what you want to call it.” He offered her a hand, which she took, wincing as her bones shifted painfully back into place. “You’ve got grit. I’ll give you that. But grit alone isn’t going to keep you alive out there.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m still standing.”
“Well, you are… since I helped you up,” he muttered with a hint of dry amusement. Then he glanced at Nick, who remained silent throughout the whole exchange. “I’m not going to ask any questions about your ability to regenerate. Everyone’s got their secrets. Better to keep some things buried.”
His words carried an odd weight, as though he wasn’t just talking about Ray’s abilities. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his gaze. He studied Ray again, but this time his gaze lingered. “I don’t know if it was fate that brought you to me,” he said slowly as if thinking aloud, “but it’s rare to see someone with your particular kind of potential. Let’s hope you live up to it.”
Ray tilted her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Siegfried chuckled softly, waving the question away. “You’ll see soon enough. Come back whenever you’d like training. I’ll turn you into a real menace on the battlefield.” He waved his hand and a stack of four skillbooks appeared. He passed them to Ray.
She grinned through the lingering ache in her body as the last of her severe injuries finished healing. “Can’t wait,” she replied while accepting the books from him.
There was nothing outwardly strange about the trainer’s words, but something about the way he said them tugged at Nick’s instincts. He brushed the feeling aside for now—Siegfried seemed straightforward enough, and everybody had ulterior motives for everything they did. If he refused to build relationships because he didn’t want to be used, then he would remain a loner for his entire life.
Nick retrieved 100 silver coins from one of the pouches he took from the bandits and handed them over as payment.
As they turned to leave, Siegfried glanced at Ray one last time, a flicker of something indecipherable crossing his expression. It was gone too quickly to pinpoint—a momentary shift that could have been anything… or nothing at all.
Project Knightfall 