Chapter 2: The Image of my Father
Dal looked over his shoulder. He knew it was illogical to expect anyone to be following him. Still, his heightened sense of danger lingered. Thankfully, there was nothing to see but grass and gentle slopes for as far into the distance as his eyes could discern. Now, naked except for his undergarments, he stole a brown tunic and a pair of boots from the side of a farmhouse that happened to be in his path.
Typically, Dal was not a fan of theft. He abhorred it, actually. Yet this was a matter of survival. He could not be seen wandering the land like some derelict, as that in and of itself could invite its own sort of trouble. He also didn't want to have his body exposed, as his youthful body had gone from frail and emaciated to popping with muscles and six-pack abs. Such was only expected when switching to an elevated class like a Knight.
I need to get out of the Summerglades. Maybe even Ostros.
Dal tried to think positively as he hurried away from the farmhouse and jogged along the hot, humid countryside. Yes, it was true he'd been seen, and it was also true it had been in front of numerous witnesses, but even still, as long as he prevented any further mishaps, he should still be okay. This, he based on his understanding of human nature.
Despite his plea to the patrons not to report him, they probably still would. In fact, it was safe to assume with complete certainty that a report of this incident—along with his involvement—would make its way into the sorts of hands whose attention he most wanted to avoid. However, that being the case, Dal also knew that the initial reaction to such a report would be disbelief. Most likely, it would be assumed that the patrons of the pub had collectively misunderstood what they'd seen due to trauma and fear.
It's only when multiple reports start coming in from different locations that I have to worry, he thought. I need to avoid exposing myself again.
Setting a brisk pace, Dal was now able to run far faster than any commoner and for a great deal longer. He was also significantly stronger, more agile, and in his mind, he now understood the means of combat in ways he could not possibly have imagined when he was a level-1 Janitor. On the flipside, he doubted he'd be very good at cleaning. The mental changes he incurred with each shift had always amazed him. His understanding of the world and his surroundings shifted in ways both subtle and great, but most significantly, his senses and knowledge changed, too.
Right now, he knew how to fight: and well. It was instinctual to him, as it would be to anyone fortunate enough to have a Battle Class, something coveted by nearly all people yet privileged to only a few. But to Dal, it did not bring good fortune. Typically, unless he would be staying in a Battle Class for a significant amount of time, he preferred to stay hidden until he switched into a Commoner profession. This was because people and nations took note of such individuals, and close observation was not what Dal needed.
If nothing else, however, the Knight class enabled him to travel many more miles over the course of its duration than any Commoner class ever could. In a little more than three hours, he had already put more than fifty such miles between himself and the trouble he had left behind.
And now, as the sun began to set in the sky, Dal started looking for a place to camp for the night. He was currently in a sparsely populated area, one that was also a decently comfortable place to rest. He could make a fire from the dried leaves of a nearby forest, and he could use the very same leaves to create a makeshift bed. Perhaps, tomorrow morning, he'd travel towards the Adsen River and follow along it until he reached the town of Bradford, which was supposedly faring a whole lot better than that nameless little town in the Summerglades that he was glad to leave behind.
But first…
Time Remaining: 0:03
Time Remaining: 0:02
Time Remaining: 0:01
Name: Dal Rineloch
Class: Peddler
Level: 12
Abilities: Value Assess(T2), Voice Enhancement(T2)
Time Remaining: 4 days, 21 hours, 8 minutes, 7 seconds
The sun, having now set, meant that aside from the scant moonlight, a total darkness covered the land. But briefly, this darkness abated as a ring of flashing, brilliant light surrounded his entire body, which erased the tunic he'd stolen as though consuming it. The light soon faded, however, and when it did, Dal found himself standing upright in a linen shirt beneath a wool tunic, along with a modest green cloak around his back and matching trousers. The sword, shield, and armor he'd left behind—that would now be gone, vanishing from existence entirely. Even if a commoner had scooped it up and had taken it with the intent to sell, it would disappear from their very hands.
"Not even a horse this time?" he asked aloud as he checked his surroundings to see if he'd been given anything else.
Not only was his level and class random, but the equipment he had was often random as well. When he'd class-shifted into a Cook, he'd been holding a pan in one hand and an egg in the other, and when he'd become a level-1 Janitor, he'd been already holding a broom in two hands. And now, for what was likely the fifth or sixth time in his life, he'd become a Peddler. However, fishing through his pockets, he realized he hadn't shifted with any coin or tools of the trade. It was unfortunate, but that was the way of it.
In addition to his change of attire, he was no longer muscular, and all the knowledge of combat and fighting in his head—it evaporated as though it had never been. However, he suddenly realized he had some very, very interesting ideas about convincing people to purchase hats or healing potions. Yet, with him destined to spend fewer than five days as a Peddler, he doubted he'd have enough time to make much of this class. Perhaps it was time for him to continue laying low, and tomorrow, he would travel along the river and make his way to Bradford as planned. Only, he'd have to move a bit slower and be more mindful of the heat, as his body would likely no longer be able to resist it.
As a Knight, he would be able to resist fire-breathing monsters.
As a Peddler, he could be burned by a candle.
With that thought in mind, he lay down and tried to get some sleep. Hopefully, the stars filling the sky above would ward off the nightmares.
At first, they did.
He dreamt of his youth. His parents. The life he'd lived as the youngest son of a humble merchant. He could see the face of his father, smiling, beckoning him to learn the ins and outs of the trade.
Dal had wanted to be a merchant just like his father. And to that end, he had practiced at it, as it was well known that, for commoner classes, it was possible to exert influence over what class a child became before he or she turned 15, at which point it was set in stone. In nearly all cases, with sufficient effort, a child could take after their parents or, should they be the son or daughter of a more affluent family, it was possible to choose for themselves if given the support they needed to explore such an option.
This was not true for Battle classes, however. Of the four known Battle Classes, three of them required nothing more than luck. For this reason, even someone born into poverty could, upon their 15th birthday, find themselves sprouting muscles and turning into a Soldier or, if they were truly fortunate, an Apprentice, which would enable them to learn the art of magic and live a life of luxury and power in giant towers that nearly reached the clouds.
Aside from that, only farmers held a slight, but impractical hope of becoming Soldiers via a specific upgrade path that was easier said than done. But for Dal? He had only ever wished to be a merchant like his father.
And so, on his fifteenth birthday, when the time came, he—
"No!" he shouted into the darkness. His eyes popped open, and he awoke with a start, panting. Sweat dripped down his face, and his heart pounded in his chest.
He didn't want to relive it. He didn't want to experience it again. The blood. The screams. Not again. At least not tonight. That nightmare…it was like a curse unto itself. It would be with him forever, wouldn't it?
And through it all, Dal would always stare at the sky and ask the same question.
"Why?"