Chapter 3: The Approaching Calamity
Dal spent the next four days trekking his way alongside the Adsen River bank. It would have been much faster to use the main road, but he knew that to do so would risk encountering other people, and at least until arriving in Bradford, he wanted to avoid the possibility of getting caught up in any more trouble. Also, marauders had been stepping up their random attacks on caravans in the Summerglades. The war was causing lawlessness to spread like wildfire within the territory of Ostros.
Not that I can afford to pay for passage anyway, he thought to himself.
Having been pinned against the wall by marauders, he hadn't had the chance to drop his money before he'd shifted, which meant it went away into nothingness along with anything else he'd had on him at the time. In other words, he was, for what had to be the billionth time in his life, destitute. Somehow, though, he always made do.
And so now, several days later, he was nearing the end of his lonely journey to Bradford, his only company the sound of the river rapids as the water traveled downstream in the direction he'd come from. His belly was empty, and he was hungry, but he knew that eating was not of any importance to him. Although Dal liked to eat three meals a day when he could afford to do so, the only time he ever needed to eat was when he faced a week or longer between class shifts; otherwise, he would always emerge from a shift hydrated and fed, though his weight and build tended to vary.
And so did his personality.
"I'm really feeling the CD right now," he said aloud to the empty air as he put one foot before the other, his feet crunching down on a mixture of sand and small rocks.
CD, or Class-Draw, was the feeling of longing that came with one's class. In Dal's case, he was currently harboring a tremendous impulse to peddle things. He wanted badly to sell something, anything. It actually reminded him of the days when he was a little boy and his father would give him small trinkets to take to the markets. If Dal had only been allowed to live a normal life, he would've become a Peddler at 15 and might well have class-promoted to Merchant in his 20s like his father had. In most lands, only Merchants were permitted to open walk-in storefronts. Peddlers were restricted to street corners and boutiques.
"Damn, I want to sell something," he muttered.
At level-12, he felt the class draw fairly strongly. He was currently at the level and experience of someone who'd been peddling for perhaps a year or two. Most people didn't promote until they were somewhere around level-40 except for prodigies like his father, who had just turned twenty-two and level-31 when he'd promoted. If he had still been alive, he likely would've promoted yet again to Trader, an extremely prosperous class.
I want to be a Trader! he thought.
He knew this feeling would pass soon enough. This, he could say for certain, as he'd be shifting again early this evening—just before arriving at Bradford. Technically, he could've been there already, but he'd slowed his walk down to something barely faster than a crawl, wanting to class-shift before he reached the town. To his right was a very steep slope. But having come this close, he decided to scope things out for the time being.
He approached the slope, which he then began to climb. As a Peddler, it exhausted him to the extent that he began to sweat, but fortunately, he reached the top, whereupon he found himself on an expansive field. Ahead of him was the main road, and just in the distance was the large, bustling town of Bradford, which in his opinion, was a significant upgrade compared to the last place he'd stopped.
Taking just one step towards the town, he immediately stopped, backed away, and threw himself down flat on the slope as he heard the sound of horse hooves trotting on the road ahead. Now, with his head poking out but his body concealed, he watched as a group of four very strangely dressed people on four large, sturdy horses appeared in his view.
Three of them were males of indeterminate ages dressed in thick brown robes that fully concealed their bodies; each had a hood drawn that likewise masked their features. The fourth was also similarly dressed, but from the outline of her body, Dal was willing to bet she was a young woman.
"Relax," she said to the other three. "Everything is still going as planned. We're here well ahead of time."
The lead rider, a male, looked over his shoulder and called back to her. "You always say that, Rethi."
"And I'm usually right."
"Except when you're not."
Out of curiosity, Dal used one of the three "Basic Abilities" available to all people: Identify (T1), which could reveal a person's class but not their level. Though they didn't look like marauders, he needed to be sure, as the increased number of outlaws roaming these parts since the war began made him naturally wary of anyone with the Soldier class.
Name:
Class:
Well…that was unusual. These four were clearly up to no good. Setting one's name and class to private was almost universally considered to be a shady thing to do, and aside from pirate enclaves, no respectable town guards would ever allow anyone beyond the front gates if their information was hidden. It was the act of people with nefarious intentions.
Best to let them pass.
The horses continued onwards, and Dal, out of sight, waited for them to move along before he again emerged. Once they were a safe enough to distance away, he got back to his feet—only to duck down once more as he realized it was nearly time for him to shift classes.
Time Remaining: 1:20
Acting out of pure habit, he crossed both his fingers, hoping for something good. To be honest, he wouldn't mind something from the fisherman tree for once. For some reason, that one was so hard to get. Though, with a much nicer town ahead, and with nightfall short in coming, he hoped for something he could actually use.
And he got his wish—sort of.
CLASS SHIFT! NEW CLASS ASSIGNED
Name: Dal Rineloch
Class: Dishwasher
Level: 61
Abilities: Plate Sparkle (Tier 5)
Time Remaining: 7 Hours, 20 Minutes
Lying flat on his belly to keep himself hidden, the flash of light came upon him. His attire was ripped free from this world, and it was replaced by an all-white service uniform including slacks. Now, he found himself holding a washcloth in his right hand and a bar of soap in his left. He dropped both and let them roll down the hill before standing upright.
Suddenly, he wanted to wash dishes. He needed to wash dishes. Nothing in this world could bring him more joy than cleaning a plate. At level-61, he may have just been the greatest dishwasher to ever live. It was just a good thing one's level was private, because being level-61 and unpromoted was probably impossible, and if anyone saw that, he'd be hauled off to some dark place to be studied and questioned. And that would be a tragedy, as he doubted there would be any dishes for him to wash.
"I need to clean!" he yelled, filling with dishwashing energy. He headed towards the town, ready to take the first job he could get. Dinner would be around now, which meant a passerby such as himself had a good chance of being paid a few gold for the night shifts in the various establishments to be found within the town.
I hope they're really dirty. I want to clean dishes!
******
Prince Alain Erickson, traveling disguised with his entourage of his three most-entrusted friends and advisors, pulled on the reins of his horse, bringing it to a stop on the dirt road before whipping his body around and looking over his shoulder.
"Did anyone else see that?" he asked, the motion causing some of his dark-brown hair to poke out from the hooded robe he was wearing.
"See what?" Rethi asked, her singsong voice carefree and unalarmed.
"I thought I saw a flash of light in my peripheral vision."
"I didn't see shit," said Garrick, who rode just behind him. His voice perpetually harsh and his tone distrusting, he was an abrasive guy and a powerful warrior whose larger body was difficult to keep concealed even with the robe on him. His two-handed bastard sword stuck out like a camel's hump on his back, and he was scowling for no reason in particular.
Denin, Alain's best friend, chuckled. "You're just getting jittery, my prince. I'm sure it was nothing."
All four of their horses had now come to a halt. Alain, studying the slope a little longer, eventually decided to let it go. He sighed and faced forward again, briefly adjusting his position in the saddle. "You're right."
The sound of horse hooves pattering against dirt echoed to his right as Rethi pulled her mare up to ride beside him. "Are you okay, Alain?" she whispered.
He nodded. "I'm fine."
"It's okay to admit you're nervous. You're only nineteen, and this is your first time hunting a—"
"I'm fine," he said again. And it was the truth. Or…at least he hoped it was the truth.
In actuality, Alain wasn't sure how he felt. He was struggling to keep it all together. With the empire's war of aggression pushing their kingdom to the limit in the north, his father, King Erickson, was beginning to dismiss and overlook things that should have been obvious to anyone paying close attention. For this reason, he had forbidden Alain from coming here, declaring it a waste of valuable time. But Alain was not convinced. And even risking a lashing, Alain knew he had to come to Bradford.
Yet he dearly hoped he was wrong. In the name of God, he prayed that he was only wasting his time in being here and that the visions were nothing more than errant delusions of the mind.
"So, you really think it's gonna happen?" Garrick asked him.
"I do," Alain said nervously. "Tomorrow morning—perhaps in the early afternoon at the latest. It's going to happen for the first time in twenty-thousand years."
He could see Rethi's grip tighten on the reins until her knuckles turned white. "Are you certain?"
He nodded. "I wish I wasn't, and I'm hoping I'm wrong, but…in my heart, I know I'm correct, Rethi. At some point tomorrow, during the day, a Greater Demon is going to manifest in the town of Bradford, and it's going to kill all thirty-thousand souls unless we are there to stop it."
With that, he brought his horse back into a trot, and the others followed in silence.