An Unwavering Craftsman

"So, you're telling me that the University of Illuganasis has banned all research into tier one classes?" asked Shigeo.

"Yup. The first team to try it got eaten by grazwulks and the second died in a bridge collapse, both within a few weeks of their test subjects hitting level fifty and taking their traits. The third, suspecting some sort of conspiracy, did their best to limit access to information on what they were doing and never left the campus for the duration of the experiment. They were caught up in an attack by a homicidal, mad adventurer, convinced the university was brainwashing everyone in the city with some sort of mind-controlling parasitic plant. It happened the day after the third member hit level fifty, according to the diary of the researcher. His diary also said that for safety reasons, he hadn't told a single soul. Beyond him and the [Neophyte Tailor] in question, no-one knew."

Shigeo sighed. He'd actually heard about the grazwulks; it was used as a textbook example in the Gretheric School of Adventuring as to why monster spawns near populated areas needed to be picked up immediately, before more started spawning in. The herd had been two dozen strong, and the fields in the area had taken six months to thaw out afterwards. Knowing that it was linked to another two incidents, though, strongly implied that it was a bad example, on account of there not having been an initial monster to miss. Someone must have led them there.

"You should give up on your plan. Once is unfortunate, twice is suspicious, but that third one? It's not just your life. It's Lana and whatever alchemist we find, too."

"The voice warned me..."

"What?"

"My dream last night. It told me the Five didn't tolerate competition, and would try to kill me if I followed this plan. Or at least, I think that's what it meant. It also offered to protect me."

"Are you seriously going to stake your life on some mysterious voice that speaks to you in your dreams?"

Damien sighed. The voice felt wrong, but had yet to harm him. The five felt right, but... so much didn't make sense. Grungle had said he had a chance. Why would he say that if the Five killed anyone who tried to take that chance? Was there a second path to success with this class that he hadn't spotted?

"Dad, why is there such a thing as forbidden classes?"

"Huh? You want people with classes like [Master Thief] or [Bloodthirsty Pirate] wandering the streets?"

"Why not? It's what they choose to do with it that makes the difference. I mean, if a [Bloodthirsty Pirate] and you both decided to do as much damage as possible, who do you think would score the highest kill count?"

Shigeo considered the question. "Okay, I could wipe out a city if I put my mind to it, but I'm not that sort of person. Someone who got a criminal class would..." Shigeo frowned as he stopped talking.

"At least you didn't say it," said Damien, knowing full well where Shigeo had been going. "Classes are supposed to be mostly hereditary. If it could be overridden by personality, half the nobles in the country would have the [Swindler] class. Half the merchants, too."

"Maybe it's a combination? Personality modifies any inherited class, sometimes more than others?"

"Maybe, but then why would the Five give out criminal classes? And before you say it's a human law, not theirs, then why wouldn't they object to such a law?"

"You sound like you're doubting the Five," said Shigeo concernedly.

"I dunno... It's just... I've always had a problem with the hereditary nature of classes, and everything I've learnt over the past couple of days hasn't helped." Damien sunk into thought for a moment before reaching a decision. "Let's continue for now. In all the cases in Illuganasis, there were no issues until after they picked their feat at level fifty. We can get that far safely, then make a decision based on any new information that comes up. Even then, it's not like they were struck down instantly. Maybe we could get to level eighty before picking the feat. A few protective items, and no monster would be able to harm us."

"I don't like it... But okay. Just promise me two things: You will not take the feat without me and your mother watching you, and you will keep Lana and any future alchemist fully informed, and let them drop out if they wish."

"Okay. I can promise you that."

Not that Lana was likely to believe she had a choice. As shaken up as she was, she'd no doubt assume that if she turned them down, she'd be sent back to her father. Damien decided to wait to tell her, to give her a chance to get settled and understand she wasn't going to immediately get kicked out for speaking her mind.

"How did your day go, anyway? Did you speak to everyone you needed to speak to?"

"I had a word with Lana's mum while her dad was working. That Darren sounded like a right piece of work, but it seems she was right about him not bothering to look for her. Picked up a few of her more sentimental belongings, and let her mum know she was safe. Also paid another visit to Lord Gretton and confirmed it was that bastard Dwilerp who spread the rumours. Apparently, the temple of Gaia has censured him for it. There's even talk of an inquisition."

"Wow... That escalated quickly. What a backfire."

"For now. Being the first to make his move just means he had the least time to plan, and there are others who'd no doubt like to try something."

The creaking of the front door indicated the arrival of other members of the household. This time Grace, along with their newest adoptee, Lana, who was carrying a bulging sack with a massive smile plastered on her face.

"Ah! Sir Damien. Sir Shigeo. Hello!" she exclaimed, causing Damien some amount of bemusement. No-one had ever called him 'sir' before in his life! "Thanks for employing me."

"You're welcome, but please cut out the sir," begged Shigeo, who had never liked that particular gesture of respect. "It makes me feel like I need a moustache to twiddle."

"You're sounding a lot happier than this morning," observed Damien.

"Grace was telling me some stories," she giggled.

"Stories? About us? And you came back?" asked Damien, which just caused her to laugh harder.

"See, were my warnings about their sense of humour accurate or what?" commented Grace. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd best get dinner burning before Fleta returns."

She shuffled off into the kitchen, leaving a confused Lana behind. "Returns? But she was going to the capital, and she only left this morning. It's a week's trip by carriage!"

"Mum has been known to pop to Hrellisti for breakfast and still get back before dad wakes up," commented Damien. "Tier seven and speed focused. She's the reason my parents are able to respond to a call-out anywhere in the kingdom within a day."

While that was perfectly true, Shigeo wasn't particularly happy about it. He stood no hope of keeping up, after all, which meant Fleta needed to carry him. Given their relative sizes, clinging to her back caused insurmountable logistical difficulties, so she'd taken to carrying him around princess-carry. The pair of them turning up at some disaster zone with Fleta holding Shigeo in such an embarrassing manner was really not the look he was aiming for.

There had, once, been an experiment with a sled. After hitting a bump in the road at a hundred miles an hour, that attempt had been carefully filed away under the category of 'ideas that were, in retrospect, very silly', and never spoken of again.

"Oi! Once! That only happened once! And she gave me permission to sleep in!"

Lana giggled again at the antics of the family, a sight that caused Damien to sigh. He'd resolved to wait until Lana settled before telling her about the deaths, but that seemed to have happened already. If he put it off now, he'd just find another excuse later on.

"Lana, I found some new information today. It turns out that the University of Illuganasis has tried this experiment three times already, and on each occasion, the people involved died in suspicious circumstances shortly after taking their feats at level fifty."

"What? Does that mean you're cancelling? You... you don't need me anymore?"

"No, I don't want to give in. Level fifty isn't going to happen for a while, so we'll try to find more information before then. I just want to keep you fully informed."

"Umm... That's fine then. You've all been so nice to me. I don't want to be ungrateful."

"Just promise me you won't do something you don't want to do because you think we'll kick you out otherwise. If Grace has told you anything while you've been out, you must have realised that."

"... Yes."

Lana left to drop her new supplies in the room, rushing back out seconds later with tears in her eyes and a raggedy, ancient-looking teddy clutched in her arms. Damien left Shigeo to explain, heading back to his own room, writing down some notes on what he'd learnt that day. If he was going to be randomly murdered at some point, keeping a diary would be a useful record of what he'd been trying to do.

An hour later, the front door clicked again, signalling the return of Fleta. And not just Fleta, realised Damien as he rushed back downstairs. In her arms was a bundle of cloth with a head sticking out, the skin gaunt, drawn tight over the cheekbones. The hair was dirty, and an unnatural green, which matched the eyes. Oddest of all were the ears, which were far longer than they should have been, and ended in a point.

"Hello?" greeted Damien, looking at the silent bundle in confusion.

"Grace!" called Fleta, ignoring Damien and rushing through the dining room towards the kitchen. "Can you prepare some fruit and vegetables? Small pieces. I know we had some fresh tomatoes in yesterday."

"Of course. Got a sudden craving? Perhaps you're preg..." Grace cut herself off as she saw the bundle Fleta was carrying, immediately rushing to grab the fruit. Or maybe vegetable, if the tax-man was looking.

Fleta unwrapped her passenger, supporting him as she placed him in a seat. He looked no older than ten, but his limbs were stick thin, and he was obviously struggling to support himself. Every rib was visible through the dirty rags draped over him, which were utterly failing to act as clothing.

"What's going on?" asked Shigeo, joining them in the room and spotting their new visitor. "An elf?!"

"Damien, Shigeo, please give us some space. I'll call you later."

Damien nodded and returned to his room, as much as he wanted to shower everyone with questions. An elf? The elves had fared a little better than the dwarfs in the war of the rifts, but only insofar as they'd managed to not go extinct. Their numbers had still been decimated. No more than the humans, perhaps, but elves aged and reproduced so much slower that they'd barely made a start on restoring their numbers.

There was an elf colony in Greenrim; their expertise was at least partially responsible for the verdant landscape there. They had their own forested kingdom somewhere near the base of the bowl, too. They had no population in Hrellflan, though, so where had Fleta found a starving elf?

It was half an hour later before Fleta called him back down.

"He's sleeping now. He should be fine; he just needs to eat properly for a while."

"Where'd you find an elf kid?" asked Damien. "Not that I'm complaining, obviously; he needed help desperately."

"Kid?" laughed Shigeo. "I suppose you don't know much about elves, but he's way older than you are, for certain."

"What? He looks ten! He's obviously malnourished, but there's no way he's older than I am."

"I haven't been able to hold a full conversation with him yet, but he's at least thirty," chimed in Fleta. "Elves can't get their class from the Five before their thirtieth birthday. Throwing in travel time, and the hints I picked up, he's probably about thirty-five. He won't be fully grown until he's sixty to seventy."

Damien knew on an intellectual level that elves were a long-lived race in comparison to humans, but he hadn't translated that knowledge into a realisation that their growth period was likely considerably slowed too. A ten-year-old elf would still be a toddler. At thirty, they'd match the mental maturity of a seventeen year old human—mental maturity being the deciding factor of when a species could gain a class—but would match the physical maturity of a ten-year-old. It took decades more to reach their full growth.

"So, what's his story?" asked Shigeo.

"He's an exile from Ygrillana."

"Oh. One of the few lucky ones, then. Even luckier, now that you picked him up."

"Lucky?" exclaimed Damien.

"They like to keep their blood thick down there," Shigeo clarified. "Anyone with a class of tier three or less gets kicked off their island to stop them spreading their weakness to the next generation. He managed to make it to another island, so yes, he's lucky in comparison to those who didn't."

Damien clenched his fists in a burst of anger. Over here, people were harassed or imprisoned for having an unsavoury class, but the elves, with the population crisis they were facing, were throwing their young off the island for having the wrong class? Leaving them to die at sea? That was horrific! Was discrimination everywhere?

"Unfortunately, despite finding land, he didn't find any work. Elves aren't physically strong to start with, and still being so young, there was no way he could do any sort of physical labour. On the other hand, no orphanage would accept him, because he already had a class. He was begging for food on the streets when I found him. Not that it was a complete coincidence; the adventurer's guild pointed me at him."

"So, what class does he have?" asked Shigeo. "I assume it isn't something useable if he ended up in that state."

"I'm glad you asked," said Fleta with a smile. "He's a [Neophyte Alchemist]."