The echoes of the prisoner’s desperate fight reverberated in the cavern's heavy silence as the guards quelled the rebellion. Pag felt the pressure of that silence urging him back into the monotonous rhythm of mining. Each swing of the pickaxe was familiar, the ache in his muscles a dull reminder of his captivity. His mind, however, churned with thoughts far removed from the drudgery of mining. He fixated on the prisoner's ferocious struggle, the wild, unbridled fury that had momentarily defied the mine's oppressive gloom. He envisioned shaping that raw fury into a weapon, a skill that would not only guarantee his survival but also carve out a measure of control within this chaotic world.

  The Brawler class, a master of unarmed combat, called to him, resonating with the primal instinct he felt awakening within. But doubts gnawed at his resolve. Would it truly complement his pyroclasm? Could he seamlessly blend his obsidian flames with the raw power of his fists?

  He conjured a mental image of himself amidst the fray, flames blazing, fists a blur of bone and muscle. It was a powerful, primal image, yet it felt unbalanced. Could he, a mage who relied on strategy and the calculated advantage of distance, truly excel as a close-quarters combatant? Could he withstand the onslaught of swords, axes, and claws? He yearned for a deeper understanding of the Brawler class. Were there skills, techniques, or hidden abilities that could be unlocked? Could it be honed through training and practice? And most importantly, would it allow him to allocate stat points, enhancing his strength, agility, and endurance to complement his pyromancer abilities?

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  He recalled the notification that had taunted him:

  

  Perhaps the Brawler class was the key. It would possibly fill the areas where his pyroclasmic abilities lacked.

  Then a thought struck him, a spark of possibility in the suffocating darkness: the pit. The orc's words echoed in his mind: "Anything goes, Cataphractan. Fists, knives, clubs… whatever you can get your hands on. Winner takes all.”

  Could he gain the Brawler class through trial by combat, by proving himself in the crucible of the pit? Would he find someone who could guide him or did could he just hope really hard? What if he took the class and there was no synergy?

  Pag’s gaze swept over the prisoners on the platform, seeking a mentor, a kindred spirit. Perhaps the Miner, with his disciplined movements, or the Herbalist, with her knowledge of the body's resilience, could offer some guidance.