Vraxious- Hopes End Chapel Infirmary

  Vrax slowed his breathing, easing into the comfortable, familiar sensations that came with surrendering his consciousness to the system. He imagined himself sliding backward into a warm pond, arms spread wide. A system chime, like a dropped bell, caused his eyes to snap open. He was inside the system's representation of his soul, his Sanctuary. This is where he could use the essence he had gathered to improve himself. Everyone’s sanctuary was different, a representation of both how you viewed the world and how the system viewed you meshed together.

  Vrax’s sanctuary was still small, as he hadn’t leveled up yet. A tranquil pond dominated the center, dotted with strange luminescent snakes and practically brimming with gently glowing cool green water, the essence he had accrued that he couldn’t use yet. A small stream of excess trailed to the edges of his sanctuary, trickling into the obscured void beyond.

  Above the pond, a stone waterfall rose three strides into the air, moss draped down its surface the slightest trickle of water dripped down to the edges of the pond. Willow trees formed the border of his sanctuary, partly obscuring the shrouded darkness beyond and accentuating the forms of predatory things in the dark. prowling just beyond the edges of Vrax’s Sanctuary. Vrax wasn’t sure he liked the implications of that detail of his sanctuary. That shit was not normal from what he had heard of other people's sanctuaries.

  A handful of Devourers happily nudged into each other over the top of the pond, occasionally dipping down to rest on top of the magical waters. One wandered off and began weaving its way through the truly verdant mix of flowers and carnivorous flora spread around the pond's border. Accelerating slightly to avoid the snapping maw of a bright yellow [sun eater] flower. A Devourer came to rest next to Vraxes [Core Statue] curiously nudging into it.

  Vrax looked at the representation of himself, the most lifelike statue imaginable, down to the stray brown hairs dangling over an eye. A lithe, muscular young man in well-worn green and brown leathers stared back, spear held at rest over one shoulder. A cocksure expression and a half-finished trap dangling from the free hand.

  First things first, Vrax needed to try and clean up [Identify] some. It was taking far too much mana to activate and had a distressingly rough backlash after the last-minute changes he made to it before the ambush. Changing your statue was all about clear, focused intent. Vrax focused on his statue's eyes. His scope was still too large; his body couldn’t properly handle the mana needed for it as he was. And he couldn’t stuff more enhancements onto his body until he accepted a class. Gods know he had tried.

  Vrax placed his hands on the statue, imagining washing away the power that was held in [Identify] but not all of it. He held the image of [Identify] in use in his mind. He grasped the tendrils of essence that formed the rarity detection function and yanked. The rest of the skill shuddered as he held its diminished functions clear in his thoughts. Thankfully the rest of the skill held firm. And a small cloud of green steam rose from his statue as the removed essence floated off into the void above.

  Vrax sighed, he could try and refine [Identify] further, but he knew from trial and error he was at his limits. The tiny amount of essence he removed from his statue created some now empty capacity, but it just wasn’t enough to do much. He focused on his hearing enhancement and drew a tiny mote of essence from the pond behind him, willing it to become more, stronger more focused. The motes settled into the statue’s ears before him, but only a scant few drops were accepted before the statue began rejecting any further changes.

  He willed the system to show him what classes he had available, a glimmer of hope that this would be the time. “Wait,” he said aloud, “Rare and up only, please.” A small, plain, leather-bound tome appeared on the grass before him. Vrax reached down in an excited clamor, almost dropping it; he practically tore open the book.

  [Four rare classes available]

  [Spear Assassin]

  Strike from the shadows, hunting your foes with impeccable patience. Delivering swift death in singular, decisive strikes. Bend the shadows to your will, obscuring you and hindering foes. Some are the dagger in the dark; you are the predator lurking just beyond the senses.

  [Druid Of The Dark Places]

  Walk among the horrors this world keeps hidden in the darkest depths, knowing you are among friends. As your bond with the unholy grows, so too do you. Take on their form, changing into the things most only comprehend of in the most twisted of nightmares.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  [Beast Tender]

  Tame the mightiest dangers in this land. The beasts of legend will bend the knee and bow before their new alpha. Use your magic to take what was already mighty and propel it to unheard-of heights.

  [Trap Savant]

  Build the deadliest of killing fields. Your traps and fortifications will allow you to single-handedly stymie an army with peerless efficacy with the barest of supplies.

  Vrax sighed. [Trap Savant] was new, and it was certainly very good. Especially that bit that specifically mentioned he would be able to do a lot with very little in the way of materials. But it wasn’t what he wanted. He had been praying for something that was closer to a mix of [Trap savant] and a [Ranger] class with a heavy dusting of [Druid] thrown in for good measure. Was it unrealistic? Of course it was but. Vrax had been holding out hope for years now.

  He had an uncommon class available to him that was almost exactly what he wanted. The main problem was rarity. He flipped to that page in his class book.

  [Forest warden](uncommon)

  Wield your weapons and call upon the magic of the wood to defend against those who would oppose you. Weave the meadows and trees into a domain bound to your will, and defend your domain with strength of arm.

  The rarer classes had inherent benefits; they ranged from (Common), to (Uncommon) Then you got into (Rare) and (Epic) . The rarer a class was, the more essence you could invest per level. Meaning that while you would level slower, your advancement could be more complex and powerful. A level 25 (rare) vs. a level 25 (common) would be noticeably more powerful with an equally skillfully designed sanctuary. By the time you hit the second tier at level 100, that gap became dramatic.

  There was a (Legendary) rarity, but those classes were almost always granted due to absurd circumstances. Vrax's favorite example being the Frostlord, who currently holds dominion over a stretch of mountains to the far north. He found and reared a fucking dragon egg after its parents had been slain by the oppressive noble family ruling the mountains. The fuckers hadn’t bothered to search thoroughly enough before ordering their slaves to cart all of the loot back from the dragon’s lair to the Capitol. Suffice to say, an ex-slave with a legendary class and a goddamn dragon did not bode well for the continued existence of that particular kingdom. On a very related note, the new kingdom of Frostfall was a booming success and one of the few places in the empire where slavery was thankfully outlawed.

  Then there were the (unique) Classes; those tended to be…..weird… powerful..but weird. They often broke the normal convention of two skill statues upon gaining the class and a new one every 25 levels until you reached the end of your tier. There is a famous gravity mage in the capitol of Chronus to the west who had two skills, and they boiled down to up and down, but holy hells, the man could flatten an army of low-tier opponents by himself. Vrax honestly had no clue what people did to have the system “bless” someone with that kind of class option.

  Vrax stared out over his sanctuary in contemplation for a moment. Three months. He would give himself three more months before he chose from his available options and made the best of it. Otherwise, his father was right; he was going to get himself killed. or stymie his growth even farther than he already had. He had been slowly pushing deeper into the Forsaken Lands, and some of the places he planned to explore next would be suicidal even for him as he was.

  Not to mention His best friend Torvald was already chomping at the bit to delve into the dungeon a week away. That big lug had been Vrax’s closest friend for a decade now. He had just accepted the (rare) class [siege breaker] And was losing his mind not being able to go off and power level with Vrax. Vrax gave a resigned sigh. And attempted to dismiss the system book. It didn’t dissipate into green smoke like it always did. “Uhh...system, dismiss the book, please,” Vrax said, concerned and visibly confused.

  [One Unseen Quest]

  “Fucking pardon!?” Vrax shouted, breaking the silence of his sanctuary. Quests were...well system quests, specifically. Were the thing of myths. Whispered of in dozens of the books Vrax had religiously studied. Unlike class unlock requirements, system quests were universally something that people couldn’t replicate. They ranged from granting levels to rare class advancement options. Even granting boons such as new skill statues to be used in the sanctuary. Vrax felt chills running down his entire body.

  Please, please tell me this is the system recognizing what I have been trying for and agreeing, Hey, yeah, he's tried hard enough. Let's give him an (Epic) class the boy has earned it at this point.

  “Show me!” Vrax spat out.

  [System Quest Divine Pilgrimage of the Cycle]

  Find me – Vurune

  [Reward-???]

  Oh for fucking, fuck's sake, it's some goddamn cryptic bullshit! Of course it is!

  Vrax raged for a moment in his sanctum at the three-word quest description before gathering himself. Divine...quest okay, obviously related to one of the gods…pilgrimage implies I just need to get there, but who the hell is Vurune? Bah, okay, I need to get to the library.

  Vrax practically threw himself back to consciousness from the depths of his sanctum. He was halfway off the hospital bed before he even realized his father was standing directly next to him.

  William jumped back in surprise, almost reflexively thwacking Vrax with the bedpan he was holding. “Sit still! Your stitches haven’t set!” He forcefully pushed an uncooperative Vrax back into the infirmary bed.

  “Move, you old shit! I need to get to the library!” Vrax vainly tried to swat Williams's impeccable bedpan defense away.

  “Boy, calm the hell down. I brought you into this world; I can certainly take you out of it,” William said, a definitive ping sounding as he rapped the bedpan on Vraxes forehead.

  “OWW...Motherfu...I'm adopted, you old fart that doesn’t even make sense!”

  “Mehh semantics, what has your panties in such a bunch that you woke up screaming for the library?” William asked, a curious look overtaking the joyous smile he had had etched on his weathered face while wielding the bedpan.

  Shit, I cannot tell him about this he already worries over me like an old hen half the time. If I make it any worse, he's going to have a damn heart attack.

  “Knowledge is power?” Vrax very unconvincingly stammered out.

  “Uhhuu…” came the very dubious reply. “If you think you are going to weasel away without cleaning up the mess you caused, you have another thing coming. Also, how in the nine hells did you get Tier-2 [razor weaver] webbing here without killing yourself... and the damned Devourer? You brought a live Devourer into town.”

  Vrax flinched inwardly; he was going to be here getting chewed out for a while before he got the chance to do any research.