I didn’t think he had it in him. Breathless’ voice thundered, “DO NOT SPEND THE FUCKING POINT.”

  Fair enough. I may have been biased, was a little busy at the moment, together with a few others. We tried to hold down a thrashing Jeb who’d gone a little mad, more so than usual - a hard job for one-armed me. Similar scenes erupted immediately after the notification appeared. It took a bit for things to settle down. The point spenders had become rather violent, resulting in even more injured than before, but at least no one died.

  It hadn’t helped that our greatest organizational talent, Mel, had run off. A small group of us set out to find her while the rest began the arduous trip back to familiar locales. I finally gave my stats an once-over and raised an eyebrow at my level, which sat at 86. My mana was at a little under 150, debuff still present as well. Trained magic endurance had shot to 102 and totaled almost 200, nearly caught up to my primaries. Then there was the free point… In continuance with System policy of being irritatingly vague, we found out ‘a free point’ meant one per level, effective retroactively. Breathless’ command intended to cancel chaos, yes, but this decision also merited thinking through. Allocating it before the implications were clear could close doors unknown.

  We eventually found her, crying on top of Kristen’s corpse in the middle of a burnt field scattered with damaged dragon scales. Or what was left of it at least. She tugged feebly, trying to pull the red-veined and heavily chipped halberd out of our general’s charred chest. From the looks of it she’d already gathered the disparate severed limbs together - one leg was oddly bootless. We gave her the time she needed to finally get the weapon out and lay it next to her. She snapped her fingers and concentrated on a mote of flame before letting it fall, only to break down further when it didn’t spread and then flickered out shortly after. Barry made the offer.

  “Ya want it gone, yeah?”

  She nodded feebly with red eyes, head hung low in shame. She answered a Barry-centered reverberating flash of light with a fragile ‘thank you’ and that was that. We brought the weapon along as a keepsake while heading to whatever remained of our village, slaying scattered Errant on the way. In hindsight, it was a miracle Mel survived her wander. I found out she was essentially defenseless during our search, with her level still seated in the single digits. Too much management, not enough slaughter.

  We finally arrived. Things were relatively intact, burnt down vestiges aside. Some buildings still stood at least. So much for putting a positive spin on it. Most of the damage was concentrated in the north and east of town, particularly those spots which had been laser beamed or bombed. This meant my shared place remained surprisingly intact. I didn’t switch to my civilian set, opting to stay combat ready, and then, in an uncharacteristic twist, volunteered for graveyard shift guard duty after getting cleaned up. Tonight we’d recover, tomorrow we’d make plans.

  I caught up on the main issue during the walk, pretty straightforward stuff. We probably didn’t have a minimum viable population going on anymore since our total casualty count was excessive. We had sixty or so people left, half of them so badly wounded they’d be various levels of dead weight for the foreseeable future. Aside from Kristen, nearly all corpses were gone as well. And redhead the dragon came from the north. Add on the fact we bordered quite a few different zones, the presence of ever expanding flowerbeds of sonic boom doom, and there was a good chance we’d be hemmed in and find ourselves cut off from easy access to nearby resources due to a lack of manpower. It wasn’t an insurmountable problem, but it would slow things down a lot. If another eclipse happened then we were super-dead.

  Suffice to say, my vote leaned strongly in favor of fucking off. It was clear there were plenty of people around somewhere, courtesy of the literal cartload of random magic weapons we’d collected from where the Greatbeast had done its dog shake - strength in numbers and so on. We ultimately decided to pack up and head as directly south as possibly. Boating was considered too risky, so we’d caravan our way overland instead.

  Not immediately though, we’d take a week to prepare and properly recover. This involved gathering up all the magic materials we could, rationing any other supplies we’d need for the trip and putting the wounded to work on things like enchanting oxen and whatnot. We organized quickly and before long the healthy worked guard duty, deconstruction or went on crystal gathering trips. To save time and effort, our government switched to communism, so we just piled all property together in carts both new and old with no regard for ownership.

  The days passed, my routine consisted of refilling my sword stockpile and exercise while helping along where appropriate – mostly keeping busy to avoid thinking too much. I started getting a little annoyed at having to acclimatize to my own physical abilities after every jump in levels, even if the pay-off was well worth it. Tomorrow morning we’d head out, but first we had to get the solemn stuff out of the way tonight.

  We did a great job of dismantling everything. The only new structure, temporary ramshackle rebuilds of the old aside, was a monument to the fallen. It wasn’t much more than a square building with a cross on top, memorials went on the inside. Ringed around it, we went through the last of our booze and, for many, tears. My turn came up, so I went in and added my wrapper to the inside-walls of the makeshift mausoleum. I wasn’t usually the soppy sort, but this was a special occasion.

  Far too many to list, may ye all rest in peace.

  In honor of those known to me, I promise thy memory lives on.

  Kristen – Legend. First Among Us, General, Hero. Solo’s Veteran, Daggerclaw Destroyer, Spiderwolf Exterminator, Wormslayer, Crab Crusher, Dragon Defier. Ascendant.

  Bob – Loving father, husband and all-round good guy.

  Wulfgang – Who braved dragonbreath in our stead. Officer, Hero. Solo’s Veteran. Ascendant.

  William, aka Glasses – Eccentric genius and prince nerd.

  Sam – With whom I would have liked to work together more.

  Jared – Who ran like the wind.

  Rhasmat – Master smith. Sorry.

  Jack, Anne and Raj – Saviors of my Soul, Twice Fallen.

  Terrence – Eager Idiot, Twice Fallen.

  The mood hung heavy in torchlight, incredibly somber and sad drunks weren’t my style, so I opted for bed instead. The next morning, our soon-to-be procession disappeared from view, left behind me. My job started early, ranging ahead and wiping out stray Errant. Our first destination was the Farm, where we’d pick up more supplies. I doubted there were any survivors since none had trickled in during our week of waiting. It was all an incredibly boring affair, leaving me to contemplate my free point instead.

  There were of course six options on where to put it. Having some serious combat experience under our belt meant we had a much better idea of strengths and weaknesses these days and Jerry proved helpful when talking about tactics. His helpfulness also ended there. The man turned rather bitter and lifeless. Our strongest, not up for much more than talking shop and guarding the main caravan as a last line of defense - which meant he wasn’t doing shit aside from yapping.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  I ruled out magical speed right away. More and increasingly complicated mental sub-processes were useful of course, but my kit ultimately depended on other factors. Magical endurance fell in the same boat, already rising rapidly by virtue of essentially constant training. The exclusions left four serious choices to consider, all appealed to varying degrees.

  It was kind of weird to think about because of how the stat distributions for classes worked. Theoretically, if allocated to say physical speed, the freebie would change me from just half a speed-fighter into three quarters of one. Of course, they had some physical power to go along with that – but endurance the same as mine – which also influenced their running speed or throwing power. Those factors tied in to the vague skill descriptions as well. Then armor had to be considered. Some kind of magical capacity issue worked behind the scenes, limiting how much one could imitate a tin can before suffering drawbacks in a manner beyond merely weight or bulk. Mundane armor didn’t matter, nor do jack.

  The gearing limitation functioned on a range, influenced by physical stats. Endurance played a bigger role than the rest, followed by power and finally speed. For ease of reasoning, I just categorized the spectrum as light, medium and heavy – while pure mages could wear pretty much none. I landed firmly in the ‘light’ category. Only endurance fighters, and endurance hybrids to a lesser extent, could fortify themselves with abandon, everyone else fell somewhere in between. Although power fighters also experienced generous leeway. If I added my point to physical endurance, then I’d expect a large uptick in general survivability. Quite compelling, not dying felt important. But it would also be a purely defensive choice, didn’t really jive with what I had going on here.

  The middle ground then? In theory physical power probably added some to my offense and still provided defensive benefits, likely boosted my speed too, at least indirectly. It was also a very good stat to have for general quality of life. Almost an automatic pick, were it not for the generally disseminated knowledge of how hybrid classes worked. We leaned one way or the other, so weapon mages either focused on physical speed or magical power and with me as a solitary case of the latter. I based that on really wanting it to be so and my melee-unfriendly load out. There was no point in learning how to sword-fight when I could summon or blink swords into existence an inch off someone’s face and then shoot.

  This left magical power. All of my skills lacked a physical component – twice as hard as you can throw them notwithstanding – so MP likely bumped my offensive power way the hell up. It also seemed like a generally good idea to double down on what made me dangerous, my ability to shoot things in the face. My thoughts strayed involuntarily, back to an old bar-time conversation with Breathless, combined with an epiphany in the tunnels and recent experience. Utility too, lots of it.

  We talked a lot lately. He took Glasses’ passing hard, and as usual people blamed themselves for shit far beyond their control. In his case, he felt the nerds had been wasting their time on crap they thought would be interesting to investigate instead of what would help keep us alive. He turned a new leaf and constantly came up with mad ideas on the fly, of the militarized variety. It wasn't an entirely new development, considering our previous drunken scheme, but now it had become a priority.

  My thoughts returned to the point, wasn’t finding any Errant to kill. Treating reality like a videogame was incredibly fucking stupid, but I couldn’t shake the latent nagging of learned behaviour. Min max and all that, spreading stuff out was usually a big no-no and hybrids were spread thin to begin with. Based on Jerry’s experiences, I also knew I’d be getting access to at least low-magic at some point, and magic being magic was also governed by magic stats, presumably. In the end I bounced between power, physical and magical. I’d make the choice soon, probably based on my gut feeling at the time.

  The caravan stopped plodding along for the dark hours. Alone and with my heart in it, the Farm would already be in sight, but piles of wounded, luggage and materials weighed down our carts and slowed the pace to a crawl. I split off from my social circle, having spotted Mel sitting at a fire by her lonesome. She read the same pile of wrappers over and over again, shuffling the topmost to the back and repeating the motion a few minutes later. Her movements were twitchy, frustrated, and warranted a check-up.

  I sat down next to her. “Hey there, what’cha reading?”

  She looked at me far more gently than she ever had, almost surprised. “Oh, they’re little reflections. Kris wrote them. Really they’re love letters in disguise – she had trouble expressing her feelings openly, born and raised in Navy culture.”

  It was no longer a secret, the two had been lovers. “Huh, wouldn’t have guessed. So she was a big softy after all then?”

  It got a little giggle out of her. “Maybe something the two of you had in common, I saw your note in the mausoleum.” She handed me one of the letters. “Here, you can judge for yourself. I don’t think she would have liked me sharing them, but I want people to know what she was like deep down. Selfish, I know.”

  “Not at all, I’ll have a gander.” Her handwriting was impeccable, funny that. I read it aloud, it felt appropriate.

  “I find myself no longer conflicted over what it means to live. Even as a girl, I knew what I wanted. Now it is all gone, yet I am not overcome by regret or loss, but liberation. A guilty thing to think in times of rapid depopulation. So much has changed and I cannot suppress my approval, not for the events which have taken place, but rather the roads we now tread. Things I always wished mattered less, now don’t. While our most exemplary traits govern our very survival. Community, compassion, personal growth.

  The supernatural software naming itself the System sits well with me, but for one exception. No talent, it said. I must dismiss such a statement, if for no other reason than the great affinity I experience towards the invasive empowerment it has forced upon us. For myself, I feel how it should work. Everything comes naturally. For the collective, I see. The possibilities. The intent. And I know. How to make it all come together.

  Thus, I have died - yet here I am, thriving. My eyes are open, my past prepared my future, and my heart follows ever in approval. Now I know what it means to truly live and I do all in my considerable power to give others the opportunity to learn the same. Not for ideology, out of duty or some near nebulous organizations.

  But because I want to, for us.”

  Trembling lips aside, Mel held herself together well. Then she spoke, “Thanks… I think I needed this.” She slapped her own cheeks and told herself to focus. “She used to always say that. Focus, I mean. It annoyed me a little at the time, now I miss hearing it.”

  “We all miss her, it was nice knowing there was someone out there paving the way forward. I was there close to the end. Probably the last person who saw her alive, maybe even helped in the fight a little. I can tell you about it, if you want?”

  “I’d like that.”

  It wasn’t much, but Mel appreciated knowing all the same. Something changed in her, for sure. She no longer trod along with the rest. Instead she sought out plant-bed Errant to kill, even during breaks. The threat of wanderers had been dismissed, but I served as her backup for a while anyway. She told me how guilt and powerlessness almost consumed her, unable to do anything when push came to shove. It was all horseshit of course, we’d done better than anyone could’ve hoped for and the flying snake made everyone insignificant. I could only hope it tried to pull out the sword in its knee at some point. Mel chuckled after I mimed the implications to her. She hoped for the same. Once she had a bunch of levels, they were going up fast, I left her on her own.

  Couldn’t neglect my own relationships, or relationship in this case. Jen struggled with her injuries, but we chit-chatted constantly by the cart-side whenever she broke out of her recovery coma. She passed out again some time before we arrived at the Farm.

  My jaw dropped, an actual bona-fide survivor stood there in the waning dusk and I had no clue about his identity. I knew everyone who had been assigned to camp duty, by face at least, and he wasn’t one of them. Dude was dressed in a green cloak and hood, ragged though it was, and armed with a green sling of all things. He was geared, like really decked out. I couldn’t see what he had under the cloak, but I felt it. Moreover, he had the same air of ‘do not fuck with’ around him that Jerry still had and both Kris and Wulf used to. Ascendant.

  I voiced my question as he approached. “Where did he come from?”

  Mel answered after first calling a halt, then for the guards to be alert. “He’s Elias. He was exiled from the village before you arrived.”

  “He was fucking what?”

  Jerry opened his mouth for this one. “With good reason, he’s a total fucking psychopath.”

  I thought back to when Kris had threatened to turn me into a hermit. She wasn’t kidding.