Blessed Time: The Complete Series: (A LitRPG Adventure Box Set), page 3
It was powerful in theory, but the idea of having to live his childhood once again drew a shudder from Micah. He needed adventure, to defeat monsters and conquer dungeons until his aura was fat and heavy with attunement. Returning to his eleventh birthday only to be scolded by his mother for every perceived misdeed was the exact opposite of what he craved.
He groaned, wondering what Ankros’ blessing would have been. The God of Darkness and Struggle wasn’t a popular subject in human kingdoms. The fact that he openly antagonized humans, sending monsters and barbaric Durgh after them so that humanity could “hone itself in combat” against his children didn’t earn the god many friends.
Even that life of isolation and distrust would be acceptable if he had a proper Mythic Blessing. For every blessed individual, their blessing was the core of their identity. A unique ability or skill that set them apart from others and gave them an advantage in combat. In every story of legend, the hero’s blessing was their signature move.
Rasdar the Bold had the Mythic ability to create a great dragon from flame that he could control with his mind. Nissia the Usurper could control the flow of all liquids, including the blood inside her opponent’s bodies. Even an Uncommon ability would let someone ignore poison, summon a powerful bound weapon, or strike someone with their minds.
Micah? He had a book that helped him learn faster and an ability that he couldn’t use without sacrificing everything. Admittedly, the book was useful as a utility skill, but its power was far from Mythic.
At least he had two skill ranks in Spears and Spellcasting. With a little bit of Wood and Air magic, he could become a neophyte battlemage and offer his services to an adventuring guild. Most of them were looking for people capable of casting healing spells, and Micah could already hold his own against low-level beasts, even without any magic.
“Micah!” Esther screamed, running out into the garden and jumping onto him, careful to avoid the tomatoes for fear of raising their mother’s ire. “You weren’t in bed! Did you get a blessing? Tell me what you have!”
He rocked back from her onslaught blankly before smiling wanly. It was true that his ability wasn’t properly Mythic, but the book alone wasn’t that bad. It was certainly better than the frequently mundane Common abilities.
“I guess Mursa spotted me studying magic all day, so she gave me a book.” Micah did his best to crack a smile, summoning the Ageless Folio for Esther to see. It didn’t look all that impressive. The book had cracked and battered covers, inlaid with basic geometric designs and wrapped around a handful of yellowing sheets of paper.
“Does it have spells or some sort of lost secret knowledge?” Esther looked skeptically from the book to Micah. “You promised that you’d at least get an Uncommon ability. I bet Sandy chores for a week. If I lose, you’re going to be the one doing those chores.”
“It is Uncommon.” Micah’s face strained under the weight of his forced cheer. “It gives me a 20% increase to learning skills and it has infinite space for taking notes. With this, I’ll be able to save years’ worth of research in becoming a wizard.”
“You have affinities, then?” Esther’s eyes were sparkling once again as she snuggled up against Micah.
“Wood 6 and Air 5,” Micah said, nodding at her. Desperately, he wanted to tell her everything, pour out his grievances over his decent but underwhelming skillset, but he knew better. Anything he told Esther, her best friend Sandy would know within hours. The rest of the street would be in on the secret twenty-four hours after that. It had certainly happened before.
If Micah wanted to avoid everyone mocking him over his more or less useless ability, that was the only choice. Already he could hear it. “Mythic Micah.” Gods, it even alliterated. He’d never be able to live a name like that down.
“Super cool, Micah!” Esther jumped up from his lap, narrowly avoiding the tomatoes. “I’ll tell Mom and Dad right away! They’ll be so excited. Two Uncommons. Wait until Sandy hears that!”
He watched her scamper away, all energy and excitement. There was something about her enthusiasm that wore away at Micah. For one brief second, he’d had the world laid out in front of him, only to have it jerked away. He sighed.
No. It was time to stop dreaming about being a hero. The Mythic title was little more than a cruel prank, but the goddess did provide him with the power and affinities he would need to carve a comfortable life for himself. He took a breath, reorienting his expectations. He would never be a champion of freedom and justice rubbing shoulders with the nobility, but it was well within his power to help the local guilds clear the nearby dungeons and retire to research like Keeper Ansom.
He smiled weakly to himself as he got up from the bench, smothering the dreams he hadn’t dared to articulate even two days ago. From inside the house, his mother called out to alert everyone that breakfast was ready. His blessing might not be what he’d longed for, but it was certainly better than what a lot of people made do with.
He smiled weakly to the empty garden. Maybe if he kept repeating that to himself, he’d even start to believe it.
Micah glanced toward the door inside and thought of his mother. As disappointed as he was, at least he’d received a blessing. Sighing, he walked into the house, trying to make plans for his future.
THREE
A NEW LIFE
Trevor walked into the house, larger than life with his spear over one shoulder, covered in grime and streaming sweat. Micah was sitting next to Esther at the breakfast table as their mother brought over a plate of pancakes. Jon was absent, likely having eaten already and gone into the shop early.
“Micah!” Trevor shouted at him, dropping the spear by the door and punching him in the shoulder. “We just cleared out a scar wolf den, but I hurried over as soon as I could to congratulate you.”
“Hey, Trevor.” Micah smiled, rubbing at the bruise on his shoulder.
Trevor was around level 9 by now and, given his Vanguard class, his Body attribute was well over 10, making him roughly twice as strong as the average forgotten adult.
“What would you do if I didn’t receive a blessing? That entrance really would’ve been in bad taste.”
“I’ve seen how hard you work, Micah,” Trevor snorted as he grabbed an apple from the table. “You sure as hell put more time and effort into your training than I did during my apprenticeship. If anyone was gonna get a blessing, I knew it was gonna be you.
“So,” Trevor continued, flopping down into a seat next to Micah, “how’s my little brother doing now that he’s a man? Did you get anything good?”
“Uncommon and Mursa.” Micah summoned the Ageless Folio. “It helps with my skill growth and lets me perfectly organize my notes. That plus Wood and Air affinities seems to peg me as a caster of some sort.”
“How good are your affinities?” Trevor asked, trying to take the Folio from Micah, only for his hand to pass through the ramshackle book. “I might be able to get you into the Lancers if you’re above 4 on one of them. We’re always short on casters, and wizards are even rarer, even if you’re only a dual affinity.”
“6 Wood and 5 Air,” Micah answered around a forkful of pancake, trying to ignore Trevor as his brother kept trying to poke the Folio while smiling like a madman as his finger slipped through the magical book. “I don’t think I’m going to be a high wizard anytime soon, but it should be enough for me to hold my own in a city the size of Basil’s Cove.”
Trevor gave a low whistle before slapping Micah on the back again. “Hold your own?” He laughed. “With numbers like that and a little luck figuring out a ritual to raise your affinities, you could end up as a high wizard pretty easily. Affinities make things simpler, but with a high enough skill level, you can overcome a lot.
“Look.” Trevor’s face grew a little more serious. “You let your blessing be known and some of the bigger guilds in town will try to recruit you. Now the Lancers aren’t a tiny guild, but we’re hardly the Golden Drakes. I’d love for you to join my guild, but I’m not gonna push you. Anywhere you go, it’s gonna be years of hard work, and a bigger guild could probably support your research better than the Lancers. Of course, if you join up with us, you’ll get to hang out with me, and that’s got to be worth something.”
“If I had a Rare gift, I’d probably try to go to the capital or something.” Micah chuckled as Trevor batted his eyelashes at him. “If I’m staying in Basil’s Cove, I might as well join the Lancers. As you said, it’s going to be a lot of work no matter where I go, so I might as well sign on with some people I like.”
“That’s the spirit, bro.” Trevor laughed while Esther nodded earnestly. “You never stood a chance against my winsome personality and shameless begging.”
“How do I sign up for the Golden Drakes again?” Micah rolled his eyes and ate another forkful of pancakes. “I’m sure I wouldn’t get razzed as much over there.”
“Nope!” Trevor shouted, standing up. “No takesies backsies. Look, I’m gonna take a bath. Why don’t you finish breakfast, and then we can head down to the guild hall. I can get you registered and get you a class. You’re gonna have to start earning attunements soon, no real reason to waste time.”
Trevor rumbled out of the room, just as much a force of nature as when he’d arrived. For a second, there was only the clink of silverware on plates as Esther and Micah kept eating. Then his mother sat at the table and smiled at him.
“Uncommon and from a Major Goddess.” She was beaming. Micah felt sick to his stomach as her pride showered on him. He couldn’t even think of how his mother would react if she knew that his blessing was Mythic but largely unusable.
“I told you there was nothing to worry about, Micah.” She tousled his hair. “All of my babies are destined for something special. I just know it.”
Micah smiled back uncomfortably and finished his pancakes.
An hour later, he was standing next to Trevor as his brother flirted with a cute attendant working the front desk at the Lancers’ guild hall. The building was a two-story stone edifice, ugly, squat, and long. The interior had some decorations, but by and large, it seemed to be a no-nonsense affair. The guilds were collections of mercenaries with charters granted by the local government to take commissions and fight monsters. The Lancers’ main hall looked every inch the part. The furniture was crude but functional, the walls were covered with trophies from high-tier monsters, and almost everyone seemed to have a weapon of some sort strapped to their bodies.
Finally, the woman finished putting together Micah’s introductory packet, a brief questionnaire regarding his abilities and goals. Quietly, he took a table and filled out the paperwork while Trevor kept chatting with her. After briefly writing down his abilities and signing a statement certifying that he hadn’t overstated them, Micah returned the paperwork to the front desk, where it was slipped through a slot in the wooden wall behind the attendant.
Then he waited for almost a half-hour, sweating while Trevor tried over and over again to convince the attendant to go on a date with him. By the time a guild official walked into the hall to talk to Micah, the cheesiness of Trevor’s pickup lines had reached the point that even some of the more hard-bitten mercenaries sitting around the front desk were struggling to keep a straight face.
“Silver,” the woman snapped at Trevor, “leave Ashley alone. Other Silver.” She pointed at Micah. “Follow me.” The statement was clipped and dismissive, as the official had spun on a heel and walked down the hallway into the bowels of the guild.
Micah glanced at Trevor, confused. Trevor shrugged and made a shooing motion with one hand before turning away from the front desk and finally leaving Ashley in peace. Micah hurried to catch up to the official, almost reaching her by the time she turned into a side room.
Hesitantly, he stepped in after her, only to see that the official was already seated with a hazy white ball made from glass or crystal sitting on a pedestal on the table in front of her. Micah walked forward and pulled out the chair at the table before sitting down.
She let him sit for a while. A couple of times, he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself when he noticed her attention focusing on him. Finally, she spoke.
“Micah Silver.” She spoke the words as if she was reading them, but his paperwork was nowhere to be seen. “Brother of Trevor Silver, a guild member of good standing. You have low levels of skill in both Spear and Spellcasting. It’s true that you have two affinities with decent scores, but it would take a fair investment of time and money on our part to train your existing skills to a level where you could be useful. Tell me why our guild should invest that time in you.”
Micah stared at her blankly for a second, his mind racing. All he knew was that he was supposed to join a guild. It was what you did if you had a blessing used in combat. Almost on its own, his mouth opened, desperate to fill the growing silence.
“Because I’ve secretly been adventuring with Trevor off and on for the last year?” Micah asked, hating himself for the slight stammer he heard in his voice. He knew that the Lancers should be thrilled to recruit him—wizards and healers didn’t grow on trees, after all—but the official’s brusque nature kept him off balance and already he was showing weakness.
“I mean”—Micah firmed his voice up slightly and straightened his back—“I’ve been studying basic spellcasting at my internship since I turned thirteen. If you ask Keeper Ansom, he’ll tell you that I’m a diligent worker.”
Micah paused for a breath. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t here to beg and plead for a job; he was here to show the Lancers that he belonged amongst them. They weren’t going to give him attunement to be timid and hide himself away. He was here to learn how to fight, and he needed them to know it.
“More than anything, I’ve always wanted to be a wizard.” His voice was steady, even. “If the Lancers turn me down, I’ll find another guild. I know I’m going to have to work myself ragged if I want to be any good at this, but that’s going to happen no matter where I go. I just figured that here there would be a couple more friendly faces while I put in that work.”
For a couple long seconds, there was no reply. Finally, a smile broke out on the official’s face as she jotted down a couple of notes on a piece of paper before her.
“Good,” she replied. “I’m Zoe Daniels and I’m a deputy master here. Trevor might have told you about me because I’m the one in charge of his little band of misfits. He most certainly didn’t tell me about letting his kid brother tag along on combat missions. I’ll have to speak with him about that later.”
“Oh,” Micah replied sheepishly, scratching at the back of his head.
“I’m glad you followed up on your original response,” Zoe continued. “There are plenty of people with talent on Karell, but over the years, our guild has found something out about talent. Do you know what that is, Micah?”
“Skills are more important?” Micah asked, grasping at straws while trying his hardest to sound confident.
“Close.” Zoe chuckled before tapping her chest. “This is what matters. Determination. A talented individual who doesn’t try isn’t fit to hold the sword of a mediocre individual who works from sunup to sundown. Of course, talent still helps, but the Lancers aren’t in the habit of recruiting the fancy noble types that will sit around talking about all the monsters they’re going to slay but never leave the taprooms.”
“Now, Micah,” she continued, pushing the ball on the pedestal toward him. “If you put your hands on this class crystal, you’ll be able to get a class, but you’ll be locked into the Lancers for a decade. If you want to back out, now is the time to do it. You don’t even have to give a reason. I don’t even need you to elaborate. It can be as simple as ‘the work sounds too hard,’ ‘you want to join another guild,’ or even ‘that you want to chase girls around town for a couple months before settling down.’”
Without saying anything, Micah exhaled, trying to calm his nerves before putting his hands on the sphere. An electric shock ran through his fingers, and his hands could no longer move. Quickly, the sphere heated up, burning his trapped hands as Micah fought the urge to try and rip his hands away. All the while Zoe watched on, disinterested.
“Analyzing skills and affinities,” the same genderless voice from his dream spoke in Micah’s head.
“Available classes are Wizard, Chronomancer, Aeromancer, Healer, Librarian, Spearman, Warrior.” The voice rattled off the list without any emotion. “Please select an option to gain more information about it.”
A specialist class for every affinity, a non-combat class, and two close-combat classes. Not a bad set of choices, but it wasn’t that hard for him to narrow down. Micah knew better than to pick any of the specialist classes. Each provided a small bonus to his magic in that field at the cost of ever being able to cast spells of another affinity ever again. For example, if he became a chronomancer, he’d get a 10% boost to his Time magic, minimal increases per level to his HP, much greater increases to his per-level mana, and periodic attribute points added to his Spirit and Mind attributes.
Unfortunately, despite its power, chronomancy wasn’t a real option. There weren’t very many Time spells out there, and most of them were higher tier. If he specialized in Time magic, he’d have to work for years without access to any magic whatsoever until he leveled up enough to actually use a Time spell. That was, of course, if he was lucky enough to ever get his hands on the spell formula for one.
As for the combat classes, those would forever bar him from spellcasting in exchange for higher HP per level and periodic attribute points in Body and Agility. He could still learn a martial art and benefit from his affinity and mana in that way, but without access to a class that blended melee and magic, that selection would be tantamount to turning his back on spellcasting forever. No, there was only one choice that let him use all three of his affinities as well as his spear.
