Paragon of Skills

Sir Greyson and the black Knight stand behind Felisia and Calantha respectively, while Sir Renquell sits at the table beside Adrienne, Felisia's eldest sister.

I have to admit, I didn't want to stare too much, but Adrienne is so beautiful that I found her mesmerizing. She has smoky violet eyes and matching hair and exudes an intensity that neither younger sisters have.

I can hear only the sound of the many cutlery used for dinner hitting the plates until Lord Clearwater clears his voice and sighs.

"Young Bocaj," he starts.

I hear a small giggle from Sir Renquell, but not even Lord Clearwater seems keen to offend the child-looking man.

The Elf, the Wandering Knight, strikes fear in pretty much everybody.

Heh, but if he's here like this, he's probably bound to do no harm anyway, I shrug.

"My daughter tells me that you've been trained by a great master. I would love to meet him."

At this, Sir Renquell raises an eyebrow and stops his fork midway through, tilting his head.

"Well," I cough a couple of times when the cup of wine enters the wrong pipe, "my master is a very secretive person, actually. He taught me much when it comes to Skill theory, at least in the lower Ranks. But at the moment, I don't know where he went. He might be anywhere."

"How strong is your master?" Sir Renquell asks.

This guy somehow knew my name. What if he can read my mind and knows that—

Well, if he can, maybe I should stop thinking.

"I don't know," I reply sincerely. "He never really showed me. He just picked me up a few years ago and had me study day and night. It's a pretty boring story, really."

"Not so boring since our dear sister's Water Dash reached level 100," Adrienne says with a sweet smile that makes my skin curl. "Oh my, I so wish I had waited to upgrade my own Water Dash. I would have treated you so well if you had been on my side. Such a pity, Young Bocaj, that you met the least competent daughter of my father."

First of all, I think to myself, she was looking at me. Like, I don't know much about women, alright? I grew up in a mining town. But that look? Heavens above, I'm sweating!

"Milady," I say, trying to calm down, "I appreciate your praise. But Felisia showed a degree of talent that was probably just marred by the incompetent Tutor she had before. The Sevv guy. Do you know him?"

Adrienne's eyes slightly narrow at the mention of Tutor Sevv.

"Of course, I do. But I can guarantee you, Young Bocaj," she says, "Tutor Sevv is an incredible teacher. Felisia's the problem."

"Adrienne picked Tutor Sevv for herself," Lord Clearwater said. "But then she struck a deal with Sir Renquell, who will occasionally offer her pointers. So, she allowed Tutor Sevv to pick another student and he chose Felisia."

Oh, fuck—Adrienne tried sabotaging her sister.

I saw how stupid Tutor Sevv's instructions were. The man must have been actively trying to sabotage Felisia! I think Adrienne is scared of Felisia's talent!

"Tutor Sevv is incompetent," I say without a shred of shame, "my master would have probably beaten him blue. My master always said that you can't go out there before you've got the theory down—or something like that. He used to talk a lot."

"He sounds like quite the character," Lord Clearwater laughs.

"He really does," Sir Renquell commented, smiling at me like a cat.

Calantha leans back in her chair, swirling her wine. "Well, whatever secret old ghost taught you must've known something. Felisia mastered Water Dash, that much is clear."

Felisia keeps her gaze lowered, saying nothing.

"But," Calantha continues, her tone lilting, "the Sky Hunt is not a solo event. It's a paired trial. You need someone your level. Someone you can rely on. And Felisia…"

She glances down the table, smile widening.

"Well, she has no one like that."

Adrienne hides a smirk behind her wine glass.

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Felisia's shoulders stiffen. She doesn't look up.

I set my cup down and offer a large smile.

"What do you mean no one?"

Adrienne's smile grows sharper. "Do you intend to participate, Young Bocaj?"

I nod, still smiling. "Of course."

There's a silence—like someone cracked fine porcelain.

Then Calantha bursts out laughing. "You?" she says, pointing her glass at me. "Do you even meet the requirements?"

Before I can answer, Sir Renquell's voice cuts in like a blade.

"He doesn't. He doesn't even have a Class."

He says it with a grin, enjoying every ripple it sends through the room.

The black Knight tilts his head ever so slightly. His full armor doesn't creak, but something about the posture feels… amused.

"Then how's he going to survive the Hunt?" Calantha smiles.

"Maybe he'll serve refreshments from the tree line," Sir Renquell offers a little jab at me.

Calantha leans forward, smug. "So that's your champion, Felisia? A Classless mine rat?"

I ignore her.

I look at Felisia.

She's still staring down. But her hands? They're clenched.

"I don't have a Class now," I tell the table. "The Sky Hunt is in a little less than a month, right?"

"Yes, and?" Calantha snorts.

"That's plenty of time," I say. "I'm sad, though."

"What? Why? You know you'll lose?"

"No, it's… we already took your bracelet," I say. "Now, we're going to take the Sky Hunt, too. That must be a pretty big blow to your confidence."

I hear Lord Clearwater actually guffawing.

"Oh my, Young Bocaj, you certainly have a character! I'm happy my youngest daughter found a decent partner for the trial!"

Adrienne sips her wine slowly.

"This should be… interesting."

"It will certainly be," Sir Requell agrees. "It will certainly be."

* * *

As the morning sun peeks over the shore of Clearwater City, I look at the entrance to the first Dungeon of my entire life.

"Part of me thought that I'd never live to see this day," I mutter to myself, feeling a current of excitement coursing through my body.

Basically, when I was still a miner, I wanted to become a Knight more than anything else in the world. However, as one might imagine, it wasn't such a realistic dream. Without The Grimoire Extraordinaire, I wouldn't be here already, this young. It would have taken me years to accrue enough resources to buy a decent Skill and then enter a Dungeon like this one. And even then, it hadn't been a guaranteed outcome.

So, this is a very special moment for me.

"This is the real first step toward my dream," I say, as I step through the Emberdeep Cavern's threshold.

There's a system prompt you get once you reach Level 1. Most people accept their Class the moment they're eligible, but you don't have to. You can stockpile experience and wait. That's what I'm planning on doing.

Because once you pick a Class, your path locks in—your Attributes, your Class Skills, your progression limits. And if you choose wrong? You're stuck. So I'm holding off. Just a little longer. Until I'm sure.

The mouth of Emberdeep Cavern yawns like a cracked jaw beneath the cliffs, jagged stone framing the entrance. Heat rolls out in faint waves, distorting the air. The walls are veined with char-black mineral streaks that flicker orange when my Hell's Sword lights up.

I step inside, flame in hand. The tunnel breathes. I can already feel the mana rising.

Let's get to work.

Not long after, further up the canyon path, another figure rounds the bend toward the cavern.

Valerius Shellford.

He walks with a noble's stride and the arrogance of someone convinced the world owes him answers. His coat is lined with platinum thread, boots polished, sword lacquered like it's never been drawn.

He's not alone.

Two men flank him—lean, armed, and wearing the insignia of minor mercenary guilds. Both Level 10. Fast. Sharp-eyed.

Valerius stops at the lip of the descent and stares into the cavern's glow.

He had gotten word that Bocaj, the bastard who tricked him into buying extremely inefficient Skill Shards of Fire Shield, would be entering the Emberdeep Cavern today. He has no idea who sent word of this, but clearly someone who hates the rat as much as him.

"Well," he mutters, smiling faintly, "let's see what the little rat's hiding."

He nods, and they descend into the Emberdeep Cavern.

The air inside the Emberdeep Cavern is dense—moist heat clings to my skin like a second layer. The deeper I go, the redder the stone gets, turning from ash-gray to rust, then glowing veins of emberstone that pulse faintly with residual mana.

I descend past the first turn, and that's when I see it.

A cluster of old traps—pressure tiles, mana-triggered spikes, and a heat rune etched into the wall. All deactivated.

Completely inert.

Sir Greyson's voice echoes in my head.

"Most Dungeons don't regenerate traps, not unless there's a Core Mutator. When they're cleared, they stay cleared. That's why high-level Knights run routes through them for training squads. Safer that way."

Safe. Right.

I step past the dormant death traps, keeping my eyes open.

Five minutes later, I find the reason they called it Emberdeep.

The tunnel widens into a shallow basin with molten cracks glowing beneath a glassy crust. At the far end—three massive shapes shift, leathery and low to the ground.

Turtles.

Big ones.

Each of them is about the size of a market stall, scales the color of scorched obsidian, eyes glowing like banked coals. Their shells ripple with latent heat. One of them lifts its head and lets out a slow, rumbling hiss.

[Molten Snapper – Level 5]

[Molten Snapper – Level 5]

[Molten Snapper – Level 5]