“While I try to chronicle all that I can about the rarer class requirements and Skill Paths I’ve come across, it is inevitable that the more secretive ones evade detail. This next one is no exception to that trend. After the fall of the Stonedance Clan on Ovsha centuries past, too many of their secrets died with them, and even had they not, I doubt my speculations on the matter will help many accomplish what they did.

  As it happens, the Blacksmith-Warrior Skill Path method used by the clan has been pieced together for centuries. Therefore, the barrier for replication in this case lies not with that but with an additional unknown class requirement. That is all that can be drawn from the matter in confidence.

  Now, please understand that I am about to engage in an unprofessional amount of speculation, such that this anthology will likely never see the light of day. And understand that were I not to, there’d be little point in writing this to begin with. But I have studied countless historical texts in my time and even talked to a long-distant descendent of the eradicated clan. And I believe I know what that class requirement is.

  Not much is known about the Stonedance Clan, but from what little is, they were thought to be smiths before warriors—a tame group that preferred the hammer over the sword—except when they had little choice otherwise. Then, they were said to dance with their pieces like they weren’t mere weapons but partners in performance. They weren’t known to shy from bloodshed. In fact, they had a very high rate of death among their young.

  Abnormally high.

  To wield the brush as if it were your limb, it is thought that an artist must be born with one in their grip. I believe that this is no different. And I believe the clan forewent the common practice of having a guide help level them toward fifteen. Here, you will see what I mean when I say knowledge of this method may do little good. My speculation is this:

  To achieve the Blacksmith-Warrior class, one must not only acquire the proper balance of Blacksmith and Warrior skills, but also craft their own weapon and acquire the majority of their Essence through its singular use.”

  — REDACTED by Unknown, courtesy of an Imperial Library on Uern.

  * * *

  3 Undead Townsfolk have been cleansed!

  + 90 Essence Crystals

  +3 Points

  2 Undead Adventurers have been cleansed!

  +200 Essence Crystals

  +6 Points

  Progress towards the next reward: 11/15 points

  The moonlight reflected scarlet off Alex’s blood-stained blade as he leveled it at the horde of townsfolk. Next to him, a pitchfork-wielding undead looked down in confusion, wondering why he couldn’t move the arm lying at his feet. That look disappeared as his head slid from his neck.

  “What?” Alex mocked, “Is that all you got?”

  He ran his mouth, but inwardly, his mind raced to get an accurate read of his enemies. He gave up on an exact count rather quickly and started estimating by groups of dozens. Adventurers aside, it seemed his presence had practically summoned the town’s whole civilian populace, like piranhas swarming to finish whatever the sharks let through to calm waters.

  They filled the overgrown clearing in front of the smithy, filing into the alleyways and homes of the nearest buildings. He counted two hundred before his mind gave up.

  And yet, for all that they outnumbered him, not one attacked.

  “Oi, what are you fuckers doing? Is he dead yet?!” someone shouted.

  “No, he’s just standing there! Ain’t even a scratch on him!”

  “Then fuck the draw! If the bastards up front are gonna be such wusses, let me go at him!”

  Those too far back to see shouted vulgarities, but the front line didn’t budge. For creatures used to casually walking off dismemberment, the ease of their comrade’s deaths made them cautious now; the closest of them backed away from his sword like they ought to be the ones terrified of him.

  Disappointing. He’d hoped a few more would’ve rushed him—enough to get his first reward. But he also couldn’t blame them. The undead were not used to fearing death—not true death.

  Sure, with enough damage, their bones might crumble to ash, but the system wasn’t above reusing assets. Alex had looked it up in records after the Integration; this wasn’t the first time Nightmare had been used as a tutorial, only the latest. If their souls were intact, it would be easy enough to resurrect them for next time—or so they probably thought.

  But the ones dead as dust at his feet? No, they wouldn’t be coming back.

  “Alright then!” Alex ordered. “Here’s how we're gonna do this! You lot over there, you’re going to clear me a path! And the first fools who try to—”

  “No!”

  Alex stopped and pointed his blade at the one who stepped forward.

  So, he speaks.

  He’d already taken note of the man during his count, and he now recognized him as the adventurer who had entered the guild with them earlier that day. He was a broad, muscular man with a mohawk and more than just a little flesh left on his bones.

  Lugrin Level 11

  Captain-Rank, Undead

  “A Captain? Ten points is a whole lot for an oversized flesh bag!” Alex shouted.

  Unfortunately, the captain didn’t budge at his provocation. He just grinned—a cold, hard thing. “Guess Lionheart was right to be wary of you.”

  Then, instead of becoming enraged and charging him, he walked back towards the frontline, ripped the spine out of the nearest undead, and bellowed: “You louts scared of a little baptism or something?!”

  Four more adventurers stepped out, reinforcing the threat, and Alex saw a new look of determination on the sea of skulls. Something in the way they edged cautiously forward told him they wouldn’t be politely lining up one by one for him anymore.

  This was already going nothing like he’d hoped, but he didn’t let it show.

  “This is your last warning,” Alex growled.

  His stat improvements had somehow gotten his voice to drop. It was a low, deep thing—gravelly and guttural like a wolf with its maw twisted in a sneer as he flourished his blade. Some of them faltered at that—until a few more fell prey to their captain’s wrath. And by then, Alex had already made up his mind.

  He slid his blade back into his belt loop, turned, and ducked back into the smithy.

  The eleven-point increase in Strength hadn’t turned him into the Hulk overnight, but it did make the exchange a little less awkward as he drew the wooden doors shut and latched them. They stared in a momentary stupor as he did it.

  Hah, who was I kidding? ‘Last warning’ my ass. The entire town is out there.

  Right as he’d had that thought, the first pitchfork splintered through wood. Followed by a barrage of more weapons and angry shouts.

  “You little shit! What the fuck were you gonna do?!”

  “Yeah! Give me back the fear I felt dammit!”

  No, the plan was never to face them head-on. Sure, he’d squeeze their arrogance for all it was worth, but the back window was already open for escape—not that it had any pane to begin with. It’s just that he’d thought their arrogance would’ve been worth a little more.

  He’d nearly emptied his mana pool with that forging, and the first fifteen percent was always hell to get back without a mana potion—which he would’ve gotten if only four more of the idiots had rushed him.

  There just had to be one with some wits on them. Curse my fate.

  The crunch of wood dragged him from his thoughts as a woodsman’s stone axe lodged itself into the door. With each impact, the door looked less like a barrier and more like a collection of makeshift weapons held together by splintering wood. Grunts and expletive-filled heaves echoed as the horde rammed against it like a battering ram. It was thick, but it wouldn’t hold much longer.

  Yet for some reason, Alex still hadn’t left. He just stood there, a few paces from the door, steadying the shake in his hands.

  Perhaps I’m giving them too much credit.

  The thought surprised him, but the longer it took them to break down the door, the more valid it seemed. He’d been here before, run ragged by these same undead. He’d received his first scars here, and though he’d rectified the matter somewhat, the fear they’d carved in his mind hadn’t faded. Even outside of Nightmare, Alex had faced numbers like these and knew the consequences

  But these weren’t the monsters from his memories. It was funny, he’d been weak for so long that he’d forgotten something important. Forgotten that, as weak as he might be, those creatures out there… they were all weaker than him now.

  He drew his blade again, examining its deep, slanting curve. There was a curious glint there on its surface as if it were asking what he might do with it—hoping for a specific answer.

  “Alright. Let’s see what you can do.”

  Alex faced the axe-battered door. His stance was low, his knees bent, and his back foot pivoted for support. He leveled his sword, holding it at his chest, downwardly, so even with its steep curve its tip pointed forward at the door.

  Somehow, he could almost feel his sword. He could tell exactly how level it was to the ground, and gauge at a glance how far it extended from his grip. He normally didn’t have such a strong sense of these things on the first “date,” but he knew her dimensions sword-point to pommel, intimately.

  She wasn’t a thing for jabbing, though not for lack of a sharp tip.

  She?

  He focused deeper, turning inward toward his soul. It flared indignantly like the sun. He reached for his Vital Essence, but his arcane senses moved clumsily—held back by some inner hesitation. They grasped nothing.

  “Oh, fuck it! You louts are useless! I’ll just open the damn thing myself!”

  Alex heard a heavy thud but paid it no mind. He reached again and realized the hesitation was his own. His sword on the other hand—made from pure, 100% mana-conductive Olsumnen—seemed to come alive in anticipation as he twisted his Vital Essence to the memory of an imprint.

  Essence tethers Strength to the soul and the soul to its body. And in doing so, it lines a path for mana to follow.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Alex summoned his Mana

  It flowed in a shallow haze around his sun’s exterior, intangible but for its subtle heat. He’d meant to summon only a little, but his soul was host to the sword’s will; it fought him for control, trembling as though it might fly from his grip. He drew mana along his body’s pathways, and with a rough sizzle, it bubbled up through his chest, traveled the span of his arms, into his sword— and before he knew it, he was already moving.

  A large-framed undead barreled through the door, and in his fleshless eyes, Alex saw fear.

  Then, all blurred in swift movement as Alex lunged forward.

  You have learned [Pierce]!

  The undead just stood there, looking down at the sword embedded in his armor with confusion. It was just the tip of Alex’s blade—a thin thing, like the slightest prick of a rose’s thorn where his heart would’ve been.

  For a second, it seemed he might simply shrug it off. And if it were any other sword, Alex was certain he would’ve—but instead, he toppled over, lifeless.

  Undead Captain Lugrin has been cleansed!

  +500 Essence

  +10 points

  Alex stared at his hand, trembling uncontrollably. He was the only one shaking now; his sword was completely still and silent.

  It’s content.

  And why wouldn’t it be? It had just consumed his entire mana pool! He was down to 1% now, and he was pretty sure that was an overestimation on the system’s behalf.

  Wait… what the hell is “content” supposed to—

  You have reached the quota for your first reward. Please choose—

  Mana Potion has been received.

  Alex didn’t have time to dwell on the matter.

  Before the undead could adjust to their officer’s death, he quickly leapt out the back window and ducked behind the cobblestone wall. He scrambled to uncork the vial and drank the blue liquid down before vanishing into a shroud of Stealth.

  It tasted how it looked—like Kool-Aid.

  * * *

  The memory of that night was so old and yet so fresh in Alex’s mind. His breath had come panting and heavy, and his sprint had made him all too aware of the thinness of skin holding all his jumbling bones together.

  He’d been running down the town’s twisting streets and alleyways in the dark, seemingly at random. Turns and hiding spots were decided by the scrapes and shouts of undead rather than any sense of navigation. Shadows flitted and fled from the torchlight of his pursuers, and that told him when it was time to move again. There’d been three others with him when they emerged from the underground tunnels, and he was the slowest.

  There used to be a fifth.

  Alex wasn’t sure how it had happened. He could no longer remember, but he’d found himself separated before long. It had taken all he had not to shout for help, and when a shaded figure had come back for him anyway, he’d felt so relieved he could cry.

  At least until the figure unmasked himself from the shadows and swung his knife at Alex’s eye. That’s how he’d earned his first scar, and for that entire night, he’d gone on thinking he’d been blinded until he managed to clean the red from his vision.

  Now, the shadows shifted again, but it was the undead that cowered.

  A man exited Stealth, merged with shadows. He was tall, but no longer so gaunt. Ethereal, like he was not entirely of this realm—but not so spectral that the undead couldn’t understand what his sword would do to them. He looked exhausted, but it was not a look that reflected in his eyes. And when he swung his wicked, curved blade, there was only a predatory fire in his gaze.

  As for the blade itself… they had no time to fear it before they tasted the sweet release of death.

  2 Undead Townsfolk have been cleansed!

  + 60 Essence Crystals

  +2 Points

  Progress towards the next reward: 36/45 points

  Alex didn’t let the undead clatter noisily to the ground, but he also didn’t hide their corpses either. It would take only seconds for the other undead to realize they had stragglers. When they found a pile of bones and dust in this alleyway, they would follow it south, believing he was headed toward the main gates—the ones they’d come through on the way in.

  He wasn’t.

  He cleaved his shamshir blade through the lock of a house’s side door. Knowing they wouldn’t notice the damage in this dark, he walked in, walked up the stairs, and set the top-floor window ajar so he could hear into the alleyway below.

  “Two more—fuck! You, go and tell the captains; the rest follow me! We’re right on his tail!”

  It was an adventurer who spoke now. Alex noted that he said “captains”, plural. They’d been quick to replace the one he killed earlier, but it seemed the havoc he’d wreaked from the shadows had warranted a second, or perhaps more.

  He also took note of the lone townsman the adventurer had delegated as messenger. He noted which direction he went and what route he took, and eventually decided the message the man carried was worth more to him than the single point he’d get from picking him off.

  He stayed close to the shadows as torchlight peered in briefly from below, then his eyes settled on a seemingly random patch of dark in the distance. Random, at least, if you hadn’t been there before.

  The manor on that corner had a wine cellar connected to the underground tunnels he’d escaped from. Nastily enough, it was also the only building with a motion-sensing porch-light that still worked after so much disuse.

  No light yet, huh.

  He frowned. His recollection from so long ago was hazy. He didn’t remember how long it had taken them to escape in his first life, but it’d already been…

  11:37

  Right. About twelve minutes since the scenario started. He’d set a timer immediately and hadn’t seen heads or tails of anyone else since then. Those tunnels hadn’t been emptied of threats, but he also hadn’t been an asset to those he’d escaped with. He was thinking they might have actually gotten out faster without him.

  Evidently not. An ugly hunch was starting to bubble in his gut, which he pushed down since it was illogical. There’d be at least three others. Whether Jun was with them or not, anyone sharp enough to catch on to the sedation wouldn’t be useless. Alex just had to figure out how to use them correctly, and set their expectations so they wouldn’t crumble during the fight.

  Ultimately, he would play whatever hand he ended up with, but the more cards he had, the better. This wasn’t the kind of scenario that could be beaten alone. Survived, maybe, but not beaten. This time he planned to establish a cooperative effort with the survivors he gathered, then lead them against the Guild Master as a party. He might be able to gain a lot of essence just from picking off stragglers—the scenario was balanced to enable that—but that alone wouldn’t get him to level fifteen.

  Also, I suppose it’d be nice to share in victory this time.

  He knew not to get attached, but there was no harm in setting some of the others up decently before parting ways in the morning.

  12:19

  Regardless, those were thoughts for later. Alex took one last look at the town’s layout. It crested an uneven hill, with the Guild Hall and the manor nestled awkwardly within the center plaza, on the rise near the northern end. Already, he’d caused massive disorder in the undead’s ranks through controlling which reports of his location made it through. Now, it was time to make a bigger splash.

  Which was why he didn’t bother with Stealth as he swung open the house’s front door. It led out onto one of the town’s main streets, and he casually walked down the front steps, even as he was spotted. The fire-end of a torch swung near him, and Alex punched the undead in the face on reflex. Gangly teeth splintered and fell from the undead’s mouth as he spun backward onto the ground.

  Alex took the torch gratefully, vanishing it into his inventory in its lit state—though too much rotten flesh and cartilage had broken beneath his fist for him to feel entirely comfortable with the act.

  His sword also seemed… displeased, so he slit the next one’s throat.

  An Undead Townsfolk has been cleansed!

  +30 Essence Crystals

  +1 Point

  There were three remaining now—all townsfolk. A pitchfork swung near his face, and he’d been about to take it on the flat of his blade like he would with Lys. Then he thought better of it, barely retracting his blade in time.

  He dodged, but it was a clumsy, sluggish motion. The rusted edge whizzed past his cheek—not sharp—but it didn’t need to be sharp to give a man tetanus and he wasn’t sure when he’d gotten his last vaccine. His arms were starting to feel like lead as he swung his sword. Her enthusiasm carried him through the motion.

  The undead screamed in pain, and his pitchfork sharply clattered against the ground. Torches up and down the road stopped moving at the sound.

  Alex didn’t.

  2 Undead Townsfolk have been cleansed!

  +60 Essence Crystals

  +2 Points

  He looked down distastefully at the undead he’d punched earlier, still quivering like a lost puppy before a wolf. Its legs didn’t seem to be working—though Alex knew that was anatomically impossible.

  “Y-You… please… spare… me.”

  “Sure.”

  Alex turned and left, striding boldly southword and the townsman gawked. The undead were courteous. They kindly lit their torches so he could find them in the dark. He visited two separate groups of townsfolk and claimed five more points that way, making sure to leave a survivor for each and to thank them for the generosity.

  The torches only grew more numerous and more hurried however, and his next visit went a little awkwardly. Seven adventurers stared at him as he passed them by with a neighborly wave and a strained grimace.

  Warning: Stamina has fallen below 25%

  Half-Dead Persistence has been activated.

  Soon, Alex had a horde running after him. He resisted the urge to enter Stealth as he heard the click of a crossbow, and more shouts as more undead were clued in to his location. He panted, his breath coming heavier than it should as they nipped at his heels. No attribute would change the fact that his condition would only worsen from here on.

  But soon, the survivors would resurface at that manor and Alex wanted to draw the undead’s attention as far south as possible, away from their path of exit. It wasn’t like he minded wreaking havoc in the meantime.

  An undead screamed, lunging out from an alleyway. “C'mere you bastard!”

  Alex swerved off balance to avoid his tackle—

  You have learned the skill Feather-foot.

  —then quickly recovered, his feet as light as feathers. He lopped off the undead’s head.

  You have reached the quota for your second reward. Advance access to the item shop has been granted.

  Please choose a weapon up to 5,000 EC in value.

  And throw away a day’s worth of effort? No thanks.

  It was the next reward that Alex was looking forward to, but he could tell from the amount of gazes murdering his back that he wouldn’t have an opportunity to wrack up more points any time soon. The undead’s boots and bellows thundered in cacophony behind him. He was coming up on a cross-section and felt an ominous chill, so he turned to the right, shattered the window to a nearby house and opened the door for himself—locking it in the nick of time.

  A crossbow bolt flew through the window and he deflected it with his sword, cringing at the notification as it chipped.

  Soul Link has been damaged. Health cannot be restored above 98%.

  And that was why his Master would’ve slugged him for what he’d done.

  People didn’t casually soul-bond with weapons, rocks, or anything without a soul, for that matter. Soul Bonds weren’t just over-complicated Essence bindings, they were an agreement—and touched deeper than just the soul.

  Enacting a Soul Bond linked ones very fates together. On a baseline, that meant “in sickness and in health”, and the problem with negotiating with something that couldn’t be negotiated with, was that there was no haggling down from there. He could only establish the bond at its most integral level. Unfortunately, this meant there’d be no “till death do us part” for them either.

  He wouldn’t actively take damage when she chipped fortunately, but not even a health potion would restore him past 98% HP anymore. Still, her Cleanse trait was too invaluable tonight.

  Just for tonight. Once tonight ends…

  “Fuck! I know I saw him enter! Where the hell is he?!”

  Alex was dragged out of his melancholy by angry shouts and mad footsteps all throughout the house. He sighed, taking a rest break on the roof as he watched the moon. A crow cawed. It was getting hard to think again.

  Stamina: 21%

  Almost twenty minutes now…

  The entire town erupted with noise and torch-light, frenzied as though someone had kicked the hornets nest. However, in the dark spot where the manor was, no light was seen. Unease ate at Alex. It should be about time now. Did something go wrong?

  Like what? This was his past for fucks sake. His adrenaline had been pumping that night, he’d probably been lost in the maze for much longer than he imagined. The undead weren’t as far south as he wanted them, anyhow.

  “Oi—he’s up there! The fucker’s star-gazing!”

  Alex’s eye-lids drooped tiredly. He stood, working the sleep out of his legs. Sowing disorder and chaos was right up his wheelhouse—he’d once lead a Stealth-unit that specialized in those regards.

  Still, he was only one man. Odds were, that if he went out on a limb for the others here, he’d need to rely on their teamwork to get the 50 points he needed for a stamina bottle. Placing that kind of trust in others made him uncomfortable, but if Jun came out with them it was probably a none-issue.

  On the other hand, if he relented now, kicking the undead into a mad storm would surely backfire and result in the others’ immediate deaths. There’d been three survivors initially. If there were none now, then even more than last time, that would be blood on his hands.

  “What are you idiots doing?” A gruff voice shouted. “Don’t you fuckers know how to climb?!”

  “It’s me damn fingers boss! I lost all flesh on 'em a while back, now I don’t got traction for shit!”

  Alex frowned at bony fingers peeking over the roof’s ledge and sliced them off, kindly fixing the issue. His appearance baited out the barrage of crossbow bolts, then he leapt across the alley to another rooftop while the undead reloaded their shots.

  He led the horde ever further south. It meant he’d have quite the trek too—heading back to rejoin the others—but he couldn’t defeat a Scenario 2 boss on his own anyway, and that made his decision easy.

  But please, take your sweet time. I’ll just be hanging by a thread while I wait.