Chapter 6

Outside, it was daytime, and the air smelled of smoke and food. A village hut made of clay and twigs. The walls looked dull red in the sunlight. The smells and sounds of village life reminded me of old books. A wooden bed with a straw-stuffed mattress. A voice came from behind the curtain.

"Sajiiii, time to wake up. Eat and help your father," a pleasant female voice distracted me from examining the room.

My heart clenched into a tight knot. Suddenly, I wanted to do exactly what she asked. In the next room was the kitchen, and a bowl of porridge sat on the table. The smell made my stomach growl. But none of that mattered.

Mom, Camellia, Level 130

"Mom?!" I stared at her in disbelief.

"…I’ve been your mom for six years now," she turned around, placing her hands on her hips, smiled, and said, "Come on, eat. Your father’s been up for a while and already prepared the fishing gear. He’s waiting for you."

Quest Received: Help Your Father

Description: Find your father at the dock and help him with fishing.

Reward: Mom’s fish pie and/or a trip with your father.

Refusal Penalty: A spanking

"..."

"Eat!" She shook a towel at me, turned around, and went back to washing dishes.

Just seeing her made me happy. Tears rolled down my cheeks—I wasn’t bawling, just quietly sat at the table and started eating, watching her back, simply enjoying the fact that she was mine. Mom! She looked about thirty, slender, in home clothes. Her long hair, braided into a ponytail, reached her shoulder blades. I finished eating and just admired her.

"Go already, or you’ll burn a hole in me with your eyes. Help your father."

I stood up and was about to leave.

"And who’s going to clean the dishes?" I heard Mom’s reminder as I was already heading out.

I came back and handed her the empty plate.

Running out of the house, I sat on the porch and wiped my tears. I started adjusting the interface, turned on the mini-map. Found the stats panel.

Name: Saji

Level: 0

EXP: 0/100 (Next level: 100)

Race: Human

Class: Not chosen

Main Attributes

Strength: 1

Agility: 1

Endurance: 1

Intelligence: 1

Wisdom: 1

Free attribute points: 0

Secondary Attributes

Speed: 1

Athleticism: 1

Spirit: 1

Vitality: 1

Derived Stats:

Physical Damage: 1 (Strength/2, minimum 1)

Carry Capacity: 2.5 kg (Strength × 10/4)

Mana: 10 (Wisdom × 10)

Health (HP): 10 (Endurance × 10)

Stamina: 10 (Endurance × 10)

Regeneration Rates:

Health Regen: 10/min (Vitality × 10)

Mana Regen: 10/min (Spirit × 10)

Stamina Regen: 10/min (Athleticism × 10)

Running Speed: 4 km/h (1 + Speed/10)

Defense: 1

Resistance: 0

Skills:

Professions:

Father… How much that word means to me. How often I’ve thought about you. How many times I imagined what it would be like to have a father—I’d help you, learn from you, be happy. Galboa…

I live in a small village called Orani, near the city of Ymir.

Father was sitting on the pier, sorting out fishing gear.

Father, Arman, Level 154

"Oh, Saji, finally awake. On your own? Or did Mom have to wake you with a jug of water again?!"

"As if! I’m grown up now, I can wake up on my own when I need to."

I was happy. This man was my father. Dressed in a fisherman’s jacket, old, dirty, holey pants, with a wide grin on his face. A light breeze played with the waves, carrying the pleasant morning scent from the lake. The glimmers of sunlight reflecting off the water shone right into my eyes, forcing me to squint. But this moment, this sight—I’ll never forget it.

Father placed the last fishing rods in the boat, climbed in himself, and helped me scramble aboard. Grabbing the oars, he started rowing toward the center of the lake. Maybe this is what they call happiness.

We sailed about three hundred meters from shore. Father dropped anchor and started preparing the rods.

"I’ve heard that mages from the city sometimes go fishing. Only, they zap the water with lightning, and the fish just float up," he smiled slightly and cast the first line, "Here, hold this. I’ll set up mine."

"Why don’t we fish like that?"

"And who here is trained in magic? Me, I can only start a fire or stun a person. Didn’t have enough money for more training. And what’s the point of a simple fisherman learning magic?"

"Can I learn?"

Father looked at me with sadness in his eyes.

"You can become anything, but we can only afford the bare minimum. The rest, son, you’ll have to earn yourself. Right now, you’re young—gain skills, pick up professions, develop your stats. When the time comes, you’ll choose your own path. Maybe you’ll become a mage or a warrior, or maybe a merchant or a blacksmith. Or, like me—a fisherman."

"But how do I choose what to be?"

"Saji, right now, you’re a child. You have time to try everything and find what you like. Learn, experiment, play, enjoy. Do what you love—it’s your life. You decide who you’ll be. Just don’t forget to help your parents," Father smiled again and cast his line.

Father sat and watched the bobber dance on the waves, while I savored the moment I’d dreamed of for so long. Dad sat motionless, then with a sly look said:

"Want me to teach you how to fish?"

You have been offered to learn the profession: Fishing.

"...Yes, of course."

You have learned the profession: Fishing

Fishing +1

"Ho-ho, now I’ll have a proper helper," Father looked pleased, "Before, your mother wouldn’t allow it—said you might drown. It’s deep here, and the fish can be unpredictable."

We spent the whole morning in the boat, until lunch. We barely spoke—just fished. Father praised me, saying I’d grasped it like a true fisherman’s son. We enjoyed the silence and the catch.

"Good haul, time to head back. Camellia promised to make fish pie. But first, you need to learn how to swim!"

Before I knew it, he’d tossed me overboard. What could a kid who’d never seen anything bigger than a bathtub do? What kind of swimming skills could I possibly have? Right—just flailing.

"Move your arms and legs in pairs. Arms first, then legs, push the water down," Father kept smiling.

When I was already exhausted and had swallowed half the lake, I started getting the hang of it.

Skill Learned: Swimming

Swimming +1

"There… now swim to shore."

"It’s so far," I kept sinking and choking.

"Just swim. Your eyes fear, but your hands do."

When I finally reached shore, I vomited water. Father just laughed. My stamina was at zero, health—only half.

Strength +1

Endurance +1

"Tomorrow, after fishing, we’ll go on a trip to the forest. That’ll be your reward for bravery."

"What bravery? I’d have drowned if I refused."

"You could’ve climbed back into the boat."

Father practically glowed, looking like innocence itself.

"Like I’d believe that. You’d have thrown me right back in. All to make me stronger?" My laugh was nervous.

Father instantly straightened up and said seriously:

"Exactly. Train, and even as a child, you can achieve a lot: gain new skills, professions, patronage, stat growth, and reputation boosts. Play with the kids, do people’s errands. Childhood is life’s school. Mistakes are forgiven, people are more open, you don’t have to worry about a roof over your head."

Father seemed incredibly strong, wise. Things I knew myself but couldn’t articulate so clearly.

"Every morning, we’ll fish. The rest of the time, you can play or help your mother," Father softened again, but the seriousness in his voice remained.

I checked the clock—ten minutes left. Not enough. Switched the capsule to sleep mode—I’d catch up on sleep during class. For now, I’d play. The game didn’t replace full sleep, but it required much less.

The next week felt like heaven. I made friends. Rachel lived on the next street, fifteen years old. Grunt and Oni lived on the same street, though I’d never seen their families. Rachel was the blacksmith’s daughter, but in reality, like me, an orphan. Grunt and Oni were from the same orphanage—lucky them.

Father was an excellent hunter. He taught me archery, camouflage, setting and disarming traps, and the herbalism profession. We set traps for big and small game. In the evening, we collected them and gathered trophies. All week, we prepared for Sunday—the monthly market day.

With Rachel, we completed a quest and learned stealth. And when we swam in the lake, we got the breath-holding skill. Rachel wasn’t the prettiest, loved to chatter nonstop. Sometimes teased me. She was my only and best friend. Sometimes she’d talk, then stumble and look at me sadly, as if pitying me. For what? She often slipped up, spoke of her parents as if they were alive. Must’ve died recently, hadn’t gotten used to it. She didn’t like her dad—always frowned when talking about him. Didn’t like the father from Chrysalis either.

In the evening, I had dinner at Rachel’s. For a quest involving chopping wood and hauling coal, her father taught me blacksmithing. Rachel’s father was a powerfully built dwarf, covered in soot, wearing a blacksmith’s apron, with a beard down to his chest. After four hours of hard labor, I got +2 Strength and +3 Endurance. When he found out I was Arman’s son, he offered to teach me carpentry. How could I refuse? But he was cunning—said he’d do it if I brought him three branches of wandering willow for bows.

When I got home, Mom was already worried. I’d forgotten how late it was. Father darkened when he heard I could learn carpentry for three branches. In the morning, he gave me the branches, and I took them to the blacksmith. The blacksmith just snorted triumphantly, taught me carpentry, gave me a simple bow recipe, and shooed me away. When I got home, Father said:

"Wandering willow is a level 75 mini-boss. Acts as the forest guardian. You couldn’t have gotten its branches, but you could’ve easily died. The blacksmith knew that, just like he knew you couldn’t get them yourself. I’ve had them for years. Here," he handed me a branch, "this is the last one. Hope I’ll see a bow made from it someday."

Father relaxed, smelling of tobacco. I’d noticed before—when he’s really worried, he packs his pipe and smokes behind the house.

I realized what had bothered me: this was rare material. And the blacksmith was a sly bastard. I’d never go to him again—better walk to the city and learn there.

Mom taught me sewing and cooking. Her cooking skill was well over a hundred, and even simple porridge gave big stamina and strength buffs. Father knew and could do much more than he showed, and I started thinking there was more to him. How could a simple fisherman reach level 154? And a housewife seamstress at level 130? I was afraid to ask, and my parents didn’t mention it.

Then Sunday came, and we went to the city—or rather, to the city walls, where the market was held. Father set up a stall, and Mom started laying out the goods we’d gathered in the forest all week.

"Go have fun with the kids. Rachel’s father’s stall is over there. We’ll handle the trading."

Three stalls down, on the other side of the road, was the blacksmith’s stall. He was arranging his wares, while Rachel argued with Oni and Grunt about something. Father misunderstood my silence, which I was ultimately glad about.

"Ah, want some money for sweets?"

"Yes."

I was happy with this turn of events. Sweets in Chrysalis were nothing like the food we got at the orphanage.

"Here."

Arman has given you: 10 silver coins.

"Thanks."

It was way more than I’d expected. Even if I shared sweets with Rachel and treated the others, there’d still be money left.

"Two conditions. First—you must haggle for every purchase and get the price down by at least half. Second—at least half the money must go toward your education. There are many teachers and mentors here—think about what skills you want to learn."

"Thanks."

All week, Father had pushed me—made me swim, run, jump, do push-ups. Pain sensitivity at ten percent was very realistic. Even muscle soreness from overexertion. There was a moment when a trap clamped my hand. Of course, Father pried it open, but the sensation of bones being crushed was terrifying. I even heard a dull crunch—experiencing that in real life would’ve been horrifying. When healing, wounds closed, but debuffs from injuries remained until full natural recovery.

Every time I logged out, I slept for two or three hours. Only then did I go to class. Strength, Agility, and Endurance had reached 20. Speed—6, Athleticism—3. Even my appearance had changed—no longer a scrawny kid who couldn’t swim 50 meters. My neck was thicker, my whole body noticeably stronger and more muscular. I had abs!

Father said appearance reflected a person’s development. Intelligence refined facial features, Wisdom turned hair from normal to gray. Agility showed in how tendons stood out relative to muscle. Endurance—in how harmoniously muscles were trained overall. You could estimate someone’s approximate level just by looking. All this knowledge from Father painted a strange picture of his past.

Intelligence and Wisdom didn’t grow—I had no spells to train them. Same with Spirit. After Father explained how to train Vitality, I gave up. Watching blood pour from a deep cut on my arm with no healer around? No thanks. And the higher it got, the worse the wounds needed to be. At 15, you had to stab yourself periodically. Horrifying…

Now, I was proud I’d endured all that torture.

Name: Saji

Level: 0

EXP: 0/100 (Next level: 100)

Race: Human

Class: Not chosen

Main Attributes

Strength: 20

Agility: 20

Endurance: 20

Intelligence: 1

Wisdom: 1

Free attribute points: 0

Secondary Attributes

Speed: 6

Athleticism: 3

Spirit: 1

Vitality: 1

Derived Stats:

Physical Damage: 10 (Strength/2, minimum 1)

Carry Capacity: 50 kg (Strength × 10/4)

Mana: 10 (Wisdom × 10)

Health (HP): 200 (Endurance × 10)

Stamina: 200 (Endurance × 10)

Regeneration Rates:

Health Regen: 200/min (Vitality × 10)

Mana Regen: 10/min (Spirit × 10)

Stamina Regen: 30/min (Athleticism × 10)

Running Speed: 6 km/h (1 + Speed/10)

Defense: 1

Resistance: 0

Skills:

Cooking: 3

Trap Setting/Disarming: 8

Archery: 2

Swimming: 4

Breath Holding: 5

Stealth: 3

Professions:

Herbalism: 2

Fishing: 16

Tailoring: 2

Blacksmithing: 1

Carpentry: 1

I stopped and sat on a bench. Couldn’t run—even kids might rob me. Had to figure out why Father gave me almost all his expected earnings. He’d taught me skills that didn’t require a class. There were more skills I could get before choosing one. At least six more years of playing with child account restrictions. Horseback riding wasn’t available, but taming animals might help. Could buy recipes for known professions or learn new ones. Or buy gear to boost main stats—no other way to raise them, with the natural limit of 20.

Dad was smart—said at least half the money should go to new skills. So, maybe all of it! Fine, sweets could wait. I’d earn money for them myself. Father’s approval was worth more. Hmm, he was cunning. Gave me a hint for a little trick. He’s a fisherman, but knows a bit of magic. So, maybe I could get some spells without choosing the Mage class.

The next two hours, I searched for the local mage mentor’s stall. Turned out, there were no magic stalls—banned by the city council. Magic training was only available at a specialized school. That’s where the mentors of different traditions were.

The enchanted goods merchant was very colorful, praising his wares while unknowingly giving away tons of info.

"All mages are in the city, at the local branch of the Magic Academy. That’s where they enchant my goods. Saw one today—he disdainfully refused everything I had."

That was more than enough. A tiny chance I could learn spells. How to spot a mage in a crowd of craftsmen? Easy. He wore a blue jacket with a shimmering sun emblem. No staff, but the slight graying and intellectual face screamed "mage." He stood by an empty pen. Before I could get close enough to be noticed, the mage was already staring at me.

"Hello! Sorry to bother you. From what I’ve heard, you’re a mage. I’d like to learn spells and am willing to pay!"

The mage didn’t laugh—he guffawed like a horse. A minute later, the area around us was empty. People were afraid to even look our way.

"What a bold brat! Just walk up and interrupt a mage’s business. And how did you know I’m a mage? Why aren’t you afraid of me?" He stood about five feet away.

"Why be afraid? You’re not hostile, guards are nearby. Knew by the graying and facial features."

"Hmm, either you had a good teacher or you’re from an assassin family," now the mage seemed slightly interested.

"Neither. My father’s a fisherman. The rest comes with experience."

"You don’t talk like a child."

Now, his voice held poorly concealed aggression.

"And you’re no ordinary mage."

"Why?"

"You speak and react differently."

"Again, you talk like an adult," the mage stood a couple of meters away, hands positioned as if he had two pistols on his belt, ready to draw. Clearly on edge.

"It’s just age. Consciousness develops with life experience. The body only indirectly affects the mind."

"Are you an illusion? Using far-speech?"

"What if I kick you? Would you believe I’m just a kid?" I gave a childish grin, and the mage relaxed.

"I’d believe it, but I won’t test it. What do you want?"

"I want to learn magic—spells, specifically."

"You’re not a mage. They won’t accept you," he scrutinized me, "not for at least six years. If you were from a mage family, they’d have trained you since childhood. All city folk know this. You really must be a fisherman’s son if you don’t."

It stung—my own stupidity and how he treated me like dirt.

"You’re right, I’m from a village. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn spells now. My father’s a fisherman, but he knows two spells."

"Your father’s a rare exception. Mages don’t teach spells to other classes. Probably completed a quest for someone high-ranking and demanded them as a reward. Didn’t make him a mage, and without a class and skills, they couldn’t teach him much. Maybe a Fire Bolt or Air Fist—basic stuff. That’s it."

"I want to learn spells like that. Can you help? I’ll pay!"

"Brat!" Now he looked threatening, sparks flying from his fingers, the air thickening with intimidation, "Do you know what it costs to teach a non-mage spells? You don’t see magic, know nothing about it. Essentially, we hammer into your mind how to properly use the power you have. Non-mages can’t pour all their mana into a Spark to increase damage at will. Even a regular sorcerer has no idea what they’re working with. Only those trained by good mentors deserve to be called mages. You don’t even know what a spell truly looks like! And you ask me to teach you?!" His eyes narrowed, then he looked at me more carefully, "Though… there is one way. I’m willing to try, but your money means nothing to me."

The mage glanced toward the pen where fighters were gathering and introduced himself:

"I’m Bernard."

His name appeared above his head. Wow—level 500.

"I’m here to bet on fights. This is a folk fair, just fistfights… When you’ve lived centuries, you seek new entertainment. Here’s the deal: for every fight you win, I’ll give you one spell. If I’m impressed, maybe extra mage lore. Nothing advanced—just the basics."

"I agree."

He was terrifying. Feeling someone hundreds of levels stronger than you—fear paralyzes your mind. The only time I’d felt that was meeting a blood-soaked man with a plasma knife in the lower levels. Don’t remember how I made it back to the orphanage. Stopped going down there for a month. Bernard reminded me of that man.

"The tournament’s for fighters under level 20. There’s a level 16 monk. Like you, a Traveler," the mage quickly noticed my widened eyes, "Yeah, I know about your kind. Lots of you arrived this past week. Happened before too."

"How many like me are fighting?"

Know your enemy.

"Three. A fifteen-year-old, the monk, and you—the third. Sixty-four fighters total," his eyes gleamed slyly, "So, not scared?"

"No."

Clear enough: no second chances. Don’t know how Father learned his spells, but I need mine.

"One small request."

"What? Scrolls? Mithril boots?"

Bernard joked but stayed serious.

"Bet my ten silver on me." I handed him the money.

"Before each fight, I’ll say whether to bet on me or my opponent. I know my limits better than you."

"Fine. Go register."

Next was registration and the first fight. My opponent was Grunt. Despite the height difference, I was stronger—Father had pushed me hard. And my orphanage brawling experience far outstripped his. But I couldn’t show everything. Had to wrestle him down and just punch. Even in-game, Grunt cried and quit the tournament.

The second fight was similar, but against an 18-year-old, level 15, who favored kicks. Had to get tricky—a punch to the knee is agonizing. Critical hit for him. The game was realistic, and his leg was injured. Then I tackled his good leg and finished him. After, a healer patched him up, and the referee ruled in my favor—no rules broken.

Bernard bet my money and his on me. But the next opponent was tough—the level 16 monk. Difference in levels, height, class skills, and gear. Adding up my stats, I was roughly level 12. So, the monk had more Strength and Endurance, plus class skills.

"Bet my money on me."

Bernard was a gambler—bet his own money too. The thrill mattered more than coins.

"And what’ll you counter him with?"

"What only adult Travelers know."

No need to explain early.

Galboa said you always need an edge. If you don’t have one, make it. The guy used all his class skills, raining blows on little me. Monks burn stamina with class skills, but he forgot you can dodge or parry. Blocking a monk’s strike is insanity. Finks had shown me how, but I couldn’t train parrying alone—only with him in the docks. Hard to use in fights. Assuming a mid-range parry stance, I started deflecting. Lucky he didn’t use kicks—couldn’t handle those. Eventually, he burned all his stamina, I took him down, and went for the head. The level gap was noticeable. Even like this, he pushed my health into the red. Another referee dispute ended with me getting checked for buffs. I was clean—didn’t even know you could use them. The monk incriminated himself. They checked him—he’d used a potion and a goddess’s blessing. Took a rep hit. Guards hauled him off.

"Saji, you surprise me! What else don’t I know?"

Bernard was practically dancing with glee.

"Lots, but why spoil the anticipation?"

"Because your opponent placed second last year. I remember him—fast and strong. Last year’s champ isn’t here today. He’s fighting in the next tournament—levels 20 to 40."

Bernard calmed, but his mood swings unsettled me. Meant he either had incredible self-control or was a sociopath.

"Got it. Bet my money on me."

"Again, you act oddly for a six-year-old."

"Imagine if I’d grown up in a bandit family. Where everyone wants you dead… just because. Think I’d be a normal kid? No."

No need to wait for an answer—the fight was starting. My opponent was clearly a rogue or assassin—his style relied on a few decisive strikes. So, he’d hit and retreat. Which meant I had a counter. When your opponent has longer reach, you can use it against them. And most importantly—use what the monk showed me. Finks was a fan of this principle: use the enemy’s strength against them. Exactly what I’d do now.

Half-turn stance, left hand to deflect, right to counter. Feet close for quick weight shifts. And it worked—he closed the distance fast. Saw his right straight coming early. Being left-handed helped. Deflected, stepped in, channeled all my force into one point—his chin. Essentially a double counter—used his momentum and my punch. He got stunned, and after four hits to the same spot, went down. Health stopped at 1.

Other fights were happening. Bernard approached.

"You’re not from a bandit family. You really are a fisherman’s son."

As I turned to him, he added:

"Your father and mother are over there. They seem… worried."

Sure enough, Father was holding Mom. She was crying. I hadn’t meant to upset her. Ignoring Bernard, I ran to them. Father frowned at me.

"Why’s Mom crying?" My childish concern was genuine.

"What do you think? How do you think a mother feels watching her son get beaten half to death?"

Mom cried harder. My own eyes teared up.

"Saji, when this is over, you’re getting a spanking and punishment. And don’t say a word. Bet you blew the sweet money and are now trying to win tournament cash."

"What money?"

"Right… We’ll wait at the stall. No need for your mother to see this. And I’m doubling the spanking—every day for a week."

"..." My stunned look said nothing. Father led Mom away.

When I returned, Bernard cuffed me so hard I saw stars. Health dipped into the red.

"Focus. You’ve got a fight. Odds are twenty to one against you." I went to the healer as Bernard continued:

"Your opponent hasn’t taken a single hit all tournament. Everyone already thinks he’s champ."

"Bet on me."

The fight was brutal, as were the next two. Everyone exploited the height gap, using speed or kicks. Only the last opponent was truly strong—another monk, but his experience and counter-strategies made it vicious. Had to use everything—parries, weak spots, obscuring vision, using his strength against him. No idea what kind of monk he was, but his health was tank-like, and his defense barely took damage. But this fight was the most valuable for experience. Wonder what skills he trained? I could use that health. After, he bowed, and I returned the gesture. Mutual respect. Applause erupted as we finished.