The armor’s parting words had struck a chord that Arthur wasn’t sure how to feel about. According to it, the Heart of Devotion wasn’t working properly, and it was becauase of his very personality. He was getting in his own way in the most literal sense, almost like a mental block. The issue is, how would he even begin to fix it?
Noticing he was quite hungry and hadn’t eaten for a couple days, Arthur brought out his portable grill and frying pan, joined by two eggs. Setting a small stool to the side, he also brought out some salt, a litany of seasonings, oil and butter. As he prepared to light a fire under the grate, he considered why his personality was even a factor. In his mind, if he gained an ability, then the ability should be accessable to him regardless of his mentality. It simply wouldn’t make sense to unlock a skill, and then be unable to access it… right?
He supposed the reason why this was different was because it wasn’t a skill he was dealing with; it was a title. He wasn’t entirely certain how titles worked, as he’d never felt the need to ask his benefactor. It was possible that titles worked on a completely different scale. Not only that, but even though he had access to information about the System that others didn’t, he still didn’t know everything. He knew that one’s personality and efforts were taken into account when one gained a class or gained titles, but what if it went further than that? What if titles and classes would shift or change in concert with the wielders personality shifting or changing? Furthermore, what if either or both had hidden capacities? Ones that would be brought upon realizations or shifts in the very mentality that unlocked them on in the first place? He felt that he might’ve been onto something with that, but he simply didn’t know for sure.
Arthur cracked the eggs open in a wooden bowl, then began beating them absently. If his theory was correct, then it could explain why the Heart of Devotion behaved the way that it did. For his part, the possibility of the armor lying hadn’t even crossed his mind; as it wouldn’t have needed to say a single thing if it wanted to hamstring him. No… what the armor had said was legitimate advice, and it only supported his theory about titles and maybe even classes evolving with one’s personality or mindset.
Arthur buttered his frying pan and added a bit of vegetable oil. After the bottom was completely covered, he poured the beaten eggs into the pan. Since he didn’t have any heat control, he would need to be a bit creative to avoid burning his breakfast. Thankfully, though the grill was small, it had a divider inside, so he could slide the frying pan over whenever it’d get too hot.
Green onions fell into the pan, followed by salt and pepper. Arthur was a fan of spice, so he added chili flakes as well. He sprinkled in some shredded mozzarella cheese he’d been lucky enough to find in an expensive cooler one of the first days he’d left the dungeon. Once again thankful for his Vault’s perk of not letting items go bad, he shifted the pan around then to the side, positioning the omelette in such a way that would make flipping it easier. Once he did successfully, he gained another notification.
Miscellaneous Skill
[Cooking]
Has leveled up!
[Cooking]: Level – 3 ? 4
Arthur smiled to himself with the level up. After frying up some sliced sausage as well, he ate his breakfast while looking at his only three Miscellaneous Skills. He realized that even if he’d only just gained it, his combat skill was equal to his cooking skill. He smiled around his bite of food as he considered that even though he was a knight, he was better at cooking than he was at fighting, and not by a little. The levels of the two were the same, but one had to take the details into account.
Although he’d only just gotten the Smite Martial skill, the armor had told him that it’d leveled up so quickly because of all the combat encounters he’d had so far. A Martial skills experience gain worked differently from most Miscellaneous skills, as every battle one had would contribute to its growth. Comparativelty, Arthur’s Cooking skill only leveled up when he displayed sufficient competence in the kitchen. Once one gained a Martial aligned Miscellaneous skill, all the Martial experience they accumulated thus far would be funneled into that Martial skill.
Martial skills were tied to specific weapon types. When one used a weapon tied to that Martial skill, they would gain experience for that Martial skill. One could think of it as having two experience bars; one for your own level, and one for your Martial skill’s level. Once they gained enough experience, one could gain enlightenment through training or guidance from a mentor, though the latter’s effectiveness was superior.
There were limitations, of course. If Arthur had used his longsword and then gained a lance adjacent Martial skill like Mira had, then he wouldn’t have gained any levels upon unlocking it. Those who had multiple Martial skills would have to use the weapon tied to the skill they wanted to work on. Unless the Martial skill was meant for either dual-wielding or off-handing like Arthur’s shield, they would have to use one at a time. Because of this time-consuming nature, using more than one Martial skill was usually impractical.
Arthur had been fighting almost every single day since the System’s advent. Even if a small amount of it had been without a sword, most of it had been with a longsword type weapon. He’d faced life or death battles, and had an amazing instructor in the empty suit of armor. After everything, when he finally unlocked a longsword related Martial skill, he’d only gained 3 levels. In comparison, he hadn’t had nearly as many chances to cook. He could count how many times he’d cooked a meal on one hand, and even so, his Cooking skill was the same level as his Smite skill.
He was so bad at fighting, that even with an instructor and ample previous “experience”, his Martial skill was dragging behind his Cooking skill. He had no intention of staying so incompetent, but he also had no problems being a better chef than warrior. In fact, he quite liked the idea, as spreading contentment was easier to do through food than blood.
Arthur stopped mid-bite. The thought he’d just had… could that be part of what the armor was talking about? He’d just admitted that he would rather cook than fight, which was a thought that perfectly illustrated its point. He didn’t like fighting, and disliked killing even worse, and yet he’d been placed at the forefront of the planet’s defense. He was the one with the power, so he was the one who had to fight and kill, but his inhibitions toward both had transformed into limitations.
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Arthur put down his bite of omelette and wiped his face down. It was time to stop. Stop, and consider what really needed to be done.
The armor was right; about everything. His plan to leave the party to go find the small town had been a bad idea. He needed to stick with his friends, at least until they reached the city. Once they were somewhere safe, he could focus on other things, like his parents. He needed to find them, and the first place he’d look was the very same city. While there was a possibility that they were in that town, it was a lot smaller, so leaving his friends to search there first would be foolhardy.
It was also right about his mentality. He couldn’t afford to be soft in this situation, at least not toward his enemies. That went doubly so if the armor was right about it acting as a mental block from his fullest capabilities.
He knew that he couldn’t simply command his personality to change, but he could work on it. It would be slow, and he couldn’t be sure if anything would actually change or if he could even do it at all, but he would try to be more pragmatic. Not for his own sake, but for the sake of everyone depending on him. He needed to harden up.
Arthur finished his breakfast before it could get cold; he had a lot of work ahead of him.
Arthur apologized to the party that morning. Gideon said that it was fine, and that he understood the type of person he was. Once he heard the story, he’d expected him to both attempt to change their course and be disgruntled when they didn’t. Aurora was confused why he even needed to apologize, and Ema responded with a smack to his head when he’d admitted that he considered leaving. It was immediately followed up with the most fierce hug he’d ever received, with her refusing to let go for most of the remaining conversation. Aurora gave her a flat look but didn’t say anything when she nuzzled into his shirt.
They moved on soon after. Days passed, blending together into a slurry of walking, sleeping, and for Arthur… training. Each night when the flock would stop to rest, he’d find a secluded area to practice by himself. He wouldn’t gain any Martial experience from it, but leveling up the skill wasn’t his goal; it was to simply get better. The better he performed with his Martial skills during battle, the more experience his Martial skill would gain. Training would help him to both fight better and grow faster.
Arthur stayed in contact with his benefactor, making sure that they were still on the right track. They’d had several discussions in between, giving Arthur more information about the System. Among them, he’d asked about the personality theory he’d had, and had it confirmed by Gordeau. Personalities, mentalities and intent mattered for items gained through personalities, mentalities and intent. This included classes and titles, but not feats or skills. How one’s class would evolve was partly based on how one’s personality grew or changed, or if it stayed the same. Title’s could lose their power if the individual no longer embodied its ideals.
This gave Arthur even more to think about. His title was still functional, so it wasn’t that he no longer embodied its ideals… it was simply weakened. Or, at least, the armor said that it should be far stronger. He’d gotten a peek of that during his battle with the Bull… but it was just that; a peek. The armor insinuated that it could go even further than that had.
The groups march wasn’t always peaceful. More than once, they’d encountered monsters, and had to fight. While Arthur had told the party about his new Burst skill, he hadn’t told them how he’d gotten it. He’d also left out his training, and as they fought one battle after the next, Ema became increasingly watchful. She’d shown Aurora, who also joined in on observing his new fighting style. Gideon simply didn’t care.
The two women grilled Arthur on how he’d learned to fight like that. He’d told them that he’d recently gained a Martial skill, which he’d had to explain in detail, as they’d never heard of the Martial branch of Miscellaneous skills. While they found the information fascinating, they made their judgement on the branch of skills quickly.
“I don’t need it,” Aurora said. “I’m not a close quarters fighter, so it’d be useless for me, anyway.”
“Saaaaame,” Ema said. “It’s too bad though, cus that looked awesome! It even almost made Arthur look cool.” Arthur gaped at the remark as Ema snickered. She smacked him on the arm before leaving, followed closely behind by Aurora, who flashed him an apologetic smile. His mock affronted face turned into a warm smile as he saw the two women’s hands agonizingly close to each other. Their fingers touched by just the slightest bit, the static spark of embarrassment and inopportune timing only slightly beaten by the magnetic force of yearning. Their fingers stayed where they were.
After they left the room, Arthur shook his head.
“I have to get those two together.” With that thought, he considered his most recent addition to his to-do list. Find his parents, save the people from the town, learn how to fight with a big ass sword, save the world, and… somehow make his friends shag.
“…What is my life…”
“How is the food doing?”
Camille Castillo and her assistants rushed into their office together. The group of monsters that had appeared had laid the city to siege, attacking anyone who left. Their strongest fighters had thus far been the only ones able to come and go since their arrival, as normal monsters weren’t enough to stop them. If they spent too long thinning the horde, however, the heavier hitters would attack them once they were tired out. They’d already had several casualties in this manner.
“It’s getting worse,” one of her assistants said grimly. “We have enough to hold on for the next few weeks, but after that, we’ll have to pull out the stops.”
The city’s leaders had been deploying the people that could get past the horde on scavenging duty, looking for and bringing back supplies with a prioritization on foodstuff. Mira and Sofiya were part of this group, though the “Heartbreaker” had made a point of both killing as many monsters as possible on her way out each time, and making repeated demonstrations that she was not under their control. Camille didn’t much care as long as she kept helping the people.
“What about the merchants? They can’t get more from their Credit Store?” Her assistants shook their heads.
“No ma'am.”
Camille rubbed her sleep deprived eyes. When the horde came, their leader had taken the clearing to the west of the settlement as its roost. It had no tents, no nests… it simply stood there, for days on end, watching. Not moving an inch, like a… creepy bug statue.
“We should send our assassins after that boss. Have we heard from Eunsaek yet?”
“He’s out on a salvaging mission.”
“Ping him when he gets back, let him know that he’s under summons from the leader of… of Restoration.” She gagged physically upon uttering the name. She hated it, but the populace had decided the name of her faction for them. Being focused on helping people, she hadn’t considered a name until it was too late. She almost wished she had slacked off long enough to deny the fate she currently had.
One of her assistants nodded fiercely and left the room. She continued rifling through her documents until finding what she was looking for, giving it to her 3rd assistant.
“Give these to the Eras. Tell them I need more people out searching for food rather than thinning the horde. Tell them that the people on this list should be best for the job; go!” The 3rd assistant ran out of the building, leaving only her first.
Camille put both hands on the table, her disheveled hair falling past her ears. Her breathing was rough as she fought back tears. They came anyway, pooling under her eyes and slowly dripping down to slap wetly on thin paper. One of her longest time friends… dead in moments. The man who’d taken care of her for years in Spain, and came with her and her sister to this cursed place. One of the first casualties of the siege, he’d tried to thin the herd… and been targeted quickly. His life was how they learned about their opponent’s tendencies to strike when their people were tired out.
Camille’s first assistant left to make herself useful elsewhere, knowing to leave Camille in peace. Peace, however, was nowhere to be found.
She slammed a fist on her desk, a tiny crack of a wail escaping her throat.
“F-Fuck…”
The Raid Commander stood still as a stone in its meadow; a full and clear view from Camille’s window to glare at with puffy eyed hate.