High society or low, the people aren’t all that different, really.

For every ten [Bandit] Class who gather together, there’s always at least one [Thief] Class trying to blend in.

For every ten nobles, there’s at least one [Spy].

....

The next few days passed in a blur. Training, then sleeping. Sometimes eating, but mostly just sleeping.

No one wanted to talk much, though Jones managed to find a bottle of something strong, which lead to some silent drinking between the three of us survivors.

Jones would stumble out at night. Often, not coming back until midafternoon. Something, which would have certainly earned a punishment, before, but was now apparently accepted. Or, at least tolerated.

From Mars, in Jones' absence, I learned a bit from what happened to the others.

Our forces had held the line well, and we'd earned a bit of a reputation. Apparently, the [Berserkers] were something of an unexpected element in that fight, which had been anticipated as a reserve force by the enemy, in case of a retreat. That our flank had managed to fight until the battle was won by the rest of the army, had secured the Golden Wings a great victory. Kepler even bragged about it, when he overheard Mars filling me in on some of the details. How Jones had taken an club to the skull, and shrugged the damn hit off.

It was odd to see him so prideful.

When I asked Mars how she'd managed, though, she clammed up. Especially after I mentioned that I saw her go down. Or, at least, I thought I had.

"You saw that, in all the mess?" She asked, glancing towards the tent flaps, where our gruff Squad Leader had wandered out, metal flask in hand. "Promise you won't tell a soul?" She whispered.

I promised, after I realized she was serious.

"That bastard saved me." Mars's lip twitched, as she looked over to Jones, speaking quietly so only I could hear. "You're right, I got hit. Right by the ribs, but it only got my armor. Kepler dragged me back with one arm, and then." On the spare bunk we'd all be using as a storage shelf, she lifted a mangled piece of leather to throw it in my direction, and-

Even washed, the familiar smell alone almost made me vomit.

"Horse meat?" I coughed, throwing the armor back, as quickly as I could.

"Horse meat." She nodded, catching it with a grimace. "Smeared that shit all over, and then he told me to stay down." Mars whispered. "Bloody-mess looked like I'd been stabbed in the gut. They dragged me back, out of the front."

"And that's how you..."

"That's how I survived." She nodded, looking back over to the empty bunks.

Sitting on the floor of the tent, in his usual spot, Jones simply stared at the spaces across from him. Unmoving, uncaring, he seemed almost catatonic.

"Think he'll snap out of it?" Mars asked. "When I got my [Brawler] class, I got this skill... it's called [Numb]. Lets me feel... less. Not just physical stuff, but... all stuff." She frowned, still looking at Jones. "I’ve been using it a lot."

“Ah.” I mumbled. "That makes sense."

I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

That night, after my somewhat-obsessively ritualized training, I came back to the tent, to find Jones still sitting there. Still staring at the empty bunks, where the others used to be.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Summoned Hero

Soldier

The words seemed more distant, than normal. As if a part of them was fading, pulsing in an uneven tempo my eyes couldn't quite catch.

…

Laborers came in, and they were building something out on the field. Pits were being dug, bodies were being dumped, fires were being set.

Hell, sometimes it was just fires being set.

On days the wind wasn't in our favor, God... the smell was horrible. Honorable graves for the fallen, apparently, weren't a custom in the Golden Wing Company.

Instead there was just stripping the dead of equipment.

Mercenary's Leather Armor

Used, but suitable, armor. Has been repaired, but will likely provide suitable protection from light attacks.

[Identify] continued its slow and seemingly pointless grind towards more elaborate descriptions.

I now had a new set of armor.

Well, new-used, likely stripped from the dead. My sword, my dagger, my spear, and a bag with some basic equipment for maintaining my weapons. Oil, leather, some string and a needle. Oh, and five silver coins. Apparently, surviving meant we got paid.

Which, all things considered, was good.

It also meant, eventually, things were expected of us.

Which wasn't so good.

By the middle of the week following the battle, we were pulled from our routine of training, and set about to labor. Though, the bodies and the scavenging had been mostly dealt with, the building and digging, was a different story.

Strength +1

Shoveling.

Strength +1

This was a different kind of training. Not elegant or building upon itself like the elegant and efficient motions of a spear, but harsh, tiring, and unpleasant. Monotony, of the same painful set of movements, to move dirt from one place, to another.

Still, I couldn't deny it was effective.

Strength +1

By the time the trench and mounded wall we'd been set to work into shape was finished, the results spoke for themselves.

Name: John

Title: Summoned Hero*

Class: None

General Skills:

Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive

Identify Lvl 4 - Active

Special Skills:

Hide Presence Lvl 1 - Active

Status:

Vitality: 12

Endurance: 16  

Strength: 18

Dexterity: 20

Intelligence: 45

Wisdom: 46

Health: 49/50

Stamina: 18/20

Mana: 100/100

I was finally starting to approach the twenties for my combat related stats. Dexterity was, by some miracle of several training sessions, actually at twenty.

Critically important, I felt, as these seemed to be linked to obtaining a class.

Though Jones was far from talkative, and Kepler might as well have been a mute when it came to normal attempts at conversation, Mars had told me her [Brawler] class had links to her own status attributes. She confirmed that the class was linked to Vitality, Endurance, and Strength. Beside her status, those categories were provided and additional bonus, because of her class.

Remembering what the others had said, before the battle, it seemed Vitality, Endurance, Strength, and Dexterity were critical in the process.

Though I wasn't certain the [Brawler] class was something I wanted, this information confirmed I was still quite a ways off from any class I'd seen so far. If [Brawler] was Vitality, Endurance, and Strength, then [Soldier] seemed to be linked to Vitality, Strength, and Dexterity... or some combination of all four (Vitality, Endurance, Strength, Dexterity...)

I knew there were other Classes. [Spearman] came to mind, similar to the [Soldier] class, so far as I could tell. But, [Mage] was the example I couldn't help but wonder about. I'd seen those at the castle, but there weren't any people with that Class around camp. No one I asked seemed to be able to tell me much about them, either. Not that there was a long list of people even willing to talk to me, outside of my fellow "Heroes."

The best I could do was keep grinding, in the hope that I might finally hit whatever hidden criteria was important.

So, I did- or tried to.

The second bout of food poisoning was much, much worse, than the first. And so, my progress came to a screeching halt.