Light was the first thing he saw, just like the infirmary. The walls, the floor, and the ceiling were an unscratched, unblemished white. He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted, squinting through the cracks between his fingers.
There were no doors or windows around him. Every surface was too flat to be stone, too smooth to be wood, too soft to be iron. The empty room was about the size of the bottom floor of Mr. Fletcher’s inn, although its ceiling was twice as high. And despite there being no Mana crystals, lanterns, candles or windows in sight, it was almost uncomfortably bright.
A Notification flashed across his screen. He focused on it, and words flashed.
[Welcome to the Sixth Campaign!]
[The Store has now been enabled. Access can be gained through your Interface.]
[8 hours and 1 minute remaining until the Sixth Campaign begins.]
[Classes, Spells, and Skills will become unavailable from the Store in 44 days, 22 hours, and 59 minutes.]
[All Spells and Skills may now be used without Mana or Cooldown. No base Attributes can be gained from this time forward.]
“45 days,” he murmured. That was how long he had to Purchase as many powerful Skills and Spells from the Store as possible. He opened his Interface to find a new sub-menu at the bottom called Store, took a breath, and focused on it.
[Open Store]
[Auction]
[Available Points: 487]
Damn. It looks like they were telling the truth.
The second option caught his eye. Nobody had mentioned anything about auctions in any of his classes. He opened the menu.
[Browse Auction Hall]
[Create Auction]
[Information]
Grant scratched his head. “Information, I guess.”
[Welcome to the Auction Hall! During the Sixth Campaign, Auctions will be available to Campaigners from all worlds. Items, Skills, and Spells can be bought from and sold to others by accessing this menu. Auctions cannot be listed until the Campaign begins.]
A dozen sub-menus appeared offering further information, and surely enough, after checking the Browse Auction Hall option, he found it completely empty. On the right side, there were three options: List, Bid, and Buy Now. He focused on Bid and received an error.
[Error: Auction Hall is closed until the Campaign begins.]
As far as Grant could gather, this gave him four ways to acquire Items, Skills, and Spells. The first was to buy them from the Store. The second was to buy them from other Campaigners on the Auction Hall. The third was to find them, although they were exceedingly rare, the fourth to have them crafted.
He hummed thoughtfully. It didn’t change anything. It wasn’t like anyone would be listing a Legendary Spell for 487 Points.
“Wait!” he shouted, jolting up. He spluttered a giddy laugh, then Resummoned Siphoning Fang. The weapon materialized in his hand, just as it always had on Evenon. Mr. Nerelot had told him that he could only take one Bound Item through the Portal, and he'd asked Caitlyn after class one day what they could and couldn't bring with them. She confirmed what Mr. Nerelot had said. One Item, and it must be Bound. Everything else would disappear. It was another advantage given to nobles and royals, as Grant might have been the first commoner to ever pass the Portal with a Bound weapon.
If he could sell Siphoning Fang on the Auction Hall, he could afford to Purchase a Spell. Mr. Nerelot had called Bound Items rare, even beyond the Portal. He’d said Siphoning Fang once belonged to his father. But Grant could only imagine they’d both agree sentiment came a distant second to survival. With 50,000 Points, he’d have everything he needed.
Grant swallowed, searching through the Information sub-menus on the Auction Hall. Eventually, he found what he was looking for under [Eligible Items].
[Eligible Items.]
[Items must belong to the Auctioneer to be listed for Auction.]
[Items below Common rarity may not be listed for Auction.]
[Cursed, Corrupted, Possessed, Ethereal, Temporary, Broken, and Bound Items may not be listed for Auction.]
Grant bunched his fists up, then sagged his shoulders, reading the last sentence again. “Of course.” Ownership of a Bound Item had to be transferred in person. It was possible that in a city, someone would be willing to trade a non-Bound Item for Siphoning Fang. Something he could sell on the Auction Hall. But he would have to reach a city first.
He sighed, then focused on [Open Store].
A rectangular menu like the page of a book flashed before his eyes. He began reading it from the top.
[Class: Diviner (1,000,000 Points)]
[Class: Avatar of the Goddess (1,000,000 Points)]
[Class: Domain Mage (1,000,000 Points)]
[Class: Demonic Commander (1,000,000 Points)]
[Class: Archmage (950,000 Points)]
[Class: Immortal (950,000 Points)]
[Class: Blood Mage (950,000 Points)]
[Class: Theurge (900,000 Points)]
[…]
Grant’s jaw dropped at the first page of the Store. Even Belal and Raella’s Points put together weren’t nearly enough afford any of the Classes. Out of curiosity, he focused on the first listed Class, Diviner.
[Class: Diviner]
[Rarity: Legendary]
[Affiliation: Soul, Mind, Time]
[Prerequisites: 14 Base Intelligence, 14 Base Wisdom, 14 Base Perception]
[Spells: Read Future, Commune with Spirits, Holy Wrath, Divine Embrace]
[Passive Abilities: Insight, Fortification]
[The Diviner specializes in what is, what was, and what is to be. A Diviner can see futures, anticipate outcomes, and call upon the wrath of Spirits and Gods to vanquish foes. He or she can safeguard allies and Heal all but the most grievous wounds.]
Grant whistled. Even if someone could afford it, the base Attribute requirements were beyond all but a few Campaigners. He could not imagine anything that’d threaten someone who met them and possessed such a powerful Class.
He returned to the Store and turned the page mentally. More Classes filled the screen, and he didn’t have even one one-hundredth of the Points required for any of them.
“No point wasting time here.”
Grant skimmed past all the Classes, laughing at the absurdity of how far he was from being able to afford them. Pages flew by as he mentally commanded his Interface to skip to the next. He groaned, growing tired, anxious, his temper starting to rise. The ones closest to his grasp were 10,000 Points. There were hundreds of them, and they were all Common rarity. They included Brawler, Spearman, Swordsman, Rogue, and even non-combat specialties like Cook and Tailor.
There has to be a better way to search for something, Grant thought to himself. He focused on his Store and mentally uttered Spells.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Hundreds of pages disappeared, leaving only Spells in sight. He rubbed his eyes. Should have done that sooner.
The Spells costing 1,000,000 Points came first, which included Summon Gas Cloud, Heal Nature, and Reanimate Dead. Grant focused on Summon Gas Cloud.
[Summon Gas Cloud]
[Rarity: Legendary]
[Affiliation: Soul, Wind, Poison, Ritual]
[Prerequisites: 16 Base Intelligence, 16 Base Wisdom]
[Cost: 500 Mana]
[Cast Time: 30 Seconds]
[Conjure a slow-moving poisonous cloud that travels 5 miles per Base Intelligence. The cloud continuously releases toxic rain drops which, upon contact with the ground, detonate into a potent gas that inflicts Poison damage over time. Only one Cloud may be active at a time]
He felt a prickle on the back of his neck. To the best of his knowledge, he was the only Campaigner from Evenon who had high enough base Wisdom to learn it, and even then, it wouldn’t be until he was at least level 30 before he had the Mana to cast it once. It was a terrifying Spell that could eliminate an entire city worth of people from hours of travel away.
The thought of raining Poison Magic over an entire city, killing hundreds of innocent people indiscriminately turned his stomach. It would take a true monster to choose such a Spell. The Scripture said the Goddess created the Store as a gift to Humans, but he could not imagine her giving them something so twisted. Perhaps nobody was meant to Purchase it.
Heal Nature was much more what he would expect from the Goddess. The Spell was an Aura that purged all corruption, Disease Magic, Poison, and rot from a 25-yard by 25-yard area, as though it was designed to be the opposite of Summon Gas Cloud. It cost a staggering 1,000 Mana to activate, but it would replenish all life, accelerate plant growth, and rapidly Heal allies in the region. It was also one of the few Spells for which Grant did not meet the minimum prerequisites, with a minimum of 18 base Intelligence.
But the existence of the Spell itself confused Grant. At what level would a Campaigner have 1,000 Mana? Level 40? Likely 50 or greater. The Store would have been closed for months, possibly years by the time even the highest-leveled could cast it.
He scrolled through all the Spells, holding his breath. If he could Purchase a single Spell—an Ice Bolt, a Fireball, or Goddess willing, a Thunderbolt—he would have something to work with. His eyes tired as he skipped from page to page, eventually coming to the final one.
[Spell: Roast (3,000 Points)]
A hollow pit opened in his stomach and sucked in the little hope he’d had. The cheapest Spell on the Store was Roast, which would, as its name suggested, roast any protein or vegetable without a fire.
And not even well. For that, he would need Greater Roast, a 10,000-Point spell. If he had seven times the Points he currently possessed, he could cook without a kitchen, albeit poorly.
“Items, I guess.” He rubbed his fingertips nervously against his calluses, then willed the Store to show him the Item List.
It spanned over 15,000 pages. Grant groaned, scrolling through them. Unlike Classes and Spells, they were not even in order of cost. It was just hundreds of thousands of Items listed randomly, and he couldn’t see a single one under 500 Points.
In desperation, Grant opened the Archmage Class description and immediately tried to select the Purchase option.
[Error: Insufficient Points]
“A show of hands for everyone who thought that would work,” shouted Grant, spreading his arms to the empty room. “I wonder…”
He searched for Body Enhancement.
[Skill: Body Enhancement (12,000 Points)]
Dr. Holt said it was 10,000 Points.
Grant suddenly remembered Mr. Fletcher throwing a fit at the cost of oil going up a few copper coins, then burst into laughter. He gave his best impression of the old innkeeper. “This is robbery! I’m going to go out of business!” To complete the imitation, he clutched his scalp like Mr. Fletcher had and bellowed a hoarse scream. Nobody was there to enjoy his humor, and even if someone were, he had to admit they wouldn’t find it particularly funny. He let himself laugh again anyway.
“Oh well. If I’m going in with nothing else, I might as well go in rested.”
Grant lay on the floor and closed his eyes.
***
Meira
Meira watched over the new Champions. Tens of thousands had arrived, and today they would make the most important decisions of their lives. There would be many eyes on them today as the Gods placed their bets.
She fluttered from room to room. One man shot wild arcs of lightning at the wall, laughing hysterically. With a flick of effort, he summoned a thundercloud that swept over the room, calling more bolts down in random spots. She shook her head. He had chosen a Rare 300,000-Point Lightning Mage Class. A fine choice, especially with his Inherited Water Mage Class, but with the significant advantage he had received, he could have spent the Points far better. He had just taken one of the first 300,000-Point Classes he’d seen.
The next room had a young woman who, with intense concentration, grew towering trees that reached the ceiling. Many of the Gods watched her with interest as she had made a far more intelligent decision than her brother. She had chosen the Wild Growth Spell to synergize with her Inherited Water Mage Class. The two would not only complement each other, but Water Mage could eventually evolve into an Epic Class.
With the right God’s patronage, it could even be a Legendary Class. Dozens would be staking a claim to her today.
Meira swept miles into the air, watching the thousands of rooms from afar. A soldier held a spear on his lap, tapping its shaft impatiently. A young blonde boy talked to himself, weighing half a dozen options with his 112,461 Points. A woman with close-cut hair sent a flurry of metal needles into the wall and then called them back. A red-haired Priestess in white robes glowed a gentle gold, Scrying thousands of possible outcomes.
Meira flew up and across, hundreds of miles, where she found a boy screaming into nothing in the furthest corner. “This is robbery! I’m going to go out of business!” he shouted, gripped his hair, and then rolled over in laughter.
The next moment, he was on his back. He appeared to be taking a nap.
Champions losing their minds was alarmingly common, but it was rare for them to begin shouting at themselves this early. She approached for a closer look.
***
Grant wasn’t the slightest bit tired after having slept for over a full day, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying to sneak in another nap. It was more productive than wasting time shopping for things he could never afford.
The lights dimmed suddenly, as though someone had turned them off. He cracked open an eye to find the triangular face of a woman with pale blue hair hovering only a few inches above him.
“Hi,” she said.
Grant screamed and sprang up. The women jumped—no, floated away, and landed on the opposite side of the room. He pushed off his feet and slid back on his rump, boots squeaking against the floor until he had shoved himself as far into the corner as he could.
They studied each other from across the room as Grant took deep, rapid breaths, clutching his shirt’s collar. She was not Human. She wasn’t Elven, Orcish, Dwarven or Demonic. She obviously wasn’t Undead or a Troll. She was almost childlike in appearance, but Grant could somehow tell she was well beyond him in years. Her skin glowed a faint blue, and her hair was a darker shade of the same color.
And in all the time she stared at him, she had not blinked a single time.
“Aren’t you going to buy anything?” She spoke in perfect Evenonian with no hint of an accent or effort. Her head remained tilted to the side as she waited for an answer.
“I… I couldn’t find anything that I wanted for the Points I had.”
The woman scrunched her face. “Oh. 487 Points isn’t that many.”
“You—you can see my Points? Are you a Reader?”
That was a stupid question, he thought to himself with a pang of embarrassment.
She continued staring. “I guess you could say that.”
The silence stretched, and Grant realized she wasn’t going to give any more information. He shook his head and chuckled. “I suppose the Goddess had it out for me. A priestess from Athemore—”
He stopped himself, coughed, and continued. “A priestess from my, uh, home country told me that I must have earned her ire.”
As usual, awkward seconds passed before the woman decided to answer. “That doesn’t sound like her,” she eventually said, not breaking her gaze.
“You know the Goddess?” he shouted, jumping to his feet. His ribs ached, but he set the pain aside. If she knew the Goddess, what would that make her?
“Knew.” She blew out a long breath, a human gesture that he found oddly comforting. “But she didn’t curse you.” She gave a sad smile. “You just got unlucky.”
Grant chewed on his lip, not sure how he felt about the revelation. Since the Reading Ceremony, he’d juggled dozens of theories about his abnormally low Points. He’d considered the possibility of the priestess being right about the Goddess condemning him for his Identify trick. He thought a noble may have stolen his points somehow. For a brief moment, he thought the dagger Mr. Nerelot gave him may have been the cause.
Strangely, between the wild theories of royal conspiracy, the possibility of divine ire, and the unhealthy dose of self-loathing, the idea of it being bad luck had never crossed his mind.
He supposed it didn’t really matter in the end.
“In any case,” Grant said, slapping his thighs, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I spent an entire month pushing my Wisdom as high as possible. But I can’t even buy the cheapest Spell on the Store. Why would I be selected only to be sent to certain death?” He licked his lips and shrugged. The woman before him probably didn’t care. “Won’t matter soon, at least.”
She paused again. “Have you checked every Item? There are 7,421—” She stopped, eyes twinkling. “Apologies. There are 15,621 pages of Items alone. Have you seen all of them?”
Grant hadn’t, but he had checked many. He found a random assortment of food, clothing, and a couple of Items he could not even begin to understand, including a small black pearl and a door’s bolt.
“I haven’t. However, if you believe I should, I will continue my search.”
The woman smiled. “I do believe you should.”
“Excuse me, please tell me what I should call—”
She disappeared from sight.
“—you.” Grant watched the spot she had just been, then searched the bare room for any hint of her presence. He hadn’t seen her so much as twitch. She was there one moment, and gone the next.
Was she from a foreign race he hadn’t learned about? Another Campaigner? A Goddess? The Goddess?
He grabbed a clump of hair in his left hand and craned his neck back. Whoever she was, she had told him to keep searching, specifically in the Items pages. Was there actually hope? What Item could he buy for 487 Points that would be the difference between survival and death?
Grant looked at the spot where he had lain just moments before, stomach twisting with disgust. He had completely given up hope and fallen into a pit of self-pity and defeat. He failed to give his best, despite all of those who gave him theirs.
Mr. Nerelot, who gave him a priceless tool. Dan, who always stood up for him with the fiercest loyalty a friend could give. Caitlyn, who stayed after class answering his questions, filling him with knowledge about other races and monsters. Ayers, who chose to practice with the weakest recruit in the yard, abandoning his own advancement for Grant’s. Roland, who forced him to push his limits—who refused to listen to excuses.
Lira.
This was going to take time he didn’t have, but if it meant reading through every single Item, he would.
