Camelot was originally located on an island three miles off the coast, with a bridge connecting it to the mainland. The three famed dungeons of Camelot do not reside on the island, but the mainland, giving rise to the common assumption that the city was built on the island as a simple refuge from rogue monsters.

That is a misconception. The true reason has to do with the island itself. Three veins of mana, incidentally the same veins that feed the three dungeons, converge below the island, making it a wellspring of power.

The Camelot of today overshadows that of its distant past. The city has spread down its bridge and spilled onto the mainland. A twenty meter tall wall encloses the newer districts in a semicircle, thick and thoroughly enchanted. Ballistae pepper the ramparts in numbers that only a dwarven [King] might match. Spaced out evenly along the fortification are four citadels, the top of each house a glowing orb of light. These towers replicate the towers surrounding the island and can create a city-wide barrier at a moment’s notice, capable of deflecting all but the most powerful of attacks.

Despite the magnificent feats of magic and architecture before them, the line of expatriates, immigrants, and [Merchants] has their eyes on the odd… “vehicle.”

“What is it? What did you need to bother me about?” the [Senior Elite Guard] in charge of the gates to enter Camelot gripes.

The [Guard] flinches under his superior’s gaze, but he still does his duty by pointing out the clear oddity in the line.

The [Senior Guard] looks out, scanning the motley collection of conveyances lined up to enter the city. Some of them are small carts with a [Farmer’s] produce, others are splendidly crafted carriages that probably belong to a [Noble]. He even notices two golem carriages in the line.

“Look, I do-” his words are cut off as he finally spots the abnormality. A vehicle dwarfs the other carriages and seems to be covered in some kind of white armor…

“Is that a new golem?” the [Senior Elite Guard] asks. The design is bizarre, especially the large tube jutting out from its top.

“It’s an undead.”

“A what?”

The [Guard] hands his superior a piece of paper.

Gun Widow

Level 167 [Undead Marrowmade Golem]

The [Senior Elite Guard] stares at the paper for a long moment before looking back at the undead.

“Has it done anything? Harmed anyone? Do we know the owner?”

“It came out of the woods and just got in line. It hasn’t done anything other than move when the line moves. We also can’t find the [Necromancer]. A few of the [Mage Guards] are saying that the owner is inside.”

The [Senior Elite Guard] scratches his short goatee. “I see. Well, the new laws are still in effect. If the [Necromancer] is documented, then he is free to enter. If he’s not, then escort him to a guild so that he may be. If he refuses to comply, then bar his entry.”

The [Guard] nervously adds, “There is also another problem.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, the undead has… dried blood on the bottom. Human blood.”

___________________________________________________________

“Well Jessica, it seems we might have a problem.”

“What did you do now?” she asks.

Quasi’s eyes glow as he looks through the armored eyes of his vehicle, which is a lousy description since Gun Widow has no eyes nor anything that resembles them. Instead, the undead sees through his armor, as though the whole body is an optical receiver.

Which, considering the majority of the bone used for the vehicle did indeed come from the occipital bone of a boss monster, it does make a weird bit of sense.

“We have several dozen [Guards] alongside half a dozen [Elite Guards] outside. Oh, and a [Senior Elite Guard]. They look armed and ready for a fight.”

Jessica sighs. “We haven’t even entered the city this time and you’re already picking a fight.”

“WHAT!? How is this my fault? I didn’t even do anything this time.”

She rolls her eyes. “You are riding an undead! Why couldn’t you just leave the… whatever this is called in your inventory.”

“It’s a Tank! An undead tank called Gun Widow with a magical nuke cannon, a top continuous speed of forty miles per hour, and air conditioning. Air conditioning! Who in their right mind would stand outside and sweat in the sun when there’s this beauty?” He pats the wall for emphasis.

Jessica rubs the sides of her head. She takes several deep breaths, allowing herself to calm down before she continues glaring at the [Hero].

“What are you going to do now?” she asks.

Quasi grabs his mask and puts it on. He also takes his trusty tophat and places it atop his head. He then flicks his wrist and his cane jumps into his hand.

“I’m going to level!”

_____________________________________________________________________

As the [Guards] of Camelot surround the undead vehicle, the people move back to a minimum safe distance. Yet, for all the hostility and hubbub , the [Undead Golem] does not react. The [Senior Elite Guard] crouches down to look beneath the vehicle, and indeed, there are many blood splatters. He takes a deep whiff, his furry ears twist and his tail swishes as he smells the all too familiar smell of human blood.

“I am [Elite Guard] Rex of Camelot’s guards. I have come to speak with the owner of this undead.”

At the words undead, the onlookers begin to whisper amongst each other. Rex, being a Dog-Demihuman, hears their whispers as clearly as normal conversation. His ears twitch, but he does not otherwise react.

He waits, listening as best he can, straining to catch movement within the undead. But he hears nothing, as though his hearing is… blocked.

Before he can say anything else, a wheel on the top of the undead spins and a hatch pops open. With panache, out hops a well dressed human wearing a skull mask. He flips through the air in a flawless somersault, elegantly lands, smoothly doffs his hat, and deeply bows.

After a perfect pause, the man stands straight and replaces his hat on his head where it belongs. He twirls his cane, stabs into the ground, and rests his hands upon its top.

“Good day to you, sir. Might I add, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance and you may call me Bone.”

Rex glances at his [Guards]. Every single one of them had unsheathed their weapons as soon as the man had exited his undead. His acrobatics were unexpected, as was his showy landing, so he cannot fault the [Guards] for reacting the way they did.

He gestures to his men to stand down, and all of the guards sheathe their weapons. Until he is sure that the man before him is a criminal, it wouldn’t look right to treat him as such.

“My apologies for bothering you, Mr. Bone, but it has come to my attention that yo-”

“I didn’t do it.”

“What?”

The masked man points at Rex. “Whatever you think I did, it wasn’t me.”

“Sir-”

The masked man shakes his head. “I do understand what might make you think that I am a criminal, and you are entitled to your opinions. To control the thoughts of others is a most heinous act, one which I would never dare to perform.”

Before the [Senior Elite Guard] can speak, the man continues.

Bone waves his hand around. “I digress. You have come to a conclusion that some, myself included, might consider classist.”

Rex raises an eyebrow.

“Yet,” Bone continues, “one should not naively subscribe to such Marxist stereotypes.”

Rex continues to stare wordlessly. One of the [Elite guards] behind Bone mouths the word “Eccentric”.

“‘Tis true, I am a [Necromancer]…”

The [Senior Elite Guard] sighs. High leveled individuals are always hard to deal with. Each can cause a significant amount of damage, while tending to be… characters. Especially the younger ones. High levels at a young age means that many risks must have been taken, enough that only the most crazy would have done so.

“Mr. Bone,” Rex interrupts, “I don’t care that you are a [Necromancer]. I am here to ask about your bloody carriage.”

“My dear sir, I admit my conveyance is humble, yet to impugn upon…”

“No, Mister Bone, I mean the blood. On your undead.”

The masked individual turns around and looks at the clotted blood.

“Ah. Yes.” Bone turns back and nods to Rex. “My apologies, but cleaning supplies are few and far between within the forest.”

A common [Guard] might have lost their cool. Not Rex. He’s been at this gate for over fifty years.

“What I mean, Mr. Bone, is how did the blood get on there in the first place?”

“[Bandits].”

“[Bandits]?”

“Some days, you want a relaxing ride through the woods. If you encounter a [Bandit] camp at that time, do you stop or turn away? No! You drive on! To have let vagrants and villeins impede my halcyon journey would have been a travesty of the highest order! Most made the wise choice of absconding, but alas! Many were too slow… Well, some may have been asleep or drunk, but such is the fate of those that undermine the law!”

Rex blinks.

“But I do apologize for the deaths of several [Dire Wolves]. They were blameless.”

Rex turns to one of the [Elite Guards] standing near him.

“He is telling the truth,” the man states.

Rex grunts.

“I see, and what happened to the rest of those bandits?”

“Disintegrated.”

Rex stares.

“Obliterated?”

The staring continues.

“Completely and utterly annihilated, down to the atom?”

Rex sighs. “They’re dead?”

The masked man tilts his head. “Well, that depends on your definition of dead; if your definition involves their continued existence as a non-functional body, then no, they are not dead. If your definition involves the total removal of their physical existence, then the answer is yes.”

Rex pinches the bridge of his nose. Even those cocky [Nobles] aren’t this annoying to deal with.

“Are you telling me that you single-handedly wiped out an entire camp?”

“No, of course not. My tank did that.”

“Tank?”

Bone flicks his arms and points towards the undead.

“Yes, my Tank. The beautiful and puissant Gun Widow.”

Bone walks towards the undead. He wipes it affectionately with his hand. “Ninety-Eight tons of heavily fortified bone, reinforced with enough enchantments to survive a mountain dropped from orbit. Combined with the high crystal makeup, this thing can run on its own mana, keeping a constant speed of forty miles per hour. Of course, you can easily exceed that speed, but the mana cost only rises from there.”

Bone takes several steps away from the undead.

“But that’s not the best part. The best part is the combat mode.”

Before Rex can stop the madman, the pins holding the wheels between the tank treads detach and fall to the ground. With a few more noises ranging between metal clanking and wood thumping, the wheels reveal their true forms and unfurl into pointed legs. Twelve spider-like legs raise the chassis into the air as the people around begin to panic. [Merchants] and [Farmers] scream and run while the [Guards] draw their weapons and hold their ground. Rex merely places his hand on his sword, not quite willing to draw it yet, but still on guard.

When the transformation finally finishes, the crowd’s previous estimation of a safe distance has been revised dramatically. Only the [Guards] remain.

“The combat mode reduces its overall speed in favor of omnidirectional movement” Bone continues. “The addition of legs gives a height advantage,” the tank, Gun Widow, lifts itself on its legs, ”grants a greater range of fire,” it waggles its barrel, “and improves close combat effectiveness,” Gun Widow stomps a foot. “The cannon’s long-range destructive power can bombard targets up to 5 miles away, and can even fire flak for anti-air defense.”

The tank tilts back and an ominous, violet glow appears at the end of its barrel.

“No, Gun, not now.”

The light goes out and Gun Widow settles.

Bone looks away from the undead and turns to the guards, all of whom are pointing their weapons in his direction. The only person not on guard is Rex.

Finally, after an eternity of silence, Rex mutters, “I’m too old for this.”

____________________________________________________________________

The greatest locations to both learn and level are the academies in Camelot. Pricey to attend, but those who do are not only gifted knowledge, but better skills and classes. Influential leaders across the world send their children to these institutions for that very reason.

There are several schools of renown in Camelot, but the oldest and most influential are Leon College and Merlin Academy. Leon College trains [Warriors] of all stripes, teaching them to use their weapons and skills in the most effective and efficient manner. They also teach those of a lower level combat techniques to unlock their preferred or superior classes.

Merlin Academy teaches [Mages] and magic in general. They teach spells of almost all tiers, while training and leveling up students in their respective fields. One of the most important boons from the academy is the greatly increased passive mana regeneration enjoyed by those living within and nearby. High regeneration allows students to practice spells far more often at the academy than they could anywhere else.

Doors are blasted open as an armored, muscular man enters.

“Alright longears, I’m here at your lousy school. Who am I training?”

Thalom Yesmys, the current [Headmaster] of Merlin Academy can only sigh in annoyance at the brute. A skilled, potently dangerous brute, but still a brute.

The [Grand Archmagus] and [Headmaster] closes the book he is reading.

“Donovon, would it kill you to knock first?”

Donovan Fortis, the current [Headmaster] of Leon Academy only chuckles as he waltzes into Thalom’s study. His eyes turn to a tree in the center of the room. The roots of the tree descend down through the tower in its entirety and into the earth below.

“I was going to, then my [Danger Sense] went off.”

Thalom sighs. When Donovon knocks, he knocks loudly. Last time, he destroyed the door. This time, Thalom had the door properly enchanted.

“Anyways, you said you have a student for me. Where is he?”

Thalom stands up from his chair and walks to the tree. He sends a signal, and gets a return signal immediately after.

“They will arrive within the minute.”

“Arrive? What do you me-” Donovon stops talking as he feels the air in the room begin to shudder. His hand automatically grabs the hilt of the greatsword slung across his back. He grips the hilt, but doesn’t do anything else. The [Warfare General] waits with aura and skill ready. If not for Thalom’s relaxed expression, Donovon would have already activated several skills to prepare for what is coming.

The tree leaves shiver as reality breaks and a wormhole forms. A tall elven woman steps out of the portal, accompanied by three kids in their mid twenties. Donovan's gaze rests on the Elven female. His skill, [Eyes of War], activates instantly.

Silva Grandforest, The Emerald Mistress.

Level 281 [Grand Biomancer]

Level 187 [Archdruid]

Level 115 [Grand Gardener]

He frowns.

“Silva,” Thalom steps towards the female and wraps her into a hug. “It's been a while since I’ve seen you. Oh, how well you have grown! I hope those old turds are treating you well.”

Silva snorts and returns his hug. “You shouldn’t speak so unkindly of them. You’re practically one of them anyways.”

She breaks the hug, then points towards the three. “These are the three you will be teaching,” she then glances at Donovon who looks about ready to try to take her head. Not kill though. No, he just wants the chance to fight a named. “And I’m guessing he will be the other instructor.”

Thalom winces. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Woman, how about a spar?” Donovon calls while showing his teeth.

“Ignore him Silva, I’ll make sure they get whatever they need here in Camelot. You should return and cancel your staff. It has a long delay before it can be used again.”

Silva nods. She then waves at Donovan and steps through the portal.

“Oi, don't just igno-” his words stop as the portal disappears, leaving behind what both of these men would consider kids.

Thalom smiles and looks to the only man of the three.

“So, you must be Franky.”