I find it fascinating how different circles perceive the [Mage] Class.

[Healer] and [Priest] Class often look at them with pity. As do any, who have placed their faith upon a Pantheon. Peasants, of course, treat them much as oil does water. Avoiding them at all costs. And yet, those of noble birth flock to them with great interest.

How many well-educated sons and daughters have the mystic arts ensnared, I wonder? Young minds, curious to learn some small inkling to the secrets of spellcraft. Many of them, I suspect, start out by believing that true magic is an exact science. Surely, there is nothing to fear, as any [Mage] of true caliber will only use techniques that are practiced beyond any margin of error. That those who practice spellcraft, follow a system of control with the utmost respect.

Certainly, it is safe to assume that almost any [Mage] one might happen to meet will strive their best to act the part. The Citadel teaches by the strictest of standards and prides itself on producing only the finest. Yet, I would advise anyone who keeps the company of those practicing the mystic and magical arts to remember:

There will always be exceptions.

........ As a Hero, I was already used to being ostracized. People either didn't like me, or they wanted to use me for something. Or both. All in all, I felt that the safest thing for me was to try and avoid them. As it turns out though, being labeled as a [Mage] is quite similar to being a Hero. The only real difference, is instead of me doing the avoiding, suddenly it was everyone else. The effect was immediate. As the Baron left the hall, the second we were all dismissed: I was being given a noticeably wider berth. Far from my initial worry, instead of getting a few more hard shoulders on the way out, it seemed that no one seemed to want to chance walking within ten paces of where I stood. Which was something of a problem, because I was the person in the back, closest to the doors. It was a strange, awkward, procession. Even Bruiser- Roggar, seemed to be rethinking his actions, with a deep frown on his face. Expression aside, though: whatever the man had against me, he was the one of the only people to pass me by normally. But, that was just it. Instead of any further trouble coming my way, I'd been left alone. Eventually, everyone made their way out of the hall. And while I did look for the Baron for a few moments, in the end I couldn't find him. Which left me in a bit of an odd predicament. My day was wide open. Even after training in the yard for what must have been a few hours, it was still morning, and I'd received no orders. Only the general premise of "making myself useful." Obviously, I could go back to my room and practice magic. My general goal of trying to increase my attributes and level up my skills was as good a fallback plan as any, but I'd expected something a little more specific. Stomach rumbling, I decided for once in my life, not to worry about things. Instead, I went and got breakfast.

......

"Who are you, and what in all the hells do you want?" Was the very polite greeting I received, upon finding my way back to the kitchen.

"Uh... John, breakfast, and maybe some travel rations if you've got any." I tried my best to answer in order.

"For Light's sake: you're a Hero? A 'Summoned Hero and you've got no Class? Did the Baron take you in? Lad, why in all the Gods don't you have a Class-"

It devolved from there, as I failed to get much of a word in edge-wise.

In the end though, I got breakfast, an earful, and no travel rations- just a stale loaf of bread with a bit of mold on it. But, that was a lot more appealing than nothign at all, and I wasn't one to complain. Especially when there was such a useful stream of information coming my way.

I learned that there's something called a [Chef] class. Which, brought up some interesting considerations. Just as the [Farmer] Class had, the [Chef] Class had me curious. Although I didn't get any answers to immediate questions on account of how angry Gertrude was.

Gertrude.

I know.

Lord's Cook

Chef

?????

The head cook, or I suppose I should say: the head [Chef] instead, was a woman centered around forty. With a fierce expression, a rounded face, and a wooden spoon that, quite literally, glowed sometimes: Gertrude was a force to be reckoned with.

And I was the fool who happened to walk in late.

That was, apparently, frowned upon by those in the kitchen. As I soon learned in great detail, mealtime in the Baron's fort was twice a day. Breakfast was started at sunrise, and dinner was at sundown. There would be a cook pot left out around midday, for those who wished to partake, but lunch was typically expected to be dealt with on one's own.

For a verbal lashing, I found it was quite informative.

And in the end, despite the harsh words in my direction, I didn't go hungry. I did manage to get my breakfast, as well. Or, perhaps it was more of a brunch? I got a meal, at the very least, along with an earful and a half. The stale and moldy loaf of bread Gertrude had "planned on tossing, but it should keep another few days." That, I saved for later.

I didn't complain.

In fact, opposite of that: I was very polite. I'd learned back at the Mercenary camp that being nice to the people giving me food was a viable and legitimate survival strategy. It was important to always be nice to the cooks, and as far as life lessons went, that one was quite high up on the list.

"You're a sorry sight, for a Hero." Gertrude had muttered, as she finished her lecture and finally handed me a bowl of lukewarm oat-paste. Of which I gratefully accepted. "From the stories people tell, I'd have expected something else."

"How so?"

"Why, it's just... what's that you got there? A dagger? No glowing sword, no bow that shoots lightning?"

"Just a dagger." I admitted. "I lost my spear, and my sword... neither of them glowed, though." I clarified.

"That's quite disappointing."

"Isn't it?"

I was left to eat in silence after that, as the [Chef] returned to her work in the kitchen. With the background of noises of pots and pans, I set into my bland meal and considered my next course of action.

It was strange to admit, but with my immediate needs met; I couldn't deny I was in a place of relative safety.

There would be no need to waste my time and energy lugging a heavy boat down a cliff, or crawling through the fields on my hands and knees, searching for food. While those habits had been somewhat good for my attributes, they hadn't been great for my mental clarity. A mindset that was locked onto survival missed things, and often found itself too distracted by basic needs to think ahead more than a few days at a time. But, sitting at the table, belly full and calories flowing in my veins: I finally felt that could stop, plan, and really think through what I was going to do.

In my mind, I felt there were three main problems I needed to address.

Most pressing: The Baron had declared I was the Fort's new [Mage], so it was clear that I was being kept around for my magic potential. Though I still wasn't sure what was planned for me, I felt that it was a safe bet if I worked [Lesser Flame] into something more impressive, that would probably be a good place to start. It was only a matter of time until the Baron tested me again.

But that did lead me to the second problem.

I still didn't have a Class.

The Baron had publicly declared that I was a [Mage] but that wasn't really true. I just happened to know a spell. One tiny bit of magic that literally had "lesser" in the name, which meant that it probably wasn't all that impressive in the grand scheme of things. While, maybe, that spell was enough for the time-being, I clearly needed to get the [Mage] Class, and soon.

Yet, that whole situation was its own beast.

I'd been without a Class for a long time, and it wasn't as though I hadn't thought about what would be needed to achieve one. From everything I knew, obtaining a Class was a combination of the right circumstances, mixed with the right attributes, mixed with no small amount of luck. The [Brawler] Class that Mars had gotten, had been obtained in a fight. She'd had the right criteria, and then triggered the event. The [Spearman] Class was the same, in concept. As was the [Soldier] Class. Both had been earned by similar methods, during training.

So, by that logic, the [Mage] Class was, quite likely, within my grasp.

Just like I could practice with a spear, I could practice with [Lesser Flame] until I made a breakthrough. The only thing that I could think might stop me, would be if I lacked the needed attributes, and those were better than they had even been. In fact, all across the board, I was meeting the benchmark of 20, which I had to assume would be enough.

There was just one glaring exception.

My vitality.

Vitality: 18

Since arriving, I'd gotten sick more than any of the other Heroes I'd been with. While it had increased during those times, it seemed as though I was starting from a disadvantage. Because of this, I felt it was a reasonable guess that this particular Attribute might be the gatekeeper.

But, if so, it was a troublesome one.

Admittedly, I'd never intentionally set out raise this Attribute. But neither did I feel comfortable with the thought of repeating the events which had managed to increase it. Getting extremely sick due to a controlled dose of poison and recovering, was theoretically an option, but I considered it a risky one. By the same measure: getting injured and recovering- was again, risky. Although, I felt that injury and recovery seemed a lot safer than poison.

The solution to all of this, at least, seemed within reach. The Singing Fern was local to the area, so there was a good chance I could find more if I looked hard enough. If I did, I had to imagine it couldn't be all that difficult to improve. If I pushed myself, I was certain I could get the Attribute to increase, given time.

All that said, what remained was the elephant in the room.

My "Hero" Title.

It was the only advantage I'd been given, in this ruthless world. The gift of rapidly improving attributes and gaining skills with a fraction of the ordinary effort. It had undoubtably saved my life several times, already. Yet, the Title had been the exact reason my life had needed saving in the first place.

While the advantages it had given me couldn't be understated, I knew it was only a matter of time until it would get me killed. The Empire, the Baron: As long as I had the title marking me, I'd never be safe. Someone would always be after me.

It would be an undeniable waste, but I had already decided: One way or another, I was going to have to get rid of it.

I knew this was possible.

Kepler had indirectly suggested it might happen to me. And, having had time to consider things in context, I remember that Jones might have been experiencing the early signs of this. His Summoned Hero* title had been fading after the battle. What specifically had caused that, I wasn't entirely certain, but it seemed within the realm of possibility.

Whatever conditions were needed weren't clear to me, though. So, I knew that I would have to keep my options open.

Which meant collecting a lot more information, and possibly doing some research.

When I'd first been brought into the fort, I'd more or less heard it said that the [Assassin] Class could apparently change what other people could [Identify] about someone. The concern that I wasn't truly Classless and was actually an [Assassin] the whole time had been pitched.

That was a remarkable ability, but I had to wonder: If a Class could do something like this, I could only imagine there might be other methods. Maybe a specific item, or a spell?

There was something.

If I couldn't lose the title, maybe I could just hide it? As a [Mage]I had to imagine there would likely be all sorts of skills and abilities to learn. Would it be possible for someone like me to reap the benefits of the Hero title, while avoiding the negative side-effects? Could I have my cake and eat it too?

My thoughts spinning about this subject with intense focus, I had already turned in my wooden bowl of oat-gruel and was halfway back to my room before I had the profound realization that Gertrude was probably the first person I'd met at the fort I didn't want to set on fire.

Which, was nice.