Maximilian would never have missed the opportunity to build the city of his dreams. So he had decided to build an arena that looked a lot like the Colosseum, but was even bigger.

To be precise, the necromancer thought, the inspiration for the interior was closer to the Plaza de Toros in Sevilla.

It was amazing how everybody had been blown away by that construction. It had cost Maximilian nothing to set up its semi-functional skeleton, based on the architectural memories he had stored in his brain. In addition, the arena had no underground parts and there was no complex mechanism inside.

The main structure was of a very common wood, completely filled with Enchantments to keep it from collapsing and to prevent it from catching fire. In any case, they were very weak Enchantments.

Still, the warriors had immediately enjoyed the construction and, to make things more exciting, they had set up an obstacle course around the perimeter of the arena.

In the central part, meanwhile, people faced each other or tried to use the weights that Maximilian had created in a moment of great boredom.

The necromancer had finally been able to find some free time, thanks to the invention of the undead able to use magic. He still felt like an idiot for not thinking about it himself.

In his defense, he had never been a huge nerd in his past life, and he didn't know all the examples of necromancers that were perhaps dancing in Matthew's head.

Maximilian looked at the paladin, sitting on a rampart, with the corner of his eye. He was waiting for some Ahali to challenge or some Vanedeni who would ask him if he wanted to fight.

Now that he thought about it, he had never made fun of him for being a ginger. He shrugged. Matthew, at this moment, hated the necromancer. And not just a little, judging by his expression.

The Californian hadn't even glanced at Maximilian since the battle against the Ahalis had ended. He was angry with him because he held him responsible for Neri's death. After all, Matthew wasn't completely wrong and Maximilian had decided to leave him alone with his thoughts. Sooner or later he would calm down.

He was hoping it would be soon, as he was terribly curious about the armour the paladin was always wearing. For the moment, it was impossible for the necromancer to speak to him, since he wanted to avoid making things worse.

As if that wasn't enough, Eudokia wasn't talking to him - and therefore couldn't advise him - and Strith had suggested that he beat up Matthew until he came to his senses.

The necromancer thought that, in fact, he had beaten the shit out of Strith to make her change. Could it be his fault if the new [Hero] of the Vanedeni had very pronounced homicidal tendencies?

Who knew.

He shook his head. Now, he had more time to think about his own citizens and he would use it to the fullest.

Bollocks, how could she not have thought about making a damn skeleton capable of using magic?!

There were very few things that could make him lose his temper, but an idiocy of those proportions was making him really mad, even without anyone else's contribution.

If nothing else, he could take credit for creating semi-sentient creatures with his own hands, capable of even changing the course of their actions.

He watched a couple of his most powerful creatures yet, huge skeletons, more than two meters tall, who consumed a paltry amount of mana.

Maximilian smiled.

He had installed in their matrix a series of formations capable of absorbing mana from the environment and obtaining it from material inserted into their bones, which in turn were able to absorb organic material and transform it into energy. He had worked for three weeks non-stop on those piles of bones.

Eudokia had told him with gritted teeth that if the dragons discovered his project, he would become their number one enemy. And when he had reported this comment to Strith, the girl had said that the Vanedenis had always been the number one enemy to the whole world.

Maximilian wondered if those words were inspired by her new role as a hero or by her proud culture.

In any case, his first true skeletons were great warriors able to use a multitude of tricks to catch enemies off guard and kill them, so if the dragons tried to attack the city, it wouldn't be so easy to defeat them.

Who knows if he could create skeletons capable of leveling up, capable of thinking, and also of free will. If he had solved the last two problems, perhaps he would have shared the solution with the Californian, since they suffered from the same malaise.

“Todd, you cunt, sit beside me. You worry me when you stand behind me”, Maximilian said.

The figure wrapped in the cloak created by the necromancer appeared out of nowhere in mid-air.

"Maximilian."

The [Backstabber] nodded to him in greeting.

The Londoner gave a big yawn, waving a hand at Todd. Neither of them liked to talk to the other. Even with a mask on his face, Maximilian could not appreciate Todd. However, he had to admit that the yankee had been able to do something good with his life.

For example, respect his appointment rather than waste his time wagging his tail behind Valeria. This change must have been the work of Cyrus, Maximilian was quite certain of it.

The Texan, in fact, was nothing short of enthusiastic about the fact that Cyrus was from the US. In his eyes you could see a rare solidarity every time Cyrus opened his mouth.

Maximilian snorted and closed one eye as he looked up at the sky.

Todd had not yet managed to change his class, even though Maximilian had tried to give him some advice. The Texan had not complained to him, but, old as he was, it was impossible for the necromancer not to notice how uncomfortable Todd was in his present condition.

Cyrus, bollocks, Neapolitan to the tips of your toes. You're late.

And thank goodness that he had put an enchanted clock in every single house! Another reason why he had had to spend a huge amount of time on the urban and architectural plan. Sure, he could have created a dozen fewer models, but time is the enemy of good execution. But his subjects did not seem to agree.

Just then Strith entered the arena, followed by her loyal new [Assistant], Filiamo. With them came Cyrus, who was calmly speaking with the Ahali, while the latter was looking at the former administrator of Vissart with two heart-shaped eyes.

Maximilian could already imagine what a huge boner Filiamo was having in learning some new accounting technique or other shit like that.

"Ohi, yankee, look who finally shows up!"

It was time to be a teacher for that pack of youngsters.

Acting as a teacher was now the norm. However, he wondered if his choice did not risk derailing the future of those people. His knowledge could quickly take them to a high level, but what he cared about was making them create something of their own. They would need it, especially in view of the bottlenecks they would encounter in the future.

Maximilian was not yet an expert on how the world he had arrived into worked, but he was a mana expert like no other. Unfortunately, the necromancer had created a path for himself in the search for magic and in the knowledge of death and souls. Unfortunately it meant that what he had shaped were very personal paths, which would not be shared by everyone.

Maybe it was best to explain it out loud. He noticed that Strith and Cyrus had said something, but he wasn't listening to them. Well, it was nothing important, no doubt.

"So, you idiots, unclog your ears and listen before I start playing ping-pong with your heads."

“Good morning to you too, Your Majesty”, said Cyrus.

"Cyrus, don’t you play silly buggers with me, you bugger. So, I was saying. Today we talk about skills and classes for Cyrus's sake, since at the moment he is the lowest level idiot of all of you. Yes, great administrator of Vissart, even lover than the rabbit-monkey who acts as [Secretary]."

Cyrus turned with undisguised surprise to Filiamo, who gave him a wink in response.

“The classes of this world are tied - as the non-retarded among you will have understood - to what you do and what you believe you are. Now you will ask yourselves: O great Maximilian, if a marketing guru arrives, aren't we all doomed, since he will think he is the absolute fucking best?"

The necromancer paused emphatically and turned his head slightly to listen to any laughter. After a cough from Strith, he resumed talking without batting an eye.

"Well, bollocks, it would be too easy if it were enough to believe that you were the grand vizier of Fuckanistan to become the grand vizier of Fuckanistan", this time the pause was almost imperceptible, but no less disappointing.

“Some of the more powerful classes have requirements, such as the famous class of [Stormbreaker] and that practically all Ankon Vanedeni soldiers have. To acquire it, one must not only be a soldier, but also struggle in the midst of torrential rain for three days and three nights. Honestly, I have no idea how they discovered such a thing and that the fucking monsoon the poor people who discovered this class had to face."

Maximilian was pleased to note that all the Ahalis and Vanedenis who were training in the arena had begun to get closer to him to hear him better. It was useless, actually. From the first moment, Maximilian had used a bit of magic to reach everyone's ears. The fact that his subjects were idiots was not a good excuse for not educating them.

“So, some classes have requirements. And some of you are now wondering again: O my leader, so are there classes that make you stronger than another soldier in every situation? No, bollocks. My class is not as rare as some of you may think, although I have met the requirements for many evolutions. A class is a ticket to more varied and sometimes more powerful skills. A warrior who knows how to use his brains with a fucking shitty class is still more powerful than a [Stormbreaker Soldier]. More powerful in the sense that it doesn't take Einstein to kill the latter."

"Questions so far, or is it all clear?" the necromancer asked for fear that his students were lost in the explanation.

"Who is Einstein?" Filiamo said after several moments of silence.

“All clear, then. So, I was saying”, Maximilian continued, “a class gives access to tools. And you use these tools."

The necromancer was gesticulating wildly in the middle of his explanation, half in the hope that it would help those present understand, the other half because he found it funny.

"So, I'm a necromancer, but I'll kill you all if I want to because not only am I higher level and all that bullshit, but also because I have superior mana control, more experience and an unrivaled intellect," the necromancer pronounced his last two words with great emphasis. He hoped the concept was clear to everyone.

He then remembered the idea of the undead being able to use magic and coughed in embarrassment.

"So, long story short, if it's true that some people become invulnerable to bullets following the evolution of certain classes - bollocks, bullets are like arrows fired with Skills, for non-Earthlings - it's also true that you can easily kill a person with thirty or forty levels more than you if they don't have particular protections. Obviously, if an idiot has made it past 50, you can expect him to be a chest of artifacts with legs."

Looking at the Ahali, he felt compelled to make a clarification.

“Take rabbitmonkeys as an example. They are truly terrifying if they have warrior classes, but if you stick poison in their food, they die anyway. The Vanedenis, on the other hand, for reasons beyond my understanding, have developed a greater resistance to poisons than other humans, but are slightly more fragile physically. This, fools, is to say that if you have an enemy in front who is hard as steel, there are ways of killing him other than trying in vain to stab him."

Maximilian nodded to his ability to explain things clearly and calmly. He could still marvel on his own at his ability to handle a crowd and, above all, students eager to learn.

"Then, there are the classes that are unable to fight directly," Maximilian noted Themistocles and Mibunum in the stands, as if they had materialized there. He was surprised at the little enmity he saw between them through their respective auras.

"Maximilian, can you give us an example of the classes that don't fight directly?" the man asked himself. “Sure, my precious little ones. So, bollocks, then. Wizards! Many put them in armies thinking it's a smart move, but using a wizard as a magical version of an archer is a gigantic bullshit. The wizard class is a researcher class, capable of providing flexibility on a battlefield. There are specialized combat variants, as you all know. However, believing that magic is a tool to be used more for war than anything else is mammoth bullshit."

Strith raised her hand.

“My very own personal disciple wants to ask a question! And God help her if I hear some bullshit after all the things I taught her myself."

“Master, can you better explain the difference between a combat class and one that is not directly geared towards battle? Could you maybe also give examples of some [Battle Wizard]?"

Maximilian scratched his short beard, looking for some traps in the question. Unfortunately, it was perfect. Strith had just corrected the course of his lesson. If he had moved on, he could not have properly explained the difference between a fighting class and other classes, at least according to the system he had theorized.

“Bollocks, let's see where to start. How do we define a combat class? Combat classes are all classes that naturally have, whatever the way to go to reach them, the ability to kill people physically, remotely or magically. [Mage] is not a combat class, but a generalist class. [Necromancer] is a class that plays with death, not a class that causes death. An [Animal Tamer] may specialise in having a dragon as a companion and make it more powerful with his abilities, but killing is not his specialisation. All clear?"

Everyone nodded, fascinated by the explanation.

"Good. So, a [Combat Mage] is perhaps the only [Mage] variant truly adapted to fight. However, in my personal opinion, any wizard who uses magic as a sword is an idiot. Because? Because magic is flexible. I can dig a hundred meter deep pit in half an hour if I invested my time to become a pure [Geomancer]. What happens, though, if I'm a [Geomancer] focused on combat? I will acquire skills capable of being used in combat, but I will not have spent enough time on the fundamentals of my class, on the essence of the class. A pure [Geomancer] at level thirty with a hint of brain kills a mixed [Geomancer] of the same level nine times out of ten."

“I have no battle-oriented skills, only skills related to manipulating bodies. The other spells I am able to use are in my repertoire because I am a mage. Any member of my class could do the same. A [Pyromancer] can still use ice, theoretically, and a [Cryomancer] could learn to handle fire."

Maximilian was getting closer to where he wanted to go for Cyrus's sake. His lesson was not easy to understand, and he already saw that some people had their eyes crossed trying to keep up with him.

“Let's take a quick digression, explaining how a [Gardener] can kill the fucking [Queen of the Abyss, Heiress of Forbidden Knowledge]. Who? Lakaner of the Marigolds, one of the heroes of the Vanedenis present here. Lakaner, according to Vanedeni historiography, was a simple gardener who devoted his entire life to his work. Now, how the fuck does a stupid gardener basically destroy the species that practically dominated the world? "

Strith raised her hand.

"Miss, cheating is forbidden, I already told you."

Strith lowered her hand and blushed.

“So, cunts. If someone has spent thirty years becoming the best gardener in this world, he has a control over the plants that you can't even dream of. It's like the whole world is his garden, he can control more plants than a druid and a [Plantmancer] or whatever the fuck is called the mage -mancer who controls plants. Lakaner, of course, had a very advanced variation of the [Gardener] class."

"So, how does he do that? Simple, he uses all aspects of his class and along with his new actions he also acquires the class of [Hero], the biggest fucking wild card in this fucking world. Why is that a wild card? Because basically you have a mega-super-monster or an impossible feat and you try to do it anyway because you are retarded. Now, you must not only have tremendous talent, but also think that you are foolishly strong enough to win against all odds. Oh no, Maximilian, you just revealed the secret of [Hero] class."

Maximilian witnessed a decidedly amusing show. All those present opened their mouths so wide they almost reached the ground, just like in cartoons.

“Oh yes, you bunch of idiots. Now, however, think for a moment about which people have a bunch of idiots who for centuries, no, millennia have thrown themselves against every challenge thinking they are the strongest?"

The Ahalis turned to the Vanedenis, especially to Strith.

"Exactly. Now, it's also true that they nearly died out within a few centuries, so I don't recommend everyone to follow their modus operandi. Well. The [Hero] class is used to perform impossible feats. All classes level up due to difficulties, but there is a class that is based on them. And that's precisely the [Hero] class. If you think you can challenge me or Eudokia in hope of earning this class, I give you bad news, if you don't already have it, you never will. A hero accomplishes a feat because he feels it, not because he just wants to earn the class."

"Oh well, in short, the parenthesis on this class are closed, bollocks."

Maximilian took a breath of air and yawned.

"Soooooo, huh. What was I trying to say”, he looked into his own memory to catch up on his thoughts.

“Right, bollocks, a pure class can be a thousand times more dangerous than a combat class, even in combat. A [Soldier] is less effective than a [Sword Expert]. One hundred [Soldiers], you may think, are more effective than ten [Sword Experts], as they have abilities that can multiply their effectiveness when they are together. Wrong! A [Sword Expert] with a brain never puts himself in the situation of fighting an army with a [General], a [Strategist] and all other command classes that can upgrade the entire army. This is stuff for stories in children's books. If I am a [Sword Expert], I buy an artifact or pay someone with the right skills in order to get closer to the most influential people in the army. I'll kill them all in minutes, since my class is the result of specific training in a weapon, and run away."

“Lakaner didn't kill the hunny by entering her palace, as they say. It took him three hundred and fourteen days of conflict, during which time he was fatally wounded several times. The story of him throwing himself in the water and going to break the hunny's neck is bullshit. Preparing and using your class in the best way is what leads to victory. If I'm a [Thief]", Maximilian looked straight at Cyrus, "I have my enemy poisoned by someone else and steal every antidote, every ingredient from the alchemists' houses in the city. I steal every healing herb that is there. These are the things a pure thief does. I avoid sticking a knife in his neck."

He saw Cyrus give a start hearing those words.

Did he really think he hadn't retraced the entire path he had taken? Not only had he done this, but he had also placed spells on the inhabitants of that small town, who would soon arrive in his city. With a portion of his mind he had listened to almost all of their conversations, until he caught the one about their [Pyromancer], who had been killed in mysterious conditions, and about the missing supplies.

“I avoid it because I have to perfect who I am, my class. There must be an alignment between desire, power and duty. Desire is the belief. Power is the requirement. Duty is the need to follow the pure essence of my own class. All deviations of a class, such as [Necromancer of the Rotten] - a class that specializes in zombies - are adaptations. If you make a lot of zombies, you don't need a different class, but a reason why you do so. Are you necromancers or rotting meat factories?"

Almost all Vanedenis were now frowning and upset. They still weren't comfortable talking about necromancy, but most were now resigned to living with the most powerful necromancer in Kome's history.

“So if I'm a [Necromancer], it doesn't mean I can't wield fire better than a stupid [Pyromancer]. If the latter is not focused on his class, but only on fighting or other bullshit, bollocks, then I open him like a can of tuna. Even if I were less powerful than what I am, a good understanding of the fundamentals would be enough for me to be a better wizard than all the wizards you know."

Maximilian pulled a dagger out of his cloak. In fact, he could have easily made her appear in midair, but he would never give up on his theatricality.

“Your Majesty, so if I am a [Wizard], a [Thief] or an [Arsehole] does that mean I don't have to learn to use a sword or dagger?"

"WRONG!"

The necromancer screamed so loud that a couple of people groaned for the pain in their eardrums.

“You must have a large repertoire and be prepared for any situation. What happens if a [Spear Expert] or some other weapon expert at level 40 randomly faces an [Assassin] at the same level in an open field? He guts his enemy in less than a minute, that's what happens. But what if the [Assassin] is forced to face such a situation? Then the winner is the one who is better prepared. If the warrior is better prepared to prevent the assassin from escaping, the warrior wins. If the killer has prepared to flee to regroup and assassinate the warrior, then he wins. The equation is much simpler than what it seems."

Maximilian cleared his throat and ended his speech.

"To sum up: focus on exploiting the characteristics of your class, but don't forget to prepare for any contingency."

One of the Vanedenis raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"What should I do if I want to become a [Sword Expert] and not just a [Soldier]?"

Maximilian pondered for a moment, but something caught his attention. Strith had winced at the mention of that class.

"Do you want to become a [Sword Expert]?" the necromancer repeated, spelling out the words to make sure he had seen correctly.

Strith made another small, almost imperceptible grimace.

Is there something I don't know?

If he had to guess, he'd bet it was something related to her parents. There weren't many other things that got on the girl's nerves. The vanedeni nodded.

“Then you have to focus on the sword. A sword expert is what the class says, a mere fool who thinks about their sword all day. How to use the sword to attack, how to use it to defend yourself. How to hunt with a sword, how to cut. A person who explores all aspects of a sword will sooner or later receive the class. People with a great talent for wielding this weapon also receive it, even if, once they get around level 40, they are no longer able to level up. This is because it is a pure class from the very beginning, the core of the class is the sword, nothing else. If you donìt understand that, trying to better and strengthen your class, you will start lagging behind."

The Vanedeni, whose name Maximilian finally remembered, Qualiger, began to look unfocused.. It was clear that he had just entered some sort of meditative state.

The necromancer made a mental note to remind himself to check his progress later. His eyes looked promising. Who knows, maybe a great [Sword Expert] would be born in his kingdom.

Maximilian could also have instructed him. The sword was definitely not his weapon of choice, but few people in this world could have wielded it with his same expertise.

Now, however, he had to take care of Cyrus. The Neapolitan had something special and even some secrets, without a shadow of a doubt. His sixth sense, however, told him to leave him alone until he came to him on his own.

Class was a very private thing, as it was related to people's perception of themselves. Unfortunately, sometimes they could be misperceptions.

Trying to help someone with their class was somewhere between deciding what their purpose in life should be and who that person was. It was a very delicate operation and to be avoided whenever possible.

"Cyrus, do you have any questions?" he asked the Neapolitan.

The olive-skinned man looked at him with furrowed brows and a thousand thoughts in his head, but with no question to ask at the moment. If Maximilian had had to guess, he had probably already answered most of his doubts.

However, the necromancer felt compelled to give one final example. People were stupid, and if just one in ten learned something useful from their lesson, he would be paralyzed with amazement.

“So, I'll give you one last example for the most idiots among you. If I am a thief and want to kill someone directly, I need to figure out which of my abilities could be used in battle. You should never hope to gain a skill after a battle if your class is not combat-oriented."

Maximilian took a couple of steps backwards and turned to Todd.

"If I have a skill that makes me remove objects from spaces, effectively bypassing the physicality of a barrier, and maybe even the magicality of a barrier, then what do I do?"

Maximilian put his hand on Todd's chest.

"I try to rip out his heart, or maybe a major artery in his leg."

Todd had an irritated expression, due to the physical contact with his King.

“Ohi, cunt, don't be so shy”, Maximilian said, moving his hand.

“Don't try to do things in battle you've never tried before, use your class and face people directly only when needed. If you are [Druids], take someone to a forest and throw a tree at them, or have them eaten by a bear, or whatever the fuck druids do."

Maximilian clapped his hands once, to indicate that he had finished.

Those present erupted in a buzz, and some Vanedenis and Ahalis even exchanged opinions on the parts that had interested both of them. Maximilian hoped that the gap between the two civilizations could be bridged, sooner or later.

Just the fact that they didn't jump at each other's throats was something. Maybe they took it for granted, but being close to someone you can't kill makes you naturally think that the other party shouldn't be killed. It's like being in a society where murder is condemned and being disgusted of it as a result.

"Maximilian."

The necromancer heard his name in a deep, thundering voice. Turning, he saw a huge ape coming towards him.

"How is it possible that you are a necromancer and that at the same time you have more physical power than an Ahali?"

“My class manipulates bodies. I'm not a [Executioner Mage] who specializes in manipulating flesh, but a fairly capable necromancer can manipulate a body in the same way. On Earth I was also an orthopedist, so I have a very great knowledge of bodies and their biology."

Mibunum did not seem to understand perfectly what the Londoner was saying to him.

“Bollocks, I can basically change how my body works. I wonder how many idiots I have to put together to make a half-functioning brain. I have an arm made of bone, Mibunum, do you think I can't make my muscle fibers more efficient and denser? Bollocks, why do I still talk to you."

"And why can you fight like that with your bare hands?" the Ahali [Commander] urged him.

“Ohi, what is it, a trial on live TV? Who are you, the Justice? I love boxing and it has been one of my hobbies."

"What is boxing?" the Ahalis asked, confused.

“Bollocks, boxing. Punching each other. Putting on some gloves and beat up the idiots who ask stupid questions."

Maximilian raised both his arms, the normal one and the bone one, and punched the air a couple of times with an idiotic smile.

Then he ignored ignore Mibunum, concentrated his aura and used a spell to detect who was still there.

Matthew is gone.

…

Matthew was in the middle of the river, thinking about the show the idiot had put up.

He had set out to explain classes and levels to everyone to get attention and to look like a decent person yet again.

There were so many things about that man that Matthew hated from the bottom of his heart now.

The Californian dived with his head under the water and began to move in the cold current as his body adjusted to the temperature. His class, [Paladin of Lost Causes] had given him [Resistance to Physical Affliction - Greater], and this allowed him to take a moderate amount of poison without getting sick, to face the bitter cold half naked or to hold his hand over a small flame for a minute without getting burned.

Matthew sometimes did not know if he loved the convenience provided by that skill or if he hated it. The water around him did not remove the numbness that haunted him since the battle.

He felt like he had never taken a shower since that day, like he was dirty in places impossible to reach and clean up.

He continued with his strokes, this time turning against the tide and exerting all his physical strength against mother nature. The current made him feel angry, as if it was yet another thing that he had decided to go wrong in the wrong way in his life.

After he got tired enough, he began to swim to where the water was shallow and he could stand on the muddy bottom without being swept away.

The greenery around him was so beautiful and lush that he felt out of place. There were days when Matthew hoped that a storm would assault Kome, so that he could plunge into a torrential and evil river, so it would reflect his inner mood and make him feel better.

Instead, the sun was shining happily in the sky, mocking his anxiety.

"Nice day, isn't it?" a voice came out of nowhere behind him and startled him.

Matthew turned like a deer in the middle of the road, at night, in front of a truck.

"What?"

“Nice day, I said”, on the other side there was a clearly naked man, standing in the crystalline water, without even his underwear, unlike Matthew, who did not like to show his private parts so freely.

It was the newcomer, the one he had seen the night he had gone with Anna to the pub.

Matthew looked at the blue sky and shrugged, nodding without enthusiasm towards the intruder. He didn't like anyone to come and disturb him when he was in a bad mood. It was as if someone intruded in a private matter they had no say over.

"Matthew, right?" said the other.

The aforementioned Matthew looked him up and down.

The newcomer was quite short, definitely shorter than a meter eighty, with an olive skin that suggested he was not from Canada. Still, he had no recognizable accent, he spoke the same clean English heard on television.

"Yes," Matthew said, hoping that the other would notice his lack of desire to hold a conversation.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Cyrus", the man approached until Matthew could see everything clearly.

He turned his eyes upwards as he reached out his hand, avoiding looking down. It wasn't easy,there was a difference of about twenty centimetres between them. In height, of course. He had no idea of the other measures!

"It is not bad to know other Earthlings", said Cyrus.

Cyrus, thought Matthew, from Italy. Obviously.

Matthew came to the realization seconds after hearing the name. He had been distracted by the man's brazen nakedness.

"If you say so," Matthew muttered.

Was it possible that Cyrus didn't notice that he didn't want to talk at all?!

“You're really fit. Do you swim often?"

The Californian had the instinct to cover himself with his hands, but he immediately realized how absurd his gesture would be and tried to remain standing in the most normal and relaxed way possible.

How was it like, standing relaxed and normal?

He couldn't remember.

“I've been swimming a lot lately,” he said with a shrug.

He wanted to turn around and start heading for the shore. However, the fact that the man in front of him was completely naked made him uncomfortable with the idea of turning his back on him, for some reason.

“I spent the first month behind all kinds of paperwork, think of that. The few skills I have in the class that I decided to cultivate later on make me barely decent."

Matthew realized a very simple fact, that Cyrus was simply trying to talk with someone he had met in a river. The guy was naked, so he doubted he had come like that on purpose to get him to join the army or to give him an impromptu psychoanalytic session.

Perhaps he felt even more uncomfortable than him, given his situation.

Matthew looked at him better and decided that, no, Cyrus wasn't more uncomfortable than him. The Neapolitan had his hands on his hips and let the sun shine on everything he had down there.

“If you have a [Thief] class you have to ask Todd. He's kind of an assassin,” Matthew said, omitting the fact that Todd's class was evil. Maybe evil wasn't the right word, but nothing better came to mind.

“We could throw ourselves into politics. Thieves and assassins. What's better than that?" joked Cyrus.

Involuntarily, a smile spread across Matthew's face.It didn't last long, just long enough to remember who ruled there.

"What's your class, if I may?" the Neapolitan asked, without giving him time to get upset.

"Paladin."

"Paladin? Can you heal people and fight as a tank?"

On the one hand, the man's eyes began to disturb Matthew more than his nakedness. On the other hand, he felt very flattered. Since arriving on Kome, becoming a warrior had been his goal. He had been trained by Eudokia and Maximilian. But not even the thought of the necromancer could ruin that victory for him.

"Healing is not really my strong point, but I can take care of small wounds and statuses. For example if you have been poisoned or you have come into contact with something or someone who was contaminated", Matthew said puffing up his chest.

"And are you also a tank?" Cyrus asked again.“Yes, I have skills that allow me to attract aggro. Some simply make me more resistant physically and magically."

"Paladin must be a very difficult class to obtain," suggested Cyrus.

Matthew, at that point, began to feel at ease with him. The series of questions he had been asked had evoked unpleasant memories, related to people whose names he couldn't even pronounce now, but had guided him to happy memories.

The paladin nodded and motioned for the [Thief] to follow him ashore. Having a chat wouldn't kill him. After all, he had been persuaded more than once by Todd or Anna to have a drink or something to eat together. Valeria too had come to him several times to yell some story or just yell at him. In any case, she was always yelling. He almost laughed at thinking about those scenes, after so long thinking of them as a nuisance.

“It wasn't easy. There is a large component of faith inherent in the class and— ”, he froze for a moment,“Maximilian helped me understand how to move. Eudokia too, but she was more helpful in helping me fight."

"Faith?" Cyrus asked with a perplexed look.

Matthew supposed that even though the man had just heard one of the necromancer's astonishing explanations, he probably didn't understand much. He didn’t blame him. He himself had taken a long time to assimilate them.

The paladin finally reached the shore but,not seeing the other's clothes anywhere, he pulled out of his duffer bag two pieces of cloth and threw one to the other, who looked at him with a grateful look.

“Every class needs faith. Desire, power and duty. Desire is the belief. Power is the requirement. Duty is the need to follow the pure essence of the class", replied Matthew and recited the lesson, which Maximilian had repeated at least twenty times only to him.

“Will and faith are one and the same thing. When Maximilian explains to you that you need will, he is telling you that you have to believe in something. If you believe you are a thief, you are more likely to take the class than a person who believes himself to be completely honest,” continued the paladin.

"I don't think I understand how it works," said Cyrus, scratching his head.

Matthew concentrated and began to gesticulate.

“You must believe you are something. It is not a question of wanting to be something. That is, Maximilian said he wanted to change the motto, but that it sounded too good that way”, the Californian let out a laugh before assuming a serious expression again.

“Anyway, if you really believe you are something or someone, it's like meeting the first requirement for a class. Then, bro, let me tell you, it really doesn't make much sense. You have to do things and believe you are things you then have to do to be, like."

Matthew saw a confused expression on Cyrus's face and he too found himself confused by his own words.

He had been driven to get that class, which then evolved thanks to Valeria and the battle. Even the Ahalis had complimented him on his meteoric rise among the elites. Mummer had been really impressed by the progress made by the Earthlings. Those who had survived, I mean.

Matthew remembered how much he had suffered, how much he had dreamed of being a knight in shining armor, protecting others and being admired.

Su Kome had become what he had always dreamed of being when he was living on Earth. He had never wanted anything more than to amaze Marta, to do something so great and heroic that it would have been impossible for his girlfriend, his parents and his friends not to be amazed.

He had been told two thousand times that he should think more about finishing college. They told him he spent too much time in the world of fairy tales, watching anime and reading light and web novels.

He had missed so many exam sessions that he couldn't even remember which year he was actually enrolled in. Maybe the second, maybe the third.

But the most terrible thing was that there had never been anything important enough in his life to allow him to become something more. When he had tried - to become more than just a skinny nerd, of course - he had always failed.

Marta told him they could never afford to start a family, if she ever wanted one with a loser like him.

And in this world he had conquered everything he had always wanted, at least in the beginning.

He had leveled up, had become a [Paladin], a class specialized in combat, but still with great versatility.

The people that Matthew could not defeat in the city could be counted on the fingers of two hands.

Yet despite all the progress he had made, he remained unhappy. He was probably depressed. He had a perennial fear of living. He woke up with a lump in his throat and couldn't breathe for a few seconds. He spent most of her day trying to fight the tears that seemed to have become a living thing in his eyes.

It was the story of a person who becomes rich and discovers that wealth cannot make his happiness. It was the story of a person who thinks Hollywood actors are the happiest people in the world, only to become one and only then discover how miserable their lives really are.

“But is it really that difficult? How did you manage to become a paladin, then?"

"They helped me," Matthew said, hunching his shoulders.

They?

He.

Eudokia was an extension of Maximilian. If she had come among them it had been only thanks to the necromancer. If the woman had come to his aid it had been the will of the one now calling himself King, who had asked her to show him how a paladin should fight.

Maximilian has killed Neri.

It was a thought that Matthew couldn't get out of his mind, but at the same time he began to reflect on how he had become a paladin.

“Maximilian is crazy, and not in a good way. But if you follow his advice, you shouldn't have any problems becoming whatever you want”, Matthew said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

“Well, if you've become such a strong paladin, he must have some tricks up his sleeve, Maximilian. I know you are one of the most sought after and feared fighters in the arena."

Matthew cringed.

"More or less. The problem is that at some point you risk not being able to level up any more. I haven't levelled up since the day of the battle,” Matthew said, masking his true feelings with a laugh.

Cyrus smiled, leaving a void of silence in place of the usual questions. Matthew was not at ease keeping quiet, not anymore. It was amazing how ten minutes with that man changed her perception of remaining silent.

From the day of the battle until that moment, it was the first time that Matthew had felt the need to say something in a conversation to keep it going. No, not only did he want to say something, he needed to say something.

“I don't know, Cyrus. I can't understand why my class doesn't move forward. I tried to train against the strongest warriors, I tried to think about my skills more often, how to use them. I don't understand, really, I don't understand."

Cyrus waited a couple of seconds before asking another question.

"What is the focus of your class?" he asked.

“A [Paladin] is a kind of knight, charged with protecting people. The Vanedenis told me that there are many paladins on Teiko, but they are not as strong as everyone thinks. Maximilian said that it is probably linked to the fact that they are servants of the state, not real, free, pure paladins."

Matthew rolled his eyes and frowned.

“Maybe, in these three months, I haven't really protected or helped anyone. A paladin is supposed to be at the service of the people. The skills of care and provocation are linked to this idea..."

He began to stare at the river, with his gaze lost in the infinite emptiness of existence.

“I haven't done anything for my class in three months. Maximilian explained it with devastating clarity and I still didn't do anything."

“Come on, tall guy, don't think too much about it. Now I'm going to get dressed and then we'll go and eat something. Wait for me here. Then we'll return to the arena. It's true that I'm a thief, but I need some practice."

Matthew first felt a pat on his bare shoulder and then saw his new swimming buddy go away.

Three months had passed since Neri's death and he had never been able to elaborate anything new after that tragedy. He had remained motionless, stuck in a loop of bad thoughts. At one point he had also thought that, sooner or later, he would receive a red class, like the one that Todd hated so much.

Of course, talking to Cyrus would not have been enough to change his life, or to make him forget all the horrors he had witnessed.

Still, it was as if something had unlocked, as if the piece of iron blocking his gears had been removed. He continued to despise Maximilian and Strith for the lightness with which they had faced the death of their comrades, human and Vanedenis alike, but now he could see things more clearly.

He was a [Paladin], or rather a [Paladin of Lost Causes]. His class made him smile. Even on earth he had started many small projects that had been defined as lost causes by Marta. Now, however, this world had recognized that such a trait deserved a class. It was a nod from the entire universe that Matthew had no intention of ignoring.

Now he could also tackle the problem of his class. How he could have gone on for so long with blinders was not clear to him, but what was clear to him was the solution: he just had to act as he would have done before the battle.

He threw his head back and laughed. Something had just occurred to him that he had foolishly ignored. It was as if he had just had one of those Eastern web novels awakenings.

Maximilian was a lost cause from almost all points of view.

He put his hand to his duffer bag, to pull out other clothes, when he realized that it was no longer at his side.

“Uh?”