A party of level 70s was wiped, conducting a raid on the demon king. The fourth one this year. Death, it seems, is permanent. There is no respawn.

I am still classless, which apparently is a class onto itself. I’m not too surprised, after all, how many people have tried this trying to make themselves unique. Inner power, inhuman reactions, burst of speed, these are the skills that make up the Classless class. Abilities that focus on enhancing one’s physical capabilities.

I have heard rumors of a level 90 skill available to the Classless. Limit Breaker. A Classless some three hundred years before me (Apparently most of the reincarnations are from 1990s to the 2000s, but are reincarnated across a long stretch of time) allegedly had the skill. She was incredibly powerful, and only lost a single fight, the fight that resulted in her death.

…

Mariah and I are dating now. Well, we were kind of always dating since about two years ago, but we finally acknowledged it to each other.

I was a loser in the old world. A 23 year old shut in who dropped out of college and was shunned by his family. It took dying in a car accident and being sent to another world for me to have the confidence to confess to a girl.

I won’t repeat the person I was. Never again.

“Wake up boy. Time to get to it.” Old Chrom shook Markus awake, smiling with his yellow teeth through his scraggy gray beard.

The man was unusually energic and strong for essentially a death camp and had made himself the de facto leader of workers. He made sure to personally rouse the enslaved, waking them so they are ready for a day in the mines, avoiding a beating for oversleeping.

Markus rose, his ribs aching from the beatings he received nearly every day. His arms and legs were covered in deep cuts on account of the jagged gem formations located within the mines. He had also lost weight. Working as a coal miner gave precious little food, but at least it was regular. Here in the experience mines, one was lucky to receive even a smidge of bread. Markus hadn’t eaten for four days. His last meal was given to him by old man Chrom. The man made sure to feed those who needed whenever he could.

“Up and ready. Let’s all make sure to get a good load today now.” Chrom whistled. “Maybe earn us some bread yeah?” He smiled, patting as many workers as he could on the shoulder as they walked out the tin hut packed tin hut that sheltered them.

They did not carry picks. Work was conducted by hand and a small hammer. The crystals grew in giant formations, sharp and bladelike. One had to break off bits of the crystal to gather it by hand. Though the shards were fragile, they were incredibly sharp. And shards too small were worthless.

The hut lay at the base of the mountain, surrounded by a jagged metal fence. There were Masters here, but a few mid-tier Nobles policed the site as well. Rangers sat in the guard towers, their bows, a assortment of metal, gears, and wire, tracking the workers as they trudged out of their hovels, led into the small entrances of the mine.

It was warm down here, for some reason. Hot even in places, drenching many of the workers in their sweat. Many crystals grew down here, obstructing the passageways with their jagged edges, making traversing the caverns difficult, often cutting the workers as they brushed past.

And yet Chrom sang. His voice could be heard booming along the cavern, encouraging others, and singing about warm bread. Many workers would break down, giving themselves to death, but Chrom would be right there next to them, encouraging them onwards. He would not leave a man to die.

Markus admired the man. Thanks to Chrom, he was able to focus. To focus on surviving, serving out his sentence, and reuniting with Fel. He remembered the day he had spoken with Chrom, and how he told him about his sister.

“She’s silver haired.” Markus said as he faced Chrom, who listened with a keen ear.

“A rarity.” He smiled. “That’s normally a nobility trait.”

“That’s what gave her trouble. The silver hair reminded the kids on the streets of nobles, so they bullied her. Course I made sure to pay ‘em back in kind.” Markus said, reminiscing of the days in the Eastern Hearth.

“So you were Boroughs born?” Chrom asked, scratching his beard.

“Unfortunately. Didn’t have the luxury of being a House Common.” Markus said, rubbing the deep cuts on his forearms. “I was part of a street gang in the Eastern Hearth. Most Common kids were, but not Fel.”

“Your parents didn’t stop you?”

“My mother tried, but I wasn’t a real good kid.” Markus said, remembering the warmth of his mother’s smile. “My father was in the garrison. He was always gone, quelling rebellions and such. He had silver hair, like Fel.”

“So you were at the siege of the east I reckon.” Chrom asked.

“My gang was one the gangs involved in that whole thing.” Markus said. “It started as a simple turf war for control of the Boroughs. My gang against another. It escalated when we started using Half-Borns. A lot of people died, and a few Nobles got caught up in the mix. Forced most the garrison to march on the Hearth to quell the riots.” Markus lifted a small cup of water to his lips. It was ice cold.

“Then the inquisition came.” Chrom said, turning to face the wall.

Markus nodded.

“According to my gang mates at the time, all seven Fallen Hands entered the city, drawn by the Half Borns. But…”

“Even they couldn’t stop them. Cause the rebellion made it’s move.” Chrom said.

Markus nodded again.

“The Hero of the Frosts. Rumor has it he entered the city with a rebel army near a thousand strong. They overwhelmed the garrison with Half Borns and traitor Nobles. According to my boss, he killed a Hand.”

Chrom remained silent.

“Then… the Supreme One made his move.”

“Did you see him?” Chrom asked.

Markus shook his head.

“But I heard him. Sort of. It was like his voice was my thoughts, but loud, so loud I couldn’t help but crawl into a ball. He said…” Markus paused. They were words he will never forget. “Fools. I will show you why I am God.” The voice was powerful, but calm. Just like how someone who bears the title Supreme One should sound. “He showed up in the morning, and by evening the rebellion and the Hero of Frosts were both dead. The city was brought under control, and the Hands went wild, burning the Boroughs and slaughtering indiscriminately. My mother was one of the victims. I… found her body in front of a panel where Fel was hiding, tucked away with her books. It was…” Markus didn’t even want to think about it.

“I’m sorry son.” Chrom said, tucking his knees into himself.

“Garrison combed through the remnants. Found us huddled together under a blanket. Put us to work in the coal mines.”

Chrom smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Markus?” Chrom asked, looking up as the swirling snows fell. “Why do you think the snow falls?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Markus asked back, confused by the question. “That’s just the way it is.”

“So you know nothing of the Pre-Frost?”

Fel had told him about it before. He just wasn’t interested in it, and only listened to her half heartedly to entertain her.

“The world used to be different.” The old man sighed. “Fields of green grass, forests of towering trees. Deserts and plains. Cities of wood and stone. None of these cold, metal hovels we call home. It was cold sometimes, but sometimes it was blazing hot, like a forge but everywhere.”

Markus regarded the man, watching as his eyes drifted elsewhere, to someplace he did not know, to some time he did not know.

“I have regrets, Markus. Regrets that I can never take back. No matter what I do. You’re a good kid.” He smiled. For the first time since Markus had met him, he looked old. “Back to work, I suppose.” He patted Markus on the shoulder, before disappearing back into the hovel.

Markus thought of Fel. His only sister. Was she eating all right? Did Lord Chastings keep his word, or did he sell her off? No. He had to be lying. There was no such thing as an honest noble. At least, Markus never met one. He had to escape this place. He couldn’t wait a year. He might live till the end of it. Already he had seen six others beaten to death. The Masters here were crueler than what he had known, but in a different way. Where his old Masters beat him for pleasure, these Masters, it seemed, beat for the sake of death. For the sake of killing, not power.

He had to escape this place. And he had to find Fel. But the question was, how?