In a hole in the ground there lived a goblin. A nasty, dirty, wet hole filled with the slowly rotting remains of flesh not eaten and more musky monsters than a single person could possibly handle on their own.

One such person is learning that one or two of these greasy, green creatures out in a forest is easy pickings, but there are hardly ever one or two when deep in their nest.

He's known fear before, awaiting the judgement of his work on the first years of being a slave. He's felt pain before, beaten for no other reason than his owner had a bad day. He's embraced despair, the moment he knew he would never see his family again and that he was truly alone.

All of these emotions and more have swept him along his pitiable life, but that doesn't mean he had become immune to them.

River's heart races, a traitorous drumming in his ears pounds incessantly and he's sure those ravenous monsters can hear from his hiding spot. The crack in the wall of stone he wedged himself into is only five or so feet deep. He barely had enough time and MP to throw up a minor illusion spell to help conceal it.

Each thrum-thrumming half buries the sounds of wet, slapping footsteps with a hint of the scraping of yellow nails on stone. Their gob gob gobbing language reminds him of a sick cat dying in a dark alley.

When he first entered the cave mere moments ago, it was still midday. River was feeling confident, having killed several of the goblins scouts and hunters over the past couple of months. Also, with a full line up of cards in the first tiers of all six classes as well as a few in the second, he felt more powerful than ever.

The set of armor he chose to wear, mostly leathers and chainmail with a high steel helmet, gave him lots of bonuses to all kinds of elemental resistances, extra armor, and more damage to his already formidable unarmed strikes. He was too short to swing the long sword he wanted to use, but he was already used to dual wielding the high steel kitchen knives, a meat cleaver and an eight inch chef's knife.

All of these things combined to create a level of arrogance that caused the young man to stroll into the mouth of the cave like he owned the place.

He met with some scouts in the first small cavern and the fight with them only added oil to the inferno that was his hubris.

Primitive arrows and slung rocks dealt him damage in the ones and twos, though they still stung like swift punches. With his health around one hundred eighty, he didn't feel the need to dodge or defend against such paltry attacks and pressed forward like a self-destructive siege engine.

One of the skills he equipped to Armist, Quickdraw III, allowed him to conjure a weapon from a bag or magical storage space directly into his hand while he attacked with added speed and force. It is a flashy move that, at his relatively low level, took big bites out of his stamina.

He wasn't worried, since he still had what he incorrectly believed at the time was a lot of mana in reserve. He could just switch back and forth between mana and stamina, using one pool while the other refilled. Maybe with all of the bonuses and some careful rationing, he could cast small spells for a long time.

But, when one attaches a support card called Nova to their Frozen Arrow card and it gives them the option to turn it into a wide Area of Effect spell, one usually gets the urge to test it on the first hapless target one sees.

Of course, had River tested it on a group of goblins rather than one, he might've gotten more bang for his buck. Or rather, he would've gotten more damage dealt for the ludicrously increased MP cost.

When he chanted the spell's much longer incanto, "Let loose a storm of icy shards to tear the world to shreds. No wood or iron impedes the path of glacial fury," the temperature in the cavern dropped and a vortex of wind swirled around the goblin.

Slivers of ice coalesced in the whipping current, turning the little, green creature into a big, red mess. The gory scene is so vile that River didn't want to get near the floating image of a coin where the goblin once stood.

The magical loot symbol is simple enough to access, a bit of physical contact and a single point of mana is enough to trigger the coin to spill the goods. If one had an extra dimensional storage space, the items would go straight in there. As magical as the rucksack of holding is, it doesn't count and whatever the coin is going to release is going to plop down in the blood spattered ground.

No thanks to that, he remembered thinking to himself.

And that's where the trouble started. It became a struggle to keep ahead of the aggressively swarming goblins while trying to avoid the lethargic effects of dangerously low mana and stamina.

Each skirmish, each encounter was a race to see what would drain first: his health, mana, stamina or the health of the goblins. Even though the damage being dealt to him was low, it was a near constant thing. Each passing second two, three, sometimes four hits would land on him from somewhere and he didn't think he was anywhere near the end of the nest.

If he had more potions, he could've done more.

If he had more cheap spells or skills, he could've done more,

If he had done more to prepare for such a mission, then maybe, he wouldn't be stuffed into the butt crack of a wall, trying not to piss himself and luring the goblins over to him by scent.

He closes his eyes and takes some deep breaths to calm his body down. He may not have been formally, or even properly trained to be an adventurer, but he isn't a fool.

With no clear objective other than killing all the goblins he came across, River doesn't have any solid reason to be in the cave. No quests, open threats, or prisoners to rescue. He is free to go as he pleases. And once his mana and stamina replenished, he would do just that.

The sound of several small feet slapping at the bare rock floor passes by like a spring shower. And while he waits for them to leave, he takes a closer look at something he noticed when his adrenaline dipped back down.

In the back wall is a small, but deep crack at his eye level. If his eyes hadn't adjusted to the darkness, he never would have spotted the dim mote of dark grey energy hiding within the rock and shadows.

River instinctively reaches for it, straining his arm against the jagged rocks, like trying to steal something from a rock wolf's mouth. With a poke and a single mana point, the dark grey mote of light stretches into the shape of a loot coin.

Another point of mana and a card takes the coin's place. Unbeknownst to the boy, but at the same time the card appeared his core tattoo on his back pulsed into view for only a heartbeat then reverted back to four, simple, black lines.

Blessing of Neophyte's Guardian I Xperia: 0% Tier 1 Boon All Classes

-Every day after midnight, you may change the class into which this essence is slotted (1) time.

-Increase Xperia gained for all other essences in the same class as this essence.

-Gain a bonus Boon according to the class this essence is slotted

-[Curse of Binding] This essence may not be removed through normal means

The powerful support card Nova that could turn a basic spell into a localized disaster is a purple, seven star essence and the rarest one River was able to equip. The improbability of seeing nine golden stars in a circle near the bottom of this new card is enough to send his heart racing once again.

Not only is it insanely rare, it also happens to be the very first card he's found in the wild. The absurdity of the moment shakes some sense back into River as he brings up his deck.

I don't have any space, he thinks to himself. Which one should I blank?

As he skims through each class, he can't help how unfamiliar and awkward the cards he had picked out feel to him. Except for Nova, he couldn't even remember why he picked them in the first place.

Rarity? The way they sounded?

At this point it doesn't matter. Aside from the cards he used every day to hunt, everything has to go. The ones Agmus Mak chose for him had purpose, he knew how to use them and when.

Agmus Mak... I... I need to make dinner!

The sudden realization shifts him into a kind of auto-pilot. He needs to get out and he needs to do it right now.

With each level gained, a player also receives something called a "blank card." It's the same exact dimensions of the essence cards, except that both sides are filled with a hauntingly white layer beneath an impossibly deep layer of glass.

When one touches a card on their deck with it, the blank becomes the exact copy of that essence, leaving an empty spot where the card used to be. It's the standard way for people to remove maxed out cards to sell, trade, or pass on to their family. It's also how players of means figure out the best fits for their "play styles"-- the hard way.

With his tiers clear once again, except for the ones Agmus Mak told him to slot, River makes his choice on where he wants to gamble the new card.

If it grants a bonus depending on the class, then I need to put it where it'll most likely help me escape.

Fighting would only slow him down and most likely attract more attention. He needs to be swift, agile, and the best bet would be to put it in Rogue. With little time left on the illusion he casted earlier, he slots it right away, eyeing the results with a toothy grin.

-[Rogue] Increase movement speed by 20%

-[Rogue] Increase attack speed by 15%

One of the things River noticed after his first fight was his sluggish movement in the caves. At first he thought that the goblins here were stronger or that their increased numbers were just so oppressive that he couldn't keep up. In fact, it was actually because Terrain Knowledge only worked in a woodland or urban setting.

Without its effects, his body felt like it was being held back somehow.

Back to the speed he became accustomed to, he holds up the imposing meat cleaver in his right hand. He remembers.

Walking into the cave he forgot all about the ideas of movement economy, choosing instead, to overwhelm the goblins with a show of force. Needless to say, they were not impressed.

He'll give them something to fear now.

The long chef's knife in the other hand, he listens for the sound of movement and checks his parchment for his health, mana, and stamina. Its only been ten or so minutes and all three are slightly above seventy five percent full.

Time to go.

---

"So where's the boy now?"

The question comes from Cillin Dirgesinger, a draken. Draken are draconic humanoids that are more small, bipedal dragon than human with dragon features. Short, lizard snouts; sharp teeth; and scales of colors that denote their draconic lineage. Most have long, scaly tails; some have leathery, bat-like wings; but all have clawed hands and feet.

This particular draken has scales the color and toughness of obsidian; sickly green ridges along the brow, back, and knuckles; and ghostly white eyes with cross-shaped pupils.

The red and gold silken finery befitting a king tailored specifically for him only highlights the erect, almost pompous way he sits. He holds the stem of his glass between two clawed fingers, palm parallel to the ground as if placed atop an invisible surface. When he sips the wine, the way his hand sweeps up almost looks like he's swooning.

Cillin traces his bloodline to "The Godkiller Plague," Gora'ki Poxsinger, the legendarily evil, ancient black dragon who killed a third of a kingdom's population and turned them into his undead horde.

It took several teams of heroes and an army of adventurers to defeat them, yet that section of the world has been unlivable even after victory was claimed.

"Woods, I think. I don't know what he does with whatever spare time he scrapes together." Agmus Mak says off handidly, pouring them both a glass of deep, almost black, red wine.

"I can't believe you found one," he says with a shake of his head and shudder of his black, leathery wings. "Fool, you said?"

Mak sits back in a red velvet recliner, the draken in its twin, and both facing a roaring fireplace. Even though he may be part dragon, he wasn't a fire dragon, so the warmth is welcomed rather than ignored.

"Fool indeed. Black ten. All six classes, though only the first five tiers. It's an interesting handicap, the opposite of mine. What was yours again, Cil? The Devil?"

"Tower, actually, you prejudice, old party clown. Now hold on a minute. I thought you retired from training heroes?"

"Bah!" Mak dismisses him with a shooing hand gesture, "None of those brats were ever worthy of that title. The entitled offspring of the nobility and lunatic else-worlders from beyond our reckoning. I played my part and I got payed.

"And, indeed, I retired from that. This one was an orphaned slave when I found him."

"That's... novel... So what do you plan to do with him?"

"Do you remember when the last group of heroes overthrew King Winslow and the conversation we had a month after?"

"Oh? I think it was about the establishment of the minimum wage? Great grandfather's ball-sack, what a stupid idea that turned out to be."

Mak rolls his eyes, "Tell me about it. Anyway, it actually made slaves more expensive and house staff a nightmare to employ."

"I believe they also prefer to be called 'indentured servants,'" Cillin swirls his wine glass, looking like he's wiping down a table, "And they're more expensive because you're actually buying their debt."

"Whatever. Remember what I said near the end of that conversation?"

"Not... exactly?" He raises a brow ridge at his friend.

"How, if someone could put together the right deck in the right person, they could be the perfect servant? They could do the work of a dozen people?"

"Are you talking about someone like late King Winslow's butler, Coleman? He was a highly trained, expert assassin who learned how to be a butler because Winslow wanted him by his side at all times."

"No, no, no. I'm talking about someone who already knows their place, who lives to serve, who would do anything and everything you need even before you ask it of them? Someone raised to be--"

Cillin gasps, free hand to his chest and a scandalous look on his face, "You don't mean...?"

"Yes," Agmus Mak says with a grinning growl, "He is my chosen one..."