“What did you see, then?” Lebowski asked.

Murmur shuddered. It was involuntary, the glazed look in Murmur’s eyes telling Lebowski that he was not even here. “I’m sure as you looked through my memories, you saw the wars I fought,” Murmur began. “The wars I waged were the reason I lived. I bled, killed, and yearned for battle. War was nothing I feared. Battles are what I needed to feel alive. But the competition in your head - the war that resides in your soul - scares me. It’s a wonder that I hadn’t known before, but I think I realize it now.

“You are not a single person, Lebowski. Your mind isn’t necessarily your own. Your memories didn’t even broach onto what exactly happened, but I know it was not something meant for a human, much less a mortal soul. I do not even believe that you know what shaped you. There are divisions inside of you, killing and dominating for supremacy. I do not know how you live. You are not natural; your body, your mind, and your soul go against everything the System is.” Murmur finished, looking at Lebowski, searching for a sign of response.

Lebowski pulled his fishing line back in, glancing into the water, making sure he didn’t spot a fish, then tossed the pole back in.

“So, you see why a pamphlet would be helpful?” Lebowski asked, rocking with the pull of his fishing rod.

“Do you not wonder how I knew your name?” Murmur questioned, ignoring his Inheritor’s lackadaisical response.

“My class King had a skill called [True Sight],” Murmur continued after Lewboski didn’t respond. “That skill carried over into this form. I used it on your and learned your name: Lebowski Lebowski. I thought, since I knew your name, I could take your measure, so I did. I thought you were simply a lost young man with a lot of potential. Your stats are amazing for one your age. You’d have been hailed a prodigy in my kingdom. But I only caught a glimpse of one side of you - just the surface of your depth.

“These gifts you possess are a curse within themselves. I should have known the second you entered my crypt, the Fear Effect not affecting you, that something was peculiar, but I was a hopeful and blind fool. It seems that not even two thousand years gives one much defense to ignore hope completely. If I were to give you my Inheritance - well - I wholeheartedly believe that not even you would know what you would do with it.”

“Sure I do. I’d get enough points to buy as many Hawaiian shirts as I wanted.” Lebowski’s line started to move, his smile growing larger and larger with every second. Then, Lebowski jerked the hook out of the water, a stick erupting from the pond, landing behind him. The stick had mud and weeds caked onto it. Lebowski guessed that the current from the waterfall jostled the stick, catching it on his hook. But that didn’t make much sense. It’s a pond, so there is no current.

“I must revoke my contract. That is the only way.” Murmur looked at Lebowski. It seemed that Lebowski wasn’t even listening, so focused on his prize: the stick.

However, Lebowski paid perfect attention to everything Murmur said. He wasn’t surprised, but he did want at least some answers. “I hear you. That’s all exactly what my ex-girlfriend said. Before you cancel your contract and get destroyed - I’m assuming you’ll get destroyed by the System - can you answer some questions for me?”

“I’m sorry, but I can not. You are too dangerous. Every one of you is insane.” Murmur had that glazed look about him again, and Lebowski felt in his soul that he was about to be teleported away.

“Then I will summon you back.”

“Ha, you can’t. You are not even from this plane. It’s impossible for you.”

“I saw how your mages tethered you to the pit. I saw the process. I know it, Murmur.” The color - the horrible orange, scaly color - drained completely from Murmur’s face.

“You know my name,” was all he could say. He appeared to be in disbelief. More than that, though, he seemed to be terrified. “Of course, you know my name. I am a fool.” Birds, which Lebowski hadn’t seen before, appeared in the sky, Six crows, squabbling and fighting in the air.

“Aye, but it’s a pretty name,” Lebowski said.

“Then ask, boy!” Murmur spat. His face contorted into hard lines, raging at Lebowski. “Ask your questions!” His voice was booming. The pink leaves of the tree shuddered, almost withering within themselves. Clouds started to drip into the sky, covering the sun.

“How do I obtain a class?”

“Get your Cultivation to 1.” Murmur’s response was curt and controlled. The crows continued to fight in the air.

“How do I do that?”

“Get enough points to buy the Cultivation Manuel from The Store.”

“Then I read it?”

“Of course you read it!” The sky darkened further. The sunlight was peeking through the clouds, the willowing beams shedding onto the flowers. The flowers curled around each other, huddling. Opportunities, opportunities. The crows cawed.

“Are there specific criteria that need to be met to gain certain classes?”

“No one ever found out. The System always gave the user three options. The number of options remains the same for everyone. However, the options differed even between people who had similar personalities and had achieved similar actions. So it is a mystery how the System decided.”

“Just for clarification, the System appeared to you in blue boxes?”

“Yes, the System does that for everyone. You are not special in that regard.”

Lebowski decided that the stick isn’t a worthy catch after carefully examining it. The little juts of wood poking out wouldn’t make for a good cane. So, he picked it up, throwing it back into the water. Then, after cleaning off his fishing pole, Lebowski tossed it into the water as well, the metal hook sinking to the bottom. Maybe this time, he’ll have better luck and catch a more significant, straighter wooden stick. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

“How high do Cultivation levels go?”

“The highest I have ever heard about was level 6.” Murmur trembled, body shaking. The forest started to shake in the wind, leaves twirling into the sky.

“What’s the difference between levels?”

“You get an upgraded class as well as an exponential growth in stat points.”

The fishing line continued to sit in Lebowski’s hand, not so much as twitching. Lebowski let it sit there, thinking positive thoughts, manifesting a big stick hooking on. He pictured himself reeling in a big catch. “What level was your Merciless class?”

Murmur grew even angrier, the lines on his face growing harder. “That’s a Title, boy. Not a class.”

“Then why did your classes get replaced?”

“Because it was the Name the System itself gave me! With that Title, I became a Named. And before you ask, Named beings are powerful. They have accomplished a task that the System takes notice of. The System then gives them a Title - a Name - after what the task was.”

“What are the benefits?”

“I grow tired of this.” The horned and scaled old man closed his eyes, chanting a spell of some sort under his breath. The wind picked up, the trunks of the forest shaking with the howling gusts. The crows tumbled out of the sky, landing far within the trees.

“Don’t be so rude. Despite me being crazy, as you say, I still showed you proper respect, Murmur.” The mention of his name took the air out of his sails, settling him back down. The wind died.

“Your question, boy?” Murmur growled.

Lebowski, of course, politely asked again, not to be rude. “What are the benefits of having a name?”

“Being a Named elevates one above the rest of the rabble. Everyone can access classes and gain cultivation; however, a Named means that these things are elevated. They have access to higher energy. This energy is called qi, but it goes by many names depending on the culture. This qi is a purer form of energy, meaning that everything is enhanced. A single stat point powered by qi is much more valuable than two stat points powered by the System’s Store. Due to this crushing new power, the System takes away the Named’s classes to balance out the power.”

Lebowski’s fishing pole finally moved. Hoorah! So, he whipped out the line, the hook catching the dimmed sunlight, gleaming in the heavy, rioting air. Green algae and sticky mud were clinging to the hook, but nothing else. At least Lebowski caught something. He lifted his prize to his nose, smelling it. It reminded him of home. Charming.

Murmur’s face turned to an uglier shade of orange, watching this buffoon fish in his pond, not even paying attention to his response. But that’s not true; Lebowski was paying close attention as before. It seemed this Introduction truly favored the bold. After all, Lebowski was rewarded for surviving his first day, gaining access to the Cultivation system. He was also handsomely rewarded after he killed the boar and the wolf. The Voice (or the System if one is Murmur) invests in worthy prospects. The more you kill, the stronger you become. Opportunities, opportunities. His mother would have loved it here.

“Do you fish here often?” Lebowski asked, motioning towards his hook. “I’m tearing it up!”

“Enough!” The sky grew black, clouds coalescing into dark towers, spreading across the sky, raining red lighting. The wind crisscrossed, gushing into different trees and mountains.

“No, I have one last question, Murmur.”

The land, the pond, the trees, the sky, all of it raged. Raged and thrashed, trying to break free of the bindings of the System.

“How’s your mother, Susan?”

Then, red lightning struck Lebowski, blowing him to smithereens.