Sam gazed at a bemused-looking Eric for long moments. “You now have stats in the 70s.”

Eric slowly nodded. “A couple of them, yes.”

“And 67 Quickness. Just how fast can you...” Sam blinked then froze, feeling the blunt flat of Eric’s blade safely resting on his shoulder.

From behind him.

Sam spun around, an awed look on his face. “Shit. Eric. I… I actually felt the wind of your passage. There’s dust in the air from how quick you moved your feet. But I hardly saw you! Are you sure you’re still, well...”

“Human?”

Sam winced. “Well… yeah?”

Eric chuckled, resheathing his blade. “As human as any multi-classed cultivator hybrid mutt can be, then yes. I guess I am. But let’s not forget, I’m not the only one making strides, Sam. You’re also kicking ass!”

_____________

Samuel Orwell.

Basic Necromantic Affinity Detected.

Basic Bloodmagic Affinity Detected.

6-Meridian Gate Dragon Heart Configuration Detected.

Class: None.

Cultivation Pathway: Basic Fire Cultivation: Rank 2 Achieved!

Physical Characteristics

Strength – 14

Vitality – 13

Finesse – 12

Quickness – 14

Appearance – 13

Spiritual Energy – 8

______________

“Stronger, tougher, quicker, and my interface is even recognizing a Spiritual Energy pool on your abbreviated sheet. It never bothered with that before.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, the primal carnivore diet’s doing wonders for both our physiques. You’re still tromping my ass six ways to Sunday.”

Eric winked, rubbing his friend’s head. “You’re looking at it wrong, buddy. We’re not competing, we’re mentoring. The better each of us get at our respective fields, the more we can help level-up the other, so we absolutely kick ass in every way that counts.” Eric’s smile hardened. “Because you better believe you have skills I want to make my own, just as soon as I collect a certain final prize.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Shit. You’re really going to do it, aren’t you.”

Eric nodded. “I’ve never felt so refreshed as I do right now. I doubt there’s even the tiniest shred of plaque, and my foundation’s stronger than it’s ever been before, with a flood of Fire Qi coursing through my channels every second I cultivate, which I’m doing right now, even as I talk to you,” he said with a smile. “So now, I think, before I risk polluting it again walking a crooked path, is the perfect time to retrieve golden prizes that have been tempting the hell out of me for almost two months.”

Sam bit his lip. “Eric? Do you think maybe, um… you could pluck me a couple?”

Eric frowned, gazing at his friend with mock sternness. “Have you been dedicated to your cultivation? Do you truly feel worthy of the golden fruit?”

Sam snorted. “Every morning and night, Eric. Except when we’re sparring, or I’m spending the evening teaching you the basics of necromancy with nothing more potent than chalk!”

Eric laughed and winked, because of course it was true. With his mind and body now truly alive with the fiery whirlwind of Qi now saturating his primary channels so deliciously, he could sense more clearly than ever before how blasphemous certain arts were, practiced within this cultivation sanctuary. Not that he was opposed to a little blasphemy, the gentlest of experiments sealed in a pentagram of blood, so as not to cause any undue reverbations to, perhaps, cause an unwelcome eye to be cast his way by the powerful patron before he was ready for the ultimate showdown… and much to his relief, he had sensed the guardian’s baleful eye easing more and more away from him the purer his foundation had become. He could only hope that would buy him some additional time. Otherwise he only had a couple of weeks left, before he’d either reign victorious, be thrown out on his ass, or killed.

Yet there had been a price to pay, even with the subtlest of wards to hide his less orthodox practices, noting the tiny bit of foul residue even a single summoning circle had left upon his channels.

Before being burned away within minutes of gentle cultivation, allowed no purchase upon channels now stronger than ever, far stronger than when he had foolishly forced off plaque and near ruptured his entire cultivation base.

But the message was clear. At least here and now, with their stay already so tenuous, Eric was loathe to do anything to offend the powers-that-be.

At least not yet.

And for his young friend, recently broken through to Basic Cultivation Rank 2, with perhaps the slightest spark of Fire Qi affinity, thanks to his sadly lacking mentor and the saturated environment they had broken through in, it was doubly dangerous to practice their crimson arts, for any new plaque would quickly jell with meridian channels still filled with so much of humanity’s residue. Yet so long as he held off from certain arts, the spiritual energy within Sam’s meridians could at least flow unhindered through all his gateways, assuring that slowly, over time, perhaps months if not years, he would clear his channels and ascend as a cultivator, even if he chose no class at all.

But if the fruit worked as intended, if Eric made a gift of them to his young friend, the gentle surge of Fiery spirit fruit potency might wick away untold months worth of sweat and effort for the price of a single peach.

Eric laughed. “So you want to take a short cut, like all the favored young masters of powerful clans no doubt absolutely littering the galaxy? Eat mystical fruit while your lessers spend years struggling just to finish clearing their channels?”

Sam laughed. “Pretty much,” he conceded, eyes twinkling merrily. “If grandfather’s hunch is right, this really is a gamer’s universe. Those with the family connections, the resources, and the knowledge will ascend head and shoulders above all the poor goobers who think sweat and hard work and finding their own way forward will get them anything but mediocrity and working for the smirking assholes on top, who had it all figured out from the start.”

Eric sighed, lighthearted demeanor hardening. He peered thoughtfully at the arcane blaster rifle he summoned in a heartbeat, earning an impressed whistle from his friend once more.

“That is so badass looking, Eric.”

Eric snorted. “Yeah. The fantasy equivalent of an anti material sniper rifle. So far from the swords and shields most of us start with that its beyond absurd. Beyond Conquistadors blasting natives with cannons. And if it weren’t for the fantastic coincidence of claiming this weapon from the near 30th level goblin assassin trying to kill me… after a desperate fight to claim the gold that was sworn to me before a certain asshole betrayed my crew so utterly that we were in slave collars and, again, under the thumb of thirtieth level assholes before we actually managed to break free… there would be absolutely no way I would have access to this toy. Honestly, it’s a miracle that I even survived the goblin shits trying to kill me with this thing, or earned the perk that would have let me even claim it as anything but a spoil of war.”

Eric shook his head, glaring at the essence-infused tuskers he was using as training dummies while the air filled with the delicious sizzle and scent of cheerily cooking pork chops as he spoke on. “Basically, if I hadn’t won the lottery of luck, desperation, odd talents the System only half acknowledges, and fighting with absolutely everything I have… I’d be dead, and none of the treasures I’ve managed to soul-bond would be mine,” he said, flipping from blaster to javelin to saber then bardiche, all in the blink of an eye.

“But you did manage to survive, Eric,” Sam said reassuringly. “Survive with so many fortunate encounters under your belt that it’s beyond fucking belief!”

The boys eyes were lit with the fires of admiration, and Eric found himself wondering if he should have revealed so much of what he had gone through to his young friend. But late at night, with no one to talk to but themselves, they had both revealed more than a little bit of their lives, strengthening their friendship, truly becoming as close as kin.

Eric nodded at his friend’s assertion. “You’re right. But here’s my point. After everything I learned, all the knowledge I had suffered to glean, if I found this whole damn world reset and woke up covered in scar tissue? I’d know exactly what steps I needed to take in order get ahead.” His gaze hardened. “Exactly what steps I needed to take in order to earn multiple titles and abilities and be able to face off against people far above my supposed level… and blast them to hell with an arcane sniper rifle not one of them could hope to have access to, but somehow, by bending the rules exactly right, I do.”

He gazed at his young friend for long moments, letting what he was saying sink in.

“Shit,” the boy whispered, paling. “You really think those young masters from who knows how many exotic worlds are just biding their time before sweeping in, shooting up in power like fucking stars ascending, and absolutely obliterating all the struggling suckers who think just surviving to level 20, with no perks or exotic class at all, is a worthwhile accomplishment. Because unlike us clueless dweebs struggling to figure out the System’s game of life on Hardcore mode, these assholes have been coached by absolute masters of the Interface. They know exactly how to hack the system, how to power up via a dozen backdoors, just like you did.”

Eric nodded. “Not that they won’t earn it. Not that they can do it without risking their asses, repeatedly, like I did, but yeah, Sam. I think it’s the equivalent of a massive treasure hunt, with a million suckers armed with sticks and twigs desperate to better themselves and maybe stumble into fortune once in awhile. But the games already rigged to favor the dozen lucky ducks who have maps to all the loot cashes. They’ll be darting from point to point, collecting every last stat-boosting cheat, treasure, or title, unlocking resources and classes I can’t even dream of, before ascending as the lords of this world, killing everyone and everything that gets in their way, and laughing in our faces. Sneers on their lips when they declare that they played by the rules, and it’s our fault for being too stupid to get ahead like they did.”

For long moments Sam just stared at Eric with hot, desperate eyes.

“But you did, Eric. Even if those asshole goblins were playing my grandfather and I for fools, setting him up for enslavement and me for death, and our fortunes somehow in their pockets, delivering nothing but smoke and mirrors while getting us to over-extend ourselves when they promised access to all those resources that we need so desperately, all the System-sanctioned paths to classes, titles, and power that they swore they were going to give us… you saw what was going on. You fucking stopped it!”

Sam flashed a tight smile. “Shit, Eric, you’re finding those goddamned treasure troves of knowledge and power all our enemies want to hide from us… those fortuitous encounters in all the Wuxia novels, and you’re making them your own!”

Eric’s smile was the mirror of his young friend. “You’re damn right I am. And the best thing is, every title I claim, every cache of good fortune I stumble on to...”

“Is one less tool our enemies can use to destroy us.”

“Exactly,” Eric said, before gesturing wide to the entire mystic realm they found themselves in. “But the good news is that earning the titles will still open up access to all source of Advance tier classes, and hopefully open up a path to Bronze tier ascension, at least for a few gifted heroes. Which means that we make damn sure that our friends, and maybe any human that give an oath never to stab us in the book, knows how to replicate the feats that I embraced and earn the titles that I did, so we have a few more heroes out there with strong potential that our enemies can’t dismiss and stomp over, like everyone else.”

Eric flashed a toothy smile. “And how much gold do you want to bet that all of this, this entire wondrous realm fucking filled with priceless cultivation fruit… yet only allowing heroes level 10 or below to enter, filled with spirit beasts that are level 20 to start, and I’m pretty damn sure they’ve been getting harder and harder as I clear more of the grove west of us… is itself a fortuitous encounter deliberately designed such that only scions of the most elite Houses can benefit? Shadowy players who I’m damn sure already know about this pocket realm’s location and perhaps countless others as well. Because honestly, Sam, how they hell could any normal native who started as a 3 point per level Conscript hope to survive even a day in here?”

Samuel flashed a sad smile. “Easy. They aren’t. They will die while some absurdly powerful alien offspring of a mighty clan, with level 10 in some exotic System class and probably half a dozen carefully curated titles as well, will come in here, kick ass, and claim a billion fucking credits worth of spirit fruit.”

Sam’s eyes abruptly widened. “Shit, I think I get it! You’re no longer Rank 9. You’re Rank 12! Not as a System Classer, but as a cultivator. And the pocket realm is doing nothing to eject you!”

Eric flashed his friend a cynical smile. “Interesting how that works out, isn’t it? And whether that also means that cultivators of any level can slide past the rule deliberately limiting humans who are denied any access to cultivation at all, save by goblins maneuvering you for a terrible fall, or it just means that once you get here, you’re free to level up as much a you like… it’s safe to assume that the most elite of galactic prodigies will probably be powerful cultivators or multi-classed as cultivators and System Classers both.”

Sam groaned and rubbed his brow. “This is so fucked up, Eric. I mean, I knew it was bad, but I thought we at least had a ghost of a chance. Now? I don’t even have the words to describe just how screwed we all are. We’re little more than random idiots teleported into a hardcore PvP game where we don’t even have decent builds or equipment, let alone know the rules of engagement, or how to build up our characters at all.”

Eric nodded in heartfelt agreement. “Exactly. Now you get how badly this game is being rigged. Thousands of adventurers taking such pride and joy in being able to actually choose a class that gives them five points per level instead of three at level 10 if they’re lucky, or 15 if they’re like most, assuming they can even get a real class at all, thinking themselves smart by avoiding the wars for territory entirely, sticking with mapped out dungeons and steady income, farming resources.”

Sam laughed bitterly. “They think they’re daring adventurers, but assuming they’re paying any sort of tax… they’re already daily wage slaves for the true power brokers who will soon be coming out on top. So far above the rank and file that it’s not even a competition, it’s a ‘yes, boss, here’s your cut. You look marvelous in your golden armor of absurd power, and boy am I happy just to have earned the Warrior class.’”

Eric smirked. “Exactly. And you’re damn right I’m going to do what little I can to level the playing field for Team Human. And that most definitely includes getting you some fruit!” He gazed thoughtfully at his friend. “And I’ve been watching the way you handle yourself with that crossbow. Three for three bullseyes you said? Damn right you’re joining me on tomorrow’s hunt. Maybe we can push your cultivation base in ways that go beyond any spirit fruit.”

“Awesome, you’re on!” Sam said, and Eric pretended not to see the way the boy flinched. Because learning to overcome his natural fear of death, of mortal peril, so he could act when the chips were down and not freeze up, becoming just one more victim for those in love with violence and terror, was one of the most important lessons Eric could hope to teach him.

Though when Eric finally drifted off that night, it seemed Sam wasn’t the only one with lessons to learn.