Sweat poured from my brow as I hacked into the stone wall for what seemed like the billionth time. Since hitting the first Endurance threshold, it was fairly rare for most things to cause me to work up a sweat. Spending an hour straight smashing a pickaxe into a wall happened to be one of those things, however.

Strength Training has reached level 3!

Huh. At least now that I have the skill, I can apparently grab levels in it without having to hit the gym. It was good to know, as I had little desire to manually train up most of the side-skills that Flithus had been loading me up with.

“Keep it up!” The bulky instructor, Merve, kept up a constant stream of “encouraging” words to help us along. “We don’t need any slackers, so if you really want to be a miner, get to it!”

Towards the start, I’d felt the somewhat petulant woman directing a large portion of her shouting my way. By this point, however, not even she could put up a fuss. Just about all the other students were below level 10, hoping to get their Mining skill high before grabbing a class. Practically, that meant that none of them were remotely close to me in either Endurance or Strength. Without fail, all of them had been forced to take several breaks since we’d begun, whereas my stats let me keep chugging away.

On top of that, most of them were just earning the Mining skill now. It wasn’t like there were many opportunities in people’s day to day lives to grab it without a class like this, after all. On the flip side, I already had a solid few levels from mining up Slippy’s body back in the dungeon, and even had I not, I had one extra trick up my sleeve.

Or rather, down my sleeve to be more precise. I looked to the gray, stony gloves that hugged my hands, a number of different types of metal and gems making them significantly more eye-catching than they would have been otherwise. Considering the gloves were completely conjured from mana, none of those gems were real, but the effect was nice nonetheless.

Gloves of the Arcanist -- Miner’s Mitts

+5 to Mining

Steadies grip on any mining instruments and helps to direct the force of blows most effectively.

Gives a small chance to find extra ore or precious gems while mining.

Gives a small chance to upgrade ore quality while mining.

The newest addition to my Gloves of the Arcanist would have been significantly more exciting if I actually got to keep any of the ore I mined, but it was appreciated nonetheless. If nothing else, the extra grip served me well.

Better yet, the gloves weren’t my only skill that came into play. The earth variant of Arcane Vision was perfect for the task at hand. With its ability to let me sense the density of the earth all around me, it was child’s play to know when a vein of ore was coming up, and even easier to follow it.

In fact, considering that my class had absolutely nothing to do with mining, it struck me that other classes had to be many, many times better at this than I was. Jason could probably punch through the stone walls with ease, and Kex’s mastery over earth and mud magic would probably do far more than my little gloves. All in all, it had me confused as to what we were all doing here in the first place.

“Uh. Instructor?” The words came out breathy, but I’d yet to reach my limit.

“What?” she spat out. “Did you forget how to bang on a wall, or what could you possibly need help with?” She didn’t bother to come over, just shouting out her response for everyone to hear.

I reconsidered asking her anything but then shook the impulse off. It was a class. She was a teacher. Questions were kind of the point in situations like these.

“Sorry if everyone already knows this, but why does mining work like this?” I gestured to the various miners that filled the chamber, either taking breathers or hacking away at their own stretch of wall. Rather than having us all in a thin tunnel, we’d been led to a cavern, large enough to fit us all as Merve watched us from its center. I had a feeling that under normal circumstances, we’d be risking a cave-in, but I had to imagine some level of skills were in play to prevent us from all getting crushed.

Save for whatever anti-cave-in skills were keeping us alive, though, it all seemed rather… mundane.

“I mean, I guess I’m just sort of surprised there’s not some Epic earth mage who can pull out all the metal at once with a spell. Or even just a regular earth mage who can do all this with magic instead of a pickaxe.” At the very least, I would have expected some fancy magic technology to have replaced miners by now. Some sort of magic sentient drill or something equally odd.

Unexpectedly, rather than scowling, Merve grinned as I finished the question, raising her voice to answer. “That’s right! The lot of you are worthless at all this, right? I’d bet you ten day’s quota that that fancy archmage in his tower could clear this entire mine out in a few weeks if he really wanted to. You know what he’s not though? He’s not a Miner.”

A few grunts of assent sounded out in response, but I still wasn’t entirely following. Either sensing this or wanting to solidify her point, Merve kept on.

“Part of it’s regular ‘ol money issues. A week of an archmage’s time? Costs too much. And he’d want a cut of the ore for his troubles. You? Right now we’re paying you so little that you’re practically paying us. And once your fancy little mage runs out of mana, he’s completely useless unless you want the company to shell out mana potions, and at that point it’s just not worth it. But the real issue’s what I just said: They’re not Miners.”

I tried to figure out why that would matter, only to realize that I did know. Back when I’d mined the ore from Slippy’s body, I’d got a notification letting me know the quality of the ore was being reduced due to my low Mining level. Despite seeing some recognition on my face, Merve opted to finish her explanation regardless.

“They could pull up an entire mine’s worth of ore, for sure, but the quality would be trash. They have no skill levels to help. No augments. No class skills. You get an earth mage to grab you a vein of iron? You get just that. You get me to do it? Quality’s increased. Quantity’s increased. Handful of extra goodies on top of that. Some horizontal bonuses that apply to the company, etcetera etcetera.”

Even though everyone could more than hear her, she pitched her voice higher one more time. “You hear that, all of you? You become a miner, your job is nice and secure! They’ve tried to replace us at least ten times that I can remember, and I’m sure they’ll try it ten times more and it’ll work just as well. For those of you who aren’t slackers, this is good, steady work!” Though she wasn’t presently using it, Merve slammed a pickaxe into the ground, the loud thunk serving to punctuate her words. Either newly motivated or not wishing to serve as an example, everyone seemed to gain a slight second wind, attacking the rock in front of them with abandon.

As I did much the same, I soon realized just how true her words were as my gloves activated at last. With my next strike, a large chunk of stone fell away from the wall, and I could sense the moment where its density changed. What had been plain dirt morphed in an instant, and I stopped for the first time all class to stoop down and pick it up.

Mining has reached level 9!

My lapse in working didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hmm? What, finally realized you’re wasting everyone’s time down here by doing this without a mining class?” This time around, she actually did approach me, although her gripe was hardly whispered.

So that’s what it is. She thinks I’m losing people money and wasting time by taking the class?

Rather than get into some sort of argument, I just tossed her the newly formed gem. “Class skill triggered,” was all I bothered to say.

She caught it in one hand while raising a brow, bringing her pickaxe up to the rock in question. With a sharp tap, she split it in two. The sight was reminiscent of a geode as the two halves fell to each side, revealing the gem within. It shone a pearly white, and I tried and failed to think back to some middle school geology lessons to figure out what it was.

Merve had no such issue. “Mm. Opal.” She brought the two sides back together, some sort of class skill sealing the halves back together. “Look at that. That’ll make for a nice bonus. Not for you, of course -- that’s how it works as a trainee. But I’ll make sure to enjoy it.” Without warning, she draped an arm around me, tugging me into an overly familiar and overly tight side hug. “Guess you really do have some sort of professional class, huh? Maybe you’re not gonna be so bad after all, rich kid.”

The opal in hand, she let go of me before returning to her watch at the room’s center.

“First gem, everyone! Now come on! Who’s going to get the second! Let’s get to it!”

With a curious mixture of enthusiastic shouts and tired groans, we all returned to work.

“Oi! Lemme see. Whatcha making?” Clad in his standard arsenal of wooden trinkets, the carving, carpentry, and construction instructor craned a head over me, peering down at the lump of wood in my hands.

Of the trio of disciplines we were to learn this semester, carving came first. The plan was to work our way from small to large, moving from rings and figurines to chairs and tables to houses and shops. For now, that meant the lot of us had been thrown into a classroom greatly resembling a shop class.

Four classmates sat at the same table as I did, each of us perched on a stool and chiseling away at the blocks in our hands. In the case of failure, a large pile of fresh blocks sat piled high in the table’s center. I’d yet to strike up any sort of conversation, but I frequently found myself scoring glances at their progress, comparing it to my own.

“A puppy,” I answered. Not that anyone could have known it from looking at the mess of wood I was cutting into. I’d etched some rough canine facial features into it, but so far, that was the extent of the resemblance.

“Hmmm.” The teacher tapped his hands on the table, the various rings he wore clacking rhythmically. “You had some levels in Jewelry Making, yeah? I think you might be too used to making small things with simple shapes. For something like a figurine, you’re going to want to get the general shape completely done before you think about details. Here.”

He snatched a block, and at a speed I could only follow due to my enhanced Perception, a knife appeared in his hand and slashed into the wood over and over again. When he was done, the rectangular block was more of a misshapen oval.

“This would be step one.” A chisel replaced the knife, and in a repeat performance, his hands became a blur. This time, I could clearly make out what would become the head, even if it was still rough and angular. “Step two. General form.” Again, his chisel shot out. Laughably plump legs and a wide cylindrical tail followed. “Step three. The figurine starts to become recognizable.” He swapped to a gouge, and wood shavings started to fly, forcing me to stifle a small frown as some of them dusted my hair.

By now the carving was unmistakably a dog. In fact, I imagined he could have sold it as it was, provided someone was looking for something a bit more basic. It somehow radiated a friendly demeanor just through its body language.

“Well, you get the idea. I’d do one more step to refine the legs and torso and then the ears, and only after that would I think about things like fur and facial features, yeah? The prework takes a lot longer than you’d need for something like a ring or a bracelet. You think on that, and we’ll see how it goes.”

Without even waiting for my acknowledgement or thanks, he slid over to the next student at the table, offering a new set of rapid-fire advice.

I glanced down at the dog-lump in my hands, comparing it to the various steps I’d seen the instructor move through in a matter of seconds. I found the figurine lacking.

After staring into the suggestion of eyes I’d carved into it, I tossed it into the reject pile before grabbing a fresh block.

Sorry Fido.

Woodworking has reached level 8!

Shit. Why am I doing this? Shit! Ahh.

Pain Resistance has reached level 9!

“How are you so bad at this? It’s a dagger! You stick the pointy end in something and pull. What kind of messed up cut is this?” I looked down to my arm where a shaky zig-zagging line traced down its length. Not that the cut itself was easy to see: The blood gushing out from it was smeared all over the wound, obscuring much of it from sight. It was not a sight for the faint of heart or the queasy, and I was incredibly glad I wasn’t one of those people who fainted at the sight of blood.

While gritting my teeth, I glanced at the dagger which had put me in this state, clutched shakily in the hands of my favorite pal.

Dagger of Painful Rending

Wounds inflicted with this dagger will bleed at an increased rate and inflict greatly increased pain.

This dagger has been coated with a potent anticoagulant as well as several poison variants.

The weapon was one of many currently in the room, a standard training aid when it came to leveling multiple resistances at once. The poison mixture in particular was coming in handy for one of my older quests -- while any damage inflicted by Warram didn’t count, I would occasionally give myself a few pokes to move it forward.

I brought up the description of the quest I’d gained all the way back in Ftheran from stabbing myself with spider fangs, heartened by the progress I saw.

Mithridatism I

Congratulations! By willingly poisoning yourself to build up a resistance, you’ve followed in the vaunted footsteps of kings, assassins, and random people who are just kind of paranoid. The road to true immunity from poison, however, is a long and painful one. Should you wish to pursue it, half measures will not suffice.

Progress:

Take 10,000 accumulated damage from self-inflicted poison - 2911/10000

Dose yourself with at least 10 different types of poison - 4/10

Dose yourself with at least 3 different types of poison of Rare or greater rarity - 1/3

Dose yourself with at least 3 different types of poison that confer non-damaging status effects - 0/3

Rewards:

+750xp

Dependent on your current level of Poison Resistance, up to 5 additional levels in Poison Resistance

+10% reduction to the duration and severity of all secondary poison effects

I likely would have been much farther along had I been training alone, but I didn’t mind. It was pretty much a sure bet that I’d complete the quest before the semester was done at this rate, provided I could ask for some rarer poisons.

I did, however, consider training alone for other reasons. Whereas most of the other training pairs were delivering clean, straight cuts, my partner was having a bit more trouble.

“Silence! You know well why this is a struggle for me.” Warram brought the dagger up for another cut, the weapon nearly falling from his grip as he trembled. “Don’t pretend someone hasn’t told you by now.”

Had I not been bleeding out while suffering from intense waves of pain as poison coursed through my blood, I would have smirked. I had been told, but I wouldn’t have guessed it was this bad. Deciding to play dumb, I opted to goad him a bit more instead.

“Not sure what you’re talking about War Man. Is this just how poorly the guards are trained? No one ever taught you how to hold a dagger?” Admittedly, my words’ desired effect was somewhat lessened by the grunts of pain I let off intermittently, but Warram scoffed nonetheless.

“You and I both know I have a class related to pacifism. Well, this is what it looks like. Trust me, were I not saddled with penalties to offensive actions, I would not hesitate to help you train more efficiently…”

In that, I did trust him. Perhaps in an alternate universe, Warram and I would have used this class to resolve our differences. Bond over our shared pain. Recognize our shared humanity and forgive one another for the misunderstandings of the past.

Not in this one, though! He was still an ass, and stabbing him had yet to grow old.

“Classic excuse for not knowing how to hold a knife, buddy. Blame it on your class. Don’t worry, though: That’s not an issue I have, so I’m completely free to help you out as best as I can. See?”

I snatched the dagger from Warram, putting a dash of mana into it before slicing it across his hand.

A muted whimper escaped his lips as his hand was dyed red, filling me with a perverse sort of glee.

Huh. Should I be concerned about how much I enjoyed that? I’m not turning into some closet torturer, am I? Or is this the story of my awakening as some sort of dominatrix-type deal? Because I have to say, that’s really not a direction I ever expected myself to go in. Like, nothing against it, but it just doesn’t feel very “me,” you know?

I mulled all of that over for a microsecond before coming to the obvious answer: Who cared? It was Warram.

Having resolved my momentary identity crisis, I slashed into him again, eliciting another pitiful whimper.

Really feel like this would have been frowned on in my psychology classes. What could I say? Sometimes being in a different world had its perks.

A chipper bear of a man stood before a large group of my classmates, monstrously thick leather armor encasing most of his body while a comically large hammer hung at his back. Four others stood behind him -- two of them clearly casters, one a warrior, and another a rogue -- marking them as a complete party, and one significantly more professional-looking than any I’d seen thus far. As a final addition to the roster, one familiar gray-haired instructor stood off to the side, rolling her eyes at the antics of the armored figure.

It was an interesting group, and under different circumstances, I would have focused more intently on the five pros in front of me. In this case, however, I found my surroundings a bit more noteworthy.

Mainly, that was because everything was so… shiny.

A solid thirty of us were huddled into a gleaming antechamber, surrounded by walls of burnished silver or perhaps a more mundane stainless steel. Had I been more familiar with my metals, I imagined my Perception would have been high enough to differentiate them just from looking, but super vision or not, most shiny metal was still just metal to me.

The ceiling was similarly metallic, and with the walls being perfectly smooth and perfectly square, the entire thing gave off the distinct illusion of being locked inside a bank vault.

Of course, that illusion was quickly dispelled upon noting the dirt floors, the narrow hallway forward, and -- most of all -- the intensely humming portal behind us.

For the third time in my life, I’d entered a brand new dungeon. Already, it was shaping up to be a novel experience. That was proved especially true as the leather-clad tank bellowed out for all to hear.

“All right, kiddos! Who wants to watch my head get bashed in?”