A cold spray of water dripped down from a strange bag suspended from a tree branch. Underneath, Fyn stood naked, shivering as he scrubbed himself with a rough chunk of unscented soap. Enduring the chill of the shower, Fyn washed himself entirely, twice. By the time the water ran out, his skin was red from the friction of the soap.
Drying himself with a towel, Fyn sniffed at his arms and chest. There was no particular scent to be found, a pleasant contrast from the foul aroma he had been carrying. Soap was a wonderful invention of civilization.
Fyn grabbed a grey shirt he had set aside and pulled it over his head. The shirt had come from Sophie's belongings. It was loose on Fyn, hanging to his mid-thigh, the collar a little higher than he was used to. While it wasn't a perfect fit, it was better than wearing the same clothes day after day.
Fyn hesitated at wearing the underwear. Technically, the thin shorts weren't any different from the pair he had arrived in. There was nothing feminine or frilly about them, yet they had belonged to a woman. It felt moderately disrespectful to pull on a dead woman's shorts and sigh with relief, but in the end, Fyn did.
The trousers he slipped his legs into were Sophie's as well. Brown and of a softer feeling material than the ones he had been wearing, the pants were a little long. He considered cutting them, and settled for folding the cuffs. The waist was a good fit, hardly needing a belt to cinch them in place. Fyn hoped that was a sign he was starting to fill out, and not that Sophie had been a particularly thin woman.
Taking a forked branch from where it leaned on the tree, Fyn unhooked the empty shower bag. Lowering it, Fyn grabbed the bag with his right hand. It felt rubbery under his fingers. Grace had said it was made from barking frog leather.
His new inventory bag was safely secured under the sheltering leaves of a nearby bush. Holding it in his hand, Fyn pressed the pouch to the shower bag and thought, "enter." The word didn't matter, as long as Fyn willed it, an item could be placed inside. He just found it easier to mentally verbalize.
Once everything was put away, Fyn hung the pouch around his neck. The weight in his hand settled over his entire body. It was a strange sensation. Instead of tugging at his neck with an uncomfortable pressure, the inventory bag seemed to add the weight of the contents to the holder's frame, similar to wearing a backpack.
It had to be attached to your body or clothing, though. Fyn found that sensible enough if a little weird to think about. Holding the bag in your hand meant you carried all the weight with your arm, while tying it to your belt allowed you to use all your muscles. Fyn was curious how that worked.
Carrying his boots, Fyn padded barefoot back to the fire. Grace was already in her bedroll, back to the flames. On the other side of the fire, Fyn's blankets waited for him.
Setting his boots where they could be grabbed in a hurry, Fyn crawled under the blankets of his new bedroll and pulled them tight around his body. The mat beneath him kept Fyn off the dirt, and the blankets separated him from the cold air. The pillow was harder than he would prefer, but better than using his arm.
Warm, clean, and comfortable, Fyn felt like he had reached the peak of life.
Rolling onto his side, Fyn opened his status. He had twenty white improvement points he could spend, along with eight yellow and three red. He had promised Grace he would equip the Map skill, which meant he would have access to the Scout class. If he wanted to switch, it was best to do so now.
There would be restrictions while traveling with Grace. If he wanted to change his class, he would have to be careful not to let her see his status. That could be tricky.
From what he could determine, a class was basically the way you earned experience. Fyn hasn't noticed any physical changes switching between Explorer and Gatherer. Until that assumption could be disproven, it meant Fyn had a serious advantage.
Once a day, he could change the way he leveled up. Used correctly, it could potentially put him at a higher level faster than average. The drawback was he needed more improvement points to unlock classes.
This was bound to prove important, and yet, for the life of him, Fyn hadn't figured out what the point of leveling was. The free improvement points were nice, but there were other ways to gain them. Leveling didn't make you stronger or faster, and it didn't directly give you more skills. Other than new functions in his status, Fyn was the same at level 2 as he was at level 1.
Exhaling through his nose, Fyn shook his head and opened the skill tree for the Scout class. He put one improvement point into Map, and exited out to the main screen. Selecting his skills, Fyn switched out Freshly Picked for Map.
The 24-hour countdown that appeared made Fyn wonder if he had made a mistake. Grace had implied that having the first passive of your class equipped helped you level up faster. Should he have waited until tomorrow to equip Map? Or should he switch his class to Explorer or Scout now?
"Hey Grace," Fyn closed his status and flopped onto his back, "Are you awake?"
"No," Grace growled, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders, "I'm deep asleep, dreaming about stabbing skinny brats, who ask annoying questions, to death. Careful, you don't wake me up and get killed while I'm drowsy and confused."
"What classes do you think would be best to have in our situation?" Fyn interlaced his fingers behind his head, and crossed his ankles under the blanket.
"Are you still on this?" Grace rolled over to glare at him from her side of the fire, "Let it go, kid. You can't reset until level 5."
"What if I could reset now?" Fyn pushed, "What if I ran around all night picking flowers and could change classes immediately? What would you want me to choose?"
Grace let out an incredulous laugh, "If Gatherer's could level up that fast, I'd rather you didn't reset. Stop thinking about it, and go to sleep."
Fyn chewed on the inside of his cheek. He heard Grace turn over again. After a few minutes, she sighed and turned back.
"Explorer," She said, sitting up in her bedroll and tossing a few branches onto the fire, "That's probably the best bet."
"Really?" Fyn rolled onto his side and propped his head up, "Is Explorer that good?"
"Good? Sure, I guess," Grace ran a hand through her hair, "Scouts have to be out in front of a group to level up, and the weapons branches of their Skill tree don't open up until level 6 or 7. You would get killed scouting around here. Explorers only need to go to new places. I think their combat skills come at level 10, but as long as you don't pick any fights, you would be safer as an Explorer."
Fyn frowned, turning over Grace's advice in his head, "Wouldn't it be better for me to pick a class that could fight right away?"
Grace blinked at him in a way that made Fyn feel he was the stupidest bug to ever crawl out from under a pile of dung.
"You said," Grace's jaw tightened, and she began to rub at her temple with two fingers, "That you could choose between Gatherer, Scout, and Explorer."
"Oh, yeah," Fyn nodded, trying to remember everything he had ever said to the blonde woman, "Those are the classes I had to pick from. But I'm asking, you know, what if all the classes were available? What would be best?"
Grace exhaled slowly, the tension flowing out of her, "There's a second-tier class called Silent Monk. If you want to avoid being stabbed, that's the one you should aim for. Good night."
Grace laid down and pulled her blanket over her head. Fyn pressed his lips together and gently eased his head back down to his pillow. Grace seemed stressed. Best to let her sleep.
Opening his status again. Fyn swiped his finger on the Agility attribute. It was a lazy motion, an exaggerated press, purposefully nonchalant. Fear of disturbing Grace kept Fyn from calling out when, instead of adding to his Attribute, the swiping motion changed the dot next to agility from white to yellow.
Fyn looked from his status to Grace, and back again. He bit down hard on his lower lip. While he was struggling to contain the question he was desperate to blurt out, the dot changed back to white.
Holding his breath, Fyn swiped again, and it was back to yellow. A third swipe and the dot turned red. Fyn's finger went back and forth, rapidly shifting the dot's color. After a minute, he let out his breath, left the circle on yellow and gave it a firm press.
Agility: .5–>1.
Swipe to red, press.
Agility: 1–>2
Swipe to white, press, and press again.
Agility: 2–>2.5
It had been a long, hard, strange day. Feeling giddy, Fyn spent 3 more yellow improvement points on Agility, bringing the attribute to an even 4. He would have gone higher, but the next press brought a tingle that ran from his toes up to his head, and a message scene popped up.
"Level Cap for Agility Attribute reached."
Fyn quietly flipped his blanket off and stood up. He looked at his boots and left them where they were. The ground was cold beneath his feet as he walked away from the fire. He waited for Grace to ask him where he was going, an excuse about a call of nature on his lips.
Grace didn't even stick her head out from under her blanket.
Fyn felt a sudden need to run, to find out what differences a maxed out Attribute would bring. He took off, his limbs light, his gait smooth. He felt grass and pebbles beneath his feet. The wind was cool on his face. His lungs worked evenly, drawing in air as he stretched out, his legs moving faster.
When he reached the cliff, Fyn jumped up and grabbed a hold of the rock face, pulling himself up hand over hand. His fingers felt more nimble, finding holds effortlessly. Even his toes gripped more confidently.
Fyn's arms, shoulders, and calves began to burn. By the time he completed the twenty-foot climb, his body was shaking. Pulling himself up, Fyn rolled onto the flat ground at the top of the cliff. He lay there shuddering for a bit, whether from effort or excitement he couldn't tell.
It wasn't a particularly impressive feat, but Fyn had managed it faster than he would have thought possible. Sitting up, he scooted to the edge of the cliff and sat, dangling his legs over the side.
The clearing was bright under the moon in front of him. Fyn could see Grace sleeping beside the fire. He spotted the rock he had fished from that evening. While he couldn't see the details, he made out the areas where Bram and Sophie's bodies lay, growing cold and stiff, unburied and mostly forgotten.
Rubbing his biceps, his euphoria fading, Fyn opened his status and used a red improvement point to bring his Strength Attribute to 2. On a whim, even though he didn't know what it did, Fyn spent white points to increase Spirit to 1.
All his Attributes had reached the basic standard, but it didn't bring Fyn a rush anymore. Grace was level 9. Her level cap must be higher than his. 18, maybe? Lucas's level had been even higher. From all that Grace had told him, Bram, and Sophie were higher still.
Three of the four people Fyn had encountered in this world were dead. He was stronger and faster than he had ever been, and there was no sense of safety in that thought.
It was no wonder Grace didn't want to talk about possible classes. She had come to this clearing with a group of powerful warriors. She was leaving with a green child. There was little Fyn could do to change that in the short term.
Fyn looked over his shoulder. The ground sloped up from the cliff. From north to south, the river ran furious and endless. He had seen so little and the world felt enormous.
Placing his elbows on his knees, Fyn cupped his chin in his hands. He would be leaving this place in the morning. He had thought he was ready. Now, he wasn't so sure.