This Class is Bonkers! (This Trilogy is Broken (A Comedy Litrpg Adventure) Book 2)

by J. P. Valentine

  Preston turned up his palms. “More powerful?” he offered.

  “What do I show up as?”

  “Emissary,” Wes said. “Common tier four.”

  “That was one of my options.” Eve nodded. “I think it’s the progression of the Courier line.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” Preston suggested. “Instead of showing up as a normal Striker, we see you as what you would’ve been without all this fate-defying nonsense.”

  “You should’ve taken it.” Wes grinned. “You could’ve been a gods-damned master of running away.”

  “Please,” Eve waved him off. “I’m sure Emissaries have something way more dignified. Noble Escape or some bullshit.”

  The mage turned to Preston. “Yeah, no way she was meant to be an Emissary. ‘Noble’ and ‘dignified’ are not on the menu.”

  Eve gaped. “I can be dignified!”

  “Ah, yes, ‘or some bullshit.’ The most dignified manner of speech.” Wes laughed.

  She rolled her eyes. “Go back to playing with fire. Maybe you’ll burn yourself.”

  Preston exhaled. “Anyway,” he refocused the conversation, “it’s probably good you don’t Appraise as Unique. That’d draw a lot of attention once we get back to civilization.”

  “But I like attention.” Eve smiled. “Besides, I’ve already been kidnapped once, and that was without this class.”

  “That was when you were a Striker,” Preston said, “rather than a potential threat to someone else’s authority. Or a chance for some plucky adventurer to prove themselves.”

  “What about the companies?” Wes asked. “Wasn’t the whole point of this expedition to level up enough to impress a mercenary corps? You’ll have a hard time impressing someone as an Emissary.”

  Preston shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Remember, we’ve gotta actually make it home first.”

  “To that end,” Eve changed the subject, “whatever happened to that griffin?”

  “It’s outside,” Wes answered. “Drathis made us drag it all the way here. He’s out there figuring out how to carve it up as we speak. What do you have in mind?”

  “Well I broke my mace on the griffin’s head, and if we’re going to fight this trellac thing, I’m gonna need a weapon.” A wide smile spread across Eve’s face. “I wonder how strong griffin bones are.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  To Skin a Cat

  “YOU SURE YOU don’t want to wait back in the cave?” Wes asked as he magically dried the others from their swim through Drathis’s pond. “What happened to the whole ‘everything hurts’ thing?”

  Eve grimaced.

  “No, it’s best she keeps moving,” Preston answered for her. “Get the blood flowing, work tender muscles, all that.” He turned to her. “I can give you some calisthenic exercises if you’d like.”

  Eve and Wes both stared.

  “What?” the healer asked. “Praying isn’t the only thing we did at Ayla’s cathedral. There were lessons too.”

  “And creepy rituals.” Eve pointed at him. “Don’t forget the creepy rituals.”

  Wes perked up. “Oh, right! I’ll bet the Temple of Garaxia wasn’t even the first time you’ve lain on an altar.”

  “No, but it was the first time I’ve been tied to one.” Preston shuddered. “Actually, come to think of it, I’d take the cultists over the creepy old ladies any day. At least they let me wear clothes.”

  “Uh… Preston?” Eve said. “The cultists were trying to kill you.”

  “Well, yes,” he admitted, “but at least they were nice about it. Alvin even made me tea. I hope he’s alright.”

  “He’s fine, Preston.” Wes patted the healer on the back. “He left way before we did, and he would’ve known a way out that wouldn’t leave him stranded in a poison wasteland.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry about Alvin,” Eve added, “worry about us. We’ve still got a trellac to fight.”

  Preston shrugged. “Hard to be worried when that name means nothing to me. What even is a trellac?”

  “Your worst nightmare, boy.” Drathis’s voice echoed menacingly through the fog ahead. “It’s smarter, stronger, faster, and more devious than ye can imagine. It’ll sense your thoughts from a mile away like a beacon in the night, homing in with its deadly fangs to kill ye before ye can even blink.”

  “Well… right,” Preston replied, “but what actually is it?”

  “Your doom.”

  “No, no, I get that part. Trellac scary. Got it.” The Caretaker exhaled. “I’m asking what kind of monster it is.”

  “A deadly one.”

  Preston rubbed his eyes. “It’s okay if you don’t know. You can just… say you don’t know.”

  Drathis said nothing.

  With a quiet shrug, Eve continued forward long enough for the giant bipedal rat to come into view. He leaned over the griffin’s head, carefully plucking alabaster feathers from around its neck and depositing them in an orderly pile behind him.

  “What’re those for?” she asked.

  “Fletching,” he barked in reply. “Do ye know how askew bolts fly with only leaves to guide them?”

  “Huh,” Eve simply answered. She wondered how exactly he intended to make fletching out of feathers bigger than his entire crossbow, but she knew the futility of asking. He’d just snap back “class knowledge” without actually explaining anything. Eve still wasn’t certain class knowledge was actually a thing, especially given her class required she figure everything out herself, but she didn’t press the issue. She shook her head.

  Ignoring the overdramatic Scavenger for the time being, Eve took her first good look at the dead griffin.

  The thing was huge.

  Easily forty feet from head to tail, it dwarfed even the drake they’d fought east of Lynthia. White feathers covered the entire front half of its upper body—except the patch around its neck Drathis had already plucked—while a thin coat of golden fur protected its rear end. Similarly, the beast’s front legs ended in the taloned claws of an eagle, albeit a massive one, while its back feet matched those of an oversized cat.

  It wasn’t the size of the corpse, however, that sent chills running down Eve’s spine. It was its condition. Barely a scratch marred the griffin’s skin, its only wound a small dent in its skull where shards of her shattered mace still lay. She’d hit thirty thousand Strength, destroying her body in the process, all for a dent. For all she knew, the beast would still be alive if her mace hadn’t broken into shrapnel. She shivered.

  Wes apparently shared her line of thought. “What level was this thing, anyway?”

  A cursory look through her notifications found the answer. “Three twenty-six,” Eve said. “Three question marks.”

  Wes whistled.

  “I’ve got to give you credit,” Preston said. “What you did there was brilliant. I never would’ve thought to cancel a skill early with a class promotion like that.”

  Neither would I. Eve kept the thought to herself. She didn’t want to tell them. What would it accomplish? There was no use hanging over their heads a fact she’d just as soon forget herself. It was easier this way. Easier to pretend it was all part of the plan, that she hadn’t charged in with the intent that only Wes and Preston would make it out alive. She swallowed, muttering under her breath, “thanks.”

  “So.” Wes clapped his hands, shattering the hidden tension in the air. “How do we want to harvest this thing?”

  Without looking up from his work, Drathis jerked a clawed finger towards a steel file that sat on the loose dirt behind him. “Claws first. Start at the knuckle so you’re not trying to cut through the iron itself.”

  Rather than asking how Drathis had come by metal tools in the desolate wasteland, Wes stooped over to grab the offered item. He got to work.

  Eve and Preston watched as he toiled for the first few minutes, the file pressing ever so slightly further into the avian knuckle with every pass. It was slow going. After a solid quarter hour of
overseeing the repetitive labor, Eve finally brought herself to ask, “Why don’t you just burn through?”

  “Same reason I didn’t burn it to death when it first attacked us,” Wes answered. With a flick of his wrist he set the wrinkled skin alight. A plume of brilliant flame engulfed it, casting orange light and oppressive heat into the surrounding air. “Watch.” A minute passed.

  Eve furrowed her brow. “Nothing’s happening.”

  “Exactly.” Wes explained, “Just because I can burn anything doesn’t mean it’ll burn quickly. It’d probably take a full day just watching the fire to stop it spreading to burn this talon free. Filing’s easier. Not to mention if I get it too hot, it’ll just melt.” He knocked on the metallic claw. “It’s an ironclaw griffin, remember? Iron melts.”

  Eve nodded, not quite understanding the rules for what burned and what melted under the influence of Wes’s flames but deciding it wasn’t a rabbit hole worth jumping down.

  Preston changed the subject. “You said you wanted to make a club?”

  “Right,” the Defiant said, gesturing to the underwhelming dent in the beast’s head. “If it weathered my attack so well, its bones have gotta be strong. Should make for a good replacement.” She drew one of her daggers.

  “Start at the hindquarters,” Drathis ordered. “Ye won’t be wanting a bird bone.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re hollow. Lighter weight to make for easier flight,” the rat-man explained.

  “Wait—but—” Eve faltered. “Why are the bones in the front lightweight but not the ones in the back? Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”

  Drathis gave an over-exaggerated shrug. “Take it up with whatever god invented griffins. I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear ye think they don’t make sense.”

  “She, actually,” Preston corrected.

  Eve and Drathis alike turned to stare at the thin healer.

  “Raelin is the goddess of beasts,” he said. “Griffins are Her domain.”

  “…Right,” Eve replied, “which is why you, a veterinarian, are affiliated with Ayla.”

  “Well—that’s more—” Preston sighed. “I don’t fucking know. The Stones gave me Ayla, so I guess I’m stuck with Her.”

  “It’s ‘cause yer human,” Drathis said. “Can’t think a goddess of beasts would be too friendly with your lot, what with all the hunting.”

  “Says the self-proclaimed ‘great hunter,’” Preston retorted.

  “No, no, he’s right.” Eve smiled. “This Raelin must be smart enough to know humans are clearly inferior.”

  Preston snorted. “Please. We can’t all race change into the magnum opus of an entire dead civilization.”

  “Entirely on accident,” Wes added with heavy breath.

  “Alright, well, I’ll make sure the next Legendary serum we find explodes all over you two instead.”

  “Perfect.” Preston grinned. “Gotta keep things fair, after all.”

  Wes groaned. “Speaking of fair—” he stood, holding the metal file out to the healer—“it’s your turn.”

  As Preston got to work and Wes took his break, Eve set her sights on the griffin’s hind leg. As far as possible clubs went, the femur seemed the most likely candidate. Running a hand along the feline limb to find the joint, Eve reversed her grip on her dagger and plunged it in.

  It pierced less than an inch.

  Ayla’s tits, this thing is tough, she cursed to herself. Pulling back, she swung again, putting the full force of her nearly two hundred Strength behind the weapon. It sank an inch further. Eve sighed.

  She pulled her hand from the hilt of the dagger. It stayed stuck in the beast. Shaking her head, Eve pulled up her status to do a bit of math. A hundred Mana per second should give me a good fifty seconds before I have to stop, she reasoned. I hope that’s enough.

  Her muscles protested with a wave of rolling agony as Mana Rush sent over twenty-five hundred Strength coursing through them. She grit her teeth. Preston had said she should work them, after all. Carving a griffin counted.

  Between the surge of Strength and her Defiant Body keeping her firmly planted on the dry earth, the knife glided cleanly through the monster’s flesh. As she cut through to reveal the sturdy bone, Eve felt a renewed sense of appreciation for the blacksmith back in Lynthia. When she’d bought them, she never could’ve imagined the simple daggers would have to withstand such tremendous forces, but they held up admirably.

  By the time her Mana fell low enough to require a break, Eve had accumulated a respectable pile of indelicately slashed-up griffin meat. She wondered if it would taste any better than skyswallower.

  Drathis had other thoughts. “Look what ye’ve done!” He spat. “An entire leg’s worth of hide gone to waste.”

  Eve’s eyes widened. “You wanted to skin it?”

  The Scavenger leveled an incredulous look. “No. I wanted ye to skin it.”

  Eve cursed, realizing her mistake. Griffin hide must’ve been worth a fortune, assuming she could bring it home safely to sell it. Better yet, it’d make for three hells of a suit of armor. She did need a set that channeled Mana better, after all. “Shit. You’re right.” She shook her head. “I guess it’s good I only carved up the leg.” They still had a good few hundred square feet of hide untouched on the griffin’s lower body.

  Preston collapsed next to the partially cut claw, panting as he dropped the steel file to the ground. “Fuck this. What are these talons even good for, anyway? They’re just iron spikes.”

  “Not just iron,” Drathis corrected. “When they break the fourth tier, these kill-stealing bastards reinforce their claws with whatever metals they can find. Swallow ‘em right up. ‘Round here that means platinum and ar-iron.”

  Preston sat up. “Did you just say…” He squinted. “How much ar-iron?”

  The rat shrugged.

  “Gods below,” Wes cursed under his breath. “We’re gonna be rich.”

  “Not anytime soon, we’re not,” Preston said. “We’ve barely filed through half an inch and my arms are already killing me.”

  “Then take a break.” Wes held out a hand. “We have time. There’s platinum and ar-iron in there. I’ll file all gods-damned day if it means getting these talons out.”

  “And we still have to skin it, harvest the bones, pick out any organs that have alchemical value, clean any sinew that’s useful, butcher the meat for food.” A sly smile crossed Preston’s face. “If only we had a party member with enough Strength to cut through griffin skin and an easy way to regenerate Mana.”

  Wes turned to stare at Eve, already digging through his pack for a handful of cave mushrooms. “You’ve gotta get that exercise, after all.”

  Eve paled. “I—um—I take it it’s too late to go for the calisthenics instead?”

  Preston simply grinned. “There’s a lot of work to do.” He tilted his head towards Wes’s offering of food. “Better eat up.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Trellax

  IT TOOK THREE days in all for Eve to break down the fallen griffin. By day the others toiled alongside her, their unstrengthened hands still useful for gathering up and packaging materials. By night Eve carved the beast alone, working and taking her frequent meal breaks by the pearly light of her eyes.

  Eager as she was to dig out her new club, properly skinning the creature’s feline half was the first priority. Only once enough of the hide had been removed for Wes, Preston, and Drathis to begin the drying process could she move on to carefully harvesting meat and sinew.

  It was slow going. More than one potential bowstring or strand of rope was lost to a careless swipe of her dagger, forcing Eve to redouble the care with which she worked.

  The claws, by contrast, were easy. A few quick cuts to the knuckles was all Eve needed to free the foot-long curved spikes of precious metal. Preston practically cackled as she handed them off to him, only for his look to rapidly switch to shock as they immediately plunged to the earth, too heavy for his paltr
y eight Strength. Wes laughed.

  As exhausting as the harvesting process was, Eve had to admit the exercise helped. By the time she’d completely broken down the massive carcass into its usable parts, her muscles no longer ached with the pervading soreness that had so haunted her since her promotion.

  The new weapon and the hundreds of gold worth of crafting materials were no trifles either.

  Once she’d freed and cleaned her chosen femur, converting it into a functional mace was as simple as cutting off one end and wrapping it in leather to form a grip. Trimmed down, the bone club reached just over four feet long—just enough to be unwieldy at her hip. Drathis helped craft a strap to tie it to her back.

  Distributing the loot was easy enough. The adventurers would take as much back south through the Fallen Pass as they could carry, leaving the rest to Drathis as payment for all his help.

  Wes took over carrying the dungeon core from the Temple of Garaxia to spare room in Eve’s pack for all sixteen iron claws. Preston’s comparatively smaller shoulder bag stretched with the remainder of their supplies, from food to potions to a coil of rope should they have need for such a thing.

  Drathis even went to the effort of stitching additional straps to the outside of Eve’s bag so she could tie off rolls of griffin-hide like the pack mule she was always destined to be. Wes was sure to point that out on more than one occasion.

  The Disciple himself didn’t waste the downtime either, spending most of it developing a way to make griffin meat remotely edible. It made for an interesting puzzle, as the lean muscle of the high-level beast was near impossible to chew.

  After several nausea-inducing failed attempts, he settled on soaking the meat in Drathis’s earthy ‘moss vinegar’ before setting each steak individually over a pile of smoldering stones. Wes spent his hours carefully monitoring the makeshift coals to prevent a true flame from forming, which mitigated his propensity to lose himself in the whispers.

  Eve worried for him. While Preston’s presence seemed to help keep the mage focused, it didn’t escape her attention how he avoided setting fires at all. There’d be no more burning coppers for a joke or cozy nighttime campfires in their immediate future. Eve could only hope the whispers hadn’t gotten worse in the twelve levels he’d gained since their arrival in the Dead Fields.