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

by J. P. Valentine

  “We did kill,” Eve said. “We killed a lot.” She counted on her fingers. “Almost two hundred skyswallowers, twenty-odd cultists, a Disciple, and one massively over-leveled ironclaw griffin.”

  “Sorry, let me rephrase.” Wes smirked. “I would kill you for a real bed.”

  Eve snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Wes shrugged. “Last I checked, you can’t outrun being on fire.”

  “Oh, didn’t you know? Defiant Body makes me fireproof.”

  Wes crossed his arms. “No it doesn’t.”

  “It makes me just as fireproof as your Forged in Flames makes you mace-to-the-head-proof.”

  Wes raised an eyebrow. “So… not at all.”

  Eve flashed a malicious grin. “Exactly.”

  “Girls, girls,” Preston interrupted. “Stop fighting. You’re both pretty.”

  “Yeah.” Wes grinned. “But I’m prettier.”

  Eve held a finger to her cheek. “You’ve got pelsid ooze on your face.”

  “Son of a—” Wes managed to cut himself off before swearing yet again in front of Art. He wiped his face on his sleeve, once again nearly sending the young trellac tumbling off his shoulders.

  “Anyway,” Preston said, gesturing a sweeping arm over the road forward, “on to Ilvia.”

  Eve nodded, taking the first step back down the sloping mountainside. Hesitant as she was to give up the open view for the tight space of the dense woods, Ilvia called.

  The forest itself wasn’t as intimidating as Eve remembered. After the constant threat of unstoppable death looming in the impenetrable mists off the Dead Fields, the shifting shadows and rustling leaves lost their teeth. There were no griffins here.

  She knew, of course, the northern woods were not to be trifled with. Many a deadly beast lurked beneath the gloomy canopy, but The Defiant carried herself with hard-won confidence.

  Art helped. The telepath more than once proved his use as a living alarm system, alerting the party whenever he sensed aggressive thoughts from a nearby animal.

  His assistance, unfortunately, came at the cost of Wes and Preston’s comfort. Comfortable as the adventurers were in the dark woods after their experience north of Xandria’s Teeth, Art lacked their confidence.

  Every snapping twig and glimmer of movement in darkness made the trellac shiver, an emotion he inadvertently shared with Wes and Preston. Wes, in an attempt to calm his own magically induced jumpiness just as much as to help the child, spouted a near-endless stream of consciousness, filled with whatever dumb jokes, silly anecdotes, and other distractions he could conjure up.

  Eve kept watch by night, spending the hours practicing her Mana Manipulation to control her glowing eyes and neck. She’d long discovered the necessary balance to sufficiently light up her surroundings without waking the others, but as her Mana pool continued to grow, the more restraint it took to maintain it.

  Most of her effort she spent on splitting her focus, trying to practice the essential skill of doing other stuff without reverting to her full brightness. She had to imagine the citizens of Ilvia would have questions if they saw a living magelight walking around.

  Eve also devoted no small number of hours to cycling Mana through her eyes in various ways, hoping to discover the ‘Fatetorn Gaze’ her ability description had mentioned. Her search was driven more by curiosity than any hope the general skill would actually be useful—general skills had been a bit hit or miss so far—but there was no cost to picking it up. She had time to kill, after all.

  On their second day in the gloomy woods, the party finally reached the western bank of the Ilv. Even this high into the foothills leading up to its mountainous source, the river flowed with more water than Eve had ever seen. She knew it would only grow as they traveled south. The crisp, cool melted snow made for remarkably fresh drinking water as it surged over earth and stone, running fast and loud in the narrow channel allowed it by the confines of the trees.

  As they followed the waterway south, the adventurers found themselves time after time crossing over brooks and streams and even smaller rivers that each contributed to the Ilv’s powerful flow, until not even the mighty roots of the ancient conifers could contain it.

  Three days into their journey along its banks, the Ilv surpassed thirty feet in width. Five days in, it reached fifty.

  Even as the tributaries grew fewer and further between, the mighty river continued to stretch, paying for its newly claimed territory in speed and force. By the time the trees themselves began to thin as the party neared the forest’s end, the Ilv had transformed from a raging torrent to a lumbering giant, stretching over a thousand feet across as it ambled along the gentle grasslands.

  With their exit from the woods came the first glimpses of civilization as more and more of the wild fields gave way to farmland. Eve had known, of course, that the vast majority of the populace lived in the eastern half of Leshk—thanks to the security of Pyrindel and the fertility of the river valleys—but seeing it was something else.

  The party kept their distance from the farms as much as they could, forgoing the chance for fresher food to avoid awkward questions about the drake and trellac that traveled with them. Presumably the city would be more familiar with adventurers.

  Still, even if she didn’t have a chance to see the farmers themselves, the sheer acreage of land that had been tamed for the purpose of agriculture staggered Eve. As the days passed and they journeyed on, Eve saw more cultivated grain than wild grass.

  The mounting excitement of their trek came to a head ten days south of the mountains, when the first glimpse of a towering structure appeared upon the horizon. Eve was the first to notice it.

  “Is… is that what I think it is?” She squinted at the two granite monoliths on either side of the chasmic river, unable to make out any details beyond their enormous size from such a distance.

  “The Great Crossing,” Wes mouthed. “We made it.”

  Eve subconsciously quickened her pace along the soft loam of the riverbank, dreams of a hot meal and a soft bed and a windfall from sold loot forefront in her mind.

  Preston hastened to catch up. “Sure as hells looks like Ilvia to me.”

  “Good,” Eve chirped, a budding smile on her face as at long last their return to civilization was within reach. Even then her thoughts turned back to the only other city she’d visited, the only benchmark she had by which to imagine the world they were about to enter. Only one thought bubbled up.

  “I hope it doesn’t stink.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Welcome to Ilvia

  THE RIVER CITY of Ilvia didn’t loom upon the horizon so much as it seemed to spring about them, the farms and stables and upstream docks gradually appearing more and more often until the countryside disappeared entirely. Eve didn’t even notice when the soft earth of the riverbank gave way to hard cobblestones.

  A walled city though Ilvia was, its position nestled safely in the Leshkian heartland left its denizens little reason to huddle up behind the ancient fortification. Nowadays what remained of the old stone barricade only served to distinguish those who lived within from those who didn’t.

  As the trading capital to all of Leshk, real estate in the inner city went for a pretty penny. Only the wealthy, establishments catering to the wealthy, and those institutions older than the outer city itself found space within the coveted district.

  Much to the residents’ chagrin, the adventurer’s guild fell under that third category.

  So it was that three dirt, sweat, and grime-coated adventurers accompanied by a waist-high drake and a trellac hatchling found themselves traipsing through the fine thoroughfares, garnering a number of curious and disdainful looks from the well-dressed passersby.

  Eve glared right back at them.

  “I can’t believe nobody’s stopped us,” Wes commented as they passed yet another bored-looking city guard. “We wouldn’t have made it one step into Lynthia without some watchman asking to see Reginald’s
paperwork.”

  Preston shrugged. “Maybe Ilvia is just more adventurer-friendly?”

  Eve snorted, jerking her head towards a group of wealthy merchants sneering at them. “Tell that to them.” She shook her head. “My guess is you,” she said to Preston. “Caretaker of Ayla’s a beastmaster class. Given your level, they probably assume you already have a license.”

  Wes held up a hand. “Hey, let’s be consistent. This is Preston we’re talking about. Beastmistress.”

  “You know what?” Preston bristled. “Maybe my real quest is to get strong enough to punch a goddess. Should only take… oh a few centuries of grinding and I can pay Ayla back for making me deal with you two.”

  Wes furrowed his brow. “W-wouldn’t it be easier to exact your vengeance on us?”

  “Please,” Preston scoffed. “That’d be too boring. Do you have any idea how easy it is to not heal somebody? Besides, by the time I catch up to you two in strength, you’ll both be long dead of your own stupidity.”

  Eve frowned. “I’m sorry, who was it that got captured by cultists?”

  Preston shook his head. “No, no, I give you two maybe a year before you try and fight some level two-thousand abyss lord or some shit and end up a small red splotch in the dirt.”

  “C’mon,” Wes protested, “we’re not that dumb.”

  “Really?” Preston cocked an eyebrow. “‘Cause Eve’s already salivating over how much exp that abyss lord would be worth.”

  “Level two thousand…” she muttered to herself before shaking the daydream from her head.

  “Okay, okay,” Wes admitted, “maybe we’re a bit too open to taking risks, but it’s worked out so far, hasn’t it?”

  Not for Alex, it hasn’t. Eve stopped herself from speaking the thought aloud, unwilling to ruin the party’s jovial mood. Art had other ideas.

  Who’s Alex? the trellac’s voice echoed through their heads.

  Eve cursed. “Damnit, Art, what did I tell you about reading people’s thoughts?”

  Wes, Preston, and even a number of passersby on the street all took on a cowed expression as Art’s shame leaked. Don’t reply to things that aren’t said aloud, he rattled off. People don’t like to be reminded how bad their defenses are.

  Preston sighed, taking over with softness in his voice. “It’s not about defenses,” he reexplained. “Most humans aren’t telepathic, so mental communication makes them uncomfortable. Especially if you read their private thoughts.”

  But how am I supposed to know which thoughts are meant to be private?

  “They’re all private,” Wes said. “That’s the point.”

  Humans are weird.

  “Yep.” Eve stuck out her tongue. “They really are.”

  A childish laugh resonated through her mind, sending grins across the faces of Eve’s companions and the wealthy onlookers at once. “We really need to do something about that,” Eve muttered to herself. Eventually someone would realize the trellac was manipulating their emotions, and Eve did not want to deal with that disaster.

  The conversation came to an end as the adventurer’s guild hall came into view.

  The rundown wooden structure stood out among the fine brick and marble boutiques that flanked it. The chipped paint, crooked door, and single, broken window were more than enough for Eve to identify the building without the aid of the faded sign. “Jobs must be scarce out here, huh.”

  “Too many people, too few monsters.” Wes turned up his palms. “That and I’m sure the merchants here can afford the mercenary companies instead of cheaping out on adventurers.”

  Echoing his shrug, Eve stepped forward, swinging open the thin wooden door to the Ilvia guild hall. The interior was all too familiar.

  Two desks flanked the common area, one for food and alcohol and one opposite it for guild services. The floor between was crowded with chairs and tables, most of which sat empty given the early afternoon hour. One didn’t.

  Three men and a woman sat together at a corner table, already downing their first ales of the day. Their eyes all went blue as they Appraised the newcomers.

  “Woah there,” the tallest of the men said, a warrior-type with a ridiculously large great sword at his back. “You’re supposed to drop the cattle off and then collect the payment.”

  Eve blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, your Excellency,” the drunken fighter replied. “This isn’t the king’s court. We talk straight here.”

  Eve paused, creasing her brow as she visibly looked herself up and down. She raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m from the king’s court?”

  “Just pay your guards and go back to your fancy inn,” the rude man continued. “You can play dress up with your noble friends later.”

  Eve grit her teeth. She took a step forward, only stopping as Preston placed a hand on her shoulder. Only then did she realize she’d been gripping the hilt of her dagger.

  “Leave them,” the healer said. “They see you as an Emissary, remember?”

  “That’s no reason to be a dick,” Eve muttered back.

  “Speaking of dicks…”

  “Wes,” Preston hissed. “Later.”

  “Not you.” The Disciple rolled his eyes, raising an arm to point. “Her.”

  Trying not to laugh at the exchange, Eve followed his gesture with her eyes, only to audibly curse as they landed on an all-too-familiar face behind the clerk’s counter.

  “Well, well, well, looks like our Common-er is moving up in the world. Back from kissing some noble’s boot?” The pure, unbridled snark in the guild clerk’s voice grated on Eve’s nerves.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The clerk sat back in her seat. “I work here.”

  Eve scowled. “You work in Lynthia.”

  “I do,” the woman replied, as if that explained anything.

  As Eve went through a chorus of cursing, sighing, and grumbling about rude receptionists who could be in two places at once, Wes took over.

  He started with showing off the dungeon core from the Temple of Garaxia, leveraging it as proof they’d completed the job they’d originally set out to do. The hundred silver reward, while paltry for the risk involved, was plenty to pay for two rooms, baths, meals, and enough drinks to forget the stench of pelsid slime once and for all.

  Eve dipped out the moment the clerk handed the set of room keys across the counter, leaving Wes behind to inquire after places to sell their vast supply of loot. The less time she had to spend dealing with the guild clerk, the better. Getting a head start on that bath was an added bonus.

  She had to fill the tub herself, of course, but with her Strength the act of hauling hot water from the fire up to her room was little more than a moment’s distraction, one that was well worth it. It took the better part of an hour for Eve to rid herself of nearly three months’ worth of grime, compounded by the time spent scrubbing her armor as clean as she could get it.

  Once finished, she left her gear to dry and put on her least-damaged blouse and the skirt she hadn’t worn since leaving Lynthia. Eve could get used to this. It was nice to wear clothes like a normal person rather than the same suit of armor day in and day out. Maybe they could stick around Ilvia for a bit. Once the loot was sold, they’d certainly be able to afford it.

  Pocketing the thirty silver she had left after paying for the room, Eve made her way back down to the common room. As far as emptying the now-tepid bath, she didn’t bother with the buckets, simply carrying the entire tub downstairs over her head and dumping its contents into the gutter. It drained quickly, no doubt passing through whatever sewer the city had and into the river.

  Eve smiled. She couldn’t express her joy at finding a city with a functional sewer. She could actually breathe.

  Stepping back inside, Eve sidled up to the bar opposite the loathsome receptionist, finding its keeper much more amicable. He had beer.

  The Defiant bought a full round, as well as putting in an order for whatever dinner th
e kitchen was serving that night, before turning to find her companions. She almost tripped over Reginald’s sleeping form as she made her way to the table. “Where’s Wes?”

  “Still bathing,” Preston answered without looking up from the paper on which he furiously scribbled.

  Eve raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  “Beastmaster application,” he replied. “Sooner or later someone’s going to ask for paperwork.”

  “Makes sense.” Eve nodded. “Don’t want to end up paying a fine if you can—” She cut off, knocking Art’s hand away from the handle of Wes’s flagon. “That’s not yours.”

  But I wanna try it! the hatchling protested.

  “No you don’t,” Preston said. “Believe me. My da let me try ale at your age and I spit it right out.” He shuddered.

  But I—

  “No ale for you.” Eve spoke with finality. “You’re too young. Not to mention you’ll get the whole city acting like drunken idiots.”

  Preston’s eyes widened. “Well if you put it like that…” He slid the tankard towards Art with a sly grin.

  Eve took it from him. “As entertaining as that would be, no. I’m pretty sure the guards would consider that an attack on the city.”

  “Since when do you care about following the law?”

  “Since I got caught breaking it and got fined.”

  “Fair enough,” Preston conceded, looking back down to his application.

  Eve sipped her ale, careful to keep an eye on Art as he in turn eyed Wes’s drink. She made a note to track down someone with a telepath class who could teach the young psychic a thing or two. She could practically see Preston pouting along with him.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” a youthful voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Eve turned to find a girl, no more than thirteen, carefully reading from a white envelope.

  Level 4 Messenger Girl

  Common Tier 1 Class

  A nostalgic grin stretched across Eve’s face for a moment as she Appraised the Messenger. “What do you need?”