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

by J. P. Valentine

  Apathy turned to rage in Eve’s heart as the thieves absconded with their prize. Who the hells were they? What right did they have to run off with somebody else’s goat? Eve cursed, taking off in pursuit.

  Nobody stole from her, least of all some two-bit stereotypical shadowy figures in a gloomy alleyway. They could at least be original in their dark dealings.

  Eve balled her fists, not bothering to question why she cared enough about the ugly goat to go confronting bandits about it. It was the principle of the thing.

  Besides, she had a side quest for it, and Eve would be damned to three hells before she let a side quest go uncompleted.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Get Your Goat

  EVE FOCUSED INWARD as she stepped into the alleyway, restricting the Mana flow to her eyes to preserve some semblance of stealth in the dark space. They still glowed, of course, but at least there wouldn’t be visible beams of light announcing her every move.

  The precaution was likely unnecessary, but Eve liked to cover her bases. She was already running in headfirst to confront a bunch of thieves; she wanted to maintain some sense of thinking things through. It had never been her strong suit.

  As she cast her first glance along the gloomy alley, Eve was prepared to find all manner of things. Not much between a rowdy game of dice and full-blown ritual sacrifice would’ve fazed her.

  She had not expected to find absolutely nothing. A full scan of the tight alley revealed neither hide nor hair of the shadowy figures. Even the panicked bleating of the kidnapped animal had faded to nothing. Eve paused, suddenly very happy Wes wasn’t there. He never would’ve shut up about the goat being kidnapped.

  She shook her head, banishing the pun from her mind in favor of focusing on the search. The narrow alley ended in a wall, and neither of the wooden buildings that flanked it had a side door two thieves and a goat could’ve exited through.

  The Defiant stepped slowly down the backstreet, stepping over old crates and refuse piles as she scanned every nook for some sign of the brigands’ egress. It was only thanks to the ever-present illumination of her Mana-charged eyes that she finally found it.

  A cellar door, obscured in the shadow of an adjacent cluster of empty barrels, marked the way forward. After a quick tug at the handle confirmed it was locked, Eve skipped straight to the ‘smashing her way through’ step, applying ample force through the heel of her boot.

  Opening the passageway proved much easier with the lock in splinters ten feet away.

  Eve didn’t hesitate before descending the stone steps into the dank tunnel. The space was dark, her Mana the only light source, though the lingering smell of smoke seemed to imply there had recently been a lit torch in the vicinity, no doubt that of the thieves.

  Eve once again smirked at the pathetic humans and their need for light. Why everyone didn’t accidentally spill a mythically rare, ancient alchemical serum all over themselves to transform into a never-before-seen hybrid of Mana and organic life escaped her. It was just so much better.

  A cocky grin clinging to her face, Eve began her trek down the damp and mossy passage. The goat-thieves had built up quite the head-start as she’d searched the alleyway, but Eve was more than capable of catching up. She didn’t even need to Charge! A brisk walking pace would be plenty.

  So on she walked, following the singular direction of the tunnel and the faint smell of torch smoke in the distance. Underarmed and unarmored, Eve ventured forth into the bowels of Ilvia. One way or another, she was going to get that damn goat.

  * * *

  Archibald Clarence McGruff the Third was having a very strange day.

  It had all started pleasantly enough, with a taste of the finest hexweave he’d ever had the pleasure of eating, but things had taken a rather odd turn from there.

  First a rather rude lady had tugged him all over Ilvia, setting a brutal pace along the hoof-unfriendly cobblestone, only to leisurely stop to show him the marvelous view atop the Great Crossing. Scenic detour or otherwise, his keeper’s rough treatment proved too much for Archibald’s gentle sensibilities, so he simply had to chew through his leash and escape.

  Unfortunately for him, he only breathed the sweet air of freedom for a paltry few moments before another rough set of hands snatched him up. His ankle still ached from his failed attempt at breaking free.

  Currently, smoky air scraped against Archibald’s throat as his new captor carried him under his arm, deftly navigating a dark tunnel by the light of a torch. Archibald didn’t like tunnels. They smelled of dirt and staleness, and the sparse moss that lined the walls made for a subpar snack.

  Being a civilized goat, Archie hadn’t resorted to the barbaric act of kicking and biting to fight his way free. Once calmly bleating for help had failed, it was all up to his most important tactic.

  “Ugh,” Archie’s captor called out in disgust, “the damn goat’s pissing all over me.”

  “Eh, you can wash it off later,” the other thief replied.

  “But now I’m gonna meet the guild master smelling like piss.”

  “You always smell like piss. Least now you have a good excuse.”

  Much to Archibald’s dismay, his captor simply swung him around to point him away rather than dropping him in disgust. He was impressed. Whoever these brigands were, they’d proved themselves strong enough to overcome his most powerful technique. Out of things to try, Archibald hung his head, resigning himself to patience.

  Wherever these strange and powerful men were taking him there would probably be food. The thought gave Archibald some comfort as his stomach grumbled. It was one of the advantages of being a goat that he’d enjoyed for the entirety of his brief life.

  After all, when one’s definition of ‘food’ was as broad as Archie’s, everywhere had food.

  * * *

  Eve traversed the secret tunnel for nearly half an hour before it changed in any noticeable way. Trickles of water ran down the walls and along the cracks in the stone, slowly developing into a gentle stream that followed the length of the passage.

  The thin layer of water running over the mossy stone left the floor remarkably slippery, a challenge Eve was particularly happy to find posed her no trouble. Skill-enhanced traction was mighty convenient.

  It all came to an end as the tunnel opened up into an octagonal room dominated by the forty-foot cistern at its center. Six other passageways spread from it into the darkness, each feeding its own stream of water into the wide pool.

  As she stepped onto the wooden bridge that crossed it, Eve had to wonder where it all came from. Was it river water? How far down was she? What was this all even here for?

  The seventh face of the octagonal chamber answered that last question. Instead of an open tunnel, a wooden facade and door had been built over the wall, complete with fake windows and a flower box, and a professionally painted—if fading—sign that simply read Thieves’ Guild: Ilvia Branch.

  “Nice of them to announce it, I guess,” Eve mused aloud as she approached the facade. She supposed there wasn’t much use in secrecy. She doubted any legitimate business would set up shop all the way down here. At least this way, someone looking to hire an assassin or buy illicit potions wouldn’t accidentally wander into the wrong guild hall.

  With a shrug, she approached the honest attempt at a nice-looking shop front in the underground cistern and, lacking any better ideas, knocked.

  A slot opened up in the door, revealing two dark eyes. “Password?” a grisly voice barked.

  “Um…” Eve turned up her palms. “No?”

  “Then fuck off.” The slot slammed shut.

  Eve, not particularly wanting to fuck off, opted for a different option.

  She kicked the door in.

  Even without Mana Rush, her nearly two hundred Strength was more than enough to knock loose latch and hinges alike, sending the door in its entirety flying backwards, taking the doorman with it. He landed with a groan.

  Eve casually strode up to the fall
en guard, placing a foot to hold down the door on top of him. “Did two men come through here with a goat a bit earlier?”

  The burly thief frantically nodded as he futilely struggled against her superior Strength.

  “Excellent.” Eve smiled. “Thanks for the warm welcome.” She pressed her foot once more on the broken door as a message before moving on. Leaving the gasping guard behind, Eve continued on through the torchlit passage, unimpeded until the tunnel finally opened up into something that could suitably be called a guild hall.

  Eve took a moment to gawk at the similarities to the adventurer’s guild. Despite existing in an underground tunnel instead of a regular building, the layout was damn near identical. It had the same two counters—one for jobs and one for drinks—the same table setup, and even the same smell of stale beer. Did all of Leshk only have one set of blueprints for constructing guild halls?

  At least the clerk behind the desk wasn’t familiar. Eve might’ve screamed if the same snarky receptionist worked at the thieves’ guild too. Instead, she simply grinned sheepishly at the series of hostile stares that greeted her.

  A man drew a knife. “Ye don’t belong here, girly. Go lick whatever noble’s arse ye did to earn that class of yers.”

  “Actually, I have some business here,” Eve replied cheerfully. “Some of your colleagues have stolen from me.”

  “And now we’ve won a ransom too. Lucky us.” The thief flashed a predatory grin. “Emissary like you’s gotta be worth something to somebody.”

  “Carl, look at her!” A woman hissed in the leader’s ear. “She’s fucking glowing.”

  “Even better. She’s rich enough to buy a glow-potion instead of using a torch like the rest of us.” He looked her up and down with a hungry leer. “I’ve always wanted to try a rich girl.”

  Eve decided then and there that she was going to break his shins.

  “Esther, Brock, take her weapons and tie her up,” the man barked. “Can’t have hostages running free, can we?”

  Eve waited as the two subordinates approached her, holding her abilities at the ready as she formulated a plan. Her eyes flicked to the men at the side of the common room. Crossbows first.

  She met the first thief to reach for her daggers with a flying elbow, shattering the fragile bones in his hand. She kicked the next in the stomach, sending him flying back as she Charged! for the two crossbowmen to her left. They didn’t even manage to pull the trigger before she was upon them.

  Eve yanked the weapons from their hands, breaking fingers and wrists with the force of the motion. She shattered the weapons on the floor before moving on to the next adversary.

  The Defiant weaved through Thief after Thief, breaking bones and knocking unconscious with surprising ease. She’d expected the low-level sneaks to be relatively weak, but they fell before her like dried leaves in the wind. What few attacks they did manage to land struck harmlessly against her Defiant Body, reinforced by Mana when she saw the blow coming.

  Eve refrained from activating Mana Rush. She didn’t want to kill them, after all, just… disable them long enough to get back what was hers.

  She saved the leader for last. At level thirty-one, he was the only tier three of the lot. His jagged knife flashed menacingly, dripping with deadly venom.

  Eve threw a table at him.

  It landed with a crash, striking the guild master in the chest and knocking him to the floor. He cried out.

  Eve cursed as she approached. “Damnit, I was aiming for your shins. Guess I’ll have to settle for your collarbones.”

  “Wh…what do you want?” The man groaned. “What did we do to deserve—”

  “My goat,” Eve spat. “You stole my goat.”

  “Y-you’re here for the goat? Fucking take it. It’s in the back eating upholstery.”

  “Are you kidding?” Eve tried not to grimace at the accidental pun. “I’ve been trying to get rid of that thing all day.”

  The man gaped.

  “Um… you.” Eve spun to point at a random guildsman who lay on the floor clutching an injured arm. “What’s a fair price for a goat around here?”

  “I—um—I don’t know—uh—thirty-five silver?” the man stammered.

  “Great.” Eve turned back to the guild master. “I want thirty-five—no. Thirty-six silver in exchange for that goat.”

  “What am I supposed to do with a gods-damned goat?”

  Eve glared at the man. “On second thought, maybe I will break your shins.”

  “No, no, here—uh—take anything you want.” Still pinned beneath the broken table, the thief jerked his head at his fallen coin purse.

  Eve stooped over to collect the leather pouch, rooting through it to carefully count out exactly thirty-six silver pieces. She pocketed them. “Nice doing business with you.” She dropped the half-empty purse on the floor. “Don’t steal from me again.”

  Eve didn’t look back as she strode from the thieves’ guild, the sound of a dozen injured bandits and one hungry goat fading in the distance. She stopped in the alleyway, just short of the busy streets of Ilvia, to read the notification that flashed in her periphery.

  Tertiary Quest Complete: Sell the Goat

  Rewards: 36 Silver Pieces, 3600 exp.

  Eve smiled. Sure, it had been simple and the rewards minuscule, but at least now, at last, she’d completed her first quest.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Decisions, Decisions

  TWO WEEKS INTO their stay in Ilvia, Eve was more than ready for this break from adventuring to come to an end. Much as her brief excursion with the goat had made for an entertaining interlude, thirty-six silver and a few thousand exp were crumbs compared to the wealth of levels and loot she’d grown accustomed to earning.

  Eve was bored. There was only so much shopping she could do with her vast—but still limited—funds, especially considering she’d have to carry any item she bought with her once the party journeyed on. She could hardly bring a wardrobe of expensive dresses on their next dungeon-dive.

  Eve was ready to move on. She wanted to see new things. She wanted to take on new challenges, push herself to the limits of what her class could achieve, experience all the wide and dangerous world had to offer. Most of all, she wanted Wes to shut the fuck up.

  Not once in the fortnight they’d spent in the river city had Wes stopped talking about commission statistics, retainers, guild armories, or, most often, the negotiable signing bonuses most companies offered him.

  “Podrick’s Titans has a ten-gold bonus for new classes, but their MCF—mean commission fee—is laughably low,” Wes calculated aloud as the party sat around their usual table at the guild hall. “Meanwhile, the Harbingers’ MCF is high enough that they could offer no signing bonus and I’d still out-earn the Titans after twelve jobs.”

  Every word confronted Eve with her own lack of job offers. Official job offers, she reminded herself. The two chess pieces from the Man of the Mists weighed heavily in her pocket.

  Preston shook his head. “The Harbingers make so much per job because they take risks.” He flipped through the Applicant’s Guide to Leshkian Mercenary Companies to the page on the Harbingers. “Their death rate is twice as high as the Titans’.”

  “We’re adventurers,” Wes said, “dying is always an option. Besides, if you normalize the death rate by dividing each MCF by the chance of mission failure, the Harbingers still come out ahead.”

  Preston snorted. “By that logic, a job that is guaranteed to kill you only needs to pay… fifty-one gold to be worth it.”

  From her position across the table, Eve let out an overdramatic sigh. “This is ridiculous. I didn’t become an adventurer to do math.”

  “Really?” Wes raised an eyebrow. “How much exp do you need for level fifty-one?”

  “Six hundred twenty-seven thousand, five hundred and forty-four,” Eve rattled off.

  The Disciple smirked.

  “Okay, fine,” Eve exhaled, “I’ll admit there’s some math required,
but this is ridiculous. Just work for whoever offers you the most money or whichever group that book of yours ranks the highest.”

  “Those are two very different metrics,” Wes said. “Generally, lower-tier orgs offer more money. As for the highest ranking… they haven’t even sent me an offer. None of the top five have. You have to apply.”

  “Then what are you doing wasting time with these other groups?”

  Wes sighed. “We’ve been over this. Other than my class and level, I don’t really have much of a resume. ‘Killed skyswallowers for months to hit level thirty-seven’ isn’t exactly an impressive achievement.”

  “And you’re worried if there’s an application process they’ll realize your Epic class is slowly driving you insane,” Eve added.

  Wes held up an interrupting finger. “Hey, voices in my head notwithstanding, I’m not the one who charged in alone to fight the entire thieves’ guild over thirty silver.”

  “Thirty-six silver,” Eve corrected.

  “Guys, it doesn’t matter,” Preston intervened. “Four of the top five only allow internally built teams, so unless we all get invited, joining one of them would mean going our separate ways.”

  Eve raised an eyebrow. “And the fifth?”

  Wes shook his head. “The Dragonwrought haven’t interviewed an applicant in decades, let alone accepted one.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Do you want anything from the kitchen? I’m going to get a cup of tea. We still have two dozen orgs to rank.”

  The moment the fire mage stepped away, Eve leaned back in her chair, dramatically throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling. She groaned. “Can’t he just fucking pick one?”

  “He’s excited,” Preston replied. “And he’s got a lot of options. I know it’s boring, but he needs to weigh them all properly.”

  “What happened to joining the mage’s college? He was so excited about them when we left Nowherested.”