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

by J. P. Valentine

  Preston shrugged. “It’s on his list.”

  “It’s just exhausting. Don’t you get tired of hearing how many invitations he’s got all the time? It’s like he doesn’t realize that the rest of us aren’t getting bombarded with job offers.”

  “Well-um…” Preston reddened. “That’s-um… actually just you.”

  Eve’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, what?”

  The Caretaker reached into his robe, withdrawing a half-dozen open envelopes. “It’s mostly healers’ guilds and beast-tamer associations. They started coming in once I got my beastmaster’s license.”

  “Bandir’s ball-sweat, are you kidding me?” Eve was particularly proud of that curse, one of several she’d overheard while exploring the docks. “How am I the only one nobody wants?” She looked again at Preston’s letters. “And how come you didn’t tell me?”

  Preston returned the missives to his pocket. “Because your first response was to curse and yell about nobody wanting you?” He sighed. “You’re not going to wind up without a team. No matter what, we’re gonna make sure Wes lands at a company that allows outside team members. That’s why you should care about where he ends up just as much as he does. Without other job offers, you’re going to be stuck doing whatever commissions Wes can get.”

  Eve bit her tongue, refraining from mentioning that she did have an outstanding offer, just not from any mercenary company. She’d been thinking about the Man of the Mists a lot recently, and a part of her wondered why she still hadn’t told Preston about the Unique messenger. She rationalized it as being unnecessary—she wasn’t going to accept his offer, so why bother sharing it? Eve knew that excuse didn’t hold water.

  Truth be told, she liked having the secret. For all she shared with her friends, her conversation with the Man of the Mists and the two chess pieces she carried were uniquely hers.

  Eve shook her head. “It’s like Nowherested all over again. Or the adventurer’s guild. Wes gets all the jobs and the free stuff and the attention and I just have to hope there’s enough left over for me at the end.”

  Preston snorted. “I’m sorry, is your Unique class not enough for you?”

  The Defiant exhaled. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I just don’t like needing Wes to do all the job hunting and negotiating for me.”

  “Maybe you should practice negotiating yourself,” Preston offered. “You are an Emissary, after all.”

  Eve laughed. “Yeah, I’ll just follow Wes to all his interviews. Tell ‘em I’m his designated negotiator. I’m sure that would go over well.”

  “I’m sure Wes will do a fine job. And once you’ve done a few commissions with him as a free agent, I’m certain whatever company he joins will be happy to sign you.”

  Eve exhaled. “Look, I know you’re right, and I know everything will work out in the end, it just… feels shitty. I don’t like sitting here with nothing while you and Wes get all sorts of offers, and I especially don’t like that now my future career is going to depend entirely on Wes making the right decision.”

  Preston flashed a sly grin. “Why do you think I’ve been helping him rank his choices?”

  “Because you’re a wonderful human being who wants the best for me?” Wes rejoined the conversation as he returned with a steaming mug.

  “Yep.” Preston winked at Eve. “That’s exactly right.”

  Eve bit back a scathing jape about public displays of affection as Wes gave Preston a peck on the cheek.

  “Anyway,” the mage said, “let’s move on to the Valorsworn. They did send me this very nice ring…”

  Eve tuned them out. It sounded like Wes wasn’t coming to a decision any time soon, and even if she didn’t trust him not to jump to whichever org had the coolest-sounding name, at least Preston would keep him on the right track.

  Besides, if all else failed, he could always just join Hard Company.

  * * *

  Alone in her room, Eve lay back in bed, staring up at the ceiling as she flipped an ivory knight over in her hand. Its twin, the matching bishop they’d found on the corpse of a certain cult leader, sat on the bedside table. Eve turned to stare at it.

  Had the Disciple of Garaxia been another potential employee, or had the Man of the Mists planted the chess piece on him for Eve to find? Neither possibility boded well.

  Either the strange Unique wanted her to solve some cryptic puzzle before deeming her worthy, or he was perfectly happy recruiting evil cultists into his faction’s ranks. On that same note, Eve particularly didn’t like the idea of joining a faction she knew nothing about. For all she knew, the Man of the Mists was a member of the ‘pro-genocide’ faction.

  She’d never admit it, but these damned chess pieces were the worst part of Wes’s whole job bidding war. Resolved as she was not to abandon her friends to work for some foggy stranger, every offer Wes—or Preston now—received set her thoughts back to the only one she had.

  The mystery made it worse. The more time Eve spent thinking about the knight and bishop pair, the harder it became to suppress her curiosity. Bad idea or not, she wanted to know. Throwing the tokens away and rejecting the Man of the Mists meant never finding out about this great game he talked about, or his connection to the cultists, or why he was so obsessed with chess metaphors.

  A part of her wanted to contact him if only to ask more questions. She was a Unique now; surely he’d be more ready to talk.

  Eve sat up, snatching the bishop up from its table to examine it along with the knight. Thin wisps of fog rolled off them both, dissipating into the air as it always did. She’d only kept them as a backup plan, but gods, she was curious.

  “No,” she thought aloud. “Annoying as he is right now, I can’t do that to Wes.” She hated it. It felt wrong, riding Wes’s coattails to success when she had so much to offer herself. Still, there had to be another way.

  Preston was right. It would all work out in the end; she just had to be patient. The chess pieces made that hard.

  Eve scooped up the two pieces, holding them together in her right hand. She’d made it this far with Wes and Preston, why should she abandon them now? Envy was no reason to follow a stranger into the fog.

  “You know what? I trust them,” she muttered. “Fuck back-up plans.” Dumping a chunk of Mana into Mana Rush, Eve crushed the chess pieces in her hand, grinding them against her palm until they both dissipated completely into mist.

  She exhaled. It was done. No longer did she owe the high-levels and their mysterious games even an ounce of her attention. She was sticking with her friends for the long haul.

  Eve laughed. It felt good, knowing the chess pieces were gone, as if she could breathe easier without the Man of the Mists and his cryptic puzzles occupying space in her mind.

  Her relief drained away when the notification appeared.

  Legendary Quest Milestone Reached: Summon the Man of the Mists!

  +32000 exp!

  “Gods fucking damnit.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Water Damage

  IT TOOK LESS than a minute before the fog began to roll in.

  It crept through the cracks around the window, reaching through knotholes in the wooden wall and tiny gaps in the leaky roof. For a moment Eve considered trying to stop the mists themselves, before recognizing the futility of the idea, imagining Wes frantically stuffing a shirt under the door to try and stopper the flow. She chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Eve jerked her head around to follow the voice, finding the magical fog had pooled beside the window, concealing a humanoid form. “Nothing—I…” she stammered, “my friend is a buffoon. You got here fast.”

  “I have my ways.”

  Eve cocked an eyebrow. “Sure you weren’t just hanging around waiting for me to crush the chess pieces?”

  She could’ve sworn she saw the shifting shadow’s mouth drop open for a moment before failing to find a reply. He changed the subject. “Why have you summoned me, my protegé?”

&nbs
p; Eve blinked. Protegé? Really? “By accident, to tell you the truth, but while you’re here I may as well get some answers.”

  “By… okay.” The man shrugged. With a slight flourish, he reclined back, sitting as if in an armchair made of the mists themselves. “Ask away.”

  Eve froze, mostly in shock at his willingness to field questions. She’d expected him to say more cryptic chess metaphors and fuck off. She took a moment to retry her Appraise.

  Level ?? The Man of the Mists

  Unique Tier ?? Class

  She was unsurprised to find him still well above her level and class tier, though the two question marks beside his name provided some information. At least he was lower level than the griffin, though Eve had no illusions about her ability to survive a fight with him. She knew more than most that level wasn’t everything, and the foggy stranger’s class was as Unique as hers.

  Keeping to that line of thinking, Eve decided on her first question. “What level are you?”

  “Ah-ah-ah.” The figure wagged a finger. “You’d think an Emissary would know it’s rude to ask someone’s level.”

  “I’m not an Emissary.”

  “But you’re disguised as one,” the man said. “A disguise you’d do well not to give away so readily.”

  Eve rolled her eyes. “I’m not looking for a lecture on etiquette.”

  “Then what are you looking for, champion?”

  “It’s champion, now?” Eve exhaled. “I’m looking for answers. Who are you? Who do you work for? What do you want? Why did that cultist have one of your chess pieces? What about the Lady of Whispers? Why is my life quest so fucking weird?”

  “I cannot answer that last,” the man replied, “and I will not answer that first. I work with a loose collective of high-level entities towards the common betterment of us all. This… Lady of Whispers is not a member of my organization. Do not trust her.”

  “I generally don’t trust people who drug and kidnap me,” Eve snapped. “Just like I don’t trust people who hide their faces.”

  “Everyone wears a mask, hero. At least I have the decency to wear mine where you can see it.”

  Eve’s eyebrows rose. “Protegé, champion, and now hero. I’m starting to think you don’t remember my name.” Eve knew she was pushing it. She wasn’t sure from where her blithe attitude towards the powerful figure came. Everything just felt less intimidating after surviving the Dead Fields. Besides, cowering in fear wouldn’t be very Defiant of her.

  “I’ll ignore that slight.” A sharpness filled the man’s voice. “But you would do well to remember your manners.”

  He still avoided actually saying her name. Eve stifled a grin.

  “As for what I want,” he continued, “I feel I’ve been clear. I want you. I want to see you realize your potential to become a powerful player in your own right.”

  “As long as I play for your team.”

  “Naturally.”

  Eve restated the decision she’d already made. “I’m not leaving my friends.”

  “You’ve left one already.”

  Fury welled in Eve’s chest. “I didn’t leave her, she—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the Man of the Mists interrupted. “And there’s time yet. I admit you’ve done an admirable job of raising your companions up with you, but you can only carry them so far.”

  “I said no.”

  Behind his misty veil, the man smiled. “As I said, there’s still time. Far as you’ve come, there’re mountains left to climb.”

  Eve bristled at that. Who was he to diminish her achievements? “A Unique class and a gods-damned griffin aren’t enough?”

  “Unique doesn’t mean better, only different, and levels can be deceiving.”

  “So, what would you have me do? I’m six hundred thousand exp from leveling up again, and there’s no way in hells I’m going back to the Dead Fields any time soon.”

  “I never told you to level up.” The man breathed. “When will your kind part from the silly notion that levels are the only way to grow?”

  Eve’s eyebrows raised. “My kind?”

  He ignored her question. “A piece of advice, freely given in the hopes you’ll consider my offer. There are many, even here within your human kingdom, with the knowledge and tools to push you higher than you’ve even imagined. Seek them out.”

  Eve let out an overdramatic sigh. “Keeping with the ‘vague and useless’ theme today, aren’t you?”

  “The fog of uncertainty can cloud even the sharpest eye.”

  Eve scoffed, waving a hand through damp air. “You’re the one fogging up the place.”

  “I liked you better when you weren’t so insolent.”

  She smirked. “I’ve always been insolent, just give less of a fuck about hiding it now. You gonna tell me something useful or are we keeping with the riddles?”

  The man leaned forward. “Your companions have the right idea. Leshk’s mercenary companies have exactly the resources you seek, resources they’re all too happy to share with new recruits. The Dragonwrought should be a good fit.”

  Eve scowled at the mention of the top org in all of Leshk. “The Dragonwrought haven’t interviewed an applicant in thirty years.”

  “They haven’t listed you amongst their hopefuls.”

  “I can’t even get an org to look at me,” Eve protested.

  “Then I suppose you’ll have to prove yourself to them. If only there were some sort of yearly tournament designed for potential recruits to show off their prowess. They could call it the Proving Grounds and invite representatives from every major mercenary company in Leshk. Wouldn’t that be splendid?”

  Eve grumbled. “When is it?”

  “At the cusp between autumn and winter. I’m sure you can figure out where.”

  Eve nodded. There was only one city with the clout to host such an event. “So that’s it? Head east, win the tournament, join the Dragonwrought?”

  The shrouded figure nodded back. “I’m certain you’ll find yourself… uniquely situated to find a place in their ranks.” He stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters that require my attention.”

  A wind swept through the room, swirling the supernatural mist into a vortex. Eve’s bedsheet whipped against her leg as she watched the man’s dark shape slowly fade into whirling fog. His final words to her echoed through the tight quarters.

  “Good luck, champion.”

  “It’s ‘Eve,’ asshole,” she called after him. “Remember it next time.”

  As the last of the fog swept through the now-open window, it coalesced into a distinct shape, one Eve recognized all too readily as a massive hand with an extended middle finger.

  With that, the man, and his mists, disappeared.

  Eve laughed. She still had no intention of working for him, but she could appreciate a well-timed rude gesture. The Man of the Mists had at least been somewhat more straightforward with her this time.

  How had nobody told her about the Proving Grounds? It was perfect. Even if she couldn’t make her way into the most powerful and exclusive mercenary company in Leshk, showing off that she was more than just an Emissary would be enough to land her a spot at an org.

  Still, she was loath to take direction from the high-level stranger. She noted he’d avoided talking about the bishop she’d found on the dead cultist, and the fact he’d forgotten her name did seem to imply he had a number of other potential recruits out there.

  The thought was actually some comfort. If Eve was just one of many young adventurers with potential, perhaps ol’ misty would accept her refusal. He hadn’t yet, of course, but maybe someday.

  Eve shook her head, pushing herself to her feet to go find her friends. She stopped on her way to the door as a flash of white caught her eye.

  There, on the bedside table, where certainly had been nothing ten minutes ago, sat an alabaster rook. “Great,” Eve muttered, “I’ve been promoted.” She left the piece there, slamming the door behind her as she
stepped out into the hall. Powerful or otherwise, she had no intention of being a piece on somebody else’s board.

  * * *

  “The fuck do you mean there’s water damage?”

  “This isn’t a resort, Excellency,” the receptionist spat the honorific. “You can’t just turn your quarters into a steam room. Wood warps when it gets wet.” She swore. “I’m going to have to find somebody to completely renovate the walls of room twelve because of you. Ugh. The only thing I hate more than adventurers: contractors.”

  Eve furrowed her brow. “If you hate adventurers so much, why do you work here?”

  The woman glared. “Because they pay me. And now you’re going to pay me for ruining a perfectly good room.”

  “I’m not the one who damaged it,” Eve growled.

  “It’s your room. Unless someone broke in to fill it with steam, it’s your fault.” The clerk frowned. “Actually, scratch that. I don’t care whose fault it is. Unless you have this mystery vandal ready to fund the repairs, pay up.”

  Gods-damn Man of the Mists and his gods-damned moisture, Eve cursed to herself. “How much is it going to cost?”

  An evil glint flashed in the clerk’s eye. “Between materials and labor, not to mention compensating me for my time organizing all this, I’m thinking… three hundred silver.”

  Exactly as much as the payout for the temple job, Eve realized. No doubt that was on purpose. Without so much as a blink, she reached into her pack to withdraw the aforementioned sum, depositing it simply onto the counter. “Here you go.”

  In the greatest display of surprise Eve had ever seen from the snarky woman, the receptionist raised an eyebrow. “That was easy. I guess licking noble boots pays.”

  “Something like that,” Eve snorted. “We settled?”

  The clerk nodded. “Don’t do it again.”

  Eve, in a show of exactly the immense willpower which defined her Unique class, managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes until after she’d turned away from the front desk. She already couldn’t wait to join a mercenary company, if only to avoid dealing with the guild receptionist.