9.

  Next steps.

  System Notification: Job Class Available!

  As Thorin settled down for the night in his rented room at the inn, a familiar white system message flared into existence before his eyes.

  [SYSTEM MESSAGE]

  You have reached Level 11. Your efforts have shaped your path. You may now choose a Job Class Path.

  Thorin sat up straight, blinking. It made sense—he’d been using his spear constantly, hunting, fighting, and adapting to the world’s mechanics. He figured something like this would happen eventually, but seeing it laid out so formally felt… significant.

  Another message appeared.

  [AVAILABLE JOB CLASSES]

  Spearman: A flexible combatant who excels in mid-range combat, utilizing reach and precise strikes. Gains a bonus to spear proficiency and stamina efficiency.

  Pikeman: Defensive combatant trained in holding ground, excels at formation-based combat and counterattacks. Gains a bonus to bracing techniques and piercing damage.

  Guard: Defensive warrior specializing in protecting allies, skilled at deflecting attacks and maintaining endurance. Gains bonus to endurance and reaction time.

  Thorin frowned, rubbing his chin. It looked like these were basic-tier classes, but they clearly laid the foundation for something more advanced. Each path had different strengths, but none of them fully captured how he actually fought.

  Vorn, who had been resting coiled in the corner, opened one eye. “You’re making that ‘thinking-too-hard’ face again.”

  Thorin exhaled, waving at the glowing text. “System’s giving me a job class choice.”

  Vorn slithered closer, reading the options over his shoulder. “Hah! Oh, this is rich. You finally get some direction in life, and it boils down to ‘pointy-stick man’ in three flavors.’”

  Thorin ignored the jab. “They’re all solid options, but they don’t really fit my style.”

  Vorn flicked his tail, considering. “Well, let’s break it down, genius. You’re not the kind to sit still and hold a line, so Pikeman’s out. You don’t have people or town to protect, so Guard is worthless to you right now. That leaves Spearman by default.”

  Thorin wasn’t convinced. “It’s too basic. I move around a lot, hit fast, and don’t get stuck in prolonged fights if I can help it. What if I pick something that doesn’t lock me into that?”

  Vorn grinned. “Then you get creative. You’ve been fighting like a skirmisher, using terrain, mobility, and surprise attacks. You don’t need some ‘stand-your-ground’ class. You need something that lets you keep moving, strike hard, and vanish before anyone can react.”

  Thorin considered it. “So, go Spearman now and evolve it later?”

  Vorn bobbed his head. “Exactly. Your options will expand as you grow, and I’d wager a lot of advanced classes align with the way you fight. But you need a steppingstone first.”

  Thorin sighed, then smirked. “You know, for someone who mocks me constantly, you give solid advice.”

  Vorn smirked back. “Well, if you die because you picked ‘Guard,’ who am I supposed to berate?”

  Thorin chuckled, then focused on the system prompt.

  [Confirm Job Selection: Spearman?]

  He tapped “Yes.”

  [SYSTEM MESSAGE]

  You have chosen the job class: SPEARMAN.

  Bonuses applied: +10% Spear Proficiency, +5% Stamina Efficiency.

  Future class evolutions unlocked.

  Thorin exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He could feel a slight change—his grip on the spear felt a little more natural, his movements slightly smoother. It wasn’t a huge shift, but it was a step forward.

  Vorn stretched lazily. “Well, congratulations, ‘Spearman.’ Try not to die before we see what fun new classes pop up later.”

  Thorin smirked. “Yeah, yeah. Just wait ‘til I unlock something actually terrifying.”

  Vorn chuckled. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

  The morning sun filtered through the wooden shutters, casting soft streaks of golden light across the small, rented room. Thorin stretched, groaning as his body protested slightly. Normally, he’d be up early, after going through some form of exercise routine, the night before but after everything—the battle, leveling up, and processing the job class choice—he decided to take a break.

  Vorn, coiled in the corner, cracked open one eye. “Huh. No grunting, no push-ups late in the night? Is this laziness or self-preservation?”

  Thorin smirked as he swung his legs off the bed. “Call it a ‘rest.’ Even war machines need maintenance.”

  Vorn yawned, flicking his tail. “Fair enough. Let’s see if breakfast is as bland as usual.”

  To their pleasant surprise, the morning meal was far better than usual. The usual oat porridge had been enhanced with a touch of spice, and the eggs were cooked with herbs that actually gave them some flavor. Even the bread was fresh, rather than the usual slightly stale kind.

  Thorin took a bite and raised an eyebrow. “Huh. This actually tastes good.”

  Laina, the freckled brunette with sharp green eyes, caught his expression as she passed by. “You’re welcome.”

  He glanced up, amused. “So, this was you're doing?”

  She gave a small shrug. “Someone finally brought in decent seasonings, so I figured I’d put them to use.”

  Thorin leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I think that earns you the title of ‘Savior of Breakfasts.’ Might have to make you an honorary knight.”

  She scoffed, but a smirk tugged at her lips. “And what would that make you? The ‘Lord Lunatic Who Waged War on Squirrels?’”

  Vorn, who had been resting under Thorin’s cloak, cackled internally.

  Thorin exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I really need to do something bigger soon, or that’s gonna be my legacy, huh?”

  She patted the table. “It already is.” With that, she turned and walked off, leaving Thorin with a swaying sight, and slightly entertained.

  Vorn, of course, wouldn’t let it go.

  “I like her. She’s sharp.”

  Thorin sighed. “Of course you do.”

  After finishing breakfast, they set out towards the mine, where Thorin had been gathering ore for crafting. The road was quiet, stretching through the outskirts of Oakhollow, winding past patches of woodland and rocky outcroppings. The cool morning air was refreshing, and the rhythmic crunch of boots set a steady pace.

  For once, Vorn wasn’t making jokes. Instead, he seemed… thoughtful.

  “Thorin,” the wyrm finally said, breaking the silence. “How many people in town do you think have a job class like you now?”

  Thorin furrowed his brow. “I’d guess a handful. Maybe some of the guards?”

  Vorn flicked his tail. “Maybe. But I’m betting it’s none.”

  That gave Thorin pause. “…What makes you say that?”

  Vorn shifted, peering at the trees as they passed. “Think about it. You just got a class at Level 11. That’s after surviving gods-know-what, training like a maniac, and fighting everything from bandits to angry rodents.”

  Thorin exhaled. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly handed to me.”

  “Right. Now look at the town. Farmers, craftsmen, traders. They go their whole lives doing their work—but do they ever level up? Do they ever get a class?”

  That made Thorin stop walking for a second. “…Huh.”

  Vorn tilted his head. “You’ve been assuming everyone has some kind of basic class. But what if they don’t? What if most people never even get one?”

  Thorin crossed his arms, thinking. “But that wouldn’t make sense. I mean, even back on Earth, people specialized. You had blacksmiths, warriors, hunters—hell, medieval knights trained their whole lives.”

  Vorn gave him a sharp, knowing look. “Did they?”

  Thorin blinked. “What?”

  Vorn gestured with his snout. “Did medieval people train their whole lives the way you do? The way soldiers did in your world?”

  Thorin opened his mouth to answer, then… stopped.

  Vorn pressed on. “You said it yourself before—you push your body because of where you came from. Because back in your world, people sit too much and don’t move enough. You think the people here need to do that?”

  “…Shit,” Thorin muttered. He ran a hand through his hair, realization settling in. “No, they don’t. They’re already moving all the time. They don’t have cars, they walk everywhere. They work fields, chop wood, haul things constantly. They don’t need to ‘exercise’ because life itself is exercise.”

  Vorn nodded. “Exactly. So now, back to the real question—if living your life doesn’t give you a class, what does?”

  Thorin walked in silence for a moment, processing. “Struggle?” he finally guessed. “Pushing yourself beyond normal limits?”

  Vorn flicked his tail. “Bingo. You had to fight, had to learn, had to adapt in ways normal people here never have to.”

  Thorin exhaled. “So, people don’t even have a starter class because they’ve never been pushed to that point?”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Vorn smirked. “Now you’re getting it.”

  Thorin ran a hand over his face. “That’s insane. It’s like… some kind of hidden barrier. No one even knows they could unlock something greater because they’ve never been in a position where the system recognizes them as more than just a guy doing a job.”

  Vorn nodded. “Exactly. And that means…”

  Thorin sighed. “That means I’m even more of a freak than I thought.”

  Vorn burst out laughing. “Oh, absolutely.”

  Thorin shook his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “At least I get cool perks for it.”

  Vorn grinned. “That you do. So, what’s next, oh Lunatic Squirrel Spearman?”

  Thorin glanced ahead, spotting the entrance to the mine. He rolled his shoulders, a determined glint in his eyes.

  “It's not enough".

  Thorin arrived at the mine, ready to start his day of mining and gathering ore, but something was off. The site wasn’t empty like before. A small group of miners was already approaching, carrying equipment. Alongside them was a young man in a blacksmith’s apron—probably the apprentice from Oak hollow’s forge.

  The oldest miner, a grizzled man with thick forearms and a patchy beard, squinted at Thorin. “Huh. You again.”

  Thorin rested a hand on his hip. “Me again?”

  The miner spat to the side. “Yeah. Word’s spread ‘bout you pulling tin, copper, and some fancy ore from here. Figured we’d come take our turn.”

  Thorin frowned. “Your turn? This was a rock dome when I started it.”

  Another miner, a younger one with broad shoulders, chimed in. “Yeah, and you didn’t buy the land, did you?”

  Thorin paused, back home, mining was tied to mineral rights—if you owned land, you owned what was under it. But here?

  “Wait,” he said, crossing his arms. “You’re telling me anyone can just walk up and start digging?”

  The blacksmith’s apprentice scoffed. “What, you think you’re the first guy to break ground and claim a mine? If it’s not inside city borders and you didn’t buy it, it’s fair game.”

  Thorin exhaled, rubbing his temple. Damn it. He’d assumed that just because he was the first to mine here, it meant he had some level of control. But this wasn’t Earth.

  Vorn, from under his cloak, was already laughing.

  “Oh, this is rich. You thought you were a big-shot pioneer, but you’re just some guy standing in a hole.”

  Thorin muttered under his breath. “Shut up, snake.”

  The back-and-forth between Thorin and the miners dragged on.

  Thorin: “I put in all the work working the vein. You’re telling me anyone can just show up and take what I uncovered?”

  Old Miner: “That’s how it’s always been. If you want exclusive rights, take it up with the town council and buy the damn place.”

  Blacksmith's Apprentice: “Besides, I’m here for wolframite—that stuff’s rare. If you’re not working the deeper rock, you’re just sitting on good material.”

  Thorin clenched his jaw. He hated this. He didn’t have the money to buy the land outright, and fighting a bunch of miners over rocks wasn’t exactly a good look.

  Vorn, still amused, decided to twist the knife. “Well, well, well. The mighty warrior brought low by bureaucracy. What now, Lunatic Spearman?”

  Thorin took a step back from arguing and thought. What were his real goals?

  That’s when inspiration struck.

  He thought back to the Pony Express from Earth’s history—a fast relay system to deliver messages and goods.

  Then he thought about the beacon fires of Gondor, a network of watchtowers that could rapidly signal danger.

  Infrastructure and systems to advance his true goals.

  He turned to the miners. “Fine. You want to dig? Dig. But I’m setting up stables and a tower here.”

  The old miner frowned. “For what?”

  Thorin smirked. “Because monsters exist. And the more traffic this place gets, the bigger the target it becomes.”

  The blacksmith’s apprentice folded his arms. “And what, you’re just gonna hire some randoms to keep the place safe?”

  “Exactly.”

  The apprentice snorted. “Good luck finding idiots willing to work for that.”

  Thorin just grinned. He had an idea.

  If he wanted adventurers under his banner, he had to train them. And what better way to train than systematic labor?

  Step 1: Build the Stables – This would give riders and messengers a place to store their mounts. He could eventually expand into a Pony Express-style system, linking the mine and Oakhollow to everywhere.

  Step 2: Build the Tower – A watchtower would serve as both a signal beacon and a defenseable place to train recruits in strength, agility, and endurance.

  Step 3: Recruit Adventurers – He didn’t need veterans. He needed young, eager nobodies willing to put in the work. By training them through structured labor, they’d develop making them better suited for real combat.

  It was a building block.

  And if it worked? He’d write it all down—a proper Adventurer’s Guild (AG) Manual.

  Thorin turned to Vorn. “I need to recruit.”

  Vorn raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you hated babysitting.”

  Thorin smirked. “I do. But if I want to make sure I don’t get screwed again, I need to start working on my real goals.”

  Vorn nodded approvingly. “Finally. Some ambition.”

  Thorin cracked his knuckles. “Let’s build something real.”

  The path back to Oak hollow was quiet, save for the crunch of dirt, and the occasional rustling of wind. The adrenaline of the morning had worn off, leaving only the weight of plans in his mind.

  Thorin was focused, thinking about the mine, the adventurer recruitment, the AG manual. But Vorn?

  Vorn was focused on something else entirely.

  “Alright, human,” the wyrm drawled from beneath the cloak. “You’ve been here a while, seen you fight, seen you work, but you never talk about before.”

  Thorin glanced downward, where Vorn’s form was concealed beneath the fabric. “What’s to talk about?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Vorn’s voice was casual, but probing.

  “Most people have something they left behind. Family? Friends? A lover? Even a pet? You act like you just poofed into existence the moment you fell through that portal.”

  Thorin kept walking. He didn’t like this topic.

  “Had coworkers,” he said eventually. “A job. People I knew. But nobody that would miss me.”

  Vorn scoffed. “Oh, come on. You expect me to believe that? No blood ties, no drinking buddies, no one back home who’d notice you vanished?”

  Thorin’s jaw tightened. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Vorn tilted his head, unseen beneath the hood. The way Thorin had answered—it was too sharp, too absolute. Like he had already made peace with it.

  “Huh,” Vorn mused. “You know, when people dodge a question, it usually means they’ve got something to hide.”

  Thorin let out a slow breath through his nose. “Nothing to hide, just nothing.”

  Vorn pressed further. “Parents?”

  “Gone.”

  “Siblings?”

  “Never had any.”

  Vorn paused. Even for someone as closed-off as Thorin, that answer felt... flat. No hesitation, no weight. Just a fact, delivered with all the emotion of a rock rolling down a hill.

  “Friends?”

  Thorin gave a half-shrug. “Had some growing up. Life happened. We drifted apart. No one left.”

  Vorn narrowed his eyes. “And coworkers?”

  Thorin smirked. “What about them?”

  Vorn hissed in amusement. “So that’s how it is. You were just... existing, weren’t you? No roots, nothing tying you down. Makes sense why you’re adapting here—you had nothing before, and now you’ve got a start.”

  Thorin didn’t answer immediately.

  Vorn’s words should’ve stung. They didn’t. Because it was the truth.

  He had spent years moving from one job to the next, working with people who were only temporary parts of his life. At the end of the day, the only thing that had ever mattered was the work itself.

  And now?

  Now, for the first time, he was building something that might actually last and mean something.

  Vorn hummed. “You know, most people who end up in a new world spend their time trying to find a way back. But not you. You’re not looking backward at all, are you?”

  Thorin smirked. “Nothing to look back to, besides is there a way back, did they make it?”

  Vorn considered that for a moment. Then, in a rare moment of sincerity, he said, “Hmph. No, you’re a strange one, Blackwood.”

  Thorin chuckled. “You just figuring that out?”

  Vorn rolled his eyes. “No. I just finally get it.”

  They walked the rest of the way in thought.

  For the first time, Vorn had a clearer picture of the man he had been told to watch, and Thorin felt more, like someone laying down roots.

  Back in Oak hollow, Thorin and Vorn headed straight for the busiest part of town—the market square. It was late morning, the streets were bustling with merchants, laborers, and townsfolk.

  Stalls lined the road, selling everything from fresh produce to blacksmith-forged tools. People in a constant flow, bartering, chatting, and exchanging news. If Thorin wanted recruits, this was the place to find them.

  Vorn nudged Thorin from under the cloak. “Alright, human. What’s your plan? Just start screaming at people until they sign up?”

  Thorin rolled his shoulders, scanning the square. “Nah. That’s a good way to get ignored.”

  Instead, he picked the busiest spot—near the central well—where people often gathered to talk or take a break. He took a deep breath, then projected his voice with the same energy he’d used giving orders on oil rigs.

  “You! Yes, you! Ever wanted to be stronger?

  Smarter?

  Faster?

  Ever thought about wielding a weapon, cutting down monsters, or earning coin doing what others can’t?

  The Adventurers' Guild is forming, and we’re looking for recruits!”

  Heads snapped toward him. Conversations paused. People turned.

  Good. Now he had their attention.

  A few folks leaned in, curious. Others crossed their arms, skeptical. Someone snorted and muttered, “Another wannabe hero.”

  Thorin ignored that one. He needed to make them understand.

  He spread his arms, voice firm and confident.

  “You’ve all heard the stories-men and women who carve their own path, who hunt monsters, claim bounties, and bring in rare goods. But what you don’t hear about is how they got there.”

  He paused, letting the words settle.

  “That’s what we’re offering. Training. Growth. Equipment. Work. A way to get stronger, smarter, tougher. We need fighters, crafters, gatherers, and couriers—people willing to push themselves.”

  Some people nodded. Others exchanged looks.

  Time to sweeten the deal.

  Thorin gestured to the crowd.

  “Ever tried buying a good sword? A real one?

  Costs a fortune. What if you could train and earn one? What if you could learn to make one yourself?”

  That got the attention of the young apprentice nearby.

  “Ever thought about what a courier’s work means? Travel, coin, and protection along the way. What about gathering rare materials? Learning which plants, ores, and beasts have value?”

  Some farmhands and hunters started paying closer attention.

  “The Guild won’t just train you to swing a sword—it’ll teach you how to thrive. Because the strong get stronger. And those willing to put in the effort?

  They get ahead.”

  A few murmurs of interest rippled through the crowd. Some people started asking questions. Others were still skeptical.

  And then, a young man stepped forward.

  The kid was young—maybe fifteen at most—with a lanky frame and a serious expression. His clothes were worn but well-kept, and there was an intelligence in his eyes.

  “I’ll sign up,” he said, voice steady.

  Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Name?”

  “Gary. Gary Gygaks.”

  Thorin grinned. Didn’t expect that one.

  Vorn snorted from under the cloak. “Alright, first victim’s in. Let’s see if the rest of them have guts.”

  Thorin turned back to the crowd. He could tell more were interested, but they needed a final push. Time to drop the bombshell.

  Thorin let the crowd quiet down before he spoke again.

  “Here’s something you don’t know. When you train hard enough, when you grow in the right way, the system recognizes you.”

  People leaned in.

  “You get options. Real ones. Paths that make you stronger, give your abilities, and open doors that weren’t there before.”

  He paused, then dropped the real hook.

  “When I hit Level 11 the system gave me choices. Job Classes. Spearman. Pikeman. Guard. And more beyond that. You’ve heard of knights, rangers, mages? That’s how they start.”

  The square exploded into noise.

  People turned to each other, whispering, questioning, debating. Others called out—

  “What kind of jobs are there?”

  “Do you have to fight to get them?”

  “What about crafting? Gathering?”

  Thorin raised a hand, cutting through the noise.

  “Think about it. How many of you have seen a system message about a job class? Probably none.”

  A wave of nods. No one had.

  “That means this isn’t normal.

  It’s difficult, but it’s possible. If you train the right way, if you push yourself, the system will acknowledge it.

  That’s what the Guild is about getting you there.”

  The murmurs shifted. Conversations grew excited.

  Then, one by one, people started stepping forward.

  A farmhand, a butcher’s son, the apprentice, a pair of hunters.

  More and more.

  By the time the dust settled, nearly two dozen people had gathered.

  Thorin crossed his arms and smirked.

  The Adventurers' Guild had begun.