Josh watched his friend walk away, a flutter of nervousness settling in his chest. He was relieved that the gruelling cardio portion of the training was over, but now a fresh uncertainty loomed. What came next?

  He followed the other four fighters and the stocky dwarven trainer who’d spoken to him earlier, heading toward the shaded spot Ronald had pointed out. A moment later, the group was joined by the lead trainer himself and the four rangers. Ronald met each trainee’s eyes in turn, giving them a respectful nod.

  “Alright,” he began, voice steady, “while the casters are off hitting the books, we’ll be staying out here in the fresh air, talking about what it takes to become the best version of yourself.” His gaze swept over the group. “First, let’s get to know each other. You all know me, I’m Ronald. I used to be an adventurer, but I retired after losing a friend. That pain… I don’t want any of you to have to go through it. My class was ranger, so I’ll be focusing on training that side of things.” His eyes landed on the rangers, who collectively straightened as a faint look of anxiety flickered across their faces.

  The dwarven trainer let out a deep, booming laugh, his thick white beard bouncing with the motion. “I’m your other trainer, name’s Admiir. Been a fighter all my life. I was the shield in my group, the wall between the monsters and the ones I cared about. I took pride in that.” He thumped his chest, the sound echoing off the nearby trees. “I’ve been out of the adventuring game a few years now, but this work keeps me moving and lets me pass on what I’ve learned.”

  Admiir looked every inch the battle-hardened veteran. Stout and broad-shouldered, he carried himself with the calm weight of experience. His long white beard was carefully braided, with small iron rings woven into the strands, marks of honor, perhaps, or memories of old battles. Though he no longer wore full armour, a reinforced shield rested on his back, scarred but still formidable. His outfit was practical, worn leathers, a heavy cloak, and boots that had clearly seen their share of dungeons and dirt.

  Once introductions were out of the way, the trainees formed a circle, sharing names and classes.

  The rangers included Perberos, the male elf twin from earlier that morning, who’d barely acknowledged anyone at breakfast. Next was Bheldur, a lean dwarven man who wore his brown hair in long knots, something Josh hadn’t expected from a dwarf. Vokal followed, a beastfolk with short patches of grey fur and a snout that resembled a wolf's. Lastly came Strandor, a blond human almost as short as Vokal, with a quiet but intense gaze.

  The fighters’ group introduced Craberos, a female elf whose hair was a striking forest green. Thed came next, a towering beastfolk woman whose rounded features and kind eyes reminded Josh of a teddy bear come to life. Sig, the male dwarf who’d arrived earlier with Torrel, grunted his name. And finally, there was Toe, the same human who’d sat beside Brett at breakfast. His arms were crossed, his expression distant and vaguely superior. He hadn’t laughed once at Admiir’s jokes. Josh got the sense that Toe thought he was better than everyone else.

  “Alright,” Admiir said, clapping his hands. “Now that you’re all best friends, plonk your butts down. It’s time to talk about what it means to be a front liner.”

  The next few hours passed with Ronald and Admiir explaining the broader paths available to both fighters and rangers, and how those paths could evolve in the future. Josh listened carefully, taking it all in.

  What surprised him most was how varied the ranger class could be. One path allowed them to transition into rogues, becoming elusive skirmishers. Another followed the more traditional route, masters of long-range combat. There was even a hybrid option for those who wanted to balance ranged and close-quarter skills, though it came with risks: versatility often meant fragility.

  Fighters, on the other hand, were defined by raw power and resilience. Ronald spoke of guardians, immovable defenders who could shield entire teams, drawing the attention of enemies and enduring punishment others couldn’t survive. Admiir described damage dealers, warriors who wielded two-handed weapons or dual blades with deadly efficiency, relying on precision, speed, or brute strength to tear through enemy lines. He also spoke of weapon masters, fighters who focused on perfecting a single weapon type to such an extent that their strikes could break through armour or disarm opponents with ease. There were skirmishers too: light-armoured, mobile warriors who danced through the battlefield, striking quickly before vanishing out of reach. And then there were the battlefield commanders, those who specialized not just in combat, but in leading others, bolstering allies and coordinating team strategies through sheer presence and experience.

  Following that, the trainers shifted the conversation toward stats, how important it was to allocate their points carefully and how each choice would shape their future skills and class options. Admiir took the lead for the warriors, explaining that Strength and Constitution were their bread and butter. “You’ll want to lean harder into one depending on the path you’re aiming for,” he said, resting a hand on his thick belt. “If you’re hoping to stand at the front and take a beating for your team, build up your Constitution. But if you’d rather be the one ending fights fast, Strength is your friend. Just don’t let either one fall too far behind.”

  Josh felt a bit of relief as Admiir finally confirmed something he’d wondered since the system first showed him his stats: Dexterity still mattered. “No matter what kind of warrior you are,” the dwarf went on, “a bit of agility keeps you alive. Lets you dodge, move cleaner, and strike with precision.” He gave a short laugh and added, “Some of the best hits I ever landed came from being fast, not strong.” Wisdom and Intelligence, on the other hand? “Not much use for most of you,” Admiir said bluntly, “unless you're hoping to become a paladin and even then, you'd better start praying.”

  Josh found his thoughts wandering at that. The idea of being a paladin, wielding divine power, smiting enemies with righteous fury, sounded undeniably cool. The image of himself glowing with holy light, shield raised, sword blazing, made his chest swell for a moment. But the feeling faded just as fast. He didn’t know the first thing about the gods of this world, and honestly, he wasn’t too sure about the whole “casting spells” thing either. No, he’d always been a tank in the games he and Brett played back home. Getting in the way, holding the line, that was fun. And yesterday, protecting Brett during the goblin attack… it had meant something.

  He tuned back in as Ronald shifted the focus to the rangers. Dexterity, unsurprisingly, was their most important stat, helping with precision, stealth, and quick movement. “You’re not here to slug it out toe-to-toe,” Ronald said, pacing in front of the group. “You’re here to strike first, strike smart, and disappear before anything ugly can hit back.” Strength was more optional, useful mostly for melee-focused builds or helping arrows punch through tougher armour. Constitution mattered too, especially for those brave or foolish enough to get up close.

  Then, to Josh’s surprise, Ronald began to talk about Wisdom and Intelligence, suggesting that some rangers might develop spellcasting abilities down the line. “A few of you may discover talents that let you bend shadow or nature to your will,” he said, grinning. With that, he suddenly snapped his fingers and vanished.

  A few startled shouts echoed through the group. A moment later, Ronald reappeared behind them, stepping from the shade of a nearby tree, still smirking. “There are class options tied to mana,” he said. “If any of you think magic might be in your future, come talk to me or Admiir. Sooner rather than later.”

  For the next half hour, the trainers continued outlining the paths each class could follow, how skill points could unlock new techniques, and what kind of training they’d need to pursue different specializations. Josh’s mind kept drifting back to the image of himself as a defender, tower shield braced, sword in hand, holding off an entire tide of monsters while others scrambled to safety behind him. The thought put a faint smile on his face. A massive two-handed axe sounded fun too, cleaving through foes like a whirlwind but it didn’t call to him the same way. He wasn’t just here to fight. He wanted to protect his friend.

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  After wrapping up the class and stat talk, the trainers moved on to weapons. They discussed the range of tools available to melee and ranged fighters, how different weapons could change the flow of a fight, or even your role in a team. Ronald explained that swords were by far the most common weapon, balanced and versatile, but axes and mauls were popular too for their raw stopping power. “There’s no one right answer,” he said. “Pick what feels natural, then learn to make it deadly.” Josh glanced around. The rangers were all carrying bows and short swords, which Ronald confirmed were the standard loadout for their class. But he also mentioned daggers, quick, silent, useful for throwing and other weapons Josh had never even heard of. He made a mental note to stick to the basics.

  By the time the lectures wrapped up, the sun had climbed even higher, and Josh figured the day was nearly done. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Admiir clapped his hands together and grinned with open mischief. “Now then,” he said, eyes scanning the group like a predator. “The mages can get away with weak arms and fragile legs. You lot? No such luck.” He pointed toward the edge of the trees. Josh followed his gaze and spotted piles of logs, boulders, ropes, and other crude but clearly exhausting equipment. “You’re fighters. Every part of your job is physical, whether you're swinging a blade or drawing a bow. So for the rest of the afternoon, it’s circuits. Train until your muscles scream. You’ll thank me later, when you don’t drop your sword in the middle of a real fight.”

  Josh wasn’t quite sure whether to groan or laugh. On one hand, he’d always liked the gym. On the other, the sun was blazing, the humidity was brutal, and Admiir clearly didn’t believe in pacing.

  The next few hours were gruelling. They carried heavy stones across marked distances, hoisted logs like makeshift barbells, struggling with the rough bark that made gripping near impossible and threw boulders as far as they could. When one circuit ended, another began. Only when someone physically couldn’t continue were they allowed a short break. Sweat soaked through Josh’s shirt, muscles burning, arms trembling.

  Two hours later, slumped against a boulder and barely able to move, Josh found himself wondering if he was really cut out for this whole “hero” thing after all.

  —

  Brett and the other trainees had remained quiet for most of the lesson, only occasionally speaking up to ask questions. It reminded him of the quiet intensity of his old university study groups, focused, serious, and mentally draining. Hours passed as they worked through layers of magical theory, practical spell structures, and the finer points of mana control. When the lesson finally drew to a close, their instructor dismissed them with a reminder: be back at the Adventurers’ Guild an hour after sunrise. No excuses.

  As the others slowly filtered out of the training hall, Brett found himself lingering for a moment, rolling his stiff shoulders and cracking his knuckles. He was exhausted but in a good way. He’d learned so much in a single day, and though his mind was foggy with fatigue, his confidence had grown. For the first time since arriving in this strange world, he felt like he had a clear path forward.

  Descending the stairs into the bustling main guild hall, Brett scanned the room for Josh but couldn’t see him anywhere. The sun was already dipping low outside the stained-glass windows, and he figured his friend must still be out training or collapsed somewhere under a tree. With a resigned sigh, Brett decided to head back to the inn, hoping Josh had already returned.

  The walk through the cobbled streets of Ashenfall was quieter than it had been that morning. The golden light of dusk bathed the buildings in warmth, casting long shadows and giving the town a strange kind of peace. As his stomach growled, Brett stopped by a food vendor near the square and spent a few of his dwindling coins on something warm and savoury, a simple meat skewer and a bit of roasted root vegetable, wrapped in thin bread. He figured there’d be a meal waiting at the inn, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy to sit through it. Eating while walking just made sense.

  When he finally reached the Bull’s Head, Garrik greeted him with a wide grin, noting the dark circles under Brett’s eyes.

  “You look like you wrestled a shadow beast, lad.”

  Brett gave a tired chuckle. “Worse. Four hours of spell theory.”

  Garrik offered him dinner anyway, but Brett waved him off with a smile. “Thanks, but I’m heading straight to bed. Might fall asleep standing if I don't.”

  He trudged up the stairs, shoes heavier with each step. Their shared room was empty, no sign of Josh, but Brett didn’t even pause to worry. He was too tired to overthink. He shut the door behind him, collapsed onto the bed still half-dressed, and for the second night in a row, he was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

  —-

  Brett was awoken by the early morning light cutting through the thin curtain fabric, painting warm stripes across the floorboards. He stretched slowly, a long yawn escaping him as he pushed away the lingering weight of yesterday’s mental exhaustion. For a few moments, he just lay there, reflecting on everything he’d learned the day before, mana control, elemental manipulation, protective wards. The possibilities felt infinite.

  He could shape the world around him with a flick of his wrist. He could defend Josh. He could rain fire from the sky if he chose to. It was no longer fear that sat in his chest, but anticipation, like he was standing at the edge of something extraordinary. Maybe they really could be heroes in this world, legends even, if they made the right choices.

  Then a thunderous snore shattered the silence.

  Brett blinked, annoyed at himself for only just noticing. He glanced over at Josh, who had managed to pass out sideways across his bed, one leg dangling off the side like a broken drawbridge. His mouth was half open, his face half-buried in the sheets, looking like he’d been dropped from a height and left where he landed.

  Brett debated letting him sleep longer, but judging by the sun streaming in through the window, it was well past sun-up. They were expected back at the guild shortly, and Josh was showing no signs of stirring. Brett gave his friend a prod. Nothing. A shake. Still nothing. Eventually, with a muttered apology to his foot, he gave Josh's exposed leg a solid kick and instantly regretted it.

  It was like kicking a stone pillar wrapped in meat.

  “Uh… wa’s goin’ on? Where’s I?” Josh mumbled, slowly raising his head from the far side of the bed, eyes still welded shut.

  “Get up, you lump,” Brett whispered. “Sun’s up. We need to eat and head back to the guild before we’re late.”

  Josh groaned like a dying ox and rolled off the bed in one movement, landing surprisingly gracefully on his feet for someone who’d just re-entered consciousness.

  “Feels like I’ve been asleep for ten minutes,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You were already out cold when I got back. How was the rest of your training?”

  Brett was impressed, not just by how fast Josh had gone from snoring to functional, but also by how intact he looked. No limping. No grumbling about sore arms. Just hungry, by the look of it.

  The two of them made their way downstairs into the common room, where the morning staff had laid out a modest breakfast on the long sideboard. Brett grabbed a couple of pastries and a cup of something hot and vaguely herbal while Josh, true to form, began hoarding food with the efficiency of a battlefield looter.

  “We spent the rest of the day inside the guild hall,” Brett said between bites, “going over mana fundamentals, magical theory, the kinds of paths we can specialise in. Honestly? It was fascinating. There’s so much we can do, it’s all about how you shape your will and energy. After yesterday, I think we might actually be okay here. We can really make something of this.”

  Josh nodded appreciatively as he shoved a still-warm roll into his mouth. “Yeah, we did some of the same. Talked about class specialisations and how stats will influence our growth over time.”

  Then his tone shifted slightly, mouth half full as he added, “That’s when things got less fun.”

  Brett raised an eyebrow.

  “They decided we’d talked enough. Apparently, all the theory in the world won’t save you if you can’t move your arms in a real fight. Ronald said something like, ‘Constitution helps you survive. Muscles help you win.’ So, yeah. We trained for hours. Lifting, sparring, running, again and again. I thought the running was bad, turns out squats are worse. We weren’t allowed to stop until we all looked ready to drop. At one point I considered faking death.”

  Brett laughed, and Josh smirked as he continued scooping food into the crook of his arm like a man preparing for war.

  “Eventually one of the healers came by and cast a spell to get rid of the ache, which helped. But we were still completely spent. I barely remember coming back here. Just remember eating the food Garrik passed me, then seeing you starfished on the bed and thinking, ‘Good idea.’”

  He grabbed a full loaf with one hand, tucking it under his arm like a club.

  Josh nodded toward the door. “Shall we see what new tortures today has in store for us?”

  You’ve read to the end, mortal — impressive.

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