Tybalt swallowed a lump in his throat and gaped up at the imposing edifice before him.

  The Tower of Death.

  The building looked like death, too. It appeared as though someone had constructed it using a massive, ivory-colored skull as the base and added additional floors by stacking black stone blocks in a slowly narrowing structure above the skull. The door of the building was in the skull’s mouth. The dark walls of the Tower seemed to glow ominously with their own inner light, drawing the eye to the heights of the structure. In the thick fog, Tybalt could not see where the black rock of the Tower ended. Perhaps it extended up into the heavens.

  Realistically, he knew that no building in the Kingdom was taller than four stories—but looking at the Tower of Death as it loomed out of the fog, he no longer felt like he was in the Kingdom.

  The building looked more like something out of a fever dream—or a nightmare.

  Tybalt looked at Baldwin.

  “Did you get that announcement?” he asked.

  Baldwin frowned. “I got something from the gods, yes… I do not know why it cannot come as a spoken statement. You know I cannot read. I was not educated in some manor like you.”

  Tybalt snorted. I guess the gods love those who read…

  “That was the one thing the Baron actually gave me,” he said. “My mother told me that he owed us something and sent me to go and retrieve it. His response was to get me a tutor. And I was a quick learner, for the short time that lasted.”

  Though he was discussing his childhood, Tybalt’s mind was on the Tower. If the legends were true, a tower was a place of power where someone could acquire a strong class.

  Classes were semi-heritable, and powerful classes were the foundation of most noble houses. The legend of the Royal Family’s origin was that they had united the disparate noble families of Niet under their rule after the founder of the dynasty discovered such a tower and obtained a powerful class that the subsequent ruling Kings and Queens inherited.

  Tybalt had always taken those old wives’ tales with such a large spoonful of salt that he almost gagged, but now the proof was right in front of him.

  A strong class was a ticket to social advancement and political power.

  On the other hand, those without classes rarely rose into the ranks of the nobility. Only one living general in the Kingdom had risen to that height without the benefit of a class, a grizzled and brilliant veteran—and his rise was widely resented among those who did have a class.

  “Well, I never had that opportunity,” Baldwin said. He was no longer looking at Tybalt as he spoke. Baldwin’s eyes were fixed on the Tower ahead of them.

  His mind was probably going over the same thoughts as Tybalt’s. If I secure a strong class, I could establish myself, found my own noble house. Naturally fuck the Baron’s whole life up. But I’ve never heard of a tower that gave two people a class before….

  “Fat lot of good it did me!” Tybalt said aloud. “The tutor instructed me for a few years before the Baron gave up on me. And you already know that I ended up in the same shitty place as you.”

  “Forget about that for a minute, what is this place?” Baldwin said. “What did the message say?”

  Tybalt hesitated. He felt that he and Baldwin had reached a crossroads.

  Tybalt had failed to acquire a class naturally when he turned thirteen. That was why the Baron had abandoned the effort to educate his bastard—and any interest in Tybalt or his mother.

  It was wasteful to educate him when he was classless. Those with classes experienced heightened growth in the area they specialized in, whether magic, something combat related, or a more mundane occupation. Those without classes could learn magical and combat abilities, and of course, they still periodically gained levels. But it was a much harder uphill battle, and leveling up as a simple human was much less rewarding and valuable than leveling up as a wizard or a holy knight or something.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  A level twenty class-less human—which was where Tybalt was currently—could lose a fight against a level five holy knight. It would at least be close. From the Baron’s perspective, that made him worthless.

  And Tybalt had decided against joining a religious sect to potentially acquire a class that way. Too many restrictive vows, which society expected you to adhere to for life, whether you acquired a monk or priest type class or failed to. If you broke them, the gods could strip your class from you—or the priesthood might execute you for crimes against the gods.

  But this was a different kind of opportunity.

  Tybalt turned his head and looked at Baldwin suspiciously. The other man was well over a decade his senior, close to twice Tybalt's age. Baldwin had surely heard the same legends Tybalt had. What was he playing at by asking those questions?

  As Tybalt looked at him, he caught a greedy glint in Baldwin’s eyes, before the other man’s face turned inquisitive and innocent.

  And Tybalt knew. The stories must be true, or at least he thinks them to be true. He wants to pretend he knows nothing about them so that I let my guard down. As soon as I turn my back for a moment, he knocks me out and steals the opportunity from me.

  The legends about magic towers all had one thing in common. Only one person ever discovered a tower and learned its secrets.

  Baldwin and Tybalt’s gazes met, and both of them narrowed their eyes.

  Then, at almost the same moment, both men began sprinting toward the Tower’s entrance, still carrying their weapons in hand.

  “We can share it!” Baldwin yelled as he ran, but he did not slow down.

  “Stop running, then!” Tybalt exclaimed.

  Baldwin started to lose ground to Tybalt almost immediately.

  The thirty-five year old simply did not have the stamina of his twenty year old colleague.

  Tybalt felt a surge of triumph as he passed Baldwin—he was just a few feet away from the door, he could almost touch the knob!—and then a premonition of immediate danger.

  Trusting his intuition, he tucked his head in and dropped almost to the ground. He felt and heard the sound of the spear tip whizzing overhead.

  “Damn it!” Baldwin snarled as he pulled back his weapon. “Hold still, bastard!”

  Tybalt twisted around and thrust his own spear at Baldwin’s face, but the older man bent backward, keeping his head just out of range.

  The two soldiers fought, then, each man relying on the army’s meager training, the poor quality spears and round shields they possessed, and the protection of their gambesons, which blunted the few thrusts that managed to get past the other’s guard. This mostly favored Tybalt, who was not as brawny or skillful as the older soldier. He had more second chances, as the spear point repeatedly glanced off of the padded clothing, leaving shallow cuts or bruised bones instead of landing the killing thrust each man was looking for.

  At first, every time Tybalt got close to striking Baldwin with his spear, it was because Baldwin stepped on unstable ground or lost his breath for a moment. Baldwin was slippery and knew a few tricks with the spear that Tybalt did not. Tybalt was just under three years into his service, and had only ever fought untrained forces. Baldwin had over a decade of experience and had been in the occasional battle. He was a lifer, like the Commander.

  But Tybalt did not give up. He knew he was more determined than Baldwin to get what he wanted in this life. He had the vigor of youth on his side. And a hatred that fueled his muscles. As the duel continued beyond the first few minutes, Tybalt began landing a rain of strikes on Baldwin for every one the older man scored on him.

  The result was shallow cuts on Baldwin’s arms, face, and neck initially. Unimportant injuries in themselves, but those plus the fatigue added up. Tybalt could see Baldwin was weakening. The older man barely had the stamina to hold his shield up, and Tybalt forced him to cede a bit of ground with every thrust.

  Tybalt saw Baldwin about to step backward into a valley wall, and Tybalt knew that was his opportunity to land a serious blow. He did not allow himself to hesitate. He lunged in, not taking time to think, spear point aimed at Baldwin’s heart.

  Baldwin managed to knock the trajectory downward with his shield while stepping back, but Tybalt still landed in the region of Baldwin’s stomach.

  The spear point penetrated through the gambeson and deep into Baldwin’s right abdomen, below the ribs.

  Tybalt had a strange sense of deja vu. This was how the shaman’s son had sustained his fatal wound earlier that day, too. A thrust aimed at the heart was diverted into the stomach.

  Blood began to pour out, spilling onto the soil.

  Baldwin let out a loud groan, released his grip on his weapons, and collapsed to the ground, clutching at his stomach. Tybalt let the spear go with Baldwin. He was stunned at what he had done. Killing some random demihumans on the Grand Duke’s orders was one thing. Impaling a soldier he had served alongside these last three years was another matter entirely.

  I just committed a capital offense, Tybalt thought numbly. Fuck.

  Report of the Royal Nietian Academy, Observer Niall of the Eshan branch, to His Majesty King Fusilli I of Niet, “On the Beastfolk Problem”

  20th of Vikarius, 992

  The beastfolk who trespass in the Kingdom’s northern frontier are known to have arrived by boat, but their homeland is unknown to us. In that region, the only other nonhumans are the elves, banished to the islands that they jealously guard. The beastfolk would never have received shelter from that race, and the Salt Waste is too deep within Niet for an overland route. Undoubtedly, the beastfolk were evading some self-created problems in their own lands by fleeing to ours. As reported by the Army whenever they have encountered the beastfolk, they did, in fact, bring their problems with them. Incapable of leading productive lives, wherever they occupy, they live in squalor and survive by theft. We again renew our recommendation that the King adopt further measures to eradicate this infestation permanently, before they develop more of a foothold in the Salt Waste. True, the land they presently occupy is worthless, but they will undoubtedly seek to annex nearby towns if they ever attain adequate strength. All of the beastfolk tribes are known to breed like rodents. As recent reports indicate, previous estimates of their numbers may have radically underestimated them, as they have become adept at living in hiding…