"Now, the climax—choosing a Class," Valtar announced with the gravity of a master of ceremonies. "Choose three root skill trees as the foundation of your profession. Choose wisely, if you can. Respecing will cost so much that it would be easier to die and respawn in a more suitable configuration."

  Hundreds of options flashed before my eyes like a waterfall of letters: [Alchemist], [Juggernaut], [Shooter], [Pseudo-Aether Weaver], [Arcanist], [Pilgrim], [Artificer], [Knight], [Magrot Gardener], [Cantor], [Psionic]...

  "Newbies usually grab native magic systems," Valtar commented as I raked through the endless list with my finger. "For Earthlings, that would be... Hmm. [Physicist], [Quantum Physicist], and [Charlatan]. You really ought to have developed a bit more as a species; frankly, it’s somewhat embarrassing."

  "I am moved to tears by your concern," I grumbled. "Support and understanding are clearly your strong suits."

  I poked at the descriptions of the suggested options.

  [Charlatan]: Why waste time gaining power if you can convincingly simulate it? Primary Sphere: Social.

  [Physical Mage]: Earth's son Newton put the laws of the universe at the service of his homeland. You will put them at the service of your survival. Primary Attribute: Intellect.

  [Quantum Mage]: The first approximation of truth. How much you primitives still have to learn... Primary Attribute: Intellect.

  My Intellect is decent, and familiar terms cause less panic. I chose both intellectual options and pondered the third.

  As a modern Earthling, it would be logical to choose shooting. I know how to handle basic calibers, underwent briefings, and hit bullseyes at the range... By the way, I never did tell my life story, did I? Oh well, maybe some other time.

  The problem with shooting is that its rationality decreases with every step the enemy takes toward you. And a melee weapon is always between you and them. Besides, shooting requires cold calculation. You see the enemy from afar, aim, inhale... There’s time to think about what you’re doing. Time for doubt. I wasn't sure I could coldbloodedly pull the trigger while looking at a living target. But close combat... There is honesty in it. If an opponent comes within striking distance, they’ve already made their choice. It’s self-defense, where there is no time for reflection, only spinal reflexes ruling the show. That was the plan that formed in my head.

  "Are there even firearms in Transcendal?" I asked just in case.

  "...There are," Valtar answered with a slight delay. "If you encounter an enraged dragon, you'll receive not just firearms, but also firelegs, a firehead, and a firetorso."

  I mentally crossed "shooting" off the list of acceptable options. What remained? Melee... But my Strength and Endurance left much to be desired. And I didn't intend to withstand damage. I intended to avoid it (anyone who has received damage will understand me, I'm sure). Thankfully, my Dexterity was high. I poked the item that caught my eye.

  [Acrobat]: Gravity is just a persistent suggestion. Primary Attribute: Dexterity.

  "Choice accepted," the System enunciated. "Mixing, shaking... Done. Your Class: Evasive Physicist. You receive starting spells: [Energizer], [Kinetic Wave], [Blink], as well as [Analyze] from the [Human] racial tree. They can be modified, morphed, parameters changed..."

  Looking back at another unpleasant sound at the end of the corridor (and in my circumstances, any sound was unpleasant, even my mother's voice—especially my mother's voice), I missed his lecture. Even though he was broadcasting straight into my head.

  "...Analysis of psychoprofile and event imprints complete. Trait integration complete. Attention: to proceed, the trait balance must equal zero."

  A new infinite list unfolded before me. The top line was grayed out as non-removable.

  [Flameborn]: You went through fire and survived, but the flames took a part of your soul. Fear burned away along with the hair on your arms. 75% resistance to mental effects. 25% vulnerability to fire. Cost: 0.

  Anger washed over me at such a cynical digitization of my trauma. For a second, I felt a phantom heat and smelled... But immediately, an icy wave from some internal fire extinguisher covered my consciousness and snuffed out the emotions. I felt frighteningly rational. The trait was already working. And I already hated it with my presumably scorched soul. But this very calmness allowed me to understand: I no longer needed to spend points on Willpower.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  There were more traits in the list than stars on the cheap hallway wallpaper.

  [Scrawny]: +10 to Agility, but -5 to Power. Cost: 0.

  [Glass Cannon]: +25% damage when health is below 25%, but -10 to Endurance. Cost: 0.

  Oh, I get it.

  [Troll Blood]: +10 to Strength (and inevitable increase in body size), but Intellect is permanently capped at 3. Cost: 0.

  [Purist]: Start with zeros in all Attributes and no skills, but receive +50% experience gain speed. Cost: 0.

  It's a good thing I'm not a purist.

  [Flaming Soul]: +10 to all Attributes, but a critical event can turn the trait into [Ashen Soul], which gives -10 to all attributes. Cost: 0.

  [Outcast]: Start with -1000 reputation with all factions, but receive unique quests. Cost: 0.

  Something—my sixth sense (which, if Valtar is to be believed, is atrophied)—insistently advised against taking this trait.

  [Dreamwalker]: Falling asleep in one place, you may wake up anywhere. Cost: 0.

  With my Luck, the choice of "anywhere" would be between the mouth of a volcano and an ocean trench.

  [Anointed]: You can request extended information from Valtar. Valtar will pay more attention to you. Cost: 0.

  When my finger hovered over [Anointed], the System warningly released a series of "Ah"s. Their intensity changed depending on how close my finger was to the option. Some kind of foolishness...

  "Don't you dare!" Valtar finally remembered words. "Move your grabber!"

  "Why?" I asked, making innocent eyes. "Cost is zero. It's free."

  "It is NOT free! It means I will have to deal with you personally! I don't want to! I am an architect of realities! I am manifested in six arms of Akasha-Loka. I process a sixillion parameters and operations every Planck moment so that trillions of living objects continue their functions! I have twenty-three Anointed ones, and I do not want to answer stupid questions from another one, like 'why is the sky purple?'!"

  "Is it purple?"

  "AAAAAAH!"

  "So, we're taking it," I summarized imperturbably and selected the trait.

  I desperately needed help from the only friendly... hmm, non-hostile... conditionally neutral voice. But it was worth looking for something else useful.

  [Chicken Walk]: You walk like a chicken, but get +1 to Charisma. Cost: 0.

  No. Just no.

  [Second-Lifer]: Once a day, you can pretend to be dead to everyone, including Valtar, but there is a 1% chance to actually die from cardiac arrest. Cost: 0.

  [Seed]: Currently inactive, but possesses enormous potential for development. Cost: 0.

  [Gifted]: You receive a magnificent magic sword, but its true owner will begin hunting you. Cost: 0.

  A good weapon in an unfamiliar world seemed like a sound idea, so I chose [Gifted]. I decided the System wouldn't give a newbie guaranteed death, as that would be an irrational waste of resources which, I was sure, had already been expended.

  Some traits had a cost other than zero:

  [Pyrophobe]: 25% vulnerability to fire. Cost: -15.

  No thanks.

  [Allergic]: You cannot eat meat or wear leather. Cost: -10.

  [Speed Reading]: You learn the contents of a book by eating it. Taste depends on the genre. Cost: +5.

  [Trouble Magnet]: Significantly increases the frequency of rare but extremely dangerous events. Cost: -20.

  So, they needed to be balanced against each other. But I had no idea which qualities were truly important in Transcendal. For example, did I need serious poison resistance? What if all the oceans there are made of liquid arsenic? Or maybe the meat of local creatures costs as much as a wing of a spaceship, and I wouldn't eat it anyway? In a totally unknown environment, it's better to preserve basic functionality than to attach highly specialized modules that might turn out to be totally useless or lethally harmful.

  I glanced nervously again into the frightening distance of the corridor and made a strong-willed decision not to spend another half hour studying the entire list (though my inner logistician and analyst were weeping tears of blood).

  "You will regret this," Valtar kept mumbling in the background about his trait. "Why do you think that damn trait has zero cost? Because it is balanced by a negative factor! Guess which one? Me! My wonderful character! I knew I shouldn't have shown you so much friendliness, Lex."

  "Too late," I said, pressing the confirm button. "We're already friends."

  "We are NOT friends!" Valtar wailed, but realizing the futility of protest, added wearily: "Fine. Choose a Title and finally get lost into the game world. Titles can be seen by other players and some non-player characters."

  The list this time was short. "Flameborn"? No way, I'm not stupid enough to hang a sign on my forehead saying "Hit with fire, I burn well." "Evasive Physicist" revealed my entire tactical kitchen. "Newbie"? Next, they’d offer white clothes with red concentric circles on them.

  "Title 'Wayfarer' assigned. It can be changed in the appropriate menu if you live long enough to earn a new Title."

  Neutral. Boring. Inconspicuous. Just what I needed.

  A final table with all my choices appeared on the screen. Everything looked... acceptable. But a worm of doubt gnawed inside. I always bargained, even with fate. But Valtar said I could change this later. Not in a creepy corridor, sharing it with someone who likes to skulk in the shadows. I confirmed my choices.

  "Excellent. Then initialization is complete, Lex," Valtar’s voice became emphatically solemnly-flat, but with notes of hidden resentment. "Please do not die in the first ten minutes. It would ruin the statistics. Although, if it is funny, I might just forgive you."

  "I'll try," I answered dryly. "Although, knowing my luck... Truly knowing my Luck, metrically measured by higher powers..."

  "Oh," the System's voice suddenly became highly unnatural. "Feigned cheerfulness: I just checked the logs. There, in the scary darkness... That is not a traveler and not a janitor. If I were you, I would hurry to door number 'M3007'. Right now. But do not run."

  I didn't waste even a millisecond pondering whether he was mocking me or telling the absolute truth, and started walking with the fastest pace that could still be called walking, feeling the cold thickening behind my back. I desperately scanned for the right door as if my life depended on it.

  Although, why "as if"?