Julian Imerdan, Classless (Or is he?)

“I think that’s enough, kid. You did well today,” Braknar Everis said. The man was mostly bald, with faint shades of white hair along the sides and back of his head. His face was wrinkled and worn, but there was proudness to his gait. He was short and had a wiry frame that seemed atypical for a person with his frontline role, but he’d always said he loved having a smaller stature.

“Makes me less easy to hit,” the Nyrosian had said, much to Julian’s amusement.

His glacial blue eyes entrapped far more affection than he’d ever gotten from his own father.

They were out in Rona’s forest, which constituted much of the terrain west of his home city. The sun was high in the sky, almost afternoon. The tree leaves were verdant green, clashing against the infinite blue of the sky. Birds chirped and sang among the thick trees that huddled amongst each other in the forest.

“Really?” Julian Imerdan failed to hide the smile spread across his face. He was a boy nineteen years of age with stark black hair and stormy gray eyes. He wore a pair of round-rimmed spectacles that sat comfortably on his nose and ears.

The old man chuckled. He dropped his ax. It hit the ground with a thud that shook the ground beneath them and scared the nearby birds away. The indent its impact created in the grassy ground seemed to be enough to hold it in place.

So cool. That thing must be heavier than a building to make such an impact. It’s amazing how strong Braknar is.

“Yeah, kid. Really. You should never doubt yourself. Remember our first lesson. What was the first thing I made you remember?”

"'Always watch out for cheating mages.'" Julian recited, nodding his head seriously.

Braknar shook his head, a flicker of amusement tugging at his lips. "No, the other one."

"'Willpower trumps raw ability'?" At the man's nod, Julian sighed. “I just wish it were easier to believe that. My family would definitely disapprove of it. They'd probably call it ‘Nyrosian propaganda.'"

The old man gave him a commiserating grin before patting him on the shoulder.

“Heh. Figures."

Julian stared at his mentor.

Dare I ask him?

"I heard Nyros doesn't adhere to the class system anymore. Do you think I could take a trip there? I want to start a life for myself—A real life. I'm sick of being bogged down by my family and the rest of the people here. They hate me because of the way I was born. But you're different. Are all of your countrymen like you?"

Braknar furrowed his eyebrows. It made him look somewhat older and more withered than he was.

"That's a complicated question with an even more complicated answer. Julian," Julian stared at him. "Whatever happens, remember that you're still better off here than most. The Imerdans are a strong bunch. Maybe too strong, but they take care of their own. Some families outright abandon their children if they discover they're classless. Besides, there is a strength to being classless that you don't realize."

Figures he'd say no, if in a roundabout way. And now he's trying to say that I'm better off classless?

Julian snorted. "Yeah. Sure. Because not being able to fling fireballs or cut down trees with a single swing of an ax is somehow a strength."

"Wise ass. If you'll let me finish?" Julian glared at him, but said nothing. Braknar took that as his que to continue, "Can you imagine if, all of a sudden, all the classes in the Empire were stripped of all their fancy powers and abilities and brought down to your level? How do you think they would react? Would they even be capable of adjusting to a life without the abilities that formed the very basis of their very identity in a lot of cases?"

Julian frowned.

“Well, it's impossible to take away someone's class so it's not even worth thinking about, is it?"

Braknar pinched the bridge of his nose.

“With that attitude, it's no wonder the classless in this nation are little more than serfs at best. You can't afford to be close minded when you're born into the bottom rungs of society, kid.”

Julian glared at him. "That's easy for you to say. You're a warrior. You have actual strength. Me? The rest of us? You could cut us down like grass."

The older man sighed.

“Don't tempt me, kid. Now stop whining and listen to me," Braknar practically growled.

Julian fell silent. It was a testament to how formidable the man in front of his was that he refrained from disobeying him.

“Good boy. Now where was I. Ah yes, the classed and the classless. Your family have all discovered their classes, right? Even your younger sister? Meanwhile you’ve been left in the dust. I bet they see you as a burden to them. An embarrassment to their sacred family name.”

Julian nodded. The admission stung, but there was no point in denying the reality he lived with every day.

“They’re all fools,” Braknar said.

Julian gasped.

“What?”

“Did I stutter, kid?” the older man scowled at him. Something flashed in the man’s eyes and a cold fear gripped his chest. He felt like he was suffocating. Sweat oozed from his pores and he felt his clothes go damp and cold.

“N-no,” he wheezed. Every instinct he had was telling him to run and hide from the monster of a man in front of him. Instead, he clenched his fists and stood where was.

What in the world...

His instincts kept screaming at him to run. To hide from the predator in front of him.

This doesn't make sense. Why the hell am I so scared? What's going on?

Braknar rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, your family are idiots. That tightness in your chest? The fear? I just hit you with one of my stronger intimidation abilities. I’ve seen hardened knights break ranks under the pressure of it in mere seconds. Yet here you are, standing before me. That's why I don't feel that training you to defend yourself is a complete waste of my time."

Julian blinked. On one hand, it was awesome how he’d managed to endure an actual class attack from one of the strongest warriors he’d ever known. On the other…

“You hit me with a fear inducement technique at full power? Do you realize how dangerous that is? You could have killed me!” Julian yelled.

His mentor shrugged.

“You think that's the first time I've done it? I was pretty sure you’d live.”

There was something akin to respect that glimmered in the man’s eyes. Something he wished he’d gotten at least once from his own father.

“Oh, like that makes it better. And you're 'pretty sure' it wouldn't kill me?”

Braknar shrugged.

“Mhm.”

Julian sighed and tossed away his training sword.

“Yeah, I’m done for the day.”

Braknar smirked and caught the sword before placing it in a large brown equipment bag.

“See you next week? Nah, why am I even asking that question? I'm the most interesting part of your pathetic life right now.”

Julian glared at him. He wanted to yell at the man, but couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound whiny and pedantic and prompt a new barrage of insults from his mentor.

“Whatever. I'm leaving. See you next week old man,” he grumbled. As much he’d rather the older man not subject him to potentially lethal training techniques, it was still better than being home with his family.

After around fifteen minutes of walking, he made it to the first outcroppings of Rona. The western area was a relatively affluent area of the city. It didn’t have as many traders passing through it as the east, but the flow of money from countries like Nyros kept it well-maintained.

The city itself was large and dominated by pristine alabaster marble buildings fashioned by the most skilled builder classes in the known world. It was the military center of the Aemari Empire, a union between the elves which had once dominated the continent unopposed and their one-time human subjects. The paved white pathway beneath my feet gave way to cobblestone as Julian approached the classless-dominated area of the city, where all the produce and other resources from the surrounding areas was gathered for distribution by the city authorities.

Status.

He enunciated the word in his head, but the dark blue translucent words still appeared in front of his eyes.

Julian Imerdan (lv. 4 Classless)

HP: 105/109

ST: 74/99

Attributes…

Effects…

He ignored the submenus and sighed, dismissing his status screen.

No change. I guess it's too much to hope that getting hit with a powerful move would reveal my class somehow. If what Braknar said was true, there's no way I should have any defense against a high-level intimidation technique. There's nothing in my status screen that would even suggest anything unusual about me aside from my pathetically low level.

A distant cacophony of noise distracted him from his musings.

He turned in the direction of Rona's industrial district. People seemed to be hurriedly moving away from that area. The only people going down the road towards it were the silver-plated Enforcers who carried out the dictates of Rona's High Marshal and the figures above him.

Wonder what the commotion is about. Another protest? Wonder if I'll see Izel there.

Thinking about the foreign woman made him smile. She was certainly unique. She didn’t act like a member of their caste, but still tolerated him to a point. He often fantasized about what it would be like if she were betrothed to him.

Julian smiled and started walking towards the industrial district. Alabaster marble soon gave way to cobblestone and cheap wood. The sun seemed to dim in this area of the city, casting it in shadow. He could feel people watching him from the shadows, but most of their attention was focused on the Enforcers who were much further ahead.

Ever since news spread of Nyros abolishing its caste system, protest movements had sprung up across the Empire, with the most recent flare-ups in Rona. There was mounting pressure from the nobility on the Imperial dynasty to finally quash the protests outright. Luckily for the protesters, the Empress or her advisors had cooler heads and seemed to be waiting for the protests to blow over.

The fact that the Empress is an elf with over four centuries on the throne might have something to do with her restraint.

The combined sound of dozens of voices reached Julian’s ears as he grew closer to the industrial district. He turned a corner and saw a crowd of people holding signs and gesticulating wildly. He paused for a moment.

The silver-armored Rona Enforcer Corps watched on. The Enforcers were all classes of some variety, covering most of the spectrum of combat roles. There were warriors, archers, knights, and one mage he made out after a few seconds of observation.

Mages, by their very nature, tended to be more esoteric classes and so were sometimes difficult to distinguish from other roles based on appearance. For example, you might think an armored guy with a shield and sword was a knight, but he could just as easily be a paladin and suddenly you were dealing with an opponent who was not only stronger and more durable than you, but possessed magical talents that far outstripped his more mundane brethren.

The Greensun Horde learned that lesson the hard way when they threw an entire army of orcs and goblins at my parents.

The mage Julian glimpsed among the Enforcers was a thin man with gray leather armor and the customary silver-gray pauldrons of his profession, but had no visible weapons aside from the quiver on his back. He wore a helmet that concealed his face, but Julian could just make out his pointed ears on the sides. There were no arrows in the quiver to speak of, so Julian figured he must have been able to manifest ethereal weapons like bows and arrows to use against opponents. He seemed familiar somehow.

Then he saw her. She was front and center with the protesters. She had dark caramel skin that made her stand out from the rest of the people in the crowd, but that wasn’t the only thing that was special about her. She was easily one of the most voluptuous and beautiful women he’d ever seen, and that was saying something considering he lived with his mother and sisters.

Izel Vidoz looked to be in her early twenties. She had silky black hair and amber eyes that glimmered with a detached amusement that belied the seriousness of her cause. She had large breasts and wasn’t afraid to flaunt them in the tight and revealing outfits she always wore, from dresses that showed so much leg to blouses that exposed so much cleavage they were downright scandalous.

Today, Izel was clearly feeling more adventurous, and had paired a tight skirt that showed off her prodigiously thick thighs with a magenta shirt that exposed her toned midriff. Juxtaposed with the other classless protesters who wore simple brown and gray rags and the Enforcers clad in gleaming plate armor, and she inevitably became the center of attention.

Her chants were the loudest and strongest and the crowd was clearly following her lead. A lot of the men weren’t just there to protest in favor of classless rights if the way their eyes roved over Izel’s scantily clad form was any indication.

Strange. I wonder why the Enforcers are ignoring the obvious ringleader and concentrating on the crowd in general?

Julian walked towards the chanting mob. Izel’s eyes flickered to him almost immediately. They narrowed and he caught a flash of irritation in them before she struck a provocative pose that emphasized her shapely child-bearing hips.

“Julian. How nice of you to drop by!” she said with all the false cheer and sarcasm he’d come to expect from her. The crowd kept chanting in the background, but he noticed more than a few men step closer to the two of them, no doubt ready to pounce if she gave the signal. “So what brings you to our lovely little get-together?”

“I want equality like they have in Nyros. Same as you,” he smirked. “Say, what are you doing after the whole protest thing? Want to get dinner? My treat.”

Izel chuckled. It was a soft, melodious sound.

Why does she seem so dangerous?

“My, you are a bold one. I’d compliment you for it if you weren’t so annoying. Now go away. This is a protest for the classless. Not some rich kid whose parents will spare him the horrors of his caste.”

She gestured with a hand. Julian’s eyes traced her smooth, dark skin. He wondered how that hand would feel wrapped around his cock.

A pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders from behind. He felt (and smelled) the man’s terrible breath as it wafted against his head.

“It’s time for you to leave, boy.”

Three more men stared at him from Izel’s sides. They glared at him like he was a particularly annoying stray animal that had overstayed its welcome.

Julian raised his brows. He glared at Izel. She seemed inordinately pleased by his discomfort.

“Really?” he said.

Izel chuckled.

“See you later, Julian.”

She stepped back. The crowd parted before her like the oceans before a water mage. Within a few moments he lost sight of her.

A sudden crack emanated from one of the buildings beyond. Glass shattered and people screamed.

One of the Enforcers spoke, his voice deep and magnified by magic: "In the name of the Empress, I am declaring this gathering unlawful. Disperse immediately or you will be arrested!" His comrades immediately moved upon the crowd, drawing blunt weapons like batons and clubs that shimmered with the energy of their stun enchantments.

The man who'd grabbed Julian growled with rage. He snatched a sign from one of his fellow protesters and charged at the line of Enforcers. A burst of blue energy slammed into him, propelling him off his feet and across the road. He saw the mage he' glimpsed earlier wielding a glowing, ethereal bow whose edges were cloudy like vapor. He drew back on the drawstring. A glowing blue arrow materialized within the bow.

The crowd gasped and whimpered. Women cried and men ground their teeth together. They were hopelessly outmatched and they knew it. They had known it for centuries and would know it for centuries hence. The weight of that reality seemed to fall upon their shoulders like a sledgehammer upon a nail. They yielded immediately, scattering into the depths of their part of the city. Julian didn't see Izel among them.

The mage approached Julian. It was then that he realized he was almost completely alone with the Enforcers. The mage's stark violet eyes met his and a familiar spark of disdain shimmered within them. He took off his helmet and smirked.

"Well, well, well. Of all the stupid actions I've grown to expect from you, this one was surprising, even to me. You're under arrest, Julian."

Julian groaned. "Hello Clevis. Still hopelessly vying for my sister's attentions?"

"It's funny you should mention Brynn. I asked her out yesterday and she said yes," Clevis Revenar smirked when Julian clenched his fists. "It's funny. She used to be so defensive of you. I guess even she had to face the fact that you're completely worthless."

No. Brynn, you wouldn't say yes to that asshole. Would you?

A pit opened in his stomach. He replayed one of his favorite memories of his twin sister. It had been when she'd first discovered her class. She'd been so thrilled and he'd been proud of her even as he worried about the fact that he'd yet to discover his. She'd been quick to reassure him, her friendly blue eyes so full of adoration of him.

"There it is. That's exactly the betrayed reaction I was looking for. Now hold still, please. I’d rather not waste more than a sliver of mana on you," the elf smirked and raised his bow. There was a sense of vertigo as Julian felt his feet leave the ground and the vague notion of being moved somewhere. There was a flash of pavement, then darkness.

---

Julian woke to the sight of a ceiling. The ceiling was gray and drab, a stark contrast with the much more beautiful marble and wood surfaces he was used to. It looked like it was slightly damp, as if it had water damage. He really hoped there wasn’t any mold in the room.

He grunted, pain coursing through his body.

He ached all over. His entire body felt like it had been thrown down a mountain slope.

"Oo, nice. You're finally up," a familiar feminine voice drew his attention to the other side of his room. Or cell. He sat up and faced her, eyes narrowing in the dim light of their room.

Izel Vidoz sat cross-legged on a thin single bed across from him. Her prodigiously thick, juicy thighs were the only things hiding what was between her legs. He couldn’t help but imagine her opening those legs and begging him to fuck her.

Like that would ever happen.

“Uh, Izel. Where are we exactly?” Julian asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

The woman chuckled. The movement caused her big tits to jiggle in the outfit that barely concealed her exotic body.

“Looks like the healers fixed a lot more damage than I could see. That Enforcer knocked you out cold and brought you here; here being the local lockup,” she said. She shifted slightly on her bed and grimaced.

Julian sighed.

Great. As if my family didn’t have enough reasons to despise me. I bet that bastard Clevis is telling them his own story about what happened at the protest.

Sitting up on his own cot, Julian examined his body. Despite the fact that every part of his body ached, he wasn’t able to find any physical evidence of his injuries.

He glanced around. The cell they were in had three solid walls and one made of bars that glimmered in the light of the manatorches that lined the hallways. Their dim amber light gave the impression of fire, but none of the heat seemed to have reached the cell.

“You know for a prison, you’d think there’d be more light in here.”

Izel shrugged. “Hm. I don’t mind it. It’s night, anyway.”

“Uh-huh. And I suppose you’re not cold, either,” he stood up from his bed, approaching the cell bars. He cautiously reached a hand forward, between the bars. A bright blue light flared up with a crack. He drew his hand back, staring at it.

“Nope. Well, maybe a little,” Izel laid back on her bed, propping her head up with her hand. “You grow up in Tenlan and you get used to unpleasant things like darkness, the cold, sacrificial magic, and the undead.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “The undead?”

Izel grinned viciously. “Yep, the undead. Necromancy was the whole reason the Empire annexed my people, remember?”

He felt a sudden chill go down his spine. He’d heard about the Wars of the Dead, how a single necromancer could puppet an army of dead Aemari and throw them against their former comrades. The only respite had been that there were a scant few necromancers capable of commanding that many dead at once.

“But that was centuries ago. The Empire has forbidden necromancy under penalty of . How could you have even seen an undead unless you were a necromancer yourself?” he stared into her amber eyes. “Or you knew one.”

Izel shrugged, reverting back to the infuriating ambivalence she retreated into like a shell.

“I guess anything’s possible.”

He stared at her for a long moment. She seemed to enjoy toying with him and leading him through whatever conversation topics were most likely to elicit a reaction from him. He wasn’t going to amuse her anymore.

“Are you sure you aren’t cold?” he said, figuring that it wasn’t likely that Izel would tell him more about what she’d seen.

Izel giggled and glanced down at her body.

“My outfit is a little risqué, isn’t it?” she stretched out on the bed and spread her legs slightly. “What do you think, Julian? Do you think I could use a few more articles of clothing or do you like me the way I am?”

He very much liked her the way that she was. That was why he looked away. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested in him back at the protest, and would happily send burly men to harm him if he approached her anywhere without invitation.

The older woman pouted slightly and relaxed on her bed, a small smile on her face.

“They’ll let us out in the morning, you know? I’ve been here before, and don’t ask why. You’d better take advantage of this unique opportunity to stare at me while it lasts. I’m completely at your mercy~” she chewed her lower lip.

Julian snorted and sat back down on his cot. He wouldn’t humor her anymore. Despite how beautiful she was, he was sick of being used for her entertainment. He wondered how bored she must have been all by herself in the cell without nothing but his body to keep her company.

He instinctively checked over his body again. He didn’t feel like any of his clothes were out of place, but from the way Izel’s eyes glimmered with very obvious mischief, she must have done something.

He decided to look at his status again. If nothing else he could gauge his relative health from the amount of health points and stamina he had left.

Status.

He summoned his stat screen again. Though thoroughly depressing to look at, it always provided some measure of assurance to him. Some people couldn’t access their menus at all.

Julian Imerdan (lv. 4 Psion)

HP: 82/109

ST: 99/99

WP: 421/421

Skills...

Attributes…

Effects…

“Wait, what?”