Five months on Vulcan had transformed Misaki Haruto in ways both visible and invisible.
His body had changed first. The lean, almost gaunt frame that had arrived from space had filled out with functional muscle. His shoulders broadened from endless hours swinging axes in the forest. His core strengthened from hauling water, lifting stones, and the brutal training regimen Deylos put him through. His hands, once soft from years working with delicate instruments, now bore the calluses of someone who worked with their body every single day.
But the changes went deeper than physical.
He'd learned the rhythm of M'lod—theebb and flow of the fifty-hour cycles, the way work shifted between light and dark periods, the communal meals that brought everyone together, the quiet moments of meditation in the temple where his Manipura chakra continued its slow awakening.
[Manipura Chakra: Stirring (34%)]
The number climbed steadily but agonizingly slowly. And that, Misaki had discovered, was the curse of The Jack class.
He stood in the training yard behind the Labor Guild, sweat dripping from his face as he completed his hundredth push-up of the morning. Beside him, Deylos finished his fiftieth and stood, barely winded.
"You're getting stronger," the archer observed. "But you're working twice as hard for half the gains."
"I know," Misaki gasped, pushing himself up for one more rep. His arms shook with effort. "If you do one push-up and gain a point of strength, I need to do two. Same with everything else."
[Strength: 6 → 11 (5 months of training)]
[Constitution: 14 → 18]
[Dexterity: 10 → 13]
The stats showed the brutal mathematics of his class choice. Five months of backbreaking work, and he'd gained five points of strength. Riyeak, following the Shield path, had gained eight points in the same time with less effort. Deylos, as an Archer, gained dexterity at nearly double Misaki's rate.
The Jack class didn't just lack specialization bonuses—it actively penalized growth. Every skill came slower, every attribute increase required more work, every level took longer to achieve.
But Misaki had also learned something the system didn't show in numbers: versatility had value. He could farm, fight, build, butcher, gather herbs, process materials, and meditate. When the village needed something, he could step in. When an opportunity arose, he could adapt.
He wasn't the strongest. He wasn't the fastest. He wasn't the most skilled at any single thing.
But he could do a little bit of everything, and in a frontier village like M'lod, that mattered.
"Again," Deylos said, drawing his practice bow. "Defend."
Misaki rolled to his feet and grabbed his training staff—a weapon he'd taken to because it didn't require the raw strength of swords or axes. He'd learned basic combat forms over the months: blocks, strikes, footwork, distance management. Nothing fancy, nothing specialized, but enough to not be completely helpless.
Deylos loosed a blunted arrow. Misaki deflected it with his staff, the impact sending vibrations up his arms. Another arrow followed immediately, then another. He wove and blocked, his body moving through defensive patterns drilled into muscle memory.
"Better," Deylos acknowledged after a full minute of rapid fire. "Your reaction time has improved. You're reading the trajectory earlier."
[Skill Progress: Basic Combat (34%)]
Thirty-four percent. After five months of daily practice. A specialized combat class would have mastered the basics in six weeks.
But Misaki didn't complain. He just trained harder.
"MISAKI!" Riyeak's voice boomed across the yard. The now-sixteen-year-old had somehow grown even larger, standing nearly seven feet tall with shoulders that seemed capable of supporting a house. "Spar with me! I want to test something!"
They moved to the dueling circle—a flat area of packed earth marked with a painted ring. Villagers who'd been working nearby paused to watch. Sparring sessions were common entertainment, especially when they involved the sky-faller who'd chosen the weakest class.
Misaki took his stance, staff held in a defensive position. Riyeak drew his practice sword—a massive thing that Misaki couldn't have lifted six months ago and could barely manage now.
"Ready?" Riyeak asked, his grin wide and excited.
"Ready."
They moved.
Misaki struck first, a quick thrust toward Riyeak's center mass. The bigger boy deflected it easily with his sword, the casual strength behind the parry sending Misaki's staff wide. Riyeak countered with an overhead swing that Misaki barely dodged, the practice blade whooshing through the air where his head had been.
For three minutes they danced—Misaki using speed and technique to compensate for his lack of raw power, Riyeak pressing forward with the inexorable force of someone with nearly double Misaki's strength. The fight was technical, controlled, neither fighter actually trying to hurt the other.
Then Riyeak grinned and slammed his palm against the ground.
Earth erupted from beneath him, stone and packed dirt flowing upward like water to form a waist-high wall directly in Misaki's path. Misaki, mid-strike, crashed into the barrier and stumbled back.
"No fair!" he protested, slightly winded. "You used chakra abilities!"
Riyeak laughed, the earthen wall crumbling back into the ground as he released his hold on the Muladhara chakra energy. "All's fair in real combat! You need to learn to adapt when opponents use powers you don't have yet!"
"When I get my fire manipulation working, we'll see how much you like getting surprised," Misaki muttered, but he was grinning too.
"I'll look forward to it!" Riyeak extended a hand and pulled Misaki to his feet with enough force to nearly yank his arm from its socket. "You're getting better, you know. Five months ago, I'd have disarmed you in thirty seconds. You lasted three minutes today."
From the edge of the training yard, Lyria and Feya watched the exchange. The young apprentice mage whispered something to the healer, who nodded in response.
"He's grown," Lyria said, her amber eyes following Misaki as he retrieved his training staff. "Not just physically. He carries himself differently now."
"He's still so small though," Feya observed in her characteristic quiet voice. The fifteen-year-old girl was tiny even by normal standards, standing barely five feet tall. "He only gained two kilograms in five months."
"Two kilograms of pure muscle," Lyria corrected. "He's lean because The Jack class doesn't build bulk easily. But he's stronger than he looks." She paused, then smiled. "Though he has been complaining about wanting to gain more weight. Says he's tired of looking like 'a scarecrow among giants.'"
Their conversation was interrupted by a sound that made everyone in the training yard freeze.
A horn. Deep and resonant, echoing across the village from the main road.
The effect was immediate and visceral. Smiles vanished. Workers stopped mid-task. Children playing in the square were quickly ushered indoors by parents whose faces had gone tight with tension.
Misaki looked around, confused by the sudden shift in atmosphere. "What's wrong? What was that horn?"
Feya's already quiet voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Tax collectors. From the capital."
"Why does everyone look like that's a bad thing? Taxes are normal, right?"
"Not these taxes," Lyria said, her tone hard. "And not these collectors."
They made their way to the village square, where a crowd had already gathered—not in welcome, but in grim acceptance of an unpleasant necessity. Misaki pushed through to see what had caused such dread.
The first thing he noticed was the creature.
It stood at the village gate like something from a fever dream—a massive, six-legged beast that resembled a horse if horses were built by someone who'd only heard them described secondhand and decided to add extra legs for stability. Its body was covered in scales rather than fur, deep blue-green that caught the light of Ulth'rk in iridescent patterns. Each of its six legs ended in broad, padded feet designed for traversing rough terrain. The head was elongated and reptilian, with intelligent eyes that swept across the gathered villagers with cold assessment.
[Hex'apod - Six-Legged Mount]
[Common transportation beast for royal officials]
[Native to the desert nation of Val'kaz'ra]
Mounted on the creature were three men wearing the distinctive crimson and gold uniforms of the capital's revenue service. They sat in a specialized saddle that accommodated the beast's unusual body structure, and they looked down at the villagers with expressions that ranged from boredom to barely concealed contempt.
The lead collector—a heavyset man with a face like a well-fed pig—dismounted with practiced ease and pulled out a scroll. "M'lod Village. Seasonal tax collection. Ten copper per registered resident, two gold from the village reserve fund, and any outstanding debts from previous cycles."
His voice carried across the square with the kind of authority that came from knowing no one would dare oppose him.
Villagers began forming a line, each approaching with their required copper pieces. Misaki watched as people handed over coins that represented hours of hard work—farmers, builders, hunters, all paying the same flat rate regardless of their actual earnings.
The collectors took each payment with mechanical efficiency, marking names on their ledger. But it was the interactions that made Misaki's blood begin to simmer.
"You're short two copper," one collector sneered at a young farmer. "You want to tell the King you can't pay your fair share?"
"I-I had a bad harvest this cycle," the man stammered. "The starc blight took half my crop—"
"Not my problem. Pay up or face penalties."
The farmer handed over what looked like his last coins, his face pale with worry about how he'd feed his family until the next harvest.
An elderly woman approached with trembling hands. The second collector counted her copper, then deliberately scattered it on the ground. "Pick it up. I can't accept payment that's been dropped."
The old woman knelt slowly, her arthritic joints clearly causing pain, and gathered the coins while the collector smirked.
But it was what happened next that pushed Misaki past the point of silent observation.
An old man—Misaki recognized him as Urath's father, one of the village's original founders—shuffled forward with only six copper pieces.
"You're short," the pig-faced lead collector said. "And according to our records, you were short last year too."
"I paid what I could," the old man said, his voice weak but defiant. "I'm too old to work the fields anymore. My son helps when he can, but—"
"Excuses." The collector gestured to his companions. "Seize his property as collateral. The King doesn't accept excuses."
They grabbed the old man by his arms, beginning to drag him toward his modest home at the village's edge. The old man's protests were ignored, and worse—the assembled villagers just watched. Tense, angry, but watching.
Misaki stepped forward before his brain caught up with his body.
"Let him go."
The square went silent. Riyeak's eyes widened in shock. Lyria made a small sound of alarm.
The collectors turned to look at this stranger who'd dared speak up. The lead collector's pig-like eyes narrowed. "And who the hell are you? I don't see your name on the registry."
"Misaki Haruto. I arrived five months ago."
"Ah. The sky-faller." The collector's sneer deepened. "Well, sky-faller, this is how things work in Ul'varh'mir. The King requires taxes. We collect them. People pay. It's very simple."
"He's an old man who can barely walk. You're going to take his home over four copper pieces?"
"We're going to do our jobs. Which you're currently interfering with." The collector released the old man and turned his full attention on Misaki. "Since you're so compassionate, maybe you'd like to pay his debt? Twenty copper should cover it. Late fees, you understand."
"Twenty? You said he owed four."
"That was before you wasted my time. The price goes up when people get difficult." The collector took a step closer, invading Misaki's personal space. "So what's it going to be, sky-faller? Pay up, or shut up and get out of my way."
Misaki's hands clenched into fists. Around him, he could feel the tension radiating from the villagers. Riyeak was frozen in place, his face a mask of conflict. Lyria had gone pale. Even Deylos, usually so calm, looked like he was holding himself back by sheer will.
Why isn't anyone doing anything?
"No," Misaki said. "I'm not paying inflated extortion fees, and you're not taking that old man's home."
The collector's face flushed red. "You refuse to comply with a royal tax assessment?"
"I refuse to stand by while you abuse people who can't defend themselves."
What happened next was so fast Misaki barely saw it coming.
The collector's fist connected with his face in a devastating haymaker that sent him sprawling to the ground. Pain exploded across his jaw, and blood filled his mouth where his teeth had cut his cheek.
[Health: 87/100]
[Status: Stunned]
Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the collector's voice. "That's assaulting a royal official. You just made a very big mistake, boy."
Misaki pushed himself to his hands and knees, spitting blood. His vision swam, but something hot and fierce was building in his chest—not his chakra, though he felt the Manipura stirring in response to his rage. This was something more primal.
He surged to his feet and threw a punch of his own.
His fist caught the collector on the side of the head, spinning the man around. It wasn't a clean hit—Misaki's combat training was still basic—but it connected with enough force to send the fat official stumbling back.
For a moment, everything froze.
Then chaos erupted.
The other two collectors rushed forward. Misaki managed to dodge the first one, but the second tackled him to the ground. They grappled in the dirt, trading blows that were more brawl than technique. Misaki felt his training kick in—blocks, strikes, leverage points—but his opponents had both size and numbers advantage.
A knee found his ribs. His fist found someone's nose. More hands grabbed him, pulling him up and slamming him against a wall.
"ENOUGH!"
Chief Shy'yao's voice cut through the violence like a whip crack. The old chief stood at the edge of the square, his face thunderous, power radiating from him in visible waves that made the air shimmer.
The collectors immediately released Misaki and stepped back, their training overriding their anger. You didn't ignore a village chief when he invoked his authority.
Misaki slumped against the wall, tasting blood, his ribs screaming. The lead collector wiped at his split lip and pointed a shaking finger.
"That man assaulted royal tax collectors in performance of their official duties. That's a capital offense. We're taking him to the capital for trial."
"You struck first," Chief Shy'yao said coldly. "I saw it. The entire village saw it."
"He interfered with royal business. We had authority to use force to compel compliance."
The chief's eyes narrowed. "How much is his fine?"
"This isn't about a fine. He attacked us. There will be punishment."
"How. Much."
The collectors exchanged glances. Finally, the pig-faced leader spoke. "Five gold. And he's banned from interfering with royal officials for life. If we see him step out of line again, it's the capital dungeons."
The square erupted in murmurs. Five gold. That was enough copper to feed a family for a year. It was more than most villagers would see in their entire lives.
Chief Shy'yao's jaw worked, but finally he nodded. "The village will pay. Take it from the reserve."
"No," Misaki croaked, pushing away from the wall. "I did this. I'll pay it."
"You don't have five gold."
"I'll work for it. However long it takes."
The lead collector sneered. "You'll be an old man before you earn that much, Jack. But fine. We'll record it as a debt. You have one year to pay, or you're forfeit to the capital as an indentured laborer." He spat at Misaki's feet. "Enjoy your principles, sky-faller. They just bought you a lifetime of servitude."
The collectors mounted their six-legged beast and departed, leaving the village in tense, heavy silence.
Misaki stood in the square, bruised and bleeding, with a debt he had no idea how to repay and the knowledge that he'd just made enemies of people who could destroy his life with a word.
But when he looked at the old man—still free, still in his home—he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
He'd do it again.
[Quest Failed: Integrate into Village Society]
[New Quest: Debts and Consequences]
[Objective: Earn 5 gold within one year or face indentured servitude]
[Time Remaining: 365 days]