chapter 8

I was plateauing.

After two more years of scrubbing soot, sweeping rooftops, boiling soap, and scrubbing latrines until they could pass a noble's inspection, only gained two levels a year ago, after that I felt nothing.

That was it.

No surge. No whisper. Just… silence. No matter how obsessively I polished or how spotless I made a barn, nothing happened.

"Maybe Cleaner is capped at 10."

"Basic class is 15, but if cleaner is capped at 10 levels would that make it a rare jobclass..??."

It fit the pattern.

Basic classes cap at 15, unless they're support types like Cleaner, which might end at 10 by design. After all, I didn't get any advanced mopping techniques or divine anti-fungal powers. And I had no status screen to confirm anything. No interface. No numbers. Just instinct, memory, and logic.

So I pivoted again.

By now, the village chief had grown used to my presence. My ritual of cleaning his home, fetching his tea, fixing his roof, or gathering his wild herbs became routine. In return, he taught me letters, grammar, structure, and even a bit of history from the Re-Estize Kingdom.

It took me two years, but I learned faster than any child he'd ever taught. My past-life literacy helped of course, even if the characters were different.

I read trade ledgers. I copied old tales. I practiced until I could write elegantly in ink.

At night, I scrawled notes in english about my own theories:

Leveling progression formulas

Job class trees

Combat scaling

Possible XP thresholds

Magic theory speculation

When I turned twelve, I turned my attention to another quiet corner of the village: the herbalist hut. It smelled of mildew, crushed mint, and old blood. The herbalist, old Matra, had fingers like twigs and eyes like boiled eggs. But she was sharp.

For months, I fetched roots, sorted herbs, ground powders, and helped wrap poultices. She taught me about healing plants, bitterness ratios, and dosing levels. But…

"Only one level. Herbalist Lv 1."

Another low-skill teacher.

She was better than nothing, but I had clearly outpaced her within weeks. Still, I learned all I could. I filed it away in my growing arsenal.

One evening, under the orange light of the hearth, I looked at my parents my mother smoothing out a wool shirt by the fire, my father checking the edge of his wood-chopping axe. I cleared my throat.

"When I turn fifteen… I want to leave the village."

They both looked up, blinking.

"Why?" my mother asked gently, her eyes already clouding with worry.

"I want to be an adventurer," I said plainly.

It was a lie. I had no interest in raiding tombs, slaying goblins, or risking death in random forests. What I really wanted was to go to Erantel the great city to the south, closest city to my village. There, I could find real craftsmen, real scholars, real guilds, and more importantly: job class diversity.

Erantel meant:

Libraries

Magic tutors

Advanced smithies

Tailors

Alchemists

Clergy

Dozens maybe hundreds of basic job classes I could grind. To reach my goal of reaching level 100. A weak level 100 with no fighting skills, but still level 100.

At first, silence. My father slowly placed his axe down, staring at the table. My mother clutched the fabric in her hands, staring into the fire like it might answer for me.

"Fifteen is years away," she finally said, softly. "You're still our baby."

"I'll be a man by then," I said.

"You've been a man since you were seven," my father muttered. He looked at me seriously. Not just as a father… but as a man with heavy respect.

"You know I've seen the way people look at you now. I dont think the men like you very much, and do you know why..?."

"They fear me?" I asked.

"Not fear, lad" he said, "but wonder. You clean their homes, help their fields, fix their tools, and never ask for more than bread. You're like the idea of hard work, and your making them look like bums, and your just a kid." he laugh as he slapped the table.

My mother wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.

"If you must go, we won't stop you. But promise us something, Ren."

"Anything, mom."

"Come back. Or write. Let us know you're alive. And If you become a hero or a king or whatever the gods made you… just don't forget your home."

"I won't."

They came and embraced me then, like I was already gone. Like they were saying goodbye early.

I had 3 years left until I turned fifteen. And I would spend every minute of it doing three things:

-Level up to make the journey to Erantel safe from bandits or monsters.

-Try to get as many job classes as I could find or fabricate in this tiny village.

-get/find good sword and armor for safety.

I would not go unprepared.

[REN INFO CARD]

vermin killer: 8/15

Farmer:4/15

Carpentry:1/15

Blacksmith:1/10

Cleaner:10/15

Cook:1/10

Herbalist:1/10