I can say with a reasonable degree of certainty that this bandit with delusions of grandeur is a Lancer. If a Warrior is a generalist melee combatant, and the Reaver a two-handed melee generalist, the Lancer is only capable of using spears. Even if they were to pick up a sword and swing it, they can't 'equip' it. In a Lancer's hands, it'd be little better than that mall ninja garbage I've heard horror stories about. The same goes for all equipment that is incompatible with a person's Class or Level - and in extreme cases it can even harm the person attempting to wield or wear them, perhaps even kill them if the gap is vast enough.

As for the logic behind it, I don't have all the answers, but the most succinct explanation I've heard of is that 'like goes with like', in the sense that sword and person exhibit compatible innate qualities of some kind. Put another way, as an extension of the Ship of Theseus paradox comparison, when forming the 'concept' that is a sword, certain biases and intents are also included. The idea that a swordsman should use a sword, that a wizard should use a staff or wand. That becomes part of the concept, and those that don't fit that concept are rejected.

'Dropped' equipment from monsters and dungeon equipment are basically the same, but their additional nuances are a topic for another day.

All this is to say, that a weapon specialist Class has naturally higher compatibility with their weapon, obvious as that is, and can as such be expected to show off greater skill with it since, to begin with, The First Step tries to offer the best Class that fits you. It ought to go without saying, then, that this Viper-of-the-road is someone I could consider just a little more competent than Windy if we're talking purely about martial skill alone.

If that was all I had to worry about, I could cope with a moderate amount of effort. Working against me, however, is the qualitative difference in equipment and attributes. In all relevant categories, I am strictly inferior to him, no two ways about it. The slipperiness of the ground is also not working in my favour, since I'm forced to focus on avoiding his attacks over clashing since he'd just overpower me.

"You're pretty good for your age," he compliments, jabbing casually, some of the feigned laxness bleeding back in as it becomes clearer that I'm still outmatched, "Almost a pity to end your Path here."

"A feat - of which you are utterly incapable," I grunt, twisting out of the way and countering with a thrust of my own, "I assure you of that."

"If I were to put my full strength to bear, stranger, you would find the tattered remains your heart nailed to the opposite wall in an instant," the Viper-of-the-road boasts, "Pray, continue to amuse me if you wish to delay such an outcome."

Though exaggerated, I find myself believing him somewhat, but it's not enough to get under my skin. In fact, I dearly wish for him to continue throwing out taunts and the like. Sadism is all too easy a flaw to exploit if you can bait it out. I've already proven capable of tricking him once by feigning conceit, and constructing a narrative where that 'arrogance' turns steadily to despair is just believable enough to stimulate their appetite for superiority and dominance.

I used a similar trick on Lady Jannis once. It worked - at first - but she cottoned on quickly and beat me six-ways from Sunday for the insult to her intelligence. It was definitely not to cover up her embarrassment at being tricked for even an instant. She was quite emphatic on that point in the aftermath.

The memory serves as a small bit of comfort. 

His excitement is plain to see on his face, and I am genuinely struggling to keep up in each exchange. The difference in attributes is truly quite telling, and if my flamberge's territory was any smaller I'd be in far worse shape. Skill and experience are the only things keeping him from landing a decisive blow, changed into grazes and near-misses.

He thrusts, I dodge. He sweeps, I block and stagger. A teasing hop forward, spear point aimed for my head, before retreating with a laugh, quite obviously toying with me, and paying little to no attention to where we're standing, as I slowly - and not directly so as to not arouse suspicion - retreat towards the edge of the gaping chasm that's swallowing the thick sheet of falling water from far above us greedily.

The Viper-of-the-road clicks his tongue as I slide back with my sword raised in a guard to block a powerful jab, seemingly starting to tire of the exercise, "This is becoming quite dull. I commend you for surviving this long, but to barely even respond...Are you a block of stone, awaiting the Architect's chisel?"

"No. Rather, I'm the one getting bored," I goad him, throwing his words back at him mockingly, "'tis plain to see that your sires neglected to teach you proper table manners, for I find this playing with your food to be as pointless as it is childish. If you would respect my demise, serte, I would respectfully request that you stop prevaricating and make it worthy of remembrance."

Irritation flashes across his face after a delay, "Very well, so be it."

Drawing his feet out and setting his stance in all too dramatic fashion, he readies himself to utilise both Lance Charge and the finisher Skill of Lancer, Transpierce to puncture a hole straight through my torso. With a pleased smile I drop my sword with a clatter, and open up my stance, ready to receive his 'respect'.

The distance is crossed in almost an instant, as before. And as before, I'm expecting it, or responding would be an impossibility. My smile widens as the tip of the spear comes to within an inch of my torso. My death is, to his mind a certainty.

He's wrong about whose death that is though.

I don't have as much room to work with as I'd like. Admittedly I overestimated my ability to respond, and reflexive snap-movements pre-RotA are almost impossible. With Bull Rush activated I make use of the burst of speed to move just barely past his attack, feeling the edge cut through my armour like butter and raking my skin with it, then grab under his arm and the hand holding out his spear to send him flying over the edge with a mighty heft and a sweep of my leg. With Linesman's Determination it's possible that he could have halted his momentum and stood his ground, but that requires contact with the ground, to begin with, and he's already airborne before he can form that response.

The moment his body makes contact with the waterfall, it vanishes, pummelled down into the waiting abyss below by the force of the current. I don't get to see the look on his face, but I can imagine the shock he must be feeling as he tumbles to his demise.

Exhaling, I slowly drop to the ground in a sitting position, trying to catch my breath. Horizon, who watched the entire thing silently approaches, if reluctantly, with one hand pressed against her makeshift turban to block the thrumming vibrations from being so close to the edge.

She gives me a hand up and we head to the opposite wall, retrieving my sword along the way.

"Have to admit I was a little worried near the end there," Horizon squats down, taking a long swig from her waterskin, "Didn't expect a finish like that. Colour me impressed."

"Thank you for staying out of it," I smile peacefully, "It was a...near thing."

If there's one thing I understand on Merrow, it's how to talk to a Ghoathan. Or to be less polite, it's how to utilise the national identity of Ghoathan noble society against them. Still, it's a trick that might not have worked if his sapience was of a higher grade, or if he were one of the mindless masses. A smarter man might have second-guessed himself. An automaton wouldn't have cared.

"Hey, you asked," she shrugs, "Besides, I was about ready to shoot before I realised what you were doing. Win told me about your sparring matches."

"Ah, did she?" I remove my helmet and scratch my scalp, "Well, as I explained to her, there's no shame in knowing how to defend yourself in unarmed combat. It's not mutually exclusive with weapon mastery as a skillset. Weapon specialists like that Lancer just now tend to miss out on that idea because of their Class identity. For low-to-mid Level ones, the idea that using anything other than their chosen weapon is trash and to be avoided is hardly uncommon, even if it's a false delusion that the higher Levels usually grow out of."

"He did almost kill you, and had you in the palm of his hand for most of the fight," Horizon points out.

"For the battle, but not the war," I clarify, "Still, even if I won through trickery instead of meatheaded strength of arms, I hardly care. It's not as if he didn't attempt it to begin with, either. In the end, I survived, and he's, well, not quite dead yet but will be in a minute."

"He's still alive?" she's surprised.

"Presumably, since the qu-"

Congratulations, your party has defeated a Viper-of-the-road Novice(Elite)!

Awarding 10060 experience.

 

"-Oh. There he goes," I blink, "As I was saying, the Quest hadn't completed yet, so he probably wasn't killed until he hit something on the way down."

"I see," Horizon nods in understanding, "What did you get from it?"

"A Title," I squint at the description.

 

 

"Not a fantastic one, but it's something," I grunt, "I can see it becoming useful if I were to put the effort into using and upgrading it, but I don't have that kind of time to waste."

In my previous life, I had a similar Title, but it was a more specific one gained much later on into the life of Astral Reckoning, and more useful since it provided a small bonus to a random Skill's Mastery whenever I fulfilled its conditions.

"Beggars can't be choosers, sweetie," Horizon smiles, then turns to a frown, "It feels a little strange to receive ten thousand experience for doing nothing but watch you get beaten up, even so."

"I can imagine," I laugh ruefully, considering whether or not I should crack open a healing potion, "If it helps you can see the fight as a learning 'experience'. After all, you'll be seeing a lot more situations like that in the future."

"I suppose so. How are you feeling now?"

"Exhausted. The pain I can deal with, but I can't fight for a while, much less walk very far," I grumble, taking a seat on the floor, "I only have time for a quick break. Daylight's burning, and we want to be at the rest stop by sundown."

"Fine by me," Horizon shrugs, "I want to take some time to examine what I saw anyway. Pick out a good moment I can use for the painting."

---

 

???

The Trough, Slums, East Residential District, Meteo Town

In the dying light of the noon sun, the activity on the streets begins to die off with it. In the past, this would mean that establishments for drinking and entertainment across the former city would become raucous with an influx of patrons, but after the deaths of hundreds to the conversion process, particularly at the hands of The Brand, the population of Meteo's eastern residential districts had taken a noticeable hit.

Considering the type of culture that had arisen in Meteo City's slums, whether or not this was a good thing or an unforgivable tragedy rather depended on one's outlook, and could mainly be inferred by the kind of life you lived. For one man, sitting in the back of the boisterous, if subdued taproom of one of Meteo Town's most notorious dive bars, it could be considered a mixed blessing.

While he'll shed no tears over the loss of lives, particularly when those lives were cheap things belonging to destitute, often criminal NPCs, the loss of potential opportunities for the Infamous community was starkly felt, and only got worse when the Empire's investigators stuck their noses into the aftermath to clean up the mess left by Geronil, one of the smuggling trade's caretakers.

It could be said, that without even realising it, Silver Nosster and Truthseekers had dealt a profound blow to his development before he'd even had an inkling of his existence. What was originally just a professional obligation, became instead something at least a little personal. Not to the level of an eternal grudge, naturally. It would be enough to exact the same pains he felt on them, and break the wings of two birds with one stone.

Seeing the face of his subordinate however, he feels something amiss, and takes a long draught of piss-weak ale to brace himself for the report.

"Mr Tow-" Melissa Gates begins, fearful.

He clears his throat, glaring at her pointedly through slit eyelids, "Melissa, I understand that you are unaccustomed to the etiquette of MMOs, but you have been warned once before. Use. Our. Character. Names. The next time you forget something so simple your internship will be revoked for your blatant incompetence, no matter who your father is. Am I clear?"

Melissa gulps, "S-sorry. It's just, we've got a really, really big problem, Hidden Serpent, sir."

"Explain, in as few words as possible," Hidden Serpent exhales through grit teeth.

"The ambush on Wolf Hunt's party led by Radiant Springwater was a success, however, the thirty people sent to deal with Windy Fields and Generous Morning failed due to the intervention of  the Fighter Mentor NPC," she explains hurriedly, "And similarly, the crossbowmen we snuck into the respawn area were cleaned up by NPCs after the Wolf Hunt party kicked up a stink."

He clamps his eyes shut and rubs them, "I'm not seeing anything I need to care about. What aren't you saying?"

"After Windy Fields and Generous Morning reached the Pioneers' Alliance, a notice was posted up, stating that...all of the dungeons Silver Nosster discovered were to be put under the management of the Pioneers' Alliance effective immediately," Melissa clears her throat, "Several of the Pioneer NPCs then left to secure them, and according to some gentle probing, Truthseekers will be receiving a cut of any profits they make from the tolls and services that follow. They've effectively cut us off and claimed the dungeons for themselves without needing to lift a finger."

"While that is certainly an issue, if those idiot computer programs think they can overcome hundreds of immortals led by the scent of monetary gain, they will soon find out their mistake," Hidden Serpent scoffs, "They're just NPCs. All we need to do is bury them in bodies. We have the funds to spare to make it happen. Melissa, I'd care if our existence was exposed, but this 'problem' is sounding more like Darkest Dreamers' problem - did you perchance forget who you are working for? The situation hasn't changed, we just have a few less greedy idiots to throw at the problem in the short-term. There's no shortage of such people in this world."

Taking his mug in hand, he swirls the pale gold liquid at the bottom then downs it in one go, slamming the empty receptacle back on the table. Melissa starts at the noise, the tension between them rising, the threat in Hidden Serpent's posture plain to see, "Go back out there, and don't come back...until the job...is done. Is that clear?"

"Sir," she nods quickly, and hurries to leave.

"Ah, and if Rambling Rose were to somehow become a part of the conversation, you're finished. I've already disciplined Tang for forgetting that Generous Morning and Olrica Nennot used to work for our company when he was sent to offer Truthseekers a way out of their destruction," Hidden Serpent calls out, stopping her, "Rambling Rose and Mr King must maintain a clean image at all costs. Serpent's Snare was created to facilitate my- their rise from behind the scenes. Remember that."