Quenton gazed at the egg that had been placed on his pillow. It was a dark thing, black and smooth like volcanic rocks he’d once seen at a museum and veined with thin stripes of gold. The egg was the size of a football and cool to the touch. He’d found it sitting mysteriously in his room after returning from the gardens. Why is it here? Quenton thought with a slight twinge of agitation.

It was no doubt that finding a fantasy egg like this was cool, but he wanted some more context. He pulled the string that would ring the bell and summon Aliss. He had found himself growing almost friendly with her, she knew useful information and didn’t talk to him like he was an idiot when he didn’t know shit about what was going on.

He turned to watch the door with his excitement readily apparent on his face. This time I’ll notice her enter before the door opens. Quenton promised himself for the fifth time. He waited for only a scant minute or so before Aliss soundlessly opened the door and slipped in, starting when she noticed that he had been watching the door.

“Is there something you need, my Lady?” Aliss asked as she glanced around the room and looked over the egg for a moment before focusing on Briony.

“Can you tell me about this egg, Aliss?” Quenton tried to ask without letting his excitement slip into his voice. Grinding Composure while getting information, a win-win situation! He thought as he waited for her reply.

“Oh, your ladyship, that is the Wyvern egg you…had shipped to Faecrcliff a few weeks ago.” Aliss stopped awkwardly as the wall of Quenton’s “amnesia” once again made itself known before continuing. “Before your fainting spell, you had desired a monster companion like young Lady Camilla’s. A nearby farm had a bat wyvern ready to brood so we arranged to have an egg delivered. It won’t be purebred, of course. But it should make a fine companion regardless. They’re quite loyal creatures, wyverns.”

Aliss presented the information with a forced cheer and detachment in her voice. Quenton on his end grinned in delight and eagerly hopped out of joy before the Faux Pas headache struck him and sent him stumbling against his bed.

“Lady Briony!” Aliss exclaimed as she rushed over to his side, Quenton moved his hand from his forehead, clasping her hand. He grimaced against the fading pain and tried to come with an earnest smile.

“Sorry Aliss, I do not know what…what struck me there.”

“We should call for Doctor Silver, my Lady, wait here and I will have word sent to the village-” Quenton clenched her hand gently and smiled properly as he said. “There is no need, truly, I feel better already and I think I know what happened.” He let the words flow on instinct, unsure of his plan.

“When you explained about the egg I was struck with…with so much happiness because I recalled that I always wanted such a pet. My entire life I have wanted a d…a dear companion to keep me company. I was unable to help myself, I was just so pleased to remember something. Please forgive my rudeness.``

The lie slipped easily from his lips. Well, technically, it is true that I have always wanted a badass animal companion like a dragon or a basilisk. A bat wyvern is certainly going to be the coolest thing I’ve seen so far. Score one for Briony!

Aliss on her end had the barest glimmer of tears enter her eyes as she returned the squeeze that Quenton was giving her hands and said. “That is…that is wonderful, my Lady. I will go and inform her ladyship now and we shall-”

He shook his head rapidly, not wanting any more attention on him at the moment. “No, I’d rather not give the others false hope about my condition. It was only one memory and if that is all I’ll get back…I do not want to be a source of disappointment.” Quenton tried to sound solemn instead of desperate to avoid being prodded by the doctor and grilled by Ivy. He hadn’t forgotten the threat of the asylum.

Aliss’ brows creased in worry as he continued. “Please, keep it secret. I beg of you.” She looked at him, doubt in her eyes and he knew this was the moment where she would decide.

“Please, I trust you Aliss.” He said quietly as a pang of nagging guilt squirmed in his stomach at the lie. Aliss was almost a friend and he was deceiving her, using her for his own ends. Adding to his shame, Aliss’ face was set in determination.

“I will refrain from saying anything, my Lady. However, if you get another memory back I hope you will tell them.” She gave him a slightly tremulous smile. “It would be wonderful to see your memories restored.”

Quenton clenched her hand one last time before the realization of what he was doing entered his mind and he let go. She was close enough to kiss him and he didn’t know if he wanted her to or not. The idea of Aliss as a girl, as someone he could care about in that way only added to his squirming discomfort.

“I…I promise, I will.” He stuttered out and rose up, which made Aliss shift away from him and take to her feet.

“Thank you, Aliss. Now, is there anything I have to do for the egg?” Quenton asked, guilty and relieved all at once. The interaction left a sour taste in his mouth and he decided to focus on the matter of the egg.

“I’m afraid I know little of monster rearing, my Lady. However…” Aliss paused and began searching through the desk until she found a small book with a silhouetted wyvern on it. “I recall you found this book in anticipation for your egg, my lady. It ought to have information enough.” She explained carefully as she handed the book to Quenton.

Quenton nodded excitement thrumming through him at the idea of raising a real monster. “Thank you Aliss, that will be all. I’ll start on the book, I think.” He said, giving her a grateful smile as she curtsied.

“Of course, my Lady.” She said, before departing in her usual silent fashion.

The moment Aliss left a sudden wave of pleasure hit him along with three notifications that elegantly unfolded themselves in his vision.

 

Note: You have won a minor social conflict with Aliss Doyle. “Ensure that Aliss keeps my secret.” You won using a combination of deceit and emotional manipulation, notable progress has been made in your Cunning attribute.

Congratulations: For winning your first Social Conflict you have been awarded 20 exp. Note: This is an extra large gain, normal minor social conflicts will render less exp.

 

Level Up: You have reached Social Level 12(10/130 Exp)

You have gained 1 free Attribute Point to spend

Talent: Know Rank, has been added to your talent list

Talent: Beast Kin, has been added to your talent list.

 

He didn’t know what to think as the surge of pleasure abated and he read the system prompts. Quenton felt torn between elation at having leveled and regret at having manipulated one of his few friends. Aliss had been the only one besides Viola to help him in this new world and he hadn’t hesitated to use her own affection against her.

It seemed a particularly scummy way to level and the thought of grinding by exploiting the people who cared for Briony made his stomach squirm. Maybe I can stick to lying to nobles like Aliza Warwin. He mused. Social conflicts were probably best undertaken with people he didn’t care about.

Still, even if I don’t like how I did it, I managed to level. Having somewhat settled how he felt about Aliss he turned his attention back to the prompts.

Quenton stopped for a moment when he noticed that he was already 10 xp into his next level progression, which implied there was a carry-over from the previous one. He hadn’t even seen that there had been an xp counter when the system had first activated, nor when he finished the first quest. And if he didn’t misremember that he could swear that it had given him only 100 xp.

Since the next level seemingly needed 130 xp combined, it stood to reason that the next level had required 120. 10 times the next level, which was far from the most unreasonable xp scale he had ever seen. But assuming that were true then he must have earned xp outside of the quest without having noticed, which hopefully meant all that time he had spent grinding his Lady-stuff had paid off in more than one way.

He couldn’t know it for certain, but Quenton had played his share of video games and he had a decent head for leveling systems.

Okay, first question: What grants me exp? He mused, making a mental note. He focused on the system and kept the question in his mind to see if a response would come up again.

 

Experience Points may for the Lady Class are be earned via the following events.

1. Accomplishing Quests and their additional hidden objectives
2. Winning Social Conflicts (Conflict Level + Social Level of Opponent=Amount earned)
3. Improving Attributes and practicing appropriate skills
4. Increases in your social status which raises your default Social Level (10): Family advancement, marriage with a higher-ranked noble, Gaining a positive reputation within High Society, accomplishing great things outside of quest objectives.

 

Quenton was happy that the question trick had worked and while some of the information was generally expected that last point was of interest to him. Could he raise his social level by just getting married to some guy of a higher rank? He needed more information and thankfully more information appeared.

 

Default Social Level: 10(Lesser Nobility), 20(Minor Nobility), 30(Medium Nobility), 50(High Nobility), 80[Royalty], 110(Imperial)

 

He gaped as he looked at the levels he would have to climb in the future. That meant the default level for the Emperor and the ones who were directly in line to the Imperial throne would be at least 110. Quenton felt his mind race at the possibilities for exploitation that would come with that. He could potentially jump almost 100 levels if he got hitched to someone at that level.

Quenton shook his head and let the thought fade, there would come a time for such considerations later. First, he should examine his new talents, the free attribute point, and then start reading up on wyverns.

 

Beast Kin: You are a friend of all that which does not think as sapients do. This talent gives you an affinity for handling animals and makes sure that only hostile creatures will attack you out of turn. Animals treat you as kin by default.

 

Know Rank: You can see and sense the rank and social level(translated by the system) as compared to yours. Unless great pains are taken to conceal their identity then you will always be able to recognize someone’s status by sight/feel alone.

 

“Oh, is that a status skill?” Quenton wondered out loud as he could feel an almost tangible itch to try out Know Rank at the first opportunity. Beast Kin is also going to be useful if I can angle this Lady class towards some kind of Ranger or Druid build. He thought with some satisfaction as the level up had proven to give him rather useful tricks.

He knew that in most stories he’d read the main character would get some kind of skill that would let him analyze people to see their stats or at least their names and levels relative to himself. Quenton hoped that Know Rank would work similarly as it would make navigating through high society far more convenient. The attribute point was the next matter, so he called up his stats to examine them before making a decision.

 

Name: Briony Moray (Quenton Keller)

Class: Lady

S-Level: 12(10/130)

Attributes

Charm: 2

Poise: 2

Composure: 2

Grace: 2

Wit: 2

Cunning: 3

Endurance: 2

All in all my stats are fairly balanced. Quenton thought as he examined the pertinent part of his character sheet and began considering the issue of his stats. “I don’t have a strength stat to increase, so I can’t use the system to make me stronger, so what is going to be the most helpful thing for me to invest in here?” He pondered out loud as he began to pace back and forth in front of the bed.

“Most of these stats are social-based which are useful, but they are hardly going to be useful in a fight.” He’d resolved to game his class and while recognizing the need to do lady-stuff he would still prefer to make his build adventuring friendly as quickly as possible.

“That would leave Grace, Endurance, and Wit as the most important stats, I think.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Grace is all about speed and dexterity which is obviously handy in a scrap, Wit is the closest thing to a traditional intelligence stat, and that could be useful any number of ways, and Endurance because stamina is important when doing adventurer-stuff and lady-stuff.” Quenton had discounted Cunning for now as it was his highest stat and seemed to be more about scheming. While that was useful he thought it would be a waste if he front-loaded his attribute points into it.

He took some time to consider the matter before he arrived at his decision. “Grace could be valuable for adventuring and being lady-like.” He murmured. “Embroidery, dancing, and most physical activities rely on my speed and dexterity. Getting better at that is, therefore, both a good choice in the short and long term.”

Quenton took some pride in noting that he managed to retain the diction training from Mrs. Seaver even while alone. He had almost gotten smacked the first couple of lessons because of his “vulgar tongue”. Wincing at that memory he focused on increasing Grace.

He had felt a difference after Composure and Poise had been increased, but the former was a social attribute and the latter had been worked at over time. So, they didn’t carry the immediate effect that increasing Grace had as Quenton felt a strange energy surge through his entire body. The rushing force delicately altered his muscles, tendons, and perhaps even his bones as he felt his body grow lighter.

Every movement seemed less arduous and as Quenton fell back onto the bed he could feel his fingers twitch rapidly and his legs drum an almost staccato rhythm against the floor.

Suddenly the sensation ended and Quenton lay there on the bed, blinking up at the ceiling as he felt the energy exit his form. He gingerly rose up and immediately felt the difference.

It was not an overly dramatic change, he hadn’t gained super speed or anything. He suspected that he was still below average in the grace department, but he felt lighter on his feet and gingerly tried to punch the air like he had seen in movies.

His hands moved more quickly and precisely than he had been able to previously, but he supposed that could’ve been his imagination or his excitement. Oh duh, there’s an obvious way to check this. Quenton thought and almost facepalmed as he walked over to the desk in his room and took up some cloth, threads, and a needle along with the embroidery hoop.

Embroidery required physical dexterity in addition to patience and a good eye, and it would be the most tangible way to test if his stat increase had mattered. He began embroidering a pattern of a golden dragon on red cloth. Maybe it could be put on a little sweater for the Wyvern while it was small? The thought filled Quenton with delight as he watched his fingers move the needle through the fabric.

And to his relief, the process went both faster and easier than before. Already the work was finer and more intricate than he’d been able to do previously. So, after having embroidered enough that he felt a difference he turned his attention to the egg.

The beautiful egg that contained his future badass monster companion lay on an ornate pillow like a black diamond, and he couldn’t wait to see it hatch. “First, we ought to take you to a better place to hatch than this room.” He had the vague notion that the wyvern should be able to glimpse the sky after it hatched, they did fly after all.

Quenton carefully lifted up the pillow with the egg on it and cradled it against his chest so it wouldn’t fall. “The gardens are a much better place to watch you come out.” He realized he had no actual guarantee that the egg would hatch imminently, but he chose to hope that it would as he began walking through the manor and out to the gardens.

 

---

 

As it turned out, watching an egg while the setting sun shone down on the gardens, insects buzzing and the gardener working on the rose bushes was rather boring. Incredibly boring in fact, which mixed with the heavy dose of excitement that Quenton felt as he stared down at the egg expectantly.

The dark egg was glinting in the fading sunlight as dusk began to arrive, the golden stripes shone but beyond that, it did naught but lay still as he watched. Quenton had been spending at least an hour in the garden while submerged in the shade. He had come to regret not taking his embroidery project with him, that would at least have kept him occupied while watching the egg.

But he didn’t dare run back into the manor to find something to keep his attention occupied, as the egg could in theory hatch while he was away. He had brought the book with him and while he had attempted to read it he was worried that if he got too engrossed in the book he would miss the moment of the hatching.

His fretting was interrupted as he heard the tinkling sound of laughter further down the gardens as Camilla and Candle appeared from around a cluster of chestnut trees. As she walked holding the little taloned hand of the kobold, she had a wide and seemingly genuine smile plastered on her face as she watched her companion walk like a toddler next to her.

“Ready Candle swing in three, two-” Camilla stopped as she saw Quenton and her face adopted a more sallow expression as she walked towards her. “Well good evening to you sister. I take it that your little order has arrived.” She gestured languidly with her free hand over at the egg and at the same time let go of Candle with her right hand.

“Yes, I’ve been waiting to see if it would hatch. I confess I am very…excited by the prospect.” Quenton said in the best imitation he could of proper diction while schooling his face into a neutral expression. He didn’t really know how to deal with Camilla, she was much harsher than what he was used to, and at the same time, she was a twelve-year-old. So hitting her back when she struck felt wrong.

Or maybe because she would totally own me in any “social conflict”. Quenton thought as she watched him like some kind of halfway interesting bug that she had encountered on the garden path. “Well, I hope that when it hatches you and that creature will be able to build a bond like Candle and I possess,” Camilla said as she let the kobold climb up into her arms and promptly glare at Quenton.

Candle was more than happy to display his sharpened teeth in a wicked grin, before mewling at Camilla who giggled and fed him a piece of meat. “You are a hungry one aren’t you Candle? Oh yes, you are, silly thing.” She cooed as the kobold contently nuzzled against Camilla’s throat while at the same time giving Quenton yet another blood-chilling stare as he smugly ate his treat.

Quenton really didn’t know how to deal with a twelve-year-old girl and her pet monster, as he had never had siblings before coming to this world nor much experience with girls. Girls are shockingly mean to one another. He’d unfortunately discovered while living as one.

“At any rate, I am sure your little wyvern will be a welcome addition to our household. If you can properly train him that is, but you shan’t struggle too much, right?” Camilla’s eyes gleamed as she knelt down to take a closer look at the egg while darkness began to truly fall over the gardens. She thwarted Candle’s attempt to latch onto the egg with his mouth and said in an admonishing tone. “No! You do not eat Briony’s things. Only Rosalind’s.” She added, more quietly.

Quenton watched as the kobold came with a rather horrific imitation of puppy eyes as he scrunched his potato head into a strange grimace. Camilla stared down at him for a few moments before she giggled. “Oh Candle, I’m not wroth with you.” She said while hugging the little gremlin after the failed attempt to admonish the little bastard.

Suddenly, he heard a slight woosh from the bushes behind him, and without thinking, he pushed Camilla so that she fell to the ground. Just in time to avoid a whooshing dagger flying past where her head had been.

“What are you-” Camilla was hissing in outrage until her face went white as she looked past Quenton. He spun around his dress constricting him and saw a figure rising from the bushes. The man was dressed in a combination of brown and dark green, with leaves of various types glued all over his clothes. In his left hand, he held a thin needle-like knife, and in the other one a wicked dagger that curved backward.

“A-a-assassin!” Camilla stuttered out a shriek while the assassin in question calmly stepped out of the bushes before exploding into action. First, he threw the needle knife at Camilla who threw herself to the right, the knife missing her by a hair’s breadth. He then pulled out a tiny flask that seemed to contain a scarlet liquid and leaped forward to strike at Quenton with the knife.

Oh god, oh god, please, please. His thoughts were drowned out as the man towered over him and slashed at him with the knife, Quenton stumbled out of the way shrieking as the dagger cut out a sliver of fabric from his dress.

The Assassin was not masked but he wore some kind of green war paint that might have been almost comical if it weren’t for his piercing gaze. A piercing gaze went from cold to pained as Quenton suddenly saw a flash of movement down by their legs accompanied by Camilla’s shout. “No, Candle!”

Candle had rushed into the shin of the Assassin and sunk his wicked teeth into his calf which caused the man to groan in pain, the red flask falling from his hand and shattering on the ground. He attempted to kick the little kobold off his leg but Candle clung to him like a vice while sinking his teeth deeper and deeper into the man.

His eyes darted between Camilla and Candle and he swallowed a scream before shouting, “Run!” He clumsily pulled the hatpin out of his bonnet and stepped forward, knowing somewhere instinctively that if they both ran the assassin would kill them easily, the garden was walled and the gate was far from them.

I have to…I have to fight. No choice. The thought skittered through his jumbled racing mind and he stumbled forward. His heart beat so quickly that Quenton thought he was already dying as he rushed in close stabbing at the man. He jabbed the hatpin forward his hand trembling from terror and adrenaline as the Assassin with a flick of his dagger, deflected the stab.

He smirked as the back of his hand met Quenton’s cheek, the force of the blow jarring Quenton’s teeth and sending him tumbling down, the taste of blood in his mouth.

Crumpled on the ground, he scrambled to get his feet back under him as he stared up at the Assassin. Who, with a vicious kick sent Candle careening against the garden wall. With a jolt of paralyzing terror, he realized he was going to die.

I can’t…can’t die like this! The thought raced through his mind as he stood dodging under an incoming slash from the Assassin as he spun back towards him blade raised. Hatpin met dagger and the hatpin was sliced through like a tissue, giving Quenton a split second in which he could step out of the path of the blade.

The assassin grunted and raised his leg, Quenton stumbled back unable to get away as the kick landed, taking the air from his lungs and leaving him sprawled on the grass.

He coughed, his stomach feeling as though it’d been lit aflame as he scrabbled at the ground for anything to help. Tears welled before he could stop them, leaving him gazing at the assassin through a blurry haze. Cold laughter echoed in the darkness followed by a knee being planted in his stomach. Quenton instinctively curled in, trying to breathe through the radiating pain.

Dazed, Quenton could feel the gloved fingers of the Assassin grasp his hair, raising his head and neck into the air as he pinned Quenton with his knee. His other hand brought the dagger to Quenton’s throat. He could hear a few garbled words from the figure above him. “May the four forgive me.” It sounded like.

Quenton clenched his eyes shut as the cool dagger dug into his neck, the shallow cut began to sting as the blade abruptly stopped. He opened his eyes to see a strange dark shape clamped around the assassin’s neck, making strange screeching cries.

My wyvern. The thought came unbidden and for a moment he stared in amazement before crawling backward and coughing up pure bile. His eyes swam with tears and his head rang as swearing mingled with intermittent screams filled the night. The smell of smoke and charred meat filled his nostrils and he wiped his eyes finally able to clearly see the Assassin.

He was flailing, desperately trying to get the wyvern off his neck, while it screamed and unleashed torrents of smoke from its mouth.

Oh boy, I missed the hatching. Quenton thought absurdly before the seriousness of the situation shook him out of his reverie as he unsteadily rose up from the grass. He stood still, trying to force himself forward. To force himself to do something, anything, to save himself and the creature who now fought for his life.

He clenched his fists and was about to do something desperate before Aliss came out of the bushes with a loud shriek and brained the assassin with an acreau paddle.

Quenton had to look away before the bat struck home and the sound of a horrible crunch filled the air, followed up by a muted thump as the Assassin fell to the earth.

When Quenton opened his eyes again it was to a panting Aliss, the bottom of her skirt dripping with blood. She was staring down at the corpse of the Assassin while leaning on her paddle, her eyes wide and face pale and waxy. But she turned to look at him before he could say anything comforting.

“M-my Lady, you’re hurt.” She stepped forward at the same time as Quenton felt a small head brush against his legs. The Wyvern was brushing his head against his legs, almost akin to a cat, but Quenton forced himself to pay attention to Aliss rather than the sensation of the little monster climbing up along his dress.

“I’m…I’m…” he tried to say he was fine but he couldn’t force the words past his lips. He looked at Aliss and then Camilla who cradled Candle against her and rushed over to the two of them and hissed out. “We need to go! There’s shouting from the manor, we need to flee before another one comes to kill us.”

Her voice made it clear that she was not interested in arguing. Aliss on the other hand, maybe because of the dire situation, or maybe because of the stress of having killed someone, spoke up. “With respect Lady Camilla. I think we should go back and see if we can’t help. Abandoning the manor and running into the countryside while alone and unprotected would be most unwise.”

Quenton noticed that she was gritting her teeth while looking down at Camilla, who to his surprise looked more terrified than angry.

“I think Aliss is right. Camilla, hide here in the gardens while Aliss and I go to the manor. Wait for ten minutes and if neither of us comes back, run.”

I am not sure if that was a good idea or not, but standing around here probably is worse. Quenton thought to himself as to his surprise Camilla gave him a long wide-eyed look before nodding and rushing over towards the bushes. Aliss looked at Quenton with a determined look in her eyes that he returned with a look of uncertainty equal to her determination. And then the two of them walked up towards the manor. Where Quenton too would hear shouts of pain and surprise as the two of them got closer.

---

The manor was in chaos as Quenton and Aliss stepped through one of the smaller entrances into the main hall and saw two corpses lie by the stairway. Each of them was dressed in the same green-brown clothing as the Assassin that Aliss had killed, but one of them had a crossbow bolt sticking out of his neck and the other seemed to have been bludgeoned.

A portly man dressed in a grey west, white shirt, and a pair of thick woolen pants stood by the stairway and whistled as he cleaned a blackjack held in his right hand. The man had a round face and an impressive caterpillar mustache and he tipped his small bowler hat to the two of them. “Miss Doyle, milady. I figured you for dead,” he looked down at Aliss' stained skirt. “Seems you two have seen a bit of trouble.”

He casually pointed at Quenton’s bloodied face and then to the acreau bat that Aliss clutched in her hands. Aliss seemed to be far less patient with this man than she had been with Camilla as she barked. “Harold, why are you just standing there?! We are under attack!”

The man called Harold held up his hand with his palm facing outward in a semi-placating gesture. “Were under attack.” He drawled smugly before continuing his explanation. “I caught these lads sneaking up the stairs and the rest of them were taken after stabbing poor Jonah as he walked out from his lordship’s study. Unlucky for him and for them too I wager, they didn’t seem to know that milord was over at the chariot races this evening.”

Aliss stumbled back a step and she stammered out in shock. “Jonah is dead?” Quenton on his end struggled to connect the name to a face before he remembered. Jonah was the name of that old servant man who helped serve dinner in the evenings. He hadn’t even noticed that he had a name, nor could he actually remember hearing it stated before now.

A man living in the same house as me was killed and I didn’t even notice that he was there. Quenton felt his mind revolt at the thought while the wyvern climbed up to his neck and wrapped its wings around him.

He softly stroked the wyvern’s leathery wing and leaned against the wall. “Is it over, then?” He asked.

“For now,” Harold said, smiling grimly.