One does not simply walk into the sewers.

  First of all, it was technically zoned as a Copper-ranked dungeon, making it inaccessible for everyone else except adventurers, sewer workers, and the Dungeon Watch. Adamantine Bastion's City Guard could also enter, but their obligations lay elsewhere. Preferably, a more pleasantly scented elsewhere.

  Gutters and grated drains at the Topside leading to sewers narrowed quickly, making monster attacks and invading foreign forces using sewers as an attack route an interesting challenge. Labyrinthine structure with wider channels, sluices, and side tunnels complicates underground traversal further, easily getting people lost.

  To return to the Topside, Seventh had to walk upwards for a mile to find an access tunnel to a ladder room, climb the ladder, and finally walk another tunnel to knock on a heavy iron-enforced door. The tunnels and the ladder created an odour lock that spared the civilians— and the guards standing outside— from the foul smells normal to the hardworking adventurers.

  All in all, a proper nuisance when you have a sackful of nest-loot to carry, as Seventh had. He had simply tied the sack with a rope and hoisted it up the ladder while muttering obscenities and curses upon the architects of the city. Both the sack and the rope came from his voidspace, filled with useful tools and equipment, but he couldn't store what the Necromancer had found from the burnt remains of the nest.

  After loudly knocking on the door, he waited for the familiar metallic clicks and clangs, and the locking bar moving and scraping the other side of the door. Fang and all the other undead were stored away, and Seventh took a handful of steps back out of politeness— smells and all.

  The door slowly swung open, combining a warm lanternlight with Seventh's magical one, bathing the short tunnel with illumination.

  "Ey! Come on out Seventh, ain't we got all day time 'ere to tilly dally." The speaker was an older guard, Tilly. She was in her late forties, with short, cropped blonde hair and a folksy accent from somewhere north, closer to the Endreach mountain range in the north-east. Her toned face was grinning at Seventh, making her wrinkly skin crease even more. Her brimmed helmet hung from her old and cracked belt.

  "I thought you tilly and dally all day long. Ain't that where you got your name?" Seventh asked teasingly.

  "Ye, ye. I... aw shite, wha' happened to you?" The jovial mood soured as the veteran guard saw Seventh's state, soot-covered, bloodied, and sweaty. Nothing like the slightly fragrant new adventurer she and her current partner had seen the last few days.

  A helmeted head appeared behind the doorframe. The younger girl peered at Seventh, and her young, freckled face turned into instant trepidation. What Seventh had pieced together from off-handed remarks, the girl— young woman really— had been a guard for a grand total of two weeks, since the day she turned eighteen.

  To Seventh, she was a young brat who should train for a year or two before applying for such a dangerous profession, but at the same time, she technically had a seniority over him.

  It didn't bother him. Much.

  "Sorry," Seventh said apologetically. "Do you want the bad news, good news, or really good news first?"

  "Just rip off the bandage, no hassle. The bad news," Tilly said. Her hand had already moved on her sword's hilt, eyes scanning the darkness behind Seventh.

  "There's a veltid nest in the sewers."

  Tilly slowly bared the first few inches of her blade while hissing, "Then focking stop lollygagging and come over 'ere! Idiot!"

  Nell's face paled, and she opened the door a fraction to let Seventh out. In the daylight, their armor was more visible, and the brassards on their left shoulders gleamed with the city's insignia: a grey castle on a green teardrop.

  They had better armor than the City Watch, light chestplates with armored boots and gauntlets, while City Watch usually provided only leather armor and a helmet if they were lucky.

  The door slammed shut, and after the two guards quickly secured it, Tilly turned to Seventh. "And wha's the good and gooder news?"

  Seventh tried to de-escalate the situation with a relaxed hand wave and a smile. The guards weren't impressed. "You are going to get hazard pay when you check it out, and I already took care of it."

  Suspicion flashed on Tilly before she schooled her face back to a carefully cultivated, bored guard's standard expression. "Ya? The greenest grass leaf on the turd in the sewers? Took 'care' of it?"

  She could have left the airquotes out...

  "Yep. Undead horde, Alchemist's Fire, and good old halberd work. Took out around three dozen, and a Juvenile Queen," Seventh said with pride and handed over the sack. "I even got some eggs."

  He had hoped a sackful of veltid eggs would pay well for his troubles, but those thoughts were promptly squished.

  With a barely suppressed squeak, Nell took a hasty backstep straight to a wall, and eyes bulging stared at Seventh like he was a madman.

  Tilly eyed the sack and slowly looked up to meet Seventh's questioning eyes. "Erh, Seventh? I gotta know... Wha' exactly, are ya planning to do with 'em? They are highly illegal and all..."

  Seventh sucked air between his teeth and grimaced. He felt a cold bead of sweat traveling down his dirty brow. "I was... going to... present these eggs... as evidence with a map to the nest?"

  "Uh-huh, good enough answer. We're gonna dispose of these, and ya ain't gonna do shite like this again, ya get me?"

  "Yes, ma'am!" Seventh's answer came out loud and strong, a reaction from Tilly's steely eyes and tone.

  Nell roused from her initial shock, straightening her slightly oversized brimmed helmet and speaking up. "Bu-but ma'am! He broke the law! We're obligated to..."

  "To protect and serve!" Tilly interrupted. "Here we hav' an adventurer, fresh off a hellhole filled with veltids, sharing his experiences, bringing scouting info, helping us, and ya wanna chain him up? Fo' not knowing the law? Remember wha' I told ya 'bout the black and white and grey?"

  Nervously fidgeting with her sword's pommel, Nell straightened her back, getting some voice into her reply. "Yes, ma'am. World is shit and piss, don't mix them unless you want piss-shit-fuck." She even blushed a little while swearing.

  Seventh approved the loudish reply and the spine on the kid, but still... Way too young and green.

  Seventh handed the sack and a wax tablet with the sewer map and instructions to the cleared nest. "You need help? I can guide you to the site." He side-eyed the nervous rookie. "Wouldn't hurt to have an extra pair of hands- or a horde."

  To Nell's apparent relief, Tilly grunted and shook her head. "Nah. If it's cleared, it's cleared." She pulled a piece of parchment from her belt and scribbled something quickly with coal-stick.

  "Run to the Guild and inform 'em of the situation. Nell, ya run to the barracks. Report to Captain Rowe. Get some lads and lasses 'ere for a sweep 'n clear."

  She looked at Seventh, trying to decipher the gobblinscratch of a writing on the parchment and the slightly pale guard. "TODAE!"

  Seventh didn't stay to argue or ask more questions. His legs had really made the decision and were already leading him towards the Guild.

  Even with the gambeson and leather armor, he could pick up a decent pace and keep it up even on the slight upwards slope, all thanks to his Lesser Stamina. He could run from the far end to the far end of the city before feeling the burn. Agility in action, he couldn't wait for it to catch up with his other Attributes.

  Now that his Might had finally ranked up, he should test his new strength in the training yard— see how his swings had changed and maybe give the neglected weight equipment some use. The Book of the Church claimed that every rank almost doubled an adventurer’s strength and speed.

  Hyperbole, as usual. In reality, the boost was far more modest— roughly a third more strength compared to the previous rank.

  Arriving at the Adventurer's Guild, Seventh hadn't even broken a proper sweat and slipped into the building. His day had been cut short due to the whole bug encounter, and it was barely afternoon. The counter was busy, and five clerks were servicing a snaking line of adventurers.

  Making sure he had Tilly's parchment in view, Seventh confidently strode past the line straight to the clerks. Sadly, Cexilia wasn't around, so Seventh just went to the cornermost worker without a proper inspection, and he got a displeasing surprise.

  The clerk was Rodmund, Rod for short if you wanted to annoy the sniveling ladder-climber. He was the pudgy man who had immediately ratted Seventh's intentions out when he visited the Guild the first time.

  The older human male Rod had been servicing gave Seventh a dirty look before noticing the parchment and groaned loudly. Judging from the leather armor and multitude of knives on his belt, the Rogue sidestepped to give Seventh some room and leaned casually at the counter.

  "Rod, a pleasure to see you," Seventh said— trying for a civil voice— as he handed over the parchment.

  The man kept his business-casual smile, but Seventh noticed a twitch downwards at the corner of his mouth. "Mister Seven. I believe you have already been instructed to clean up before entering the Guild premises? We do not want to make another incident, do we?" He cast an appraising look over Seventh and found him wanting.

  The first day Seventh had been sewer-delving, he had returned still freshly chunked from the water, and a group of lunerian adventurers had risen a stink because of his fragrance. The wolfkin had extremely sensitive noses, and Seventh had to apologize profusely for his misbehavior.

  Snobby little shit. He's going to spin this to his advantage somehow.

  Garth had, for obvious reasons, a professional relationship with all staff of the guild, especially the clerks. Seventh had heard some gossip when the paperwork had been delivered, and he was present. The gossip was that Rod had been aiming for a supervisor position for half a year now and was eager to get more and more recognition out of the guild. It was a partial reason why he was so disliked. The main reason was his elitist attitude, believing himself to be the best of them all.

  "Priority monster sighting, veltids in the sewers under Western Lip. I have an emergency notice from the Dungeon Watch, and they are already en route to the scene."

  The closest adventurers turned towards Seventh at the "veltid", and a wave of whispers ensued. The monsters were hated and loved in equal measure. Hated because they were savage monsters that had to be cut root and stem from this realm. Loved because the extermination quests were extremely lucrative if there was a major infestation.

  Professionalism took over Rod, and he quickly read Tilly's goblin scratches. "Understood. Preliminary report?"

  "Steeltail Veltids, around three dozen with Juvenile Queen. The nest has been cleared, but the Watch will probably secure and scout the surrounding area anyway," Seventh said, and placed a wax tablet on the counter. "I have a Bronze rank, Identify if needed, and a crude sketch of the route leading to the nest. I can provide a better one if needed."

  Rod lifted his head, a flash of doubt in his face. “Nest cleared? Has the Watch already entered the sewers?”

  “Oh, no. I did that myself.”

  Suddenly, Seventh became very self-conscious as a roomful of people slowly measuring, weighing, and appraising him. The Rogue, whose turn Seventh had rudely interrupted, looked him up and down, furrowing his brow and raising a suspicious eyebrow.

  “Yeah, right. Cleared a nest himself. Didn't know we had a bloody hero in town.”

  “Doesn't even look like he has been in a fight...”

  “... just a Bronzer, no way...”

  “... pompous liar...”

  Most of the conversation was in whispers, but some weren't too careful with their opinions in the waiting hall. Seventh's neck hair started to rise. He didn't care a rat's ass what was being said— well, being called a liar irked him. Just a little bit— but everybody was watching him.

  It felt... displeasing being out in the open. Like somebody could see inside of him and pry his secrets loose with a gaze alone.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  With a Skill, anything could be possible. That elf guy had scraped uncomfortably close, and Seventh dreaded the Identify he'd have to go through after reaching Iron rank.

  Surprisingly, Rod didn't join the chorus of suspicion but placed a familiar Nexus Stone on the counter. “Mister Seven, if you please. We have open contracts for all veltid variants, so please, could you return the quests?”

  Ever the politician, Rod didn't offer Seventh rope to hang himself or a helping hand. Just a neutral part like the Guild ever was.

  Seventh placed a hand on the stone and spoke he command phrases to activate the magical item. Confirming the information with the corresponding magical mirror, Rod gave Seventh a look that bordered on respect, even awe.

  His voice was just a fractionally higher than needed to be, carrying even to the furthest corner of the quiet room. “Quest confirmed with the total count of thirty-four Steeltail Veltids, juvenile, and a single Steeltail Queen, Juvenile. Credit, voucher, or gold, mister Seven?”

  “Gold,” Seventh said as he looked over the silencing crowd. “And get someone from the abattoir to get this. I want a price estimate and put it in an auction.”

  Purple portal flashed as the Queen's head dropped to the floor, splashing coagulated insides on the clean tiles. The body had been too large to lift and store.

  The other clerks tried to get the business running as Rod counted a small pile of gold in front of Seventh. Their tries were valiant, but in the end, moot. Adventurers broke from the queue to poke and prod at the giant head in the middle of the reception hall, while some huddled up, planning a quick adventure to the sewers.

  Some eyed Rod counting coins hungrily, shifting their eyes at Seventh, making different kinds of estimates.

  As a professional, Rod hadn't voiced the sum out loud, but the running rate for veltids was five gold, fifty for the Queen. Totaling at two hundred and twenty gold, the coins were neatly stored in a small sack and handed to Seventh with a receipt. To his surprise, Rod leaned back, opened a drawer, and handed the necromancer two spell scrolls.

  “A token of gratitude from swift action and unwavering bravery: Clean-scrolls.” The clerk's slight smirk returned to his face.

  Seventh had to nudge his attitude towards Rod a tad. He didn't know the man had any humor in him besides the humerus. “Thanks, Rodmund. I'll be at Corpse Flower if the Guild has more questions.”

  “Very well, sir. Have a nice day.”

  Walking away from the counter, leaving the head behind him, Seventh heard the murmuring return.

  “What's that guild?”

  “He's going down...”

  “Isn't that... a Necromancer guild?”

  “Necromancer?”

  “Necromancer.”

  “Disgraceful to use bodies...”

  “Coward.”

  It wasn't Seventh's fault that the general populace didn't see the usefulness of having an army in their back pocket. Old relics of honor and glory were still ingrained into the society, and single combat with your own skills was seen as the zenith of personal power.

  Summoners, Beastmasters, Conjurers, and especially Necromancers were seen as cowards at best, foul heretics at worst. Thankfully, in the Kingdom of Iron, it was perfectly legal to use any and all Skills gained from Classes according to the Church.

  Some northern kingdoms in the Valeria continent, on the other hand, were more pious. For example, the Radiant Concord, a small country tugged between bigger kingdoms, had banned necromancy in the pain of death in their lands, and Necromancers were banned from entering the Church run religious state. Thousands of miles away, it was something Seventh didn't need to worry about.

  “Hello, Papa,” Seventh greeted the untiring clerk of the Necromancer's guild and Archives before scuttling to the table in the reading corner. It had been his primary spot for Scholar practice and reading since his own room didn't have enough space for anything bigger than a night table.

  While he was taking parchment and inks out of his voidspace, a familiar voice echoed beyond the tall bookshelves, “Seventh? Is that you I hear?”

  The Guildmaster of Corpse Flower appeared with a delighted surprise plastered on his face. “I wasn't expecting you to visit until next week!” his expression wavered for a moment, him seeing Seventh's bloodied attire and disheveled state.

  “Well, there were some complications in the sewers. Veltid nest,” Seventh said.

  “Ah. You reported it?”

  “Yep. First the watch, then the Guild. They're probably scrambling around right now, making new quests and such.”

  Garth nodded approvingly. “Well done. Did you get some of the veltids?”

  “Most of them. I have a handful of reanimated, some in okayish condition, and more mangled bodies in my inventory. You want some?”

  “I wasn't talking about reanimation,” Garth said. “I meant, did you fight with them?” He eyed meaningfully Seventh's shoulder.

  “They tried roof-ambush, but Fang noticed then. Actually...” A purple portal opened, and Fang walked out with a small wheel of cheese. “We dispersed the first group of them and eradicated the nest.”

  “Oh?” Garth crossed his arms. “All this using only Soldier skills?”

  The guildmaster had instructed Seventh to use only his weakest Skills to gain experience with them. Raising corpses was fine, but the whole reason Seventh was in the newbie zone was to get used to using physical Skills.

  “Hells no, the moment I saw them, I started blasting with magic and ushered my minions on them. I'm not going to take risks with veltids,” Seventh said proudly. He wasn't sure if Garth would be pleased or not. He had more or less thrown his training regimen out of the window, but on the other hand, the guildmaster was a reasonable man.

  The smile rising on the older man's face told Seventh he was right. “Good to hear you have a modicum of sense in your head. Can't really say the same about your plans to start writing while you are stinking up the whole place,” Garth said, and moved his gaze between Fang and Seventh, his nose twitching ever so slightly. “Both of you.”

  Seventh lifted a finger in a “wait for a moment” gesture as he rummaged in his satchel. Not all items were wise to store in inventory Skills if there was a delay between the Skill's activation and the item appearing. Seventh had potions and some basic equipment in his satchel, among other things, like the two Clean-scrolls he had just acquired from upstairs.

  He presented the magical scrolls to Garth with a smug smile. “I actually got these from Rod, Clean-scrolls. He called it a token of appreciation.”

  “And you didn't use them before coming here because...?”

  “I, uh.” Seventh chuckled, embarrassed. “I don't know how these work.”

  “Ah.” Garth's voice was tiredly neutral. He had already learned that Seventh had some glaring holes in general knowledge— especially in common sense.

  “It's quite easy. Just feed some mana into the parchment, and the magic activates. Channeling more mana quickens the process, but doesn't affect the effect. Mana for the spell comes from you, so make sure you have a full pool before activating scrolls. Otherwise, the effect will be reduced, or the spell can even fail.”

  Seventh did as instructed, activating the scroll without opening it. Cold blue glow emanated from inside, revealing mirrored arcane runes and symbols on the parchment. A gentle breeze blew past Seventh, knocking effectively loose dirt, blood, and all the other grime he had accumulated, finally blowing off the burning ash the scroll turned into.

  Taking a sniff of his clothes, Seventh handed the other scroll to Fang, who mimicked he process, but it looked noticeably weaker. Yellow splashes of veltid blood were still on his fur in small patches. The ratkin's ears rose up, and he snarled at the dissipating ash.

  “What?” Seventh asked his minion.

  Fang made a swirling motion with his fingers, retched, made an X symbol with his arms, and finally waved his hands limply above his head.

  “You're... angry that it took your mana?”

  ALL of my mana, Fang signed by stretching his arms wide like he was telling an outlandish fishing story.

  “I'll get you some potions later, okay?”

  Garth watched the exchange from the sidelines and started to drum his fingers on his folded arms. It was a trait Seventh recognized: the guildmaster was onto something.

  “Say, why would Fang need mana potions? As far as I know— I, the guildmaster and your mentor— he doesn't have skills, and you probably don't intend him to carry a lot of scrolls?”

  Seventh cleared his throat with a cough and carefully crafted a carefree expression on his face.

  Time to roll the dice.

  “He needs mana for his Skills, of course. Skills from his classes. Which he has. And I have known about them. All this time.”

  Nailed it!

  Garth's finger-drumming stopped. “Uh, huh,” he said, and turned towards Fang. “He's lying, isn't he?”

  The ratkin looked up innocently, clutching his cheese— his payment for the ruse— and shook his head. He even gave a warm smile communicating trust and honesty. It came out as a creepy grin.

  Garth narrowed his eyes before rolling them over. “Ugh, adventurers... always thinking everyone is after their oh so unique and special builds. Come on, Fang, hop to the table. I want to measure your Mana Potion conversion matrix's efficiency.”

  “The what now?” Seventh asked, confused.

  “How well the potion converts itself to mana inside Fang. Undead don't have natural mana regeneration, as you should know, and like the healing effects don't work on them as well as on the living, the Mana Potions might have some adverse or diluted effects that I want to check out. For the betterment of magic.”

  “Ah.” Seventh nodded and continued to place his drawing implements on the table. “Why didn't you just say so?”

  “I did,” Garth said, smugly. “Someone is just behind on his night studies.”

  It was Seventh's turn to roll his eyes. He suspected that Garth spoke with confusing terms just to make Seventh ask about them, making him want to read more magic theory. Annoyingly, it was working. He just had so much to read and learn. Mostly from the children's books.

  Like the other times Seventh had visited his guild, Garth made different measurements with Fang and muttered almost incoherent research mumbo-jumbo while making detailed notes. The instruments he used ranged from different-sized and shaped rocks to delicate glass lenses and metallic rods.

  Seventh usually used Garth's research time to either read or, like now, improve his Cartography. He had bought a multitude of colored inks, parchment, vellum, paper, wax tablets, quills with different tips, a portable desk, and his first and only magical item.

  Some could say it was insane to spend twenty gold on a glorified ink remover and another one for the inks and parchment, but it was an investment in Seventh's Skill progression. He didn't have a problem.

  Honestly.

  Pulling out his simplified general map of the sewers, Seventh added the areas he had scouted earlier with some simple double lines for the tunnels and occasional markers for details like sluices, side channels, and suspected routes. It needed to be functional, not pretty.

  His general map updated, Seventh decided to make, for practice, a detailed map of the nest-cave. He went all out. Exquisitely, painstakingly drawn borders in proper scale. Delicate etching and shadowing to bring out depth. Colored egg-mounds, yellow to indicate the largest combat clusters, and finally, a small rat with an Alchemist's Fire bottle behind a rock, ready to throw.

  During the battle, his death went unnoticed, but at least here would be a small tribute to the rat that helped bring in the victory. A familiar pressure built up at the corner of Seventh's mind, and he carefully withdrew his quilt for not to smudge his masterpiece.

  That makes three Agility Skills, Seventh thought smile on his lips as information trickled into his foremind with the Skill-box. Finally, having all the needed Skills for proper training, the adventurer way, made him... happy.

  It was a feeling he hadn't been used to. Warm lightlesness spread around him and filled his head with elation.

  Not even a careful retch and poke at his leg brought him down from his happiness-high. Fang had noticed Seventh's odd mood and had come to check his master's general health.

  His whiskers twitched as he sniffed him out and checked the open inkjars. The ratkin raised his eyebrow— or at least moved his fur around his brow— and made a chugging motion.

  “No, I did not drink any ink. I'm happy because I finally have a third Agility Skill,” Seventh said incredulously.

  Fang stayed skeptical, but Garth congratulated him over the counter. “Fantastically marvelous! You didn't say you already had two before! What kind of Skills?”

  Seventh briefly explained Combat Footwork and Fine Drafting to Garth. The older man stroked his chin, nodding approvingly.

  “Sounds good! One for combat, one for downtime. Scholar Class doesn't count towards your Adventurer Rank, but all in all, you're barrelling towards the Iron rank like a ballistabolt! Soon you'll be a real adventurer!”

  “Erh... aren't I already an adventurer?”

  Garth flicked his wrist. “Sure, whatever makes you sleep at night.” A guildmastery grin rose to his lips. “Bit seriously, while Bronze rank is good and all, the true grind starts at Iron. There, we see who is fit for the life of danger and who isn't. That's when the Guild bothers to grant you the Adventurer's Mark.”

  Those were the small discs and bars of metal adventurers used to identify themselves in places without Nexus Access to the Guild. Seventh had seen Janiq and Nevin use them when entering the city.

  Garth sounded like he was yelling wisdom down from the ivory tower, but maybe it had some true insight in it. Bronze rank quests were simple gruntwork. Go from A to B, kill C amount of monsters, and return to D. Iron rank quests were more nuanced. Protection details, hunting for dangerous beasts, and weeks-long dungeon diving.

  Not all upper-ranking quests were glamorous adventures, though. A common quest for Steel— Seventh knew this as D— was to fill up magical lanterns leading towards the surface from the dungeon. It paid badly and took a long time, making it a grand candidate for punishment duty for that rank.

  “Now there, don't take my hazing too seriously, boy. I can count on one hand the number of adventurers who would even think about clearing a veltid nest single-handedly, not to talk about actually doing it,” Garth said. “Since you have something to celebrate, here.”

  A hefty, slightly moldy tome slammed on the counter. “You can borrow the Light-tome for weekend study. Just try not to get beer on it, okay?”

  That was a reasonable fear since Seventh had yet to find other lodging out of the Bloated Badger Tavern. He had paid back West Wind by covering a portion of their tap and had just simply stayed at the inn. It wasn't the most glamorous or the quietest place to spend the night, but the food was good, and the rates were reasonable.

  If only he could talk Annise into not taxing him for every spellcast. Learning Light over the weekend would cost him dearly.

  “I promise nothing. My landlady will probably stand over me with a keg and pour a glass after every failed cast,” Seventh said.

  Garth looked at Seventh, puzzled, and worriedly glanced at the tome. “That's... one way to learn magic under duress. But why though?”

  Seventh shrugged. ”She has rules about casting spells in her tavern. Apparently, Pyromancers cause property damage every year, and she got fed up with the costs. Now she fines all spellcasting.”

  “I highly doubt you will cause any lasting structural damage with Light. Maybe a burnt retina or two, but if you manage to crack a beam with it, let me know how.”

  “Sure. How was Fang? Anything I need to know?”

  Garth blew out a raspberry. “No, just a bunch of normal reactions you'd expect from an advanced undead. No idea, though, how he actually keeps the mana from dissolving. You fed Fang any Essence Stones while you were down?”

  “No? Would that do something like that?”

  “Nah,” Garth said with a grin. “It just sounds like something stupid you would do.”

  With such warming words of encouragement, Garth ushered Seventh out after he had hastily collected his things. Only after walking a couple of blocks with a heavy Light-tome, Seventh realized the guildmaster had shoo'd him out so he could close up the Archives early.

  They hadn't even looked over the veltid corpses!

  "Ah, godsdamnit." Seventh cursed. Garth hadn't said anyhing about Fang's Classes and Skills either. Hopefully, it was nothing too weird. Garth would have said something or at least looked him more funnily.

  Now, already walking towards his home, Seventh was more interested about learning more magic.