In the Realm of One Thousand Bleedings, Ra’Zor, a very different scene was playing out.

Asadel watched as sparks sprayed across the workshop every time the heavy stone wheel made contact with the sword’s edge. Of all the tools in the shop, the wheel was the coolest, the foot-powered tool blended right into the aesthetic of his new world. It was perfect. From the smith’s leather apron to his huge, calloused hands deftly guiding the metal over the well at just the right angle, everything fit.

“Hey, old man. Get a move on. You can’t go any faster?” Asadel didn’t actually want the old man to go faster. He was enjoying every minute of this, and the blacksmith in front of him was the only one in town who could actually achieve the perfect balance between sharpness and durability on his sword edge. He could take a whole day doing it, and Asadel would gladly wait.

It even showed up in appraisals, acknowledged by the system as superior work.

Demonbane Claymore

This claymore is crafted out of superior materials and is specifically designed to put down demonic threats. The monastery-smelted steel and demon-specific enchantments add weight and lethality to the weapon, allowing for increased efficacy against armored foes.

+25 percent damage against demons, +10 percent damage against other unholy foes

Stat Increases from Blademaster Class: +5 STR, +5 VIT

Durability: 250/250

Keen Edge: Your weapon has been maintained and sharpened by a true master craftsman.

+10 percent Damage

10 percent Durability Loss On Use

This effect decreases as the blade wears, and is entirely removed when the blade reaches 90 percent durability.

The blacksmith was only one part of the charm to the world. Asadel had been shocked to learn that while Ra’Zor was called the demon death battleground, the part he was sent to was quite nice. He slammed down from orbit onto cobblestone streets surrounded by beautiful buildings. Before he got his bearings, he was found and trained by the Estiguan church, a holy order dedicated to heroes.

Together with other reincarnators and battle-hardened heroes native to the world, he held back the unending evil of the sanguine plains. He was building up his power until he could one day charge through the obsidian marshes to decapitate the demon lord with the edge of his sword.

The planet had everything. When he wanted grimdark battles, they weren’t hard to find. But he could also buy ice cream from pretty shop girls and sit on benches in parks. It was pretty much the best of both worlds.

“I told ya, boy. I tell you every time, in fact. You want a good edge? A good edge takes time. Ya want it to go faster? Take it somewhere else. I swear to ya, if you wasn’t a hero and all, I’d wipe my hands of you,” the blacksmith grunted. His voice was just like the anvil, precise and harsh.

Perfect. He’s perfect. Everything is perfect.

“Sure thing, old man. And then what would happen to your reputation? The blacksmith who can’t sharpen swords well enough for heroes, they’d say.” Asadel smiled.

The blacksmith finished stropping the sword. “This sword, I bet you swing it like this, right?” The old man raised the heavy blade with one hand, making a wide orbit of razor-sharp death over his head before bringing it down hard and stopping the motion of the sword in some imaginary foe in front of him.

Asadel nodded.

“No surprise. That’s how all ya kids are. Flashy. Now look.” He gripped the sword with his offhand on the unsharpened portion of the blade in front of the cross guard, then used the choked-up grip to deliver a series of devastating-looking stabs and hacks to the same invisible demon. “This kind of sword? It’s got reach. It can be swung. But it’s more than that. Use it properly.”

The blacksmith shook his head and tossed the claymore back to Asadel. Risking his fingers, Asadel caught it out of the air, awed.

Ding!

Quest Discovered!

Bladesmith Battlemaster

In the village of Elké, there’s an old blacksmith who is more than he seems. Can you learn who he is, and gain access to all he knows?

Rewards: 2 WIS, Access to AA class blade training

Perfect. It’s all so perfect.

“Sure thing, old man. I’ll be sure to remember.” If the quest was any indication, it was time for Asadel to move from the “bantering jackass” phase of his relationship with the blacksmith to the “reformable, teachable jackass” section of their acquaintance. There were too many heroes in this world, necessary due to the sheer enormity of the threat. An AA class trainer might be just the thing he needed to differentiate himself, to make himself special.

Asadel tossed a few gold on the counter, which the blacksmith picked up wordlessly before retreating back to his work. Between a successful dungeon run in the morning and a huge lunch from the pretty waitress at the café this morning, there was only one thing left to round out Asadel’s day.

Soups. He needed soups.

The tavern master slammed a huge bowl of soup down in front of Asadel, who immediately began blowing it off. The soups on this planet were unbelievable. Asadel had tried dozens of them, sampled soups beyond counting, and every single one was incredible in every way. It wasn’t that the food in general wasn’t great. If Asadel wanted a steak, he’d order one, and it would be a great steak. But the poorest Ra’Zor peasant could serve you a soup that would bring tears to your eyes.

And that was before you got to specialists.

Of all the soups in all of Ra’Zor, this tavern’s soup was the best. It was called a bread soup, which had initially sounded weird before he realized that somehow the inhabitants of this wonderful land had developed bread that got perfectly soggy in a soup without falling apart. The soup was tender meat, perfectly cooked vegetables, and a broth that might as well have been liquid magic considering how it felt rolling down his throat. Paired with slice after slice of perfect, bakery-fresh bread, the soup tasted like it was five hundred calories a spoon, and he loved every minute of it.

Ding!

Gluttonous Strength Activated.

When Asadel had gone over potential classes with his advisor, Blademaster stood out from the rest when the advisor had mentioned it was one of the few classes that drew its power from food. Every meal he ate gave him a buff, and the better the meal, the stronger the benefits. Classes with food-based skills were reliant on food, and had to eat more of it. Asadel actually loved eating. It wasn’t a hard choice.

He dug into his soup. It really was a perfect day, except for two things.

First, the old man was right. He did like to move fast. He did want easy power. But he had been dumped onto a world where he was special, sure, but not unique. Heroes were known quantities to this world. He wasn’t a world-saving genius by default. Here, he was just a super-weapon among a big group of superweapons, and he was tired of being aimed.

The second problem was another thing the old blacksmith had been right about. To the inhabitants of this world, he was a boy. Which meant that every time he wanted to sprint into real battles, to see real danger, they’d stop him. They would tell him it was too much, too soon. That he needed time to grow. Then he should go to a safe dungeon, or a safe minor battle nobody expected to lose. Would he get to swing a sword? Sure. But the real adventures were being had by older, stronger reincarnators. He was out in the cold.

“You all right there, Derek? You look sort of zoned out.”

Brennan. It had to be freaking Brennan.

When Derek Cyrus arrived on Ra’Zor, one of the first things he had acquired with his money was a name change crystal. Derek was boring. Asadel was exciting. He was a badass knight. Derek went out the window, and now nobody even remembered his original name. Except for Brennan. Brennan remembered.

Asadel turned to see his nemesis, fully clad in gleaming boiled-leather armor covered in reinforcing runes. As always, he had on his brace of daggers; six daggers, each crafted from the bones of different demons he had slayed. Holy monk steel on the Demonbane Claymore was good, but the daggers were the real deal. So was Brennan.

He had been here for years and had helped turn back the tide of the war among the first off-world warriors to have set down on this planet. He was strong, fast, and everything a hero could be.

If Asadel was powerful, Brennan was practically invincible. The people on Ra’Zor worshiped him. He got to go everywhere Asadel wanted to go and do everything Asadel wanted to do. People looked at Brennan exactly how Asadel wanted to be looked at. And now whatever scraps of admiration people might have saved for Asadel were thrown at Brennan’s feet as he deigned to sit down at the table of a lesser hero.

Worst of all, he was nice. Even the wrong name thing was a byproduct of his niceness; he was the kind of guy who always made a point to remember names, and just never successfully adjusted to Derek’s new one.

“That soup, Derek, is a great choice. I’m going to get the same thing.” Behind Brennan, a waitress heard Brennan’s words and rushed off to get the great hero’s soup. “I heard you did well in the dungeon today. Really well!”

“Oh, you did?” Of all the things Asadel didn’t need, this big brother act Brennan seemed to love was by far the least welcome. “Who said?”

“Artemis.”

Of course she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Artemis was a native and pretty much Asadel’s handler. She was also, like most women, clearly in love with Brennan. Was she hot? Asadel couldn’t deny it. Would she give him the time of day? Not with Brennan in the wings, outshining him in every way.

“Yeah, sounds like her,” Asadel said gloomily.

“Learn from her, Derek. She’s a great trainer. And she says you’re coming along fast,” Brennan’s tone was warm and uplifting. In Asadel’s ears, it was filled with mockery.

Fast being a relative term, of course. You jackass.

“Sure. Got it.”

“I can’t stay, I’m afraid. I have to meet with my team.” Brennan rose from the table. Asadel could hear the rest of Brennan’s elite squad arriving through the door. “I just wanted to stop by and give you some encouragement. Good job!”

He slapped Asadel on the shoulder before moving off to join his party.

You can shove your encouragement up your ass.

Even the world’s best soup had lost its flavor for Asadel after that. He gulped the rest of it down to the sounds of excited murmurs from the natives about Brennan’s presence. The perfect night was ruined.

Asadel could have lived with the priesthood, who offered reasonably good lodgings for free. But Asadel had long since decided he’d rather live closer to the action in town, and had used a good chunk of his wages on a long-term lease of a small house in town. On his way out of the tavern, he tossed a gold to the tavern master and received a bottle of the town’s best rum-like alcohol in return. He needed something to wash the taste of interacting with Brennan out of his mouth, and this bottle would do that job well.

An hour later, he was plastered.

“Stupid syssstem. Asks me what world I want. Doesn’t mention other heroes. Dumb,” Asadel slurred.

He rasped his claymore across the stone floor of his room, watching with his Analysis skill as a durability point melted away.

“Doesn’ mention stupid Brennan. Doesn’ say I’m considered a kid here, and get babysat. Doesn’ say.” Asadel was starting to get angry.

He grasped his sword and used it as a prop to help him stand up better against the floor, immediately feeling woozy from the alcohol and collapsing on his bed. He let the sword clatter to the floor.

“Hey, system? Fuck you. Let me do what I want.” He felt the familiar feeling of heaviness that the rum always gave him as the timer on his consciousness rapidly ran out. “Lemme do what I want. Lemme pass Brennan. Lemme go … fasster.”

And that was that. The rum had done its job, and he was now soundly enough asleep that he completely missed the telltale ding! of a new system quest popping into existence.