Magic Breaker [Enby MC Anti-Mage LitRPG]

[Class Options: , , [New!] , [New!] , [New!] , [New!] , [New!] , [New!] , [New!] ]

I draw in a breath through my teeth. Those are more options than I had the first time. A few are still hidden, mainly sponsored ones that wouldn’t be beneficial to me. There are classes offered by everyone who is keeping an Eye on me. Do they… have to offer a sponsored class?

They probably do. That makes sense. The only ones to pop up, though, are just two sponsored ones. I suspect that gloomsoul is linked to the Creeping Darkness, and something better than it offered last time. It seems fond of me. Funny how that works.

Why didn’t the Master of Suffering offer me something decent this time, I wonder? Actually, no, I don’t wonder. He wants to see me suffer. But it’s not just that… he’s clever. Yeah, he is. His offer is neither good nor bad, because he knows I won’t take it, so he’s not wasting my time. I smirk. Good.

The other sponsored option feels heavy. Styx. That was the river of the dead, wasn’t it? Yeah. I know who this one is from. And, no, I’m not interested.

Analyst and sorcerer carry over from my first choice, though debuffer is gone. I suspect it’s included in one of the new classes. The dervish is from the essence I stole from Sylves, essence I’m still digesting, and don’t want to rely on. Vesselsmith sounds like it’d be focused around giving myself as much mana as possible… ah, that one sounds tempting. Really, really tempting. I kind of want it. 

But then there’s deathseer. A class I earned myself, from a brush that was just a little too close. I smile at it, then wave it aside. No, that’s not who I am. And, of course, the humble healer. Tempting, but no. 

Finally, . 

A smile creeps onto my face. Yeah, I think I know exactly where my debuffer class went. Into there. Into the evolution of what I’m currently using. Something that specializes in picking apart other people’s abilities. And that’s what makes it different from all the others.

It promises that I’ll be able to fulfill my curiosity. Not just about the few questions that the class pertains to, but any of them, if I work hard enough. A small smile spreads on my face. I pick it.

[Class gained: ]

[Stat bonuses: +1 > +3 Vessel per level ]

[Experience modules: Deconstruction, Disruption]

And there, on my status, it stays.

- 0 (II)

It’s denominated as my second class. In fact, now that I know these denominations exist, I’m pretty sure that anthropologist was also Paulino’s second job. He took it above level 10, after all. 

I keep all the stats from my first class, and the bonuses are increased, now. I wonder how high I gotta take this one before it evolves again. How exciting. Now, there’s just one more thing I wanna know - what’s my acquisition bonus?

[Essence Bestowed: Breaking Magic.]

As an enchanter, I got an essence package. This class could have granted me a new skill, maybe upgraded one I had or fused them… but I almost prefer this. The essence isn’t absolute, it doesn’t control me. It just feels like a guidebook I can open in my mental library. 

The pour turns into a trickle, but it doesn’t abate. It feels like my class is constantly feeding me new information on how to perceive and interact with mana, how typical structures look like, and how to take them apart. It sharpens my senses, and my intuition.

A small, content sigh escapes my lips. I may be hurt, may be bleeding out, but this? It’s satisfying. Despite everything, it feels worth it. Ah, except for that one small tragedy. The fact that I need to use my mana to heal myself instead of using it with my class.

Oh well. It can wait. Just a few more days. A few more days is all I need. Then, I’ll be back in full swing. To keep busy while awake, I trace the runes on my mana maze. It’s a strong training tool, and there’s some greater secret it’s trying to teach me. I just gotta find it.

No rest for the wicked. A few more days, then I could rest even less.

- - -

I wake up to a scream.

It’s not my own, though. It’s Sylves. “My arm?!” she screams.

Ah. Yeah, that’s probably fair. The others swarm around her, like bees, trying to see her first. Oh, she’s hyperventilating. I feel Inu reach out with [Empathy], and since I just woke up, I help a little. 

[Suppression] brushes against Sylves and very gently weighs her down, physically, like a blanket. I also apply it to her panic, just a tiny bit, more to create distance between her and the emotion than anything else. 

Sylves looks at me. Her eyes are open wide, and she wiggles her stump. Ah. She can tell what I’m doing. “My arm,” she whispers. “What… my arm. My arm. Fuck. Fuck!” It makes everyone else shut up.

“Yeah,” I say into the silence. “We’re both in kinda shitty shape.” The girl swallows heavily in reply to my statement, but she nods. I give her a faint, gentle smile. “But we’re alive.”

At that, she leans back. For a long moment, she’s quiet, staring at the ceiling of the cave. When she talks, it’s shaky, quiet, and tragic. “Yeah,” she says, her voice quivering with a broken heart. “I’m… alive.”

I wish I could say that it hurt, that I feel terrible seeing her like that, that it breaks my heart. I want to say that, but I don’t want to be a liar, either. At the end of the day, I’m happy she’s alive, and that is the truth. Surely. Surely. It must be.

She breathes again. “Thanks, Snow. You’re… disarming.” The laugh she gives at the end of that is a pale, cracking imitation of her usual cheer, that breaks into sobs halfway through. Opal looks to the side, grimacing. Did they want to make the joke? Probably, though it must also just be hard to hear Sylves cry.

“Hey,” I speak quietly. “You’re a fairy now, right?” I ask.

Her crying hitches. She turns to me, face messy with tears. “Y-yeah?”

“How many arms do fairies have?” I ask.

Sylves blinks at me, then breaks into a pitiful, shaky smile. “I dunno. How many?”

Oh shit. Pressure’s on. “One for each deal they shake on, right?”

Gently, the smile grows a bit more honest. “Right. I’ll… make more deals. Yeah. That’s what fae do.” Her stump wriggles as she tries to jerk her elbow in a victorious pose. She pauses, for a long moment, then instead turns to her left arm, and makes a celebratory fist with that one. 

No one talks, and she takes a long, shaky breath. Then she wipes her tears away. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay to cry,” I say.

“I know,” she says. “Yeah, I know. I’ll… I’ll figure something out, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Then, silence, for a long moment. A long, long moment.

Until, eventually, Thatch speaks up. “Let’s eat,” he says. “You two need plenty of strength to heal up.” And so, we do. And, for the first time in days, I have enough strength to bring the spoon to my lips myself.