This Class is Bonkers! (This Trilogy is Broken (A Comedy Litrpg Adventure) Book 2)

by J. P. Valentine

  “I wonder how well they conduct Mana,” Eve said. “I’d rather not have to fight barefoot if I can avoid it.” She waved her foot, the too-big boot she’d borrowed from the quartermaster swinging back and forth with it.

  Wes laughed. “I think you’ll be fine. We’ve got enough scales to armor the entire crew.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to point to the four-foot-high pile of deep blue scales that had been steadily growing on the lower deck for the past three hours. “It’s a helluva haul.”

  Eve snorted. “Please. The scales are nice, but we all know the exp is the real reward.”

  “Nice?” Wes’s eyebrows shot up. “The scales are more than bloody nice. Those could be worth a fortune.”

  “And they could be worth nothing. You said so yourself.” Eve pointed across the deck to where Preston and Art were throwing one of the foot-wide scales across the deck like a frisbee for Reginald to chase. The seven-foot-long drakeling wagged his spiked tail furiously with each throw. “They’re using one as a toy!”

  Wes chuckled. “I’d argue that to Reginald that scale is worth more than a handful of gold.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. He is a drake after all. Remember the pile of junk Preston pulled him out of?”

  Wes nodded. “True, but there wasn’t any gold in there.”

  “Well, yeah, most people rich enough to carry gold can either fight off a level twenty-whatever drake or have guards that can,” Eve argued.

  “Note to self,” Wes said through a laugh, “don’t let Regi near my coin purse.”

  “You never know. Maybe he’ll hoard something else. His mama collected camping supplies, even if that’s all she could get hold of. Maybe he’ll take after Preston and start hoarding baby monsters,” Eve offered.

  “Come on,” Wes protested, “two is hardly a hoard, and you’re the one who found Art.”

  “I found him, but Preston adopted him. And don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way he’s eyeing that leviathan egg.”

  “Okay, sure,” Wes admitted, “but how badass would it be to have a leviathan in our party?”

  Eve furrowed her brow in an over exaggerated scowl. “Did you learn to breathe underwater without telling me? I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t planning on spending the next gods know how many years living on a boat while Preston raises a baby sea monster.”

  Wes held up his hands. “Alright, alright. Maybe a baby leviathan isn’t the best idea. And you might be right about the hoard thing. Now that I think about it, Preston’s actually got three monsters he’s taking care of.”

  “Three?”

  “Yep.” Wes flashed a sly grin as he counted on his fingers. “A drake, a trellac, and the most monstrous of all, a manaheart.”

  Even as she smacked him on the shoulder, Eve couldn’t suppress her grin. Wes’s maniacal laughter didn’t help. “Clearly your class is driving you mad,” she quipped back, “seeing as I’ve been the one taking care of you since we left Nowherested.”

  “Hey, that’s—”

  Eve interrupted, “And come to think of it, there’s no way you could’ve killed that leviathan without me, and it most certainly might’ve killed you. I’m adding it to your scone debt.”

  Wes replied with a defeated head-shake. “Gods-damned sea monsters,” he said. “I can burn them, and I can burn the water, but I can’t burn through the water to get to them.”

  “Not without burning through the entire ocean.”

  The fire mage snapped his fingers. “That’s brilliant! I just need to burn the entire ocean to ash and I can kill as many leviathans as I want.”

  “Oh yeah.” Sarcasm dripped from Eve’s voice. “And think of all the exp you’d get from killing every fish, whale, and other living creature in the meantime.”

  “Exactly!” Wes chuckled. “Too bad it would take centuries to burn that much water.”

  “Yeah, cause that’s the problem with setting the ocean on fire.”

  “Oh, wait.” Wes’s eyes flashed blue. “Looks like I’ve got a secondary quest to burn the ocean down. Better get started.”

  “Please.” Eve snorted. “You’re just looking at your skill list. I can see it, you know.”

  “Well we can’t all have magical glowing eyes that hide what we’re looking at.”

  “I mean, you could,” Eve teased. “I thought fire was the solution to everything.”

  “Ah, yes, let me just set my eyes on fire so nobody can see my status screen.” Wes laughed. “Actually, I don’t think I will. I rather like having eyes.”

  “And I rather like having an ocean,” Eve replied without missing a beat. “So no fires today.”

  Wes rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother.”

  Eve flashed a patronizing grin. “Good. Now go play with the other children. It’s only a matter of time until Art throws that scale overboard and Reginald jumps after it.”

  Whatever questionably witty reply Wes had for Eve’s snarky dismissal was lost as a bellowing squad of “anchors aweigh!” drowned it out. Within moments the crew, apparently finished with their scale gathering, bustled about the deck in the now familiar controlled chaos that drove the pirate ship.

  Eve kept to the rail as the sailors moved about her, her eyes fixed on what was left of the floating carcass and the seagulls that picked at it. There was no doubt her kill would feed an entire ecosystem for weeks to come.

  She smiled as she thought about it. In a single blow she’d earned the pirates’ respect and fear, leveled up, and found herself approximately one giant heap of leviathan scales richer, all for the low, low price of a pair of boots.

  As Freedom’s Gale lurched into motion and the autumn winds blew through Eve’s hair, she turned her gaze forward, towards the horizon and the long-awaited destination that would appear there in the coming days.

  Pyrindel awaited.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Pyrindel

  THE GREATEST SURPRISE in the week that followed the battle with the leviathan was a peaceful one. Of the dozen or so sailors the crew of Freedom’s Gale had pulled from the wreckage of the merchant ship, not a one still sat tied up in the hold.

  Captain Abraham, understanding they were but peons doing their job, was more than happy to put them to work doing everything from swabbing the deck to rigging the sails. Much to Eve’s delight, the merchant ship’s cook counted himself among the survivors, leading directly to food being available in the galley twice as often. The meals weren’t any better, the quality of the ingredients dictated that, but at least there were more of them.

  Eve spent her hours between snacks getting what practice she could in the tight confines of the deck. Wes worked on his aim and she her dodging as he threw a series of Fire Bolts her way, each directed to land safely in the water if—and when—they missed.

  When the fire mage’s Mana ran low or he grew bored of the exercise, Eve experimented with cycling her own Mana through different parts of her body. She discovered little new, unfortunately, but the effort did improve the speed and consistency with which she could reinforce a body part against attack. She wouldn’t be holding up to a direct attack, but every little bit of defense helped. She had precious little of it as things were.

  More than anything, Eve wanted to spend her time working with Jet, but dropping more than a handful of Mana into the skill was more likely than not to end with her falling overboard. That didn’t stop her from practicing smaller-scale maneuvers for dodging projectiles or feinting around defenses, but Eve knew the ability’s true potential lay elsewhere. For the umpteenth time, she cursed herself for not training with it sooner.

  What little break time she took, Eve spent daydreaming about the possible rewards for her two secondary quests. Returning Art to his papa seemed fairly self-evident—who wouldn’t want the favor of a full grown trellac?—but her Burendian quest remained shrouded in mystery. She’d have to explore more of their ruins, or maybe revisit old ideas of reviving the lost civilization. At the very least, Eve resolved
to seek out an Archeologist upon their arrival in the capital.

  For his part, Preston spent the voyage—at least the parts Eve was privy to—with Art and Reginald. He played fetch and practiced basic combat commands with the latter and worked telepathically with the former.

  The Caretaker was, of course, no substitute for the Psychic they’d hired to tutor Art in Ilvia, but his ability to communicate mentally with beasts in his care was at least worth something. By the sixth day since the leviathan encounter, the trellac hatchling could reliably hold back even his most intense thoughts and emotions, though he still struggled to project the latter to a specific target rather than everyone around him.

  Eve, unable to feel the effects herself, found some entertainment in watching the seamen’s faces as Art tried and failed to make Preston laugh or cringe telepathically. She wondered if the sailors noticed the source of their mood swings.

  Seven days after the fall of the stormtide leviathan, Eve stood at the port-side rail looking into the horizon when the city of Pyrindel first came into view. The coastline, once barely visible in the distance, just that morning receded to give way to the iconic Pyrindel Bay. It was only once Freedom’s Gale turned northward to enter the bay itself that Eve saw the first of hundreds of vessels anchored throughout the protected waterway.

  They’d arrived.

  First Mate Pete deftly navigated them through an unmarked but well-traveled channel around the anchored ships deeper and deeper into the bay’s open arms, but Eve paid his sailing skills little heed. Her eyes were on the city.

  Pyrindel sat at the northernmost point of its namesake bay, where the Pyrin river emptied its contents into the sea. The only word Eve could conjure to describe the Leshkian capital was bigger. It had no brilliantly impossible glass walls or gargantuan arching stone bridge, but what it lacked in magnificent architectural features it made up for in size.

  The buildings were wider, taller, and more plentiful. The most tightly packed reaches of the market district stretched over swaths of land greater even than mighty Ilvia.

  At the center of it all stood the royal palace. A dozen stories of white marble towered over the city, asserting the stable rule House Elric held over the kingdom of Leshk. No matter how influential, wealthy, or high-level you were, none could build larger or higher than the crown.

  It wasn’t until Freedom’s Gale lurched to a halt at its assigned dock that Eve could tear her eyes away from the expansive skyline.

  The Pyrindel docks followed in the city’s footsteps when compared to the river-docks of Ilvia. They were bigger. Piers reached like fingers into the deep blue of the bay, housing everything from fishing dinghies to massive four-masted galleons.

  All manner of folk milled about the harbor loading and unloading goods and passengers with chaotic efficiency. Eve didn’t even bother trying to Appraise any of the passersby, so large was their number. Instead, she wrenched herself away from the sights and sounds of Pyrindel to duck belowdecks and into her cabin.

  Donning her armor and snatching up her already packed bag in record time, Eve strapped her bone-club to her back and climbed the steps to the deck for the last time. There, she found Wes overseeing the division of the leviathan scales onto two hired wagons with the Quartermaster while Preston kept Art and Reginald entertained.

  “Two thirds of the bounty by count, as agreed,” the bespectacled man said, gesturing with an open palm to the larger of the two carts.

  Eve shook his hand. “Pleasure doing business with you. And thanks for the boots.”

  “Of course,” the man sniffed. He nodded towards the woman loading the handcart. “The Courier is already paid for. She’ll take the cargo wherever you direct, provided you arrive there today. Any further you’ll have to negotiate for yourselves.” Clearly not one for pleasantries, he abruptly turned to bark orders at a nearby pair of sailors mishandling a piece of stolen cargo.

  Eve wondered for a moment how the “pirates” got away with selling stolen goods in the very port from which they’d been shipped before realizing the answer was almost certainly bribery. It was also, she decided, most certainly not her problem.

  “So, I guess it’s scale selling first, then to the guild hall?” she addressed the others.

  Wes shrugged. “Sounds good to me. I’m not scheduled to start any interviews for another few days, anyway.”

  Preston nodded, gesturing down the gangplank. “Lead the way.”

  Eve was more than happy to leave Freedom’s Gale behind, just as she was sure its crew was happy to finally rid themselves of the strange and powerful Emissary. The others, she noted, were a bit more popular than she, as many among the crew voiced farewells to Wes and Preston or scratched Reginald behind the ears as they made their departure.

  Eve’s first order of business upon exiting the ship was to find where Abraham—perched on Pete’s shoulder—squawked in negotiation with a woman Eve took to be the harbormaster.

  “Cap’n,” Eve hailed the parrot, “it’s been an honor.”

  “Squawk, likewise! You’re welcome aboard any time.”

  With a mock salute, the Defiant turned on her heel to rejoin the others at their cartful of scales. “Hi there,” she greeted the Courier. “You wouldn’t happen to know a good leatherworker, would you?” Eve fought to keep any note of disdain or pity from her voice as she addressed the woman, but she did notice she was nearly twice Eve’s age and still a Courier. Eve forced the thought from her head. The adventuring life wasn’t for everyone.

  “Sure do.” The lady nodded. “Used to run deliveries for Ol’ Sal. Best Scalesmith in town.”

  “Think he’d want to buy some leviathan scales?” Preston followed up.

  “Don’t see why not,” the Courier rattled off the reply. “Craftsmen’re always looking for new materials.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” the Caretaker said. “Lead the way.”

  Eve paid the Courier, the scales, and the party’s direction of travel absolutely zero attention as she followed them through the streets of Pyrindel. The air smelled of fresh pastries and roasting meat and sweet perfumes with just an underlying hint of raw sewage. Apparently not even the olfactory enchantments the city used that Lynthia so dearly lacked could completely overcome the stench of humanity living in close quarters.

  Humans really are disgusting creatures, Eve jokingly sneered to herself.

  Once the party arrived at Ol’ Sal’s Fine Leathers, Eve was the first inside, if only with the purpose of holding a leviathan scale up to the wrinkled Scalesmith and asking how well it would channel Mana.

  Sal grunted. “S’that leviathan? It’s alright. Not good. Not terrible. If yer looking to cast spells, you’ll be wanting robes. Or dragon hide.” He laughed to himself. “Good luck with that.”

  Eve simply shrugged, turning back to the others and tossing the scale back onto the pile. “Sell ‘em all,” she said. “I’m going to have a look around.”

  Accepting Wes’s blank look as a yes, Eve stepped past the loaded cart back out into the street. She wandered up and down the busy avenue for some time, peering in through the windows of the various shops and boutiques as she waited. Fifteen minutes later, the Courier emerged from Ol’ Sal’s with an empty cart. Five minutes after that, Eve’s companions followed.

  “Get a good price?”

  “See for yourself.” Wes tossed her a fat coin purse, one Eve excitedly noticed had a familiar heft to it.

  “Gold?” she asked.

  Wes smiled.

  “Excellent.” Eve slipped the purse into her pack. “On to the guild, then? Or should we find an inn?”

  “Guild,” Preston answered immediately. “Art wants to post a job looking for information on wild trellacs.”

  The hatchling vigorously nodded from his seat on Reginald’s back. Yep!

  “Alright,” Eve agreed, “but you get to deal with the receptionist.”

  “We haven’t even gotten there yet,” Wes argued. “Maybe she won’t be t
here.”

  “Nope.” Eve shook her head. “That would be too easy. I’ll bet you a scone she’s there.”

  Wes thought for no more than a second before graciously declining her bet.

  Sure enough, twenty minutes later as Eve led the way into the Pyrindel branch of the adventurer’s guild, an unpleasantly familiar face sat behind the reception counter. Eve ignored her.

  Free from the grueling task of speaking with the guild clerk, the Defiant instead turned her attention to the smattering of adventurers that filled the common area. A few sets of eyes flashed blue with the party’s entrance, but only one reacted with anything but disinterest.

  Eve didn’t get a look at the woman’s class before she bolted out into the street, but from her clothes she looked more at home in the palace than among the adventurers. Eve shrugged the odd behavior off.

  The common room itself had much the same layout as those in Lynthia and Ilvia, the only difference the same as every other thing in Pyrindel: it was bigger. Nearly twice as many tables filled the cluttered space, many occupied by guild members of varying levels. Eve even counted a few tier 4s among the throng.

  Preston’s voice pulled Eve from her thoughts. “So we’ve got rooms,” he said, handing her an iron key, “and we know how you need to enter this tournament of yours.”

  Eve perked up. “Oh, that’s good. What do I need to do?”

  Wes grimaced. “You’re not gonna like it.”

  Eve’s face fell. “No.”

  Preston solemnly nodded. “Yes. You have to sign up with the guild clerk.”

  Amidst the string of brutal and creative curses that escaped from Eve’s mouth in the following moments, she failed to notice the sound of the door opening and shutting behind her, nor the gentle tapping of a foot as its owner patiently waited for her to finish her tirade. It was only once she’d run out of obscenities to utter that Eve turned to notice the Steward that had arrived.