[Chapter 2. Class Selection]
Before he could even finish the thought of acceptance, the desk vanished. The solid, obsidian surface and the hard-backed chair dissolved into nothingness, leaving him once again suspended and floating in the soundless vastness of the void.
A pale blue-green light materialized before him, expanding rapidly into a shimring, semi-translucent window. It wasn’t like a computer screen he was used to; it felt more like a living mbrane stretched between realities, pulsing with a rhythmic, cool internal energy. Thousands upon thousands of entries flooded into view, scrolling past in an endless torrent of glowing text and shifting glyphs.
Even with his experienced gar’s eyes, the speed was dizzying. He caught glimpses of titles that sparked both wonder and dread: 'Nethermancer,' 'Chronomancer,' 'Astral Weaver,' 'Blade Dancer,' 'Flesh Sculptor,' and countless others. Each was accompanied by a faint, shifting icon that defied a clear focus, as if the images were still being rendered from the ether. The sheer volu was overwhelming—a library of impossible vocations stretching into a digital infinity.
`How the hell am I supposed to choose?`
The thought ford before he could stop it, a spike of pure, cold panic in the sea of choices. He felt like he was drowning in potential. `This is impossible. I'll just pick sothing stupid by accident and die on the first day.`
As his panic reached its peak, a new line of text—brighter and bolder than the rest—burned itself into the top of the window, accompanied by a sharp ping that resonated in his skull.
[System Query]
'How the hell am I supposed to choose?'...
Processing...
Search Protocol: 'Viable for Imdiate Survival & Growth'...
Filtering..."
The torrent slowed. The chaotic stream of classes began to condense and coalesce, shedding the thousands of exotic titles until it ford a far more manageable list of perhaps a few dozen options. The man breathed a sigh of relief, though he still had no lungs to breathe with.
`It acts on thoughts and intent.` He realized. He focused his mind, trying to visualize what he really needed. `Can you scan my preferences and display only the ones that fit that?`
The list reacted instantly. The infinite library of possibilities shrank further, the chaotic mass of nas and icons sorting themselves into neat, glowing lines of text. He focused on the task, trying to pin down exactly what he wanted from this impossible situation. He needed to be practical.
"I need sothing... effective," he murmured into the silence. "Sothing that lets stay far away from the things trying to eat , but still lets hit hard. And... sothing with summons. I've always liked having minions to do the heavy lifting while I stay safe."
As he solidified these preferences in his mind, the list narrowed down to several primary candidates: 'Beast Tar,' 'Swarm Lord,' and 'Golemancer.'
He focused his attention on 'Beast Tar' first. A new window expanded with a detailed description that felt like it was being etched into his brain.
[Beast Tar]: A warrior of the wild who forges unbreakable bonds with the creatures of a mana-infused world. The Beast Tar fights alongside their bonded companions, their strength a reflection of their bond and their mastery over the natural and unnatural life that now flourishes.
Core Abilities: [Beast Bond], [Pack Alpha], [Primal Roar].
He considered it for a long mont. He saw the potential—a direct, visceral connection to powerful allies. But the idea of having to find, subdue, and bond with actual, potentially hostile monsters in a world he no longer understood felt incredibly risky. If his pet died, or if he couldn't find one, he’d be defenseless. He swiped the window away with a ntal flick.
His gaze drifted further down the list, past more martial and magical professions, until he found a single, solitary entry that made his pulse quicken.
[Dronemancer]
"That's... that's perfect," he whispered. "Machines. Logical. Upgradeable. No ssy bonding with an animal that might decide I look like dinner if I forget to feed it one day."
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He focused his entire will on the title, trying to force the selection, to make this single, sensible choice his reality. The void seed to hold its breath. The blue-green light shimred violently, and a new, definitive window burned into existence with stark, absolute text.
[System Query]
Confirm Class Selection: [Dronemancer]?
─ [Dronemancer]: A specialist in the arcane art of technomancy, the Dronemancer conjures and commands chanical constructs. These drones serve as extensions of the Dronemancer's will, capable of reconnaissance, defense, and devastating assault. Unlike organic summons, drones lack individual will, ensuring absolute loyalty.
Starting Abilities: [Summon Air Drone], [Overcharge], [Salvage].
─ Resource: Mana is converted into Tech-Points (TP).
─ Note: This choice is irrevocable.
He stared at the screen for a while, running through every RPG scenario he’d ever played. He thought about the Guide’s words—about the three Awakening Runes he would be given. A daring, perhaps stupid, idea began to take root in his mind. He looked back toward where the Guide had been standing.
"Question," he said, his voice echoing. "You said before that I will get runes to awaken others of my choosing? Let's say I'd like soone with knowledge about what's to co... can I use such a rune on you?"
The void went silent. For a long ti, there was no sound, no pulse from the windows, as if the System itself was struggling to process the request.
the mannequin finally answered, though its voice sounded slightly strained.
Before the Guide could finish its explanation, a second voice cut in. It didn't co from the mannequin. It resonated through the void with an icy, tallic precision that made the Guide's polite tone seem warm by comparison. It was the voice of the System itself.
The world—or what little of it remained—flickered. The pale blue light of the class selection window sputtered like a dying candle in a gale. The featureless Guide standing before him began to warp. Its smooth, plastic-like surface rippled and bubbled as if an unseen force was trying to peel it away from reality. A low, thrumming hum filled the void, a sound of imnse power being rerouted from so distant source. The air grew heavy with a sense of profound, irrevocable change.
the Guide's familiar voice stamred. Its perfect composure was finally cracking, replaced by sothing that sounded suspiciously like fear.
The second, colder voice spoke again, seeming to emanate from the very fabric of the void.
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