Stumbling Up: A Loser's Guide to Progression - Chapter 16: Skill Check: Trust

Tandy paced even in death.

Her footsteps sloshed on the dungeon's tongue as we waited for the rest of our party to die.

The dungeon mouth had been reset, and each root canal was returned to its original place.

Tandy muttered to herself, trying to determine what we'd done wrong. What could we do differently? Why wasn't the rest of the party dead yet?

I had the same thoughts, but had dipped into using my [Meditative State] skill to see the questions bubble up. And let go of them effortlessly. Besides, what was the point? We couldn't survive that deathtrap with the perfect plan.

My thoughts turned darker. What bothered Tandy the most wasn't that we failed but that she’d been the first to fail. Catastrophic failure wasn’t something Tandy Selvedge did.

I stared at the portal rune on the fourth incisor. Cole Thornfield, however, was used to this sort of thing. I closed my eyes, feeling for the team. Leo was close to joining us. Meredeath and Richard seemed fine.

Saliva slowly oozed through my pants as I sat cross-legged on the floor. I had full health and stamina when we were portaled back into existence, and all my state conditions vanished. Everything had been erased.

"I still don't understand why I have so little health and an untouchable pool of magic." Tandy finally plunked herself next to me, grey shawl across her shoulders. She picked at her cuticles, a long-suffered habit I thought she'd outgrown. "I have the most advanced mundane class of our trio."

Leo and I had always wondered why the system hated us.

It never made sense why Leo couldn't gain a class. The man worked for a living. He hopped from job to job, always giving 100%, hoping to finally earn a class and prove himself.

I couldn't claim the same work ethic as him, but I tried. I studiously learned the basics, and as soon as I was eligible for a specialization, I earned the worst possible one.

Theoretically, specializations were something to celebrate, as they weren't earned frequently. Some folks didn't get one until they were deep into their professions.

Not me, I'd get a colossally disappointing message as soon as I hit level 10 that I'd specialized in the most mundane, idiotic thing. It'd be focused on an attribute I'd worked on, but nothing significant, prestigious, or practical.

At least Tandy had magic. It didn't do her much good yet, but if we figured out how to survive, it should. Admittedly, she was going to have a hard time surviving. But so was I.

I was the anchor that was going to hold us back.

"Cole, snap out of it." I raised my head, not realizing I'd been slouched over, holding my head in my hands. Tandy snapped her fingers before my eyes, "Your [Self Critic] skill is at it. This has nothing to do with you."

Bringing up my active skill display, I found Tandy was right. [Self Critic] had quietly triggered. It slipped into active like a sly parasite on my psyche.

Manually turning it off, I immediately felt better as the spiral let go.

I triggered my daily [Meditation] based skill, [Analyze]. I wasn't sure how it worked, except that it boosted my thoughts. Problems were easier to solve. The skill lasted half an hour, as evidenced by the clock counting down in the corner of my vision.

There had to be logic behind it all.

"Okay, Tandy, let's think this through. I've got three active classes: [Smith], [Chef], and [Meditation]. All with specializations. I guess four if you count [Provisional Adventurer]." I wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, but saying it out loud felt wrong. People didn't talk about their classes and skills.

I knew, however, if we were to solve the puzzle, we'd need to share. I was also hoping that Tandy would, for once, open up about her build. She'd already walked away from her family legacy. What did she have to lose at this point?

Her brown eyes searched mine. This was the moment. We'd been best friends most of our lives, but had never bridged the gap about our classes. We'd avoided the topic when Leo was around, trying to spare him the pain.

Her reluctance had always gone beyond Leo’s feelings and the general taboo. Tandy's family had always been obsessively secretive about her progression.

“What classes do you have?” I realized I'd never flat-out asked her until now, as the question hung between us.

If we were going to be a successful adventuring party, we had to trust each other. She was still hesitating.

Was she going to open up, or keep her family secrets? I watched as she stared blankly off into space, locked in an internal battle. Her jaw was clenched.

I decided to push. "Look, we've got to figure this out. It's time to go all in, Tandy. Trust me. Trust in us." We'd been friends for a long time, but none had made that last leap of faith to family. I'd measure the words and say them kindly, but firmly.

I saw when she decided to pick her chosen family over her blood. Eyes rose to meet mine, full of determination. My whole world pivoted as she began to speak, "I have one class. You already know the level.”

Just one? Impossible. Everyone had at least one side class. My mind raced, and I concluded she must have abandoned all her side classes in her narrow-minded pursuit of [Weaver].

So I asked the next logical question, "How many abandoned classes do you have? I've got five: [Farmer], [Shepherd], [Weaver], [Janitor], and [Builder]. I still can't believe I got [Builder] from our little forts we built as kids, and you were always more involved than I was. You've got to have [Builder]?" I suspected most of our village had a similar array of abandoned classes to mine. They weren't challenging to pick up in childhood pursuits unless you were Leo.

Three was the sweet spot for active classes. Tandy was hyper-focused on one. It was unusual, but possible.

Anything over five was nearly impossible. The grind to demonstrate proficiency, much less progress, was insurmountable. The system inactivated classes that weren't used, causing you to lose all your associated skills.

I'd held onto [Smith] because I used [Basic Heat Tolerance] and [Steady Temperature] all the time as [Chef]. I'd pick up a shift at the forge once a month for a little extra cash, allowing me to keep my other [Smith] skills active enough, like [Pound], [Nailed It], and [Hammer Time].

"... and that's why I have [Builder]." Crap, I missed a whole segment of what she said. Concentrating, I followed her discussion thread, trying to figure out what I missed. "I earned it by accident. I hid it from Grandma for years because I loved making those net forts of ours. Even though it was against the plan…"

Her voice trailed off sadly as she was lost in the memory. I remembered the day her mom stomped into our tree hideout. Furious, she’d [Unbound] the fort with a wave of her hand.

Tandy had fallen hard, bruising her shoulder. Leo and I were lucky to escape with our lives.

Tandy's mom had been pitiless, hauling her off crying without a backward glance. Our childhood ended that day.

Everything changed. Tandy was forbidden to hang out with us. Leo and I couldn't come close to her towering webs of thread, so we gave up. A curtain had been drawn, keeping everyone at a distance.

Until Leo’s twenty-fifth. Until now.

Tangent aside, my [Analyze] skill clamored for the segment of conversation before she talked about her [Builder] class.

Awkwardly, I interjected, "I missed it. Did you say you had another abandoned class?"

Tandy looked away, "[Herbalist], I used to help my dad pick flowers to use in dyes before they discovered my ability to [Weave]." She never talked about her absent dad. Although my mind itched to have her elaborate and dig in on that mystery, I refused to lose focus.

So far, in our comparison, we were different, but not by too much. She had two abandoned classes to my five. I moved to the next logical question, "How many skills do you have active?" She frowned, and I knew I was pushing my luck to get her to share this data. I offered up my skills, hoping it'd tip her over into sharing, "I've got," I brought up my internal stat sheet, "Oh wow, I've got thirty now."

I hadn't noticed a skill related to Richard until now. Frowning, I read the most peculiar description for a skill I'd ever seen:

[Companion] (from [Error - Class Not Located]): Allowed user to bond with [Richard, the Fanged Banana Slug].

It was yet another mystery about Richard that needed to be solved, if we ever got time and he was in the mood to talk. I'd never seen the system admit to an error.

"Are you sure you want to know?" I mentally shelved my thoughts about Richard. Tandy was still hesitating. She looked away, as though ashamed, and a faint blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks.

"Out with it. It can't be that bad." She was a level 40 [Threadmarked Weaver]. She had to have at least double or even triple the skills I had.

Confident, self-assured Tandy wouldn't meet my eyes as she meekly squeaked out, "I've got a little over two hundred skills."

Holy shit. Hundreds of skills. That wasn’t just an advantage; she played a completely different game. No wonder her family guarded their secrets.

Her hesitation was because she'd been afraid to embarrass me. I felt like an amateur in life. This must be what Leo felt as we tiptoed around him. I took a breath, grounding myself. Tandy was a generational talent. The whole of Woodsten knew it. Being jealous of her was like envying a hawk for its wings.

"Okay," I forced a smile. "Well, that's a difference between our builds. Damn Tandy, good job!" It stung, but I was proud of her. "I can't imagine Leo has skills, considering he could never earn a class. I have to think those skills influenced your magic points. Is weaving classified as magic? Has your grandma talked about anything like that?"

She tightened her shawl around her shoulders like armor against the fetid air between us. She was comically out of place. Tandy'd spent most of her life in a [Weaver]'s studio with her family or working at the town's shearing barn. Well manicured, she'd always had well-woven braids and carefully controlled emotions.

Now we sat in the literal mouth of a dungeon, warily eyeing the dormant teeth. Saliva soaking into every bit of cloth, her hair escaping every attempt to tame. I was equally ridiculous, the third cook at a second-rate tavern, mostly relegated to dishes and gruel. I sat, playing [Adventurer], covered in bile with my old hammer attached at the hip like a real weapon.

We were out of our respective comfort zones. But we were trying. I was proud of us, of her.

Tandy started to answer my question, "Mom and grandma, they-"

The dungeon inhaled sharply. Tandy's shawl slipped from her shoulders.

[Your [Party Member] Leo Patch is [Dead].]