1.20 The Second Class

[Palm Strike]

Michael's hand shot out, striking the tree trunk before him. The impact shook the bark, its leaves cascading down. As he observed the tree trembling under his blow, Michael's eyes widened. An attack like that could do incredible damage to any quarry.

He repeated the motion several times, each strike testing his newfound ability until exhaustion set in. Counting the attempts, he paused as the significance dawned on him. He was a level 6 hunter, and it appeared his skill usage was directly tied to his level—a realisation that made him reconsider the extent of his capabilities.

He tried this skill again, and then again until it stopped working. Michael blinked. He had used the skill six times. That number gave him pause. Wasn't he a level 6 hunter? Didn't that mean the number of times he could use his skill was directly proportional to his level up? It was a one-to-one ratio it seemed.

Skills like [Life Detection] worked one minute per level, while [Palm Strike] worked one attempt per level. It was good to know such limits.

Michael had to wait one hour to use the skill again. He had tried to use other skills during that time, but it seemed that he was limited to a total number of six attempts.

One hour added one more attempt. So, he would have to wait six hours to refill his skill battery. 

"Skill Battery?" Michael said to himself. "That doesn't sound right. Skill Points, yes, that's what they call it."

Michael recited everything he had learned about the skill. "One, skill points corresponds with current level. Two, some skills drain the skill points gradually, while others drains a single point with each activation. Three, it takes one hour to regain a single skill point."

Michael looked around himself. Trees and foliage filled his sight. It was already evening. In the morning, once he had got out of the river he had made a makeshift bandage for his wounds before going to sleep again. He had woken up only two hours earlier.

He sighed. "Waiting one hour every time to train my skills isn't ideal."

Better to wait six hours and try again and use that time to learn magic. Michael returned to the pavilion.

He undressed and removed his makeshift bandages—wincing every time. His front of body was littered with sharp wounds, thankfully none were deep. Though they were showing signs of infection, some cuts were swelling up, others were darkening. There was no pus yet, that was a good sign, wasn't it?. "If only I had some antiseptic."

He did not.

Michael cleaned his wounds as best as he could with warm water. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to suffice for now. Once cleaned, he applied another set of bandages.

The old bandages he washed, then set them to boil over a small fire before laying them out to dry in the sun. He couldn't afford to throw away used bandages, his resources were already thin enough.

Cursing his new life, he sat down to eat the seasoned fish he had prepared earlier. Michal grimaced, the fish was still disgusting, but he could stomach it with the seasonings.

***

Michael sat in lotus position, eyes closed, and followed the instruction of the magic book.

Empty your thoughts, empty. Follow the rhythm of your soul.

He followed the subtle tune, letting it guide him. The rhythm tempted him to seize its power, promising him unrivalled strength.

Restrain yourself, Michael. Do not let it entice you. You cannot fail here. Remember what happened last time.

The memory of excruciating headaches, each failure amplifying the strength pain and its time exponentially, flashed through his mind. He couldn't endure another episode of overwhelming agony, lasting hours on end.

Michael followed the tune for what seemed an eternity, then something shifted, he sensed the presence of not one but two two cores.

He had no eyes in this state, but he knew the colour of both cores. His Magicore hung there with the refined intensity of the sun, red and vibrant. The skill core that hovered next to it was like chaotic currents of ocean, crackling with blue energy.

As Michael opened his eyes, a wave of relief washed over him. There was no relapse, no pain. He sprang to his feet and jumped, punching the air. "Yea, I did it."

He had done it. Now, he couldn't wait to hurl a fireball from his fingertips or summon lightning. Michael made specific gestures as if he could already cast such spells.

"Boom, Boom … Pew, Pew, Pew."

A laugh bubbled up from deep within him not just at his own childlike act, but for his success too. He could learn magic now, he had to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

The golden earring that hung in his left earlobe hummed. Michal accepted the call at a moment's notice, diving into the realm of white void.

Conditions Met.

You Can Choose A New Class, A Level 1 [Practitioner].

Do You Accept?

Please Give A Verbal Response.

Michael didn't hesitate. "Yes, I accept."

Congratulations, You Have Been Bestowed With the New Class [Practitioner].

[Practitioner] Level 1.

Congratulations, You Have Gained An Active Skill.

[Flight]

Michael's jaw dropped, his eyes popping like that of a fish. "I… I can f-fly?"

It was that he hadn't thought it possible. He simply hadn't expected to gain the ability so soon. "Isn't the sky supposed to be for power Archmages and the like. What gives?"

Michael blinked. "Why am I complaining? I should be ecstatic."

He was … but he was also somewhat disappointed. How could he gain something so powerful so easily? "Stop complaining! What am I, Idiot?"

Michael didn't even notice the white world fading away, returning him back to the pavilion.