In a way, it was sort of a relief to no longer be a part of his former adventuring party. After all, the only reason they even bothered recruiting him in the first place was because of the ever-famous class he had received on his thirteenth birthday. Receiving a class in and of itself was already exciting news for a peasant boy from a remote village, but receiving the second rarest class in history, one only wielded by two others before him?

  It felt like the whole world knew about it.

  Of course, his fame quickly diminished when everyone at his local adventuring guild realized he couldn’t make use of a single one of his skills.

  It had been about a week since Thane had kicked Ansel out of Silverstride, even though Luna fought to keep him, saying that he just needed a chance, Thane was adamant. However, even the novice necromancer knew that his presence was more of a detriment than a positive, and the members of Silverstride were even beginning to get ridiculed for dragging the useless adventurer around with them. It was amazing that they even allowed him to continue adventuring with them for as long as they did.

  Maybe they thought I would figure it out as I leveled up… Ansel contemplated mentally. Well, that dream never panned out.

  Of course, it wasn’t like the necromancer wasn’t disappointed at all. It had been his late father’s dream to adventure with his son after all, clearing dungeons together and becoming the kind of heroes only talked about in fairy tales was his biggest dream. Ansel felt like a failure, and although his mom welcomed the boy home with open arms, even she seemed to be partially disappointed in the wasted potential, even if she would never let him know that with her own words.

  The way Thane and Malik described it sounds so easy. Just think about the skill, channel your mana, and activate it. How can it be so difficult? Ansel wondered, sighing as he mindlessly swung his sickle at the crops in the field beside his house. After losing all hope of becoming an adventurer, Ansel had gone back to his farming ways, harvesting wheat day in and day out to support his mother. For a short while, he was able to use the scrap crystal cores—valuable loot dropped from slaying monsters—as a means of financial support. But now, he wasn’t even able to scrounge up the leftovers from dungeons that the other members of Silverstride managed to clear.

  However, even though Ansel had all but given up his hopes of becoming an adventurer, there was still one thought ringing in the back of his mind.

  What, or perhaps who, was that creepy voice in the Orc Champion’s Tomb?

  The former adventurer had been resisting the urge to head back to the Zone Dungeon and inspect it for any clues for a while now. Of course, the area should be safe after all, considering that any Zone Dungeon, as long as the boss is killed, would no longer spawn any new monsters. In fact, areas that used to be Zone Dungeons would often be turned into human settlements. The Orc Champion’s Tomb likely wouldn’t be used for that purpose, however, considering it was dark, damp, and completely underground. It also wasn’t unheard of for weaker adventurers to scour the remains of Zone Dungeons to search for any loot left behind.

  But any monsters that aren’t killed in the initial dungeon raid also don’t just disappear as a result of the dungeon being cleared, so there was also the possibility of remaining orcs still hanging around.

  Too risky. Ansel decided firmly, continuing to harvest his crops till sunset.

  Ansel kicked the door to his home open, the same quaint, village home he had lived in all his life, as his hands were occupied by the sacks of wheat slung across his shoulders. It swung open wildly, slamming into a wall and kicking up a small cloud of dust, and he mentally berated himself for not controlling his strength. Despite being relatively weak for an adventurer, having been granted a class and leveling a few times had made Ansel much stronger physically than he had been before turning thirteen.

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  “Ansel, finally. It’s getting dark, you really shouldn’t be out harvesting that late at night,” his mother said, worry lines appearing all across her fair-skinned complexion.

  “I’m old enough to stay out in the dark,” Ansel sighed, knowing his mother meant well. He was all she had left, after all.

  “Come now, supper is ready,” she responded, ushering the boy towards the fireplace. The pair sat in matching rocking chairs, positioned at an angle to face the quiet, smoldering fireplace. Above was a small cooking pot, and Ansel’s mother poured each of them a few ladles of soup before taking a seat herself.

  They stayed like that for a while, staring deeply into the embers as they sipped at their respective bowls, before Ansel’s mother finally said something. “How have you been feeling, Ansel?”

  The former adventurer seemed slightly confused, not having expected his mother to say much of anything. “Uh, fine, I guess?” His sentence ended more like a question than a statement.

  His mother paused, glancing at the young boy out of the corner of her eye, although Ansel elected not to meet her gaze. “It’s a shame, isn’t it? Your father’s dream.”

  Ansel’s head shot up, staring intently at his mother. “I thought you didn’t want me adventuring? Didn’t you say it was too dangerous for someone my age to be hunting monsters?”

  “I did.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “Well…” She began. “I know you, Ansel. You don’t give up on things. Forgive me, son, but even though you never showcased much… talent, for the whole adventurer business—” she stopped, setting her finished bowl of soup on the table beside her. “You continued to try. You spent hours in the fields trying to cast your skills on the dead birds and animals that ended up back there—”

  “You were watching me?!” Ansel cried out in embarrassment.

  But his mother continued without skipping a beat. “And of course, you joined party after party, coming along to dungeon after dungeon, quest after quest, yet still you never gave up.” She turned her head, locking eyes with her son. “Tell me, Ansel, is it really just about your father?”

  “What do you mean?” The boy replied, dumbfounded. He stared expectantly at his mother, but she offered no explanation. “Well… well, it’s not like I didn’t enjoy adventuring at all, but that doesn’t matter anyway, I’m too weak to even—”

  “Do not call my son weak,” Ansel’s mother chastised, interrupting his sentence. “You are the strongest person I know.”

  “That’s not saying much, it’s not like there are very many people in the village…”

  “Are you saying I have no friends?” Ansel’s mother challenged.

  The boy waved his hands frantically, wishing he could take back his statement. “N-No! That’s not what I meant!”

  “Uh-huh,” she laughed, letting the laughter drop off into a momentary silence. “Ansel, when your father died, who tended to the fields? Who was the one who did everything he could to put food on the table, to provide for his family, to make sure that above all, his mother…” She choked up, and Ansel spotted her eyes watering ever so slightly. “Was still okay?”

  “What does this have to do with—”

  “Everything, Ansel. Everything. You might not even know it about yourself, but adventuring has always been your dream, not just your father’s. You were the one who asked him to teach you. He only ever wanted to help you achieve your goal.”

  “I… but I can’t, mother. It just… it doesn’t make sense to me,” Ansel sighed, drooping in his chair like a dejected toddler.

  “That doesn’t mean you need to give up.”

  The young boy shifted his gaze to the window, staring out at the soft, graceful moon above, observing as the silver beams delicately danced their way through the sky. “What do I do, then?”

  “Live for you, Ansel, not for your father, not for your party members, and definitely not for me,” She puffed up her chest, then flexed an arm, revealing a surprisingly toned bicep. “I can handle myself. I’m not so consumed by grief that I cannot tend to my own needs after all. And I do have friends, for your information.”

  Ansel let out a small chuckle, letting the moment simmer for a moment as he contemplated. Then, he stood, his mind having been made up. “Thank you, mother. I needed that. I’ll be home late tomorrow, probably.”

  His mother smiled softly, letting her gaze wander towards the embers floating up into the air. “I’ll always be proud of you, adventurer or not.”

  Ansel grinned, resting a hand on his mother’s shoulder briefly before heading to bed, anticipating what he planned to do next.

  It was time to visit the Tomb of the Orc Champion.

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