Obtaining a Class is in some ways the most significant part of someone's life. It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that it defines the paths one might take in their life. An [Armorsmith] would, naturally, be making armor. Good armor at that. The power of a Class is no joke, those attempting tasks better suited to another with a fitting Class will almost always be inferior. It is a truth of the world, and if ever there existed someone without a specific Class that could somehow out armorsmith an [Armorsmith] I'd wonder terribly at why he wasn't one himself.

- The Origin of Skills and Abilities, The Untethered Tomes

Shutting the book came with a powerful sense of accomplishment. I stared around. The library was as it always was, identical as the first day I came into awareness. I had finished my readings and all that was left were the books I had independently assigned myself.

It had been less than a week. My supplies, rations and drink, were only slightly dented. Bolstered by the spurting water gems and combat rations, I could last much longer than what my supplies initially projected. Of larger concern was when the first of my plants became edible. Sprouts had already formed, but the portions meant for eating had not come into their own.

The past few days had been a blur, the routine was too perfectly strict for any definitive days to be partitioned in my memory. I spent a good portion of my time in the combat hall, however. The training was arguably pointless, but I was loathed to waste an opportunity. While most of the place had been damaged beyond repair there were a few dummies sitting neatly among the debris, these ones were such that they seemed pristine despite it all.

It was only after my first beating and subsequent spike of fear that their function dawned on me, ironically after taking a dizzying blow to the head. They were shaped like men, all larger than me. Why wouldn't there be automatons? Constructs meant for training? That one had immediately knocked me down, four bruises sprouting on every limb. Fast, impossibly so. My eye could not even track its movement let alone react to it. It had sprung forth unto me in response to my inquisitive prodding, the thing nearly killed me through sheer shock alone.

It didn't take long for me to clear out the hall, piling every broken body off to the side in a heap of wood and metal. The lines which marked sparring circles became apparent. A few bouts more and I was able to, painfully, determine which of the dummies was the least skilled. They were surgically precise, I never took any damage that I couldn't live through. Which, in this particular case, meant I was sore and battered albeit moving.

My readings had covered some theories on these constructs. They were autonomous, usually purposed with a single task though I had read of more intelligent types. It seemed that these ones were ancient, predating anything I had read about, despite those readings coming from this very institution. I could make nothing out from the faceless mannequins save for the symbols I knew to be too advanced for my comprehension. They determined movement and function, power and precision, any number of things really. The beautifully masterful symbols looked like goblin-hand to me.

I brought my studies to the combat hall. Compiling all the pertinent texts was not as hard as it could've been and I managed to gather everything on another table. The very basics were mine, intrinsic in my memory already from my Skill. But further advancement in the topic was difficult, the subject was leaps ahead of my initial readings.

It was a matter of both mathematics and arcana, magic. And so I brought those texts as well. The most basic dummy was made of wood, expendable. While I doubted it was a simple make it would be my first test subject. The depth I found myself in would almost certainly be filled with dangerous creatures, the immediate cavern the library was exposed to was predominantly the first hurdle. I needed to send something through, test the waters. I would not step closer than it took me to sight the breach, my gut feeling refused the risk. A dummy might be able to do that and more.

My day was full of math and magic. Basic concepts were so ingrained into my mind both by Skill and study that my foundation was inherently strong. When the subject became frustrating and stressful I tended to the plants. They were growing rapidly, in only days they had shown explosive growth, but that was to be expected given the nutrient-rich water.

I walked around racking my brain over a particularly mind-bending theory whilst occasionally checking said plants. When even that was too much I found it was best to reset my mind. Cease all mental functions and just indulge in my sparring. It was at these times that I told myself experiencing the subject at hand, firsthand, would do something to spark my mind. I was a fool for thinking that, as all I ever received were a slew of merciless bruises, perhaps more confidence in my body but only that as consolation.

I ducked, mind wandering. A wooden fist knocked me hard on the shoulder and I mentally adjusted my approach. The wooden dummy was the absolute lowest tier in terms of fighting prowess. Likewise, it was the least durable and thus the rarest to find functioning. Whatever had left this library in this state, it had done so a long while ago.

This dummy, however, was proving a pain. I remembered reading of dangerous individuals with powerful Skills. Someone like them could demolish such a dummy. I knew the Skills that might help me in combat but I also knew I had no background in battle as it was. It was a common adage that went, "Skill before Skill." A mnemonic tool to reinforce the central idea that Skills originated due to many factors, but hard work and aptitude were staples in many proposed equations. It was repeatedly outlined, or rather, unavoidably pertinent, in The Origins of Skills and Abilities.

I sidestepped left, the movement uneasy. The dummy was not averse to playing dirty and its leg swept low knocking me off my feet. I fell hard on my back. When I blinked the stars away the dummy was in its original position patiently waiting for me to initiate again. I groaned.

Gingerly, I pulled myself up onto my chair. As I had done countless times before, I reached over and opened a book. The Art of Combat was a general text and denoted general thinkings and strategies one might employ. Curiously, the material was something like a list of suitable actions to take against an opponent with a particular Skill. Stay out of range if an opponent is known to possess a [Piercing] Skill or place attacks carefully and do not overcommit if an opponent has [Dodge].

What truly caught my attention, in a general sense, was the focus on individual combat and illustration thereof. The example scenarios, which were masterfully depicted with detailed illustrations, outlined a series of moves with a particular strategy being employed. It was bare in the sense of characteristics and features, but the drawings captured motion beautifully, and for this particular topic such a thing was paramount.

But perhaps the most gripping subject; monsters. Common monsters and threats were depicted. Tactics and methods to eradicate, subdue, or survive an encounter. These ranged from the ever adaptive slimes to water horrors and stone titans. Note that the strategies you might use against a fellowfall would be impractical against a cage dwello. Engaging an individual from the Learned Races was entirely different from combat with a monster in which case the entire dynamic of combat morphs unpredictably due to the unpredictability and variance of monster types.

It was unfortunate that there was no way for me to practice that section of the book. It was the most pertinent for my situation. I did spend a few hours recovering, studying that particular section. Cross-referencing passages from The Art of Combat with entires in Grambino's Encylopedia of Creatures was informative and assuring. The capabilities of the creatures mentioned in either text matched perfectly with each other. It was comforting to know the knowledge absorbed here was reliable, this particular test was only one of many I'd conducted against the library's veracity, and each time there were no inaccuracies.

I fought the wooden dummy again. This time I was able to employ some strategy. A simple one. Although even at this level the dummy became wary of my feints after the first two instances. Those feints earned me a single jab to the chest and kick to the thigh past the dummy's defense. Both landed as quick as I could make them, as I had learned to. In the end, I landed on my back once more.

Thrice more that waking - since I was unsure of the day or night - I fought the dummy, read my books, applied techniques, and lost. But, on the fourth attempt, after watching the dummy's eyes or rather the tilt of its head, dodging its projected attack, feinting for a sweeping kick, then a glancing elbow to the face, I was able to land on my butt instead of my back.

It was expected. I was weak, despite my efforts thus far. When sleep finally took me, as it eventually did, it was with tired surprise that I realized I hadn't even really thought about my Level. Until now, it must've been true I was Level 0 since there was no way to level without a Class. I had been so caught up in my studies I had no time to think about it. That was my last thought before I dozed off into a restful sleep.

Class Obtained: [Learner] Level 1!

Skill Obtained: [Search: Library]