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LOCATION: UNKNOWN
CITY: UNKNOWN
DATE: ??? | TIME: MORNING
Following the prompts on his interface map, Grim pushed deeper into the forest until the trees finally opened up into a small clearing. It was maybe fifteen feet across, ringed by woods on all sides, with a large stone resting in the center.
The pulsing orb in his vision blinked one last time and went still.
Grim frowned. The stone looked… ordinary. Just a big rock. No notes. No signs. No prompts.
He walked around it once. Then twice. Then a third time, before finally plopping down on top with a muttered curse.
Seriously? Just a big fucking rock?
He sighed and stood again, circling it with more scrutiny this time. That’s when he saw it—two shallow indentations under the western side. Not natural. Roughly the size of his hands.
“Great,” he muttered. “Let’s see if I throw out my back on day one.”
With a grunt and a surge of effort that pulled at every fiber of his newly-enhanced strength, Grim heaved the stone aside. It resisted, but shifted—heavy, but not immovable. Underneath it lay a square wooden door, about three feet on each side, reinforced with iron hinges and a single pull-hole opposite the pivot.
He looked around. No threats. No instructions. Just the door.
With a deep breath, Grim reached down and opened it.
A steep stairwell led downward, the air suddenly cooler. As the door creaked open, torches along the stone walls flared to life one by one, illuminating the passage in flickering gold.
“Yeah. Not ominous at all,” he muttered. “Good thing I’ve seen some shit in my day. Little kid Graham would’ve been scared shitless—and still gone down.”
He left the door open behind him—just in case—and started the descent. But his danger sense, honed through decades of combat, was quiet. No alarms. No heat in the blood.
The stairwell curved twice before spilling into a broad chamber. The room was rectangular, maybe forty feet wide, with twenty-foot ceilings and walls reinforced with wooden beams. In the center stood a smooth stone pedestal, carved like a single piece rising from the floor. It was empty.
Grim’s eyes swept the room on instinct—reflexive, practiced. Corners, exits, elevation. He caught movement in the far right corner.
A man stood there.
He looked to be in his thirties, clean-shaven, dressed in plain dark clothes—but his eyes were ancient. And fierce. Grim had seen killers, and this man? If they fought to the death, Grim already knew who’d be the one left on the floor.
But there was no threat in his stance. Just calm. Like he was measuring something.
Then he spoke.
“Yes. I believe I can work with this. What is your name?”
Grim answered plainly. “Graham Thorne.”
He said nothing more. The praise from Mara Kincaid was still fresh in his mind.
The man nodded. “I am here to teach you about the path you’ve chosen. My name is not important, but what I have to tell you is. Pay close attention, and you may leave this place with a leg up on your journey.”
“Yes, sir,” Graham said. “I’m here to learn.”
The man studied him for a moment, then continued.
“You have chosen the path of a Fighter. Why?”
Grim hesitated, just for a second. The man hadn’t said it with judgment, but with curiosity. Still, the words hit something raw.
“You look strong,” the man said. “But strength alone does not make a true warrior.”
That phrase again—like it had been pulled straight from his thoughts back in the woods.
Grim exhaled slowly.
“Our world is about to change,” he said. “And I’ve been tasked with helping humanity become strong enough to defend itself. Not just against what’s here. But against what’s coming. I’ve been a warrior most of my life. Fighting—I know. Leading, too, in the field. But this is different. It’s one thing to be on the front lines. It’s another to write the battle plans.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
He paused, then added:
“I need to find the path to true command. That’s what I’m after.”
The man nodded, eyes sharpening with interest.
“Impressive,” he said. “You’ve cut to the heart of the problem. Truly impressive, Graham.”
He stepped toward the pedestal.
“We’ll be here for some time. But don’t worry—time in this place is dilated. You’ll still make it back for dinner with your companions.”
Graham and the mysterious trainer worked together for hours, testing various weapons. But Grim kept returning to the same set—dual short swords.
“The weapons we choose in The System become part of our soul,” the man explained. “You can never be disarmed. You can never discard them. They can be upgraded endlessly. They become a part of you. Do you understand?”
Grim straightened, his expression sharpening. “Really? I didn’t know this. How does it work?”
“You’ll choose here. Today. In this space. Once you have your weapons, you can use them in the Tutorial without issue. Once you leave, however, you’ll need to create them in the real world. The System will provide a quest to forge them. It won’t be easy. But for you, I imagine it will be barely a nuisance.”
Grim had taken to calling him "sir"—reflex for anyone with a military background when facing authority.
“Sir, thank you for teaching me. I’m ready. I’ve tested other weapons, but I keep coming back to the dual short swords.”
The man nodded. “Then step back from the podium and close your eyes.”
Grim did so.
“Now concentrate. Picture the exact shape, weight, and feel of the swords you want to wield. Identical or not—it’s your call. What you forge here will stay with you for a long time.”
Grim focused. In his mind’s eye, he saw them clearly—sleek, deadly short swords, crossed in an X on his back. It was straight out of Deadpool’s arsenal, and he didn’t care. It felt right.
Something clicked.
When he opened his eyes, twin swords floated above the pedestal, still sheathed, crossed just like he imagined.
“Please, take them,” the man said. “No one else can.”
Grim reached out. As his fingers touched the hilts, the illusion solidified. The blades dropped into his hands—and something inside him shifted.
And that’s when Graham Thorne, former Navy SEAL and certified bad-ass, passed out cold.
The man caught him before his head hit the ground.
---
System Message
Critical path alignment detected for:
Graham Thorne
Class upgrade in progress…
…
…
Base Class: [Fighter]
New Class: [Commander] (Rare)
The Commander operates at the front lines of every battle. From planning to execution, the Commander is always there, leading troops to the breach, and never surrendering.
Stats per level:
+2 STR
+2 END
+2 VIT
+2 INT
+2 CHA
+5 Free Points
New skills unlocked:
Rallying Presence (Passive):
Your presence in combat bolsters the morale of nearby allies.
+10% damage done and -10% damage received for all allies within 30 feet.
Commander’s Instinct (Passive):
Grants a heightened awareness of battlefield dynamics.
+10% reaction speed to unexpected attacks.
Detection of hostile targeting patterns and threats to allies within 30 feet.
Battlefield Mandate (active – 5 hour cooldown):
Issue a commanding order to inspire your allies.
All allies within 30 feet receive one of the following buffs for 10 seconds:
“Stand Your Ground”: +20% damage resistance
“Press the Advantage”: +20% damage output
“Push Through”: +50% stamina and mana regeneration
---
A short while later, Grim awoke, surprised to find himself on the floor. The mysterious man helped him sit up, then offered him a set of light armor.
“Most fighters wear metal. But your new path demands mobility. This leather armor is your default. Like your weapons, it will be available to you here in the Tutorial. Outside… well, a journey will find you soon.”
Grim nodded, still absorbing it all. A rare class? Like Darian? I thought Ronan said those weren’t supposed to be possible.
“Do you have any questions, Graham?”
Grim stood, adjusting the armor on his shoulders. “Just one. Do you know where this Commander path leads?”
The man looked at him for a long moment.
“I came because I’ve been waiting for you. If you weren’t worthy of this path, you’d have chosen a weapon and left hours ago as a standard Fighter. Nothing wrong with that.”
He stepped closer, eyes locked with Grim’s.
“The path of the Commander is lonely, but powerful. Command is never easy. When you arrived, I asked about your purpose. If you hadn’t believed—truly believed—that your role was to protect humanity, the System wouldn’t have given you this class.”
He paused.
“Where does it lead? That’s up to you. But I can tell you this: if it’s your intention to not only defend this world, but to lead it to dominance—then you’ll have the power to do exactly that. How you use it—that is up to you.”
He pointed to the stairs.
“Good luck, Graham Thorne. I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”
Grim bowed, then turned toward the stairwell. He had a lot on his mind.
After he exited the stairwell into the early evening light, Grim decided to check his status.
---
System Interface
Character Status
Name: Graham Thorne
Age: 38 years
Level: 1
Race: Homo Sapiens—Augmented
Class: Commander (Rare)
Profession: N/A
Titles:
Trailblazer
Core Attributes (Stats):
Strength: 22
Dexterity: 23
Endurance: 29
Vitality: 23
Intelligence: 17
Wisdom: 17
Charisma: 23
Perception: 23
Free Points: 5
Health: 345 / 345
Stamina: 290 / 290
Mana: 204 / 204
---
Grim smiled at the numbers. Apparently the ding must have happened while he was unconscious from the rare class upgrade.
He dropped two free points into Strength, one into Dexterity, one into Endurance and one in Vitality. For now, he wanted Strength on par with his Dexterity. He checked the screen again: STR at 24, even with DEX. END was now 30 and VIT at 24. Nothing wrong with being harder to kill. Especially if you planned to lead from the front.
With a satisfied nod to himself, he turned toward the forest path and started walking back toward Grimwatch—eager to hear what everyone else had experienced that day.