Putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the Jagged Peaks became an immediate priority the moment the Ravenlight Party realized just how many wyverns lived in the region—far more than the flock they’d seen breaking through the clouds earlier.

  As they continued their free fall, the sky above them darkened, blotting itself out with hundreds of winged figures: wyverns, rocs, harpies, and several creatures Deacon couldn’t even Identify

  And even with their scents masked beneath layers of dried blood, bat guano, and wyvern shit, that they had gained upon storing the wyvern carcasses, none of them were willing to test their luck. The last thing they wanted was an elder wyvern with a grudge picking up their trail and bringing an entire army down on their asses.

  So, when Sam and Esmerelda insisted that they glide the Party as far south as their mana could handle, nobody even thought to argue with them.

  The carried them for several kilometers before both Sam and Esmerelda’s arms began trembling to the point where their staff and wand, respectively, nearly slipped out of their fingers.

  However, in the seconds they had until their mana would run out, the both of them managed to bring themselves close enough to the ground where Deacon and Jass would be able to take over.

  The instant the gave its first weak flicker, Deacon and Jass reacted immediately, tightening their grips on the people closest to them before Sam and Esmerelda’s mana pools could fully bottom out.

  Jass hauled Esmerelda in by the front of her robes and locked her in place, getting the mage to cling to her like a mother sloth hanging onto a tree. Esmerelda wrapped her arms around Jass’s torso, hugging as tightly as she could to keep from being separated from each other while Jass wrapped both arms around her back to keep her from slipping off due to her exhausted state from nearly bottoming out her mana reserves.

  Within the same period, Deacon snagged Sam by the back of his collar, yanked Bonehead in with the other arm before the skeleton could make a noise in retaliation, and heaved both of them over his shoulders like sacks of laundry just as the spell collapsed around them.

  Wind punched up against them hard enough to rattle bones as all five of them dropped straight into the canopy.

  Jass hit the nearest tree first — her boots punching straight through a thick branch with a sharp crack before it snapped and dropped her through a shower of leaves and splinters. Milliseconds later, Deacon struck a branch, holding him for nearly a fraction as long as the branch that held Jass and Esmerelda, before giving way like wet chalk.

  They crashed diagonally through the trees, punching through branches with all the subtlety and grace of a bull in a china shop as every impact stripped more momentum from their fall.

  By the time Jass hit her eleventh branch and bled off almost all of her momentum, she managed to kick off it and redirect the rest of their momentum into a roll. Twisting mid-air with Esmerelda glued to her chest and clutching her back with one hand, bracing on the mage’s back, the other covering her head, Jass hit the leaf-covered ground boots-first. Her heels carved deep grooves through the dirt as she skidded across the forest floor before finally grinding to a stop.

  Deacon, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as lucky. When he hit his twelfth branch, he still had three times the momentum Jass and Esmerelda had at that point.

  The branch exploded from underneath him in a burst of splintered wood, just like the others before it; however, unlike the other branches, he was left with nothing but empty air for a full five seconds before he slammed boots-first into a massive redwood. Surprisingly, unlike the tree branches and trunks before it, the wood beneath its back did not immediately explode and shatter; instead, Deacon’s boots sank into the wood.

  Before Decon could let out both a shout of joy and pain, a thunderous crack echoed throughout the forest as the impact of his landed cracked the trunk clean across its spine, sending both the tree and Deacon crashing toward the ground.

  Ignoring the pain that stabbed his legs, Deacon yanked his feet free from the falling redwood trunk and immediately leapt off, after realizing his momentum had finally bled away.

  With a brief drop, Deacon landed upright onto the forest floor with but a sharp hiss before quickly checking on Sam and Bonehead—both dazed but alive.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, he looked across the clearing and saw that behind him, Jass was upright with Esmerelda still wrapped around her midsection.

  , Deacon sighed as he locked eyes with Jass and they gave each other a nod.

  They pushed the pain aside and sprinted south, weaving through the trees before anything from the mountain could decide to follow their trail.

  They didn’t stop until the jagged peaks of the wyvern territory were nothing but serrated shadows far behind them.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  It had been nearly eight hours since their escape from the wyvern den, and they’d finally pushed past the mountain range of the Jagged Spires and into Shoyer — a northeastern region of the Kingdom of Knights, sitting just south of the Jagged Spires Floor.

  After their crash landing, the journey to the nearby Floor had been peaceful in a way that made the last few hours feel like a fever dream. The forest around the Jagged Spires gradually gave way to open plains threaded with quiet rivers and sun-bleached grass trails — a stark contrast to the beast-filled forest and the impending chaos they’d just escaped from.

  With Deacon and Jass’s stamina finally caught up to them, and they’d felt as though they had cleared enough distance, they began to set up camp beside a rocky river on a wide stretch of flat grassland.

  Letting his bloodied and swollen feet into the river, Deacon couldn’t help but fall onto his back and let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck me, that was something I never want to do again.”

  Hearing a snort from beside him, Deacon turned his head to see Sam setting the campfire aflame. “My ass you won’t.”

  Smirking at Sam’s response, and silently agreeing with him, Deacon then said, “We should buy gliders.”

  Rolling his eyes at Deacon’s words, both he and Deacon tossed blank parchments into the flames of the campfire.

  Catching the sheet of parchment that flew out in his direction, Deacon gave a quick glance at his Status Page before clicking on the blinking button beside his Class.

  Upon pressing the [Warrior Skill Available] button beside his Class, the Status Page shimmered before being replaced by an entirely new page that was divided into five separate rows.

  “Nice,” Deacon said under his breath, the corner of his mouth tugging up as he took in the sight of receiving five options instead of the four he’d been offered last time.

  “How many did you get?” Sam asked him with a light nudge with the back of his wrist without looking up from his own parchment. “I got five.”

  “Same,” Deacon answered with a smirk, giving him a sideways fist bump before they focused back on their pages.

  Warrior’s Charge (Common):

  Hmm, the very same skill I was offered for my first one, Deacon mused as he recalled what he was previously offered all those months ago. reading through the skill's description once again, Deacon couldn't help but compare the usefulness of the skill to the spell he made, Flame Art: Flame Steps.

  “Speaking of which… I really should figure out why that’s listed as a Flame Art and not under the Fire category in my Spell Masteries,” he muttered under his breath.

  However, he was apparently not quiet enough.

  “It’s because it’s not a fully formed spell,” Sam said absentmindedly, eyes glued to his own list as he pinched and zoomed the text. “Flame Art, Frost Art, Mist Art — all those spell arts? They’re basically unfinished spell types. Prototype versions of their proper forms… unless they match your Affinity.”

  Deacon shifted his eyes away from the skill list to glance at Sam, who was still fully absorbed in his own options and wasn’t paying attention to the look he was getting.

  “Then what do I do to… evolve it?” Deacon asked.

  “Nothing much,” Sam shrugged—then paused halfway through it as one of his own options made his eyebrows shoot up. “Just keep using it, refining it, and with enough practice and fine-tuning, it’ll fix itself. It’s not like the academy-engraved spells we got that have been refined over three centuries and engraved on our souls.”

  Giving a shrug of his own, Deacon turned back to his list of options and pushed Warrior’s Charge aside without another thought. Flame Art: Flame Steps already covered everything that skill offered and did it better, so there was no point entertaining it further. His attention drifted instead to the next line.

  Rend the Weak (Uncommon):

  , Deacon mused, giving the skill only a brief read through once more before deciding that it would not be worth it.

  , Deacon chuckled to himself in realization of just how many of the races the skill would not work on.

  , the exceptions being some elementals and the like, Deacon sighed before moving on.

  Power Strike (Uncommon):

  , Deacon mused.

  Stonefoot Stance (Common):

  Stonefoot Stance

  Deacon exhaled through his nose as he read.

   is that it's influencing me right now, but... I really don't see the benefit of this skill right now, Deacon thought to himself.

  Relentless Pursuit (Uncommon):

  , Deacon smirked to himself as he finished reading the skill description.

  , . Deacon sighed as he brushed away four of the five skills and was left with just Power Strike, and selected it as his 2nd Warrior Class Skill.

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