The Duke looked around the room.
"I believe, gentlemen..."
His eyes settled on me.
"...and for the purposes of this discussion, I include you, Elias..."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"...that this matter ought not be handled in a completely sober state."
He crossed to a small oak cask resting on a side table.
Drawing the stopper, he filled three tankards.
The rich aroma drifted across the room.
It smelled nothing like the small beer I'd tasted back home.
This was sweeter.
Warmer.
More... dangerous somehow.
The Duke paused with the fourth tankard in his hand.
He looked at me.
Then smiled.
"I think perhaps not quite that unsober."
He set the tankard aside and instead poured me a cup of watered cider.
"There."
He handed it over.
"You've earned a seat at this table."
His smile widened.
"But not quite the drink."
The Count chuckled.
"A pity."
"So says the man who began drinking wine at twelve," the Duke replied dryly.
"I turned out well enough."
"Your wife continues to dispute that."
"She would," the Duke admitted with a faint smile before taking another measured pull from his tankard. The humor slowly faded from his face as he looked around the room, his gaze settling on me. "Now, Elias, I know very little of your background, and for the purposes of this discussion I believe that may actually be an advantage. You have not spent years listening to court gossip, political arguments, or ambitious men telling you how the world ought to be ordered. Your thoughts, so far as I can tell, are your own, and I would rather speak to that boy than one who has learned to simply repeat what others expect him to say."
He rested the tankard on the table and folded his hands before him.
"There are, however, a few matters you must understand before you can make an informed decision, because whether you wish it or not, the choices before you may place you into a world far larger than the village you came from, larger even than this army." The duke paused.
“The continent is in turmoil,” the Duke said. “Orcs, goblins, and races that rarely cooperate have begun marching beneath common banners. At the same time, kobolds beneath several of our cities have gone to war among themselves.”
I frowned. “Kobolds?”
“A small race that maintains tunnels, drains, and forgotten passages beneath many cities,” the Count explained.
“Why are they fighting?”
Hodger shook his head. “We don't know. That is what concerns us.”
The Duke leaned forward. “None of these events may have anything to do with your offering. But with so many unusual things occurring at once, we cannot assume your class appeared without reason.”
The Duke picked up the thread once more.
"So you see our difficulty. We are being pressed from without by enemies gathering beneath common banners, while beneath our own feet another struggle unfolds that none of us yet understands. Ordinarily, I would never burden a thirteen-year-old boy with such matters."
His eyes met mine.
"But today ceased to be ordinary the moment Mage Hodger walked into this pavilion."
I nodded slowly.
Truth be told...
I wasn't entirely sure what else there was to say.
"And two of my offerings are rare and unusual," I said slowly, trying to put my thoughts in order. "And the last one..."
I looked toward Hodger.
"...no one's ever heard of."
"Yes..." all three men answered almost together.
Silence settled over the room once more.
"One of my trainers said a sword is the last thing you pick up after you've lost your spear."
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I frowned.
"I've been thinking about that."
The three men waited.
"If a spear keeps a man alive longer..."
I looked down at my calloused hands.
"...then why would the System offer me a sword?"
No one answered immediately.
I wasn't sure if that meant I'd asked a foolish question or a good one.
At length the Duke leaned back in his chair.
“That,” he said, “is the question we cannot answer.”
"It doesn't make sense," I admitted. "If the spear is the better battlefield weapon..."
"It usually is," the Count agreed.
I blinked.
"It is?"
"Oh yes."
The Duke nodded.
"Reach, discipline, formations... wars have been won with spears for thousands of years."
"Then why a swordsman?" I asked.
Hodger folded his hands.
“Perhaps the System is not saying that a sword is the better weapon.”
“Then what is it saying?”
“I don't know. What did your instructor tell you about swords?”
“That a sword is what you reach for after everything has already gone wrong.”
The words sounded different when I said them aloud.
My first spear had broken during the goblin ambush. I had drawn my sword and survived.
Yesterday, another spear had broken in my hands. Once again, the sword had been all I had left.
The Duke watched my expression change.
“The last weapon available,” he said quietly.
I nodded.
“The weapon you use when the better choices are gone.”
"It says... Fated."
The word seemed to linger in the room long after I'd spoken it.
No one answered.
I picked up the mug of cider the Duke had handed me and drained it in one long swallow, more because my mouth had suddenly gone dry than because I was thirsty.
The Duke watched me over the rim of his own tankard.
"So you did," he murmured.
He set the tankard down with deliberate care.
"And that," he said quietly, "may be the most important word in the entire offering."
No one spoke for several heartbeats.
I looked from the Duke to Hodger, then to the Count.
Finally I cleared my throat.
"Does... does it always mean what people think it means?"
Three pairs of eyes settled on me.
"What do you mean?" Hodger asked.
I rubbed my thumb along the side of the empty mug as I searched for the right words.
"If a man is fated..." I said slowly, "...does that mean he has no choice?"
That question hung in the air.
The Duke was the first to answer.
"No."
His reply came without hesitation.
“No. Fate may place a road before you. It cannot make you walk it.”
***
With a sigh, I leaned back in my chair and stared down into the bottom of my empty cup.
Was this...
Was this what I was supposed to become?
I was just...
Just me.
A stable boy.
A brother.
A son.
I'd never dreamed of leading armies. I'd never imagined standing in halls with dukes and counts while they debated my future as though I were some puzzle to be solved. I didn't want songs written about me, or statues raised in my honor. I didn't even want people to remember my name.
I wanted to go home.
Home to the little stable my parents had left us.
I wanted to mend broken fences before the winter winds came. To rise before dawn, curry horses, haul hay, and grumble when one of the mares kicked over a bucket. I wanted my brothers to complain about mucking stalls because it meant they were old enough to help. I wanted my sister to laugh more than she cried.
That was enough.
It had always been enough.
Everything I'd done...
Every odd job at the Adventurers' Guild.
Every horse I'd brushed.
Every wagon I'd repaired.
Every meal I'd skipped so the little ones could eat.
It had all been for them.
Not for me.
I looked up.
"But..."
The word caught in my throat.
"Can they grow up in a world at war?"
The room fell silent.
The Count looked at me, his brow furrowing as though the question had surprised him.
The Duke, however, grew very still.
His expression became thoughtful.
Almost... proud.
I hadn't meant to ask them.
I'd been asking myself.
If this war reached home...
If the orcs won...
If the goblins burned villages like ours...
Would a stable matter?
Would work boots?
Would a new dress?
Would any of the little dreams I'd carried for so many years survive?
The class would give me power.
I understood that. I had always understood that.
A powerful class wouldn't put food on the table by itself. It wouldn't mend the stable roof or buy winter clothes.
But if war reached our village, none of those things would matter unless someone could stop it.
Teamster could help me provide for my family.
Perhaps Fated Swordsman could help me keep them alive.
Yet...
If power was what stood between my family and men who would hurt them...
Was it really mine to refuse?
Slowly I called the System back before my eyes.
The familiar list appeared.
My gaze lingered on Teamster.
My heart ached.
I could almost see it.
A lifetime spent among horses.
A warm stable in winter.
My brothers running through fresh straw.
A quiet life.
It was everything I'd ever wanted.
I smiled sadly.
Then my eyes moved lower.
Guardian.
Guardian promised that I could stand between danger and those unable to face it.
It was a good choice. Perhaps even the sensible one.
But the System had offered Fated Swordsman for a reason. Twice now, when every better weapon had failed me, I had survived with a sword in my hand.
I could no longer pretend I didn't see the pattern.
Spear Adept.
I almost laughed.
"Brenn would never let me forget how many spears I've broken."
A chuckle escaped me.
The others smiled politely, though I doubted they understood the joke.
Finally...
My eyes settled on the last offering.
Fated Swordsman.
The strange words seemed almost to stare back at me.
I remembered what the System had said.
Compatibility Confirmed.
No surviving instructional archive.
No one knew what it meant.
Not Hodger.
Nor the Duke.
The System couldn't or wouldn't tell me.
Which meant...
Whatever happened next...
I would be walking where no one could guide me.
I let out a long breath.
Then, to my own surprise, I smiled.
It wasn't a happy smile.
It was the smile of someone finally accepting something he'd been arguing with for far too long.
"I suppose..."
I looked up at the three men watching me.
"...I'm about to become the last thing I ever expected."
I turned my attention back to the waiting words.
"I choose..."
For just a heartbeat...
Everything seemed to hold its breath.
"...Fated Swordsman."