Strength Based Wizard

Chapter 16

How to Win Friends & Level Up, Part I

(Admitting you lost the breakup)

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my eyes before flicking open my System menu with a mental command. The familiar translucent blue interface shimmers into existence in front of me. The text, as always, is crisp and unnervingly cheerful.

I access the Daily Reward menu and am welcomed by a haptic tingle in my mind.

[Daily Reward Available! Would you like to claim?]

I sigh. After four months, the dopamine rush of claiming these rewards has diminished to practically zero. It was more like a daily chore now. And the Daily Reward was never anything good.

But free is free, and I’m not about to turn down a handout. I mentally tap the prompt.

Congratulations! You have received:

Adventurer’s Cookie (x1)Stamina Potion (Poor Quality) (x1)I groan. Again, with the poor quality crap.

If this System is supposed to be the future of humanity, why does it feel like it was programmed by some greedy mobile game developer? What kind of cosmic bullshit is this? A couple of months ago, my Daily Reward pulled me a Basic Mana Potion of ‘Improved Quality,’ which was exciting in the moment (until I realized the irony of receiving an absolutely useless mana potion). I rode that high of getting something good from one of these pulls for a while. Since then, I hadn’t pulled anything other than ‘Poor Quality’ potions.

Shaking my head, I dismiss the menu and withdraw the Adventurer’s Cookie, the small biscuit materializing in my palm in a faint flicker of light.

It’s brown, rectangular, and vaguely spiced-smelling, looking almost identical to those Biscoff cookies they hand out on flights sometimes. I inspect the cookie, reading the description the System helpfully generates above the snack.

[An Adventurer’s Cookie! Who’s a good adventurer? . . . You are! This cookie will sustain you for up to two days.]

I stare at the text for a second, then look down at the cookie.

“Who’s a good adventurer?” I mutter. “Go fuck yourself, that’s who.”

From atop the desk, Jelly Boy trembles.

I glance up. His beady little eyes are locked on the cookie like a predator sighting prey.

Oh, right.

I toss it his way.

The cookie plops onto the top of his gelatinous form and immediately begins to sink. Jelly Boy shudders, his entire body rippled with pleasure as the cookie sinks to his core, remaining suspended inside him, dissolving slowly like a tea biscuit in hot water. His little eyes curve into a delighted smile.

He bounces in place, vibrating with sheer joy.

I snort. “You’re the good adventurer, I guess!”

Jelly Boy jiggles in response.

I’m just glad these cookies are common. The little guy loves them, and honestly, I don’t know what else he even eats. Most human food doesn’t interest him. He won’t touch fast food, refuses anything deep-fried, and looked downright offended when I once tried to give him a bowl of kitty kibble.

But garbage television? Oh, he eats that shit up. If only your taste in food was the same as your taste in T.V.

I shake my head and lean back, rubbing my temples.

Sarah. The Captains of the Pegasus Guild. Silver and his smug, billionaire’s smile. The whole goddamn circus show that just upended my day.

I exhale through my nose. Don’t lose sleep over what you can’t control, I mentally repeat, over and over until I feel better. Well, not better but a little less shitty.

I flick my System menu open again, this time pulling up my Inventory. The list of items appears in crisp, glowing text, floating in front of me like some kind of celestial to-do list. Since gaining access to the System, I’ve learned to organize my Inventory. I now have all of the potions organized at the top.

Basic Mana Potion (x18)Health Potion (Poor Quality) (x23)Stamina Potion (Poor Quality) (x7)Basic Mana Potion (Improved Quality) (x1)Spell Enhancement Potion (x1)I barely even register the Stamina Potions anymore. They pile up like junk mail. Still, I take a closer look at the last three potions, which conjures small description windows for each one.

[Stamina Potion (Poor Quality)]

[Description: A stamina potion made using questionable means. It works, but barely. Restores 10 points of Stamina. Costs 5 points of Health upon consumption.]

[Basic Mana Potion (Improved Quality)]

[Description: Perfect for novice spellcasters as it has been prepared to replenish the full mana reserves of a typical beginning spellcaster (and then some). This potion has been made using an improved formula. Restores 22 Mana.]

[Spell Enhancement Potion]

[Description: A potion that provides a single, permanent enhancement to a spell of the Participant’s choosing.]

I withdraw the Spell Enhancement Potion from my Inventory. In a flash of pixelated light the intricate glass vial appears in my hand. The vial is in the shape of a beautiful winged woman, the wings folding up towards the vial’s stopper. Inside, a sparkling purple liquid swirls around. Why haven’t I taken this yet? For a while, it had been because I was convinced I would sell it on the secondary market. The System’s Marketplace was only available to those who had obtained a Class, and users could only transact on the basis of trading or exchanging Gold Pieces from the Gate Realms. However, nothing stopped people from conducting in-person business in exchange for cold, hard real-world cash. Hell, I’d traded that brass alembic I looted from one of the gobblins for one hundred dollars. This potion would pull me a lot more.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

But deep down, I knew the real reason I hesitated to do anything with it… Fear. You’re a god damned coward, Joe.

I shove the thought down, withdrawing the potion back into my Inventory, and scroll further.

My eyes gloss over the items I’d received from the two chests I had been rewarded while in the Gate Realm.

The Beginner’s Chest had been about what you’d expect:

Health Potion (Poor Quality) (x3)Basic Mana Potion (x2)Star Shard (x13)[Star Shard]

[Description: A shard of star mana.]

The Star Shards were the only thing remotely interesting, and even then, their use was still unclear. The Discussion Channels were flooded with theories about these shards—which came in a variety of mana types, from star to water and fire— but no one had a solid answer. Some people claimed they were currency for later, others thought they could be traded for rare items. A few lunatics even suggested they were bait, like some cosmic trap laid by the System and those entities that controlled the God Game. My money was on the theory that these shards were crafting materials of some sort. Only time would tell.

And then there was the other chest. The Advanced Adventurer’s Chest.

That one was way more interesting:

Ring of Freedom (Common) (x1)Lumberjack Boots (Uncommon) (x1)Gate Ticket (Bronze) (x1)[Ring of Freedom (Common)]

[Description: A ring that empowers its wearer’s freedom of movement. +15% evasiveness, +1 Dexterity]

[Lumberjack Boots (Uncommon)]

[Description: A well-crafted pair of boots that can keep its wearer’s feet dry and safe, even during long days in the woods. While being worn, grants the wearer access to the Ability ‘Hold Your Ground.’]

Ability: Hold Your Ground (Beginner)

[Description: You live in a constant state of standing your ground. You are capable of locking yourself to your current point in space, becoming harder to move. When another creature, Skill, or Spell attempts to physically move you in any direction, you have a 10% chance of succeeding any attempt to resist their effort.]

[Cost: 2 AP]

I didn’t—and still don’t—quite understand the use of this Ability. But, seeing as I had no other Abilities other than Slime Tamer, I decided to equip the Ability while wearing the Lumberjack Boots. The Lumberjack Boots looked like a pair of wheat colored Timberland boots, rubber sole and all—high tops lined with a supple brown leather.

[Gate Ticket (Bronze)]

That bronze slip of doom.

I stare at it, my stomach twisting.

By now, everyone knows what the Bronze Tickets do. They aren’t like the regular Gate Tickets, the ones that open two-way portals where all sorts of horrifying nasties can stumble through and wreck your day. No, the Bronze Tickets open a one-way Gate—a personal invitation from the System.

Step through, and when—if—you return? You have a Class.

That’s how people got their new powers. Their cool-ass titles. Their fucking celebrity status.

And yet, mine has been sitting in my Inventory for months.

Why?

Because the System, for all its bright lights and friendly UI that helps you track your lifting PRs, is the shadiest motherfucker I’ve ever met. Sure, most people come back with a cool new Class. But some people? Some don’t come back at all.

Gate Tickets had also been the first thing to be heavily regulated upon the System’s Assimilation. It was in everyone’s best interest if people weren’t opening portals monsters could wander through willy-nilly. It quickly became a criminal offense to use a Gate Ticket outside of Guild or governmental supervision.

The first couple months after Assimilation, I barely even used my enhanced body. Didn’t lift more than I could have before the System touched me. Didn’t run faster. Didn’t jump higher. Because I didn’t want to stand out. It took at least two months before System-enhanced people could be somewhat confident that our very existence wouldn’t become criminalized.

Still, nothing stopped people from using their enhanced bodies and the Gate Tickets straight from the rip. The promise of power and unlimited potential had been too tempting. Now, looking at that Bronze Gate Ticket, I feel the same instinct curling in my gut.

But another part of me—the part that saw Sarah Zorbas waving to millions of people on national television—that part? That part is getting really fucking tired of standing still.

I stare at the Bronze Gate Ticket in my Inventory, jaw clenched so hard it feels like my molars might crack.

Sarah. Fucking. Zorbas.

It’s been months, and I should be over it. I should be past the bitterness, past the gut-wrenching realization that the woman I almost married was playing me like a goddamn fiddle for years.

But then I saw her on TV, smiling like she won the goddamn lottery, basking in the spotlight like a golden fucking goddess. And you know what?

She did win.

She played the game, stepped through her Gate, got her Class, and now she’s one of the most powerful people in the country.

And me?

I ran home to Cleveland like a wounded animal, licking my wounds and telling myself I was gonna “win” the breakup. That if I got my shit together, landed another high-paying job, got promoted to Principal, got jacked as hell, and lived my best life, I’d be the one laughing in the end.

But there’s no winning when the other person ascends to superhuman status and gets a private invitation from the richest man in the world to join his elite squad of System-enhanced warriors.

I was playing checkers. She was playing 4D chess with a quantum computer.

I blink, shaking myself out of my thoughts.

My Inventory vanishes, and suddenly I’m back in my dimly lit basement room. Jelly Boy has pivoted from Real Housewives to YouTube videos, his gooey body bouncing slightly as he watches with rapt attention. The video is just some guy opening packs of Pokemon cards.

An ad pops up.

Jelly Boy vibrates violently in frustration. He hates ads. I swear if he ever grows to develop Abilities of his own, he’s gonna hunt down the CEO of Google and devour him whole. It’s a scary thought.

The ad is local. A crew of workers, all wearing construction gear, walks toward a glowing blue portal. The camera zooms in, showing the site on the other side—an entire work camp established past the Gate.

People are working, casting spells, lifting massive steel beams with telekinesis. A Pyromancer cuts through rebar with a flick of his wrist, while a towering, armor-clad woman channels some kind of earth magic to set the foundation. They are building a barrier around the Gate as another crew of people prepare themselves to enter the Gate, equipped with all sorts of magical weapons and gear.

A voiceover plays:

“Get Involved with Your Municipal Guild Today!”

“Rates starting at $22/hour. All licensed System Users welcome to apply!”

The ad ends with a giant QR code and a cheery “APPLY TODAY!”

I stare at it, gears turning in my head.

For the past few months, I’ve been wasting time. Trying to claw back what I lost. Trying to pretend like the old life I had was still within reach.

But it isn’t.

Sarah proved that.

If I want something better, I have to go after it. I had to try something new, something different. What was that saying about insanity? Something about trying the same thing and expecting a different result?

My phone vibrates.

I grab it off my desk and glance at the caller ID. It’s a 2-1-6 area code that I don’t recognize immediately.

I know who this is.

I swallow, then answer. “Hello?”

“Joseph! Good evening. Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

It’s Mr. Suit-and-Tie from Midwest Capital. The same guy who ran my second-round interview. Voice smooth as butter, the kind of guy who probably wears $5,000 suits and drinks bourbon older than my dad.

“No, not at all,” I say.

“Well, fantastic! I’ll cut to the chase—congratulations, Joseph. We’d like to formally offer you the position of Senior Associate at the firm.”

There’s a pause.

“I’m sure the formal offer will come through via email tomorrow,” he continues, “but I wanted to personally deliver the news. We’re excited to have you onboard, and I look forward to working with you.”

My eyes lock onto the QR code still hovering on my laptop’s screen.

For months, this job was the goal. The safe, smart, six-figure job that would put my life back on track.

But now?

Now I’m thinking about Sarah. About the Bronze Ticket in my Inventory. About the fact that I’ve been too much of a coward to take a chance on something bigger . . . riskier. I’m not so sure this is the track I want to be riding on anymore.

Mr. Suit-and-Tie says something else, but I barely hear it.

“Joseph? You still there?”

I exhale sharply. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.

“Yeah…” I say. Then I decide.

I sit up straight. My grip tightens on my phone.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “but another opportunity has come up that I’ve decided to take.”

A pause.

“Oh.” A shift in tone. Just a hint of surprise. “Well, that’s . . . unfortunate. But I understand. Best of luck, Joseph.”

“Thanks,” I say.

And then I hang up.

Before I can second-guess myself, I swipe to my camera app and scan the QR code.

It’s time to level the fuck up!