Suddenly, the sky was inundated with more than a hundred announcements, each one blazing across the firmament.
"Dick's son 7 has levelled up to Base-rank."
"XXXX69 has levelled up to Base-rank."
"She_tick19 has levelled up to Base-rank."
It seemed like a coordinated arrangement, as if a large group of individuals had decided to level up at the exact same moment. Ivan also saw an announcement pertaining directly to him:
"Black_Riot 79: Reborn has levelled up to Base-rank."
"Black_Riot 79: Reborn has levelled up to Base-rank."
"Black_Riot 79: Reborn has levelled up to Base-rank."
Witnessing wave after wave of these unprecedented announcements, people began to widely accept the burgeoning rumours that Merlin_13 had somehow resurrected. To them, it made no logical sense that over one hundred regular players would spontaneously decide to level up simultaneously and become special characters. They firmly believed that Merlin_13 had cunningly used these waves of levelling-up announcements to conceal the announcement of his own resurrection. This theory gained traction, especially since he was known to possess the extraordinary ability to cheat within the game's system.
Ivan resisted his immediate desire to test his handling of Black Riot. Instead, he carefully took out the formidable switch-axe. The switch-axe could miraculously shrink to fit into any space, a testament to its former owner's ingenious technological modifications. The weapon then expanded to its original, imposing size, which was more than 2.5 metres long. The weapon looked both incredibly cool and utterly intimidating.
"What the hell!" Francisco, a startled member of the surveillance crew, blurted out.
The rest of the crew were equally stunned by Ivan's unexpected possession. They simply couldn't believe that someone who had just levelled up to become a special character already possessed a C-rank weapon of such calibre.
Rodrygo relaxed into his seat, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "It seems that he isn't quite as simple as we assumed. Well, gentlemen, it appears that our lives aren't as boring as we once thought. On this special day, we get to witness more than one extraordinary individual visiting this hub."
Ivan wanted to attempt a staff spin with the switch-axe, but he was genuinely afraid that he would accidentally injure himself with its immense size and weight. He opted instead to simply practise slashing with the formidable weapon. After some minutes of careful practice, he carefully placed the weapon back into his almost destroyed kit bag.
'I have to try and get an inventory,' Ivan mused, a new priority forming in his mind.
You have become a special character in the Torn Indigo. It is time to choose your class.
[Browse class list].
Ivan had almost forgotten about this crucial matter. Some time ago, he and his friends had discussed a hypothetical scenario where they were faced with choosing a class after becoming a special character. Two of his three friends had adamantly insisted that choosing the Necromancer class was the best option. His third friend, however, had maintained that either becoming a Dark Mage or a Light Mage was superior.
For Ivan, he had meticulously weighed all the available choices at that moment. He had quietly considered the Martial Artist class as being the optimal choice. But he had never made this preference known to his friends, feeling embarrassed about his selection and not wanting them to jest at his expense.
Martial art was a fundamental combination of discipline, fluid movement, and philosophical ideas that could positively affect the body, the soul, and the mind, all executed through precise violence or physical assault. Ivan firmly believed that a martial artist who diligently cultivated their power to its absolute peak could master any type of force in the world.
A true martial artist, he reasoned, could master the art of sorcery, be it dark or light sorcery. They could master vocational skills like shoemaking, tailoring, butchering, and crafting. They could even learn the intricate arts of nature, such as beast taming, monster taming, planting and harvesting, and potion making. Not to forget the undeniable fact that martial artists were natural masters of war and strategic combat.
However, the process of becoming the ultimate martial artist was notoriously difficult and convoluted, fraught with numerous restraints and immense personal sacrifice for the practitioner. This inherent complexity was precisely the reason most people consistently underrated the class.
You have chosen a class.
Class: Martial Artist.
At the reception, Ivan was given a small device that would resurface the vortex at the mere click of a button. Ivan left booth 2, his training complete for now. He then proceeded to leave the gaming hub entirely.
As he exited the hub, he suddenly remembered that he hadn't contacted his friends to know how they were faring. In the Torn Indigo, no one truly had a family unless they actively built one within this new reality. Individuals who awoke in this game were all people who fell within the age range of twenty-five years to forty-five years in their real lives. Everyone knew this fact, but what they did not know was what had happened to those who were under twenty-five years of age.
For Ivan, his friends were his family. He dialled a number on his phone; it was Roger's number. Roger was the name of one of his closest friends. Roger was also dark-skinned like Ivan, but unlike Ivan, he was notably larger in build.
A voice boomed on the phone's speaker, filled with immense relief, "Yo, Ivan, my man, what's up? Thank God, you are okay. Thank God. I was so scared to call your line because I thought someone else would pick up and tell me that you are dead."
Ivan's face beamed with a genuine smile. He was incredibly glad to hear Roger's voice. But he didn't make any sound in response, and Roger's relief instantly turned to panic.
"Oh no! This isn't Ivan, is it?" Roger yelled, his voice thick with tears. "Ivan, no! Oh no, why! God, why?"
Ivan quickly tried to calm Roger. He said, "Hey, it's me. Roger, calm down. Roger, it's me, Ivan."
Roger was no longer listening, consumed by his grief. He kept crying, "God, why did you let Ivan die? He was a good guy. He was like family to me. God, why? I swear if I get a bomb or a nuke, I will take down those aliens' base. I will drag those aliens to hell even if it means I will go along with them."
"Oh boy!" Ivan exclaimed silently, a mix of amusement and concern.
Roger, still distraught, asked, "Where is Ivan now? Can I see him? I'm his friend; please, I want to see him for the last time."
Ivan sighed, relieved that Roger had finally calmed down enough to listen. He said, "Roger, it's me, Ivan. I'm fine and well."
"Ivan?" Roger called out, his voice conveying a fragile mix of doubt and hope, but mostly doubt.
"Yes, it's me," Ivan confirmed. "I'm fine and well. I called you to know how you are doing, and man, I am truly glad to hear your voice."
Roger swiftly switched the call to video. Ivan switched too. The moment Ivan's face appeared on the screen, Roger completely lost his composure. He shrieked in pure joy.
Roger said, "Bro, thank God you are alive. Bro, I almost lost it. I'm so sorry that I didn't call sooner. I was damn scared that something terrible had happened to you."
Ivan replied, "I'm also glad that you are alive and well."