"Father, Mother, I've grown up! Please let me choose my own path."
At thirteen, Leo stood firm before his parents. No matter their objections, he had to seize this chance to enter Westmarch's training camp—and ultimately the secret base where the mystic arts were taught.
His mother's eyes welled with tears. With her free hand she viciously pinched his father's waist.
"Damn you, always running your mouth about the training camps! Now look—our son insists on joining. If anything happens to him, how am I supposed to live?"
His father forced a laugh.
"My beautiful wife, every year the kingdom selects children who've reached fourteen. Leo entering a year early means he gets one more year of training. Isn't that proof he's a genius?"
His six-year-old sister, Maijessie, frowned so hard her face crumpled like a bun.
"Papa, Mama, I don't want brother to go either… but when he says it, I feel like it's the right thing. Like it'll turn out good."
Everyone in the family knew Maijessie sometimes glimpsed outcomes before they happened. The ability was growing sharper with age.
"You've heard her," Leo pressed. "I'll be fine. And when I come back as a great hero, you'll have honor as well."
The room fell into silence.
At last, his father spoke:
"Let the boy go. Children grow up and chase their dreams. It's a good thing. If I'd given up back then, I'd never have won the hand of the village's most beautiful girl." He winked. "And if you still want more children, we could always… heh."
Leo caught his sister's confusion and his mother's furious "claw strike" twisting his father's side. He understood—her silence meant consent, though she'd never admit it aloud. His eyes stung as he opened the door.
He lifted his head so tears wouldn't fall.
"Maijessie, never tell anyone about your gift. And listen to Father and Mother. I'll come back a hero, safe and sound."
With years of training and odd techniques learned from the hermit, Leo passed the selection and joined Westmarch's camp.
At the gates, the sea wind still salty in his nose, he and other children awaited the monthly supply caravan. The uncles who delivered it also brought letters from home.
Each message carried his father's stern encouragement, his mother's tender scolding, his sister's longing, the neighbors' greetings.
Leo felt renewed strength. One day he would protect them all.
The caravan appeared. Children swarmed like bees. Even Leo, though thirty in spirit, was swept up in the excitement. He ran to the courier.
"Uncle, what news did you bring this month?"
The man's face darkened.
"Leo… brace yourself. I passed by your village. Your family is gone."
The words struck like thunder. He stumbled back to camp in a daze.
This was Diablo's world—where the weak became prey, where angels and demons played their games among mortals, where reckless men made everything worse.
Here, "disappearance" often meant gone without a trace.
Months of self-destructive training followed, body and spirit close to breaking—until hope arrived.
Dearest Brother,
When you read this, I will already be safe.
Though we suffered misfortune, I do not blame you. I know Father and Mother would feel the same.
This ordeal helped me understand why you were so determined to join the camp. You were right. If I'd been older, if I'd followed you sooner, perhaps none of this would have happened.
On my seventh birthday, we were kidnapped by a cabal of corrupt sorcerers. They sought to use Father and Mother to force me to join them. Before they could break me, we were rescued.
A secret order saved me, but… Father and Mother didn't survive.
I have now joined this order's training camp. Thanks to their favor, I've been given a new chance.
Brother, let us both graduate. On that day, we will cleanse the world of evil together.
Your loving sister,
Maijessie
March 20, 1270
(Penned by Natalya)
Later letters confirmed Leo's guess—the order was the Assassins. In Diablo's lore, they alone hunted rogue mages. And Natalya was no nameless mentor; she was a famed Assassin. With Maijessie under her, Leo felt reassured.
Still, his sister's gentle maturity pained him.
He swore never again to taste such helpless failure.
At last his efforts bore fruit: he rose to the top ranks of camp and was sent to Bastion's Keep for secret training. Graduation loomed.
"Leo, Leo, you okay? Your scalp isn't as thick as your face. Can't cut through your cheek, but busting your head still counts."
Reinhardt's joking voice pulled him back from memory. Leo gripped his hand, and with one mighty tug, was hauled to his feet.
A mournful horn sounded.
The yard roared to life. In ten minutes, twelve hundred recruits stood in formation.
Commander Robert strode forth, fully armored, hands clasped behind his back. His calm voice carried over the entire assembly.
"Brave lads. Whatever your future, you are humanity's pride and hope. To have been your instructor, to witness your growth, is my honor.
Of eighty thousand elites, only twelve hundred endured. One in sixty-six—you are the finest of your generation.
Drills on paper mean nothing. In three days you will go to a hidden place, to begin your training in mystic power—and to carry out a secret mission.
Whether you return as heroes or fall nameless, it no longer matters. You've already achieved what common men can never reach. In my eyes, you are all heroes."
"Victory! Victory! Victory!"
Years of brutal training vindicated at last, their voices shook the air.
"Silence!" Robert's gaze swept them.
"The place you go is unknown. Others will guide you there. Remember: survival comes first. Then the mission.
The danger is great. Thus the Alliance has poured its strength into forging wondrous gear, and chosen only the finest for you. Only such arms suit our best.
After dismissal, draw equipment and supplies from the quartermaster. Choose wisely—your lives depend on it. Rest well for three days. Dismissed!"
Leo's head still spun from earlier blows. He had no desire to fight the crowd at the armory. He sat outside to wait.
Soon recruits emerged, their gear oddly familiar—just like Diablo II's white items.
\[Beep beep beep. White items detected. Super Cain's Notebook App activated. Pathetic mortal, you should thank the druid sage Hade and many nameless sages for this gift.]
Leo slapped his thigh. Finally! A system—twenty years late, but here at last.
He willed it open. In his mind appeared reams of data. Yes, a complete compendium—every Diablo II reference he'd ever searched.
But… what good was this? Just a library? Was he supposed to replace Deckard Cain?
Once the mob thinned, he entered the quartermaster's hall. Racks of armor and weapons lined the chamber. Each item lit up with names and stats in his vision.
All white gear. But every piece rolled perfect stats. In the real game, getting just one perfect was torture. Here they were stacked by the dozen. Official import?
Still, no magic gear, no exceptional or elite tiers. A pity. But white gear meant no level requirements—perfect for recruits.
He tried an ancient armor—Defense 233, required Strength 100. Couldn't wear it. A superior plate—161 defense, Strength 80. Still no. Gothic plate, 135 defense, Strength 70. Still too high.
Without a stat screen, he didn't know his own Strength. Maybe after three days, if he awakened a class, things would change. With his Diablo knowledge and this app, the path ahead might open.
At last he managed to don a light armor. Sleek and adaptive, it molded to his form. Piece by piece he chose:
Helmet: Bone Helm, 36 Defense, requires Strength 25.
Armor: Light Plate, 107 Defense, Strength 41, classified Light (no speed penalty).
Shield: Bone Shield, 30 Defense, Strength 25, Light. (Sadly, his beloved tower shields were too heavy.)
Gloves: Light Gauntlets, 11 Defense, Strength 45.
Belt: Heavy Belt, 6 Defense, Strength 45, held up to twelve potions.
Boots: Chain Boots, 9 Defense, Strength 30.
Weapons: Two stacks of Javelins (80 each). 10–22 throw, 2–13 melee, requires Strength 40 and Dexterity 40, average attack speed.
His favorite—short spears—perfect for both melee and ranged. If only he had a proper stash, he'd hoard ten stacks.
(Notes: "Importing" means cheating, using mods to inject items. Diablo II items come in three tiers—normal, exceptional, elite. Each higher tier boosts stats: e.g., Cap → War Hat → Shako.)
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