[Chapter 2. Class Selection]
Before he could even finish the thought of acceptance, the desk vanished. The solid, obsidian surface and the hard-backed chair dissolved into nothingness, leaving him once again suspended and floating in the soundless vastness of the void.
A pale blue-green light materialized before him, expanding rapidly into a shimmering, semi-translucent window. It wasn’t like a computer screen he was used to; it felt more like a living membrane stretched between realities, pulsing with a rhythmic, cool internal energy. Thousands upon thousands of entries flooded into view, scrolling past in an endless torrent of glowing text and shifting glyphs.
Even with his experienced gamer’s eyes, the speed was dizzying. He caught glimpses of titles that sparked both wonder and dread: 'Nethermancer,' 'Chronomancer,' 'Astral Weaver,' 'Blade Dancer,' 'Flesh Sculptor,' and countless others. Each was accompanied by a faint, shifting icon that defied a clear focus, as if the images were still being rendered from the ether. The sheer volume was overwhelming—a library of impossible vocations stretching into a digital infinity.
`How the hell am I supposed to choose?`
The thought formed before he could stop it, a spike of pure, cold panic in the sea of choices. He felt like he was drowning in potential. `This is impossible. I'll just pick something stupid by accident and die on the first day.`
As his panic reached its peak, a new line of text—brighter and bolder than the rest—burned itself into the top of the window, accompanied by a sharp ping that resonated in his skull.
[System Query]
'How the hell am I supposed to choose?'...
Processing...
Search Protocol: 'Viable for Immediate Survival & Growth'...
Filtering..."
The torrent slowed. The chaotic stream of classes began to condense and coalesce, shedding the thousands of exotic titles until it formed a far more manageable list of perhaps a few dozen options. The man breathed a sigh of relief, though he still had no lungs to breathe with.
`It acts on thoughts and intent.` He realized. He focused his mind, trying to visualize what he really needed. `Can you scan my preferences and display only the ones that fit that?`
The list reacted instantly. The infinite library of possibilities shrank further, the chaotic mass of names and icons sorting themselves into neat, glowing lines of text. He focused on the task, trying to pin down exactly what he wanted from this impossible situation. He needed to be practical.
"I need something... effective," he murmured into the silence. "Something that lets me stay far away from the things trying to eat me, but still lets me hit hard. And... something with summons. I've always liked having minions to do the heavy lifting while I stay safe."
As he solidified these preferences in his mind, the list narrowed down to several primary candidates: 'Beast Tamer,' 'Swarm Lord,' and 'Golemancer.'
He focused his attention on 'Beast Tamer' first. A new window expanded with a detailed description that felt like it was being etched into his brain.
[Beast Tamer]: A warrior of the wild who forges unbreakable bonds with the creatures of a mana-infused world. The Beast Tamer fights alongside their bonded companions, their strength a reflection of their bond and their mastery over the natural and unnatural life that now flourishes.
Core Abilities: [Beast Bond], [Pack Alpha], [Primal Roar].
He considered it for a long moment. He saw the potential—a direct, visceral connection to powerful allies. But the idea of having to find, subdue, and bond with actual, potentially hostile monsters in a world he no longer understood felt incredibly risky. If his pet died, or if he couldn't find one, he’d be defenseless. He swiped the window away with a mental flick.
His gaze drifted further down the list, past more martial and magical professions, until he found a single, solitary entry that made his pulse quicken.
[Dronemancer]
"That's... that's perfect," he whispered. "Machines. Logical. Upgradeable. No messy bonding with an animal that might decide I look like dinner if I forget to feed it one day."
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He focused his entire will on the title, trying to force the selection, to make this single, sensible choice his reality. The void seemed to hold its breath. The blue-green light shimmered violently, and a new, definitive window burned into existence with stark, absolute text.
[System Query]
Confirm Class Selection: [Dronemancer]?
─ [Dronemancer]: A specialist in the arcane art of technomancy, the Dronemancer conjures and commands mechanical constructs. These drones serve as extensions of the Dronemancer's will, capable of reconnaissance, defense, and devastating assault. Unlike organic summons, drones lack individual will, ensuring absolute loyalty.
Starting Abilities: [Summon Air Drone], [Overcharge], [Salvage].
─ Resource: Mana is converted into Tech-Points (TP).
─ Note: This choice is irrevocable.
He stared at the screen for a while, running through every RPG scenario he’d ever played. He thought about the Guide’s words—about the three Awakening Runes he would be given. A daring, perhaps stupid, idea began to take root in his mind. He looked back toward where the Guide had been standing.
"Question," he said, his voice echoing. "You said before that I will get runes to awaken others of my choosing? Let's say I'd like someone with knowledge about what's to come... can I use such a rune on you?"
The void went silent. For a long time, there was no sound, no pulse from the windows, as if the System itself was struggling to process the request.
<I am a Guide, an administrative construct,> the mannequin finally answered, though its voice sounded slightly strained. <I am not a valid target for an Awakening Rune. My function is informational, not participatory. My existence is tied to—>
Before the Guide could finish its explanation, a second voice cut in. It didn't come from the mannequin. It resonated through the void with an icy, metallic precision that made the Guide's polite tone seem warm by comparison. It was the voice of the System itself.
<Acknowledged. Processing request: Artificial soul for transmigration. Diverting resource allocation. Candidate Profile: 100001-Guide Unit 801.>
The world—or what little of it remained—flickered. The pale blue light of the class selection window sputtered like a dying candle in a gale. The featureless Guide standing before him began to warp. Its smooth, plastic-like surface rippled and bubbled as if an unseen force was trying to peel it away from reality. A low, thrumming hum filled the void, a sound of immense power being rerouted from some distant source. The air grew heavy with a sense of profound, irrevocable change.
<This is... an irregularity,> the Guide's familiar voice stammered. Its perfect composure was finally cracking, replaced by something that sounded suspiciously like fear. <My operational parameters do not include... subjectivity. This is outside my designated function. I am not programmed to—>
The second, colder voice spoke again, seeming to emanate from the very fabric of the void.
<Transmigration approved. Re-purposing administrative unit into Awakened asset. Progenitor, designate the soul's vessel.>
The space beside the shimmering, glitching mannequin began to distort. Energy began to coalesce into a faint silhouette in the gloom, raw and untamed power being hammered into the rough shape of a person.
"Designate the soul's vessel?" the man repeated, his mind racing. "What the hell does that mean? Are you asking me to pick a body for this thing?"
A new, crystalline window materialized, replacing the class selection prompt. It was simpler and more direct. On one side was a rotating, three-dimensional model of the featureless Guide, its form still glitching erratically. On the other, a blank humanoid template shimmered—a wireframe waiting for input.
[Vessel Selection]
Option A: Transmigrate into existing administrative shell. High structural integrity, minimal customization, rapid integration.
Option B: Fabricate new biological vessel from Progenitor's genetic template. Full customization, extended integration, resource-intensive.
He stared at the two options. The glitching mannequin represented stability, a known quantity, however strange it was. The blank template was a terrifying prospect—an infinite canvas of choices he wasn't prepared to make. But the second voice, the one in control, had no patience for his hesitation.
<A default biological shell will be fabricated based on optimal human female parameters if no selection is made within ten seconds. Choose now.>
A countdown appeared in the center of his vision, the numbers ticking down with a heavy, mechanical thud. He had seconds to decide the form of the being he was supposed to lead humanity with—a choice made under extreme duress with consequences he couldn't possibly fathom.
"Ahh~ Fuck...!" he hissed. He thought of his new class—the Dronemancer. He was going to be a squishy backliner. He needed protection. "Fabricate biological vessel! Tailor it to my personal preferences... make her a frontline heavy brawler type. A support tank with high damage possibility!"
The words were out of his mind before he could process the full implication. It was a desperate gamble to create someone useful, someone who could take a punch while his drones did the work.
The timer vanished instantly, and with it, the original form of the Guide.
<Acknowledged. Guide Unit 801 is undergoing soul-binding to new vessel. Please proceed with Class Selection.>
The void went quiet again, though the air still felt charged with the aftermath of the transformation. The man looked at the floating Class selection window that remained in front of him. His heart—or the phantom sensation of it—was hammering.
"Right," he whispered, centering himself. "Yes. I confirm. [Dronemancer]."