Chapter Forty: I Like Small Animals (Part One)

In this world, every life, at the very moment of its birth, is not so different from any other. A minotaur child is as tender and fragile as an elven infant; a young orc is as naive and pure as a newborn dwarf. Neither race, gender, place of origin, nor any other factor can alter the divine nature bestowed upon each newborn, making them distinct from one another.

Yet, as these lives grow with the passage of time and gain wisdom, differences inevitably emerge. These differences become so pronounced that even between twin brothers, identical in appearance and raised side by side, clear distinctions appear, making it easy to tell them apart.

What, then, creates these differences, making each of us ourselves, rather than merely another version of someone else?

I believe that, apart from the intrinsic distinctions granted by the gods at birth, most differences stem from the choices we make. Every moment, we are confronted with countless choices—small, trivial ones: whether to go left or right, to ride a carriage or walk, to run quickly or move at a leisurely pace, to step first with the left foot or the right… At first, these decisions are made with careful thought; over time, they become habits, instinctive and automatic, requiring no deliberation.

As these subtle choices accumulate day by day, they form a pattern and gradually create a unique character for each of us. This character, in turn, influences our judgments, driving us to make more distinctive and personal decisions in matters of greater consequence… And thus, we grow ever more different from one another.

Our lives are a chain of choices. Often, the result of a choice may seem less important than the act of choosing itself—the process, the real and honest response we give in that instant. The path you choose may not matter, for countless others may make the same decision; what truly matters is why you chose it. That is what sets you apart, the essence of your soul, the key that distinguishes you from every other life in the world.

For the people of Farvi, the act of changing one’s class is a choice of fate. When a person reaches level thirty-five, they may build upon their existing class and advance to an entirely new one—a process known as “class change.” Afterward, your new class might further refine your old skills, enhance certain traits, or even completely shift you onto a new path, transforming you into someone altogether different.

Each class faces three distinct choices upon class change. Take my class, for example—the warrior. Once I reach level thirty-five, if I am devout and steadfast in faith, I can become a paladin. Then, I would be blessed by my chosen deity, able to draw upon divine power to defend honor and aid others.

I would learn spells to strengthen defenses and restore health, mastering new magical combat techniques and abandoning my current reliance on battle aura. But if I am strong, fierce, and bloodthirsty—if I find savage delight in the heat of battle—I could become a berserker, intimidating foes with raw destructive force. Of course, I would first have to ensure that my vulnerable defenses wouldn't allow my enemies to defeat me before I could strike.

Alas, I am neither a pious follower nor a battle-crazed maniac, so I would rather become a martial warrior. In a sense, the martial warrior is the true progression of the warrior class—balancing abilities, mastering a wider array of combat techniques, and relying on agility and wit, rather than fanaticism or brute strength, to grow stronger.

Of course, there is always the option of remaining an ordinary warrior and not changing class at all, but then I would forfeit the chance to learn higher-level skills. At the same level, the difference in power between a warrior and a martial warrior is striking; the former must exert far more effort to defeat the latter, and as one rises in level, the gap only widens.

Rangers, too, face three choices: marksman, warden, and beast tamer. As the name suggests, the marksman excels in long-range attacks with unparalleled archery. The warden, a guardian of the forest, is blessed by the goddess of nature; beyond ordinary ranged skills, they wield nature magic, their power shifting from battle aura to magic, much like the paladin. The beast tamer, meanwhile, gains the wondrous ability to communicate with wild creatures, winning their friendship so they become loyal companions in battle.

When I first laid eyes on Wild Goose Formation, my instinct was that such an elegant and lovely elven maiden would naturally be close to the compassionate Mother of Nature, Nachenia, and would become a mysterious and gentle warden.

Even if not, her imposing and powerful rifle alone suggested great potential as a marksman.

What I did not expect was that she had chosen the beast tamer’s path. The thought of a woman so angelic spending her days and nights with savage wolves, tigers, and bears—the stark contrast of beauty and beast—made me feel distinctly uneasy.

“Thank you so much, truly, for coming to help me…” After Feen introduced us, the elven maiden named Wild Goose Formation dipped her head in gratitude, displaying the unique elegance of her people.

Perhaps from shyness, she dared not meet our eyes, her cheeks blushing as if painted by the rosy light of dawn.

“I’m glad to help, and I’m about to change class myself. I thought I’d watch and learn, so I don’t find myself unprepared…” Accustomed as I was to Feen’s blunt warmth and sharp tongue, the elven girl’s reticence struck me as awkward—honestly, I had never imagined that a gold-digging sorceress could have such a quiet, gentle friend.

“Hey, Little Goose, don’t be so polite with them. These are all my old friends—especially this four-eyes here; he still owes me money. You can order him around as much as you like…” Feen said with a grin to her friend, pulling String Song over to stand beside Wild Goose Formation. Then she turned, flashing a sinister smile at String Song, and added, “…Isn’t that right…”

Given String Song’s usual mild, obliging, yet somewhat comical demeanor, this was the moment he should have been grinning ruefully and begging for mercy, offering up a stream of lavish flattery to demonstrate his loyalty to “Queen Feen”—a farce the two had played out time and again since we first met, to everyone’s amusement.

But this time, String Song seemed off. He looked rather wooden, lips slightly parted, a faint blush on his cheeks—not entirely the result of Feen’s vigorous pinching. Even though his large glasses covered his eyes, it was clear he was uneasy.

Through the thick lenses, one could almost see his gaze, uncertain and bashful, flickering over the elven maiden named Wild Goose Formation, wanting to look yet not daring to.

“Feen…” Perhaps unused to her friend’s roughness, Wild Goose Formation quickly pulled her back, casting an apologetic glance at String Song.

String Song, with his dazed expression and the bright red mark on his cheek from being pinched, looked so much like a startled goose that the elven ranger could not help but raise her hand to her face and let out a soft, musical laugh.

That melodious laugh, like a spell, drew the dazed archer back to reality, though his spirit seemed slow to return, making his words clumsy: “…Um…hello, I’m String Song…” Then, uncertain, he stepped aside, unsure what else to say.

The light atmosphere Feen had worked so hard to create was made awkward again by the four-eyed fool’s bumbling.

“Um, well…” As we walked outside the city, unable to bear the oppressive silence, I spoke up. “Miss Wild Goose Formation, why did you want to become a beast tamer?”

“Because I love animals,” she replied with a gentle smile.