“So you’re telling me,” Ash said once he was sure Noir was asleep, “that the guild sent out the new vice guildmaster to check on a party of hunters going after a few cat monsters?” The skepticism dripped from his voice like slow honey.

“It was my decision.”

“Right. Because someone with such a warm and caring heart can become the vice in less than a day, and worries about parties when they’re only a few hours late,” Ash said as he nodded his head. “I totally believe you. Did you hit your head, by the way?”

“One has nothing to do with the other,” Marty grumbled.

Ash snorted. “Right. Well then, since you’re such a smart vice guildmaster, you should stop putting demon lord ideas into my brother’s head. He’s the sort of person who would go for the challenge.” He pulled his quiver of arrows over and started inspecting each one, checking for damage to the fletching, shaft, and arrowhead. It was too dim to see every imperfection, so he used his fingers to check by feel.

“He’s a level nine,” Marty grumbled.

“Level ten now,” Ash corrected.

“Still, the difference in level is too great. No one would challenge the demon lord without at least getting to level 50 and gathering a team of at least six other talents.”

“You underestimate my brother’s wish to get to level 100,” Ash snorted.

“What’s so important about level 100 anyway?” Marty asked.

“You expect me to believe the vice guildmaster doesn’t understand the basics of leveling?”

Marty almost growled as he stood and went over to check the horse. “I’m sorry if you don’t believe me about that, but trust me. There’s nothing special about 100.”

“Are you sure?” Ash asked. “No one’s ever done it before. The demon lord is the being on this entire planet that’s gotten the closest. What happens when something like that reaches level 100?”

“There are measures in place to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Marty insisted. “Now tell me why Noir thinks it’s important.”

“It was a stupid fairytale.”

“Nighttime fires are the perfect place for fairytales.”

“You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

“The more you put it off, the more curious I get.”

Ash sighed. “The basics of leveling are known to every hunter, and taught at all the guilds when a hunter registers to take quests: everyone gets a skill at level 1, a new skill at level 2, and then every eight levels after that they will either get a new skill or an existing skill will level up.”

“Known and proved,” Marty said. The horse had been unsaddled and brushed, so he seemed to just be showing affection for the animal. “Which means there is nothing special that happens at level 100. A skill comes at level 98, not 100.”

“If someone actually managed to level that high, yes. But something important also happens on every tenth level. Something the messages don’t always tell us,” Ash said.
Supposedly anyways. It’s not confirmed or anything, it’s just rumors.”

“Level ten is a skill,” Marty said thoughtfully, “and level 30 is when you can get assigned a class. Nothing significant happens at level 20.”

“Nothing noted by the gods,” Ash corrected. “Father, when he was younger, helped with some researchers who were trying to determine the rate of growth for levels, and understand why it takes so much longer to level up after you reach the higher levels. They found it is always more difficult to get to level 20 than it is to get to level 21.”

“That’s impossible,” Marty immediately protested. “The research must have been flawed or compromised.”

Ash shook his head. “Father said it took him two years to get to level 20, but only a year to get to level 21.”

“It was determined that the extra time to get to level 30 was because of the class assignment. All levels with bonuses require extra experience to reach,” Marty said. “Why would a level with no gain take that much longer?”

“It also explains why most hunters stop at level 19 and retire there,” Ash said, forgetting that he was talking to someone he thought was crazy. “They don’t understand why they aren’t leveling and assume they’ve reached their limit.”

A rustling in the bushes distracted them from the conversation, but it turned out it was only a small fox inspecting the light the fire made. Ash stood, and that was enough to scare the animal off. He gathered the good arrows and put them away. The ones left he started repairing as best he could with what he had. “Why are we even talking about this? You hit your head and got confused. We’ll take you back into town and let the guild look you over. Trixie’s good but she absolutely hates treating wounds beyond her skill level.”

“She’ll never improve if she doesn’t push her limits.”

“You actually think it’s healthy for her to heal someone she doesn’t have the skill to heal?” Ash scoffed. “How stupid. No way you’re even part of any guild.”

“Practice and effort are the keys to improving skills-“

“And imagine you’re a healer trying to heal someone beyond your skill limit and that person dies. You feel guilty, the family blames you for their loved one losing an arm or a leg or a life, and in a small guild like ours? The other hunters begin to think you won’t heal them if it comes down to it. At least Trixie makes her limits clear. She doesn’t say she’ll try and then let everyone get mad at her when she fails. She says ‘this is what I can do, have a plan for beyond that.’ No one’s surprised that way.”

Silence fell over the small camp for a moment, disturbed only by the crackle of the fire and Tom’s soft snores.

Ash almost rolled his eyes. Tom didn’t snore. It was better than Noir waking up, at least, and Tom was generally discrete.

“That was a lot of words from someone who isn’t a healer.”

“My mom is a healer,” Ash explained. “She carried a lot of guilt for a long time for not being able to save Dad’s companion animal.”

“It was injured?”

“No,” Ash corrected. “He used a healing skill beyond his limits to save my father. Doing that killed him.” Noir having a similar skill - healing by taking the damage given to others - bothered Ash immensely. He did his best to keep that skill quiet so Noir didn’t make the same mistake their father’s snake had. Unfortunately Noir wasn’t the type to keep any of his skills secret. He always announced his skills when he used them like a proud cat showing off his first mouse.

The silence after was a welcome moment to breathe. Ash was always a little more sensitive to these things than his brother.

“So,” Ash said. “Explain something for me. How does someone who is the new vice guildmaster end up half way up the mountain passed out on his horse while doing what you claim was some sort of search and rescue?” He put a few more sticks on the fire while Noir was sleeping, making sure he didn’t smother what little bit of the flame was left, and kept an eye on the stranger. “Sorry, I’m just having a bit of trouble with that.”

“I told you, I rode through all sorts of danger to come meet you,” Marty said with a small pout. He finally left the animal and sat down next to the fire. It was only then that Ash realized he’d been using the animal to support himself. “Truth is, I was transferred here from Central after an injury.”

“Was that injury to your head?” Ash asked.

“To my leg, thank you very much,” Marty snapped. “You’re going to get an earful when we get back!”

“You’re crazy,” Ash half laughed. The man was around his father’s age, but definitely not as skilled as even Noir was at ten. Any idiot knew better than to enter the cat monster territory when they couldn’t stay awake. “Go to sleep.”

“I’d rather not,” the man huffed back.

“Damnit,” Ash said in a sigh. He didn’t really want to deal with crazy all night. “Then just sit there and don’t say a word and close your eyes so I can pretend you’re sleeping.”

“Nope.” The man was poking at his saddle, checking the bags for something. “I’m hungry now that I’m up. I know I have a bowl in here and the makings of some soup. Fetch me some water will you?”

“I’m not your dog,” Ash said blandly, “and I’m not your servant. No.”

Marty huffed out a grumble and warned: “I’ll have you demoted. You’ll only be able to take gathering quests.”

“Ask me if I care.”

That got him a long sideways look and a hint of a skill peeking through.

“Don’t use skills in the field,” Ash warned. “It negates the blessing and all those ‘dangerous things’ you faced on the way up might come at us in our sleep.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Marty lied through his teeth. He grabbed a small bag out of the saddle pouch and shook it in Ash’s direction. “If you get some water, I can fix us both some soup. Deal?”

“Get your own water. I’m not eating that.”

The man grumbled and stood. He didn’t have a noticeable limp, but he did move slower than Ash expected. Only after he sat back down and put the small bowl near the flames to heat up did Ash decide there was some merit to giving the man some background.

Ash and Noir weren’t pushovers. They could see right through the lies this man spouted.

“My father first encountered his companion animal when he was watching over a slime field…”