Luke studied the glowing system window beside her, its frame flickering with five distinct options. When Charlie's Pugilist class hit level fifty, the system had automatically triggered her mandatory evolution, and now the choices were staring back at them.

He couldn't deny it, he was curious. Unlike the first class, which was chosen from the options given by the system, the second was earned through talent or perhaps dedication. Or maybe dedication only appeared in those who already had talent. He still didn't fully understand.

He still wasn't sure.

He remembered Angelica once saying she'd kept using her late brother's axe, hoping that if she devoted herself long enough, the system would reward her with a class connected to it. And Charlie… she'd done something similar. She'd fought with her bare fists until the world itself seemed to take notice. Whether that was effort or instinct didn't really matter anymore, the system had recognized her as a Pugilist.

The Pugilist class had never undergone any form of class mutation. Its attribute growth per level was naturally high, almost as if it were the equivalent of one.

"Your call, Charlie," Luke said. "Which one catches your eye?"

The first option was:

[Fire Pugilist]: A Pugilist who has chosen the path of flame, not the fire that consumes, but the one that forges. This pugilist does not fight merely for victory; he seeks the moment when body, will, and fury merge into a single blazing spirit.

Once, his fists only broke. Now, they burn. His heart beats like a war drum, his rage the forge that lifts him beyond the ordinary. A Fire Pugilist awakens greater powers tied to flame and close-quarters combat. While most fire users cast flames outward through fireballs or spells, the Fire Pugilist becomes one with the fire, using it to strengthen his own body.

Few return from this path. The fire teaches, but it demands total surrender. Those who master it become living weapons of light and destruction. Their blows do not merely strike the flesh of their foes; they scorch it.

(Attribute Bonus per Level: +16 STR, +7 END, +7 VIT, +7 INT, +5 AGI, +4 PER, +6 Free Points.)

The first class option was exactly what Luke had expected, the natural evolution of a basic Pugilist into one who specialized in flame combat. It had clearly branched from Charlie's earlier skills, like her [Flame] skill. That one simple choice had ended up unlocking an entirely new evolutionary path for her class.

The second option appeared next.

[Arena Champion]: The roar of the crowd is the heartbeat that moves with your own. The Arena Champion was born under the gaze of a thousand eyes, forged in the sound of steel, blood, and the cries for more. Where others fight for glory, he fights for perfection, the fleeting moment when body and instinct become one.

Every battle is a stage, every motion a deadly performance. He understands the rhythm of combat as a maestro understands music, knowing when to retreat, when to provoke, and when to turn fear into respect. In the arena, he is more than a warrior; he is the spectacle itself.

The Arena Champion masters the art of fighting with superhuman precision, reacting as if he can foresee his opponent's next move. His strength comes from both skill and presence. In the end, the roar of the crowd is his true victory, the echo that recognizes him as something beyond mortal.

(Attribute Bonus per Class Level: +14 STR, +10 END, +9 AGI, +4 VIT, +4 PER, +3 INT, +4 Free Points.)

Luke frowned slightly, uncertain how Charlie could've unlocked that one. Maybe it was a natural branch of the Pugilist's path, or maybe something she'd done had triggered it.

Could it be because Charlie had once killed a Warden Captain and was later praised for it? Or maybe her adventures with Anne had something to do with it?

Every time Charlie punched an enemy into the dirt, Anne would clap her hands like a proud coach cheering on her champion.

The third option flickered onto the screen.

[Barefist Defender]: Not all defense comes from shields. The Barefist Defender has learned to block the world with his own body. Every strike taken becomes a lesson, every impact teaches him to move, redirect, and absorb. His strength lies not in brutality, but in the harmony between attack and defense, a dance where a single mistake can mean defeat.

He sees combat as flow, not force. He knows that an open hand can stop a blade if guided at the right moment. His presence in battle is calm, almost unshakable, and there is something sacred in the way he faces chaos without hiding behind anything but conviction.

Over time, the Barefist Defender becomes a human bulwark, capable of protecting allies and blocking powerful attacks. His body is his shield, but his spirit is stronger still. He fights not for glory, but for balance, for the certainty that nothing is more unbreakable than an unyielding will.

(Attribute Bonus per Class Level: +14 STR, +11 END, +7 VIT, +7 INT, +5 AGI, +4 PER, +4 Free Points.)

Luke recognized this one. Ronan had mentioned it once, the class he'd chosen for his own evolution.

"Yeah," Luke muttered to himself with a faint smile. "That one suits a guy like him."

[Black Ash Fighter]: They say some learn to master fire, while others are consumed by it. But there are those who go further, turning their very bodies into fuel for the flame. The Black Ash Fighter is the omen of that absolute power, a warrior who begins to understand fire not as a weapon, but as an extension of his own soul.

The heat within him grows. The embers beneath his skin burn without consuming, responding to his will. His strikes leave trails of ash, and enemies swear they see flames dancing upon his fists. The air around him bends, heavy and hot, as if the world itself senses what is to come.

Little by little, the Black Ash Fighter approaches the boundary between the physical and the arcane. He learns to shape fire's energy to make it shield, blade, and essence. His power has yet to reach its peak, but each step draws him closer to total mastery, the moment when the fire will no longer be summoned, but become one with him.

This class uses the power of flame as both offense and defense. Its fiery skills may one day protect as fiercely as they destroy. Few are blessed with the power of the Black Ash, a gift that leads to even greater forms of fire mastery, whether to fortify the body, wield the flame as a weapon, or unleash it from within. The Flame dwelling in his soul will turn his enemies to ash.

(Attribute Bonus per Class Level: +18 STR, +8 INT, +7 END, +6 VIT, +6 PER, +5 AGI, +5 Free Points.)

A fighter, huh? What's the difference between that and a pugilist?

At first glance, it looked similar to the Fire Pugilist, both clearly tied to Charlie's [Flame] skill, but the more Luke studied it, the more he noticed the nuances. The stat growth was higher, sure, but the key difference seemed to lie in how it used fire. The Fire Pugilist focused on channeling flame through the body and fists, while the Black Ash Fighter treated it as a total force, something that could shield as easily as it could destroy.

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And then came the final option.

[Iron Pugilist]: The Iron Pugilist is the wall that stands between the impossible and the inevitable. Their flesh has been tempered by pain, their will forged through persistence. Where others fell, they endured. Where others hesitated, they advanced. The sound of their fists colliding against armor was the song that shaped them, a symphony of struggle and steel.

They've learned that pain is just another language, and the body answers to steel more than it ever does to fear. The world may crumble around them, but they remain, breathing, standing, unbroken amid the fire and chaos.

Over time, the Iron Pugilist turns their body into living armor. Their skin hardens, their bones grow as unyielding as the blades they face, and their eyes reflect the cold gleam of polished metal. They fight not to destroy, but to endure, until the world around them finally breaks first.

(Attribute Bonus per Level: +16 STR, +6 INT, +12 END, +8 VIT, +3 AGI, +3 PER, +4 Free Points.)

This last one seemed like a path focused entirely on physical reinforcement, channeling metallic energy through fists and body alike. A fighter who didn't just withstand the impossible, but outlasted it.

Luke glanced at the armored knight beside him. "So, which class caught your eye, Charlie?"

He wasn't about to influence her choice. Whatever she picked, it would be the right one. She still had ten levels left to climb in her new class before hitting the Rank F limit, meaning there were plenty of attributes waiting to pour in.

Her previous Pugilist class had granted a steady stream of growth: +3 Strength, +2 Endurance, +2 Agility, +2 Vitality, +2 Perception, +2 Intelligence, +2 Free Points.

Whatever came next would only make her stronger. What really mattered were the skills she'd unlock, especially the level 60 skill, her final Epic-tier skill before ascending beyond the tutorial world.

Luke mentally sorted the five evolution options by their style and potential:

[Fire Pugilist]: Close-combat mastery, using fire not only as a weapon but to reinforce the body with buffs and fiery techniques. [Arena Champion]: Precision and brutality, a class centered on performance, timing, and stamina-fueled combat flow. [Barefist Defender]: Defensive mastery, protection through sheer will and technique. Shields, barriers, reinforcement, strength through balance. [Black Ash Fighter]: Command over fire in all forms — offense, defense, destruction, empowerment. A fusion of flame magic and martial power, a fire mage trapped in a pugilist's body. [Iron Pugilist]: Raw, metallic power. The perfect blend of muscle and magic, turning the body itself into living steel.

Of them all, only the Arena Champion seemed built purely around stamina as a weapon. The others blended stamina and mana, fists that burned with both effort and essence.

"So, Charlie," he asked again, "which one do you want?"

She didn't hesitate. Her skeletal hand rose immediately, pointing at one of the options with unwavering certainty.

"This one?" Luke raised an eyebrow. "You decided fast."

Charlie nodded firmly. No second thoughts, no hesitation.

"Alright," he murmured, selecting the choice.

**Congratulations! Princess Charlie's Second Class Has Successfully Evolved!**

The system window glowed brighter, and a moment later, another notification appeared beneath it.

[One of Princess Charlie's skills is evolving…]

***

As Luke walked alongside Charlie, he stopped and sighed.

"Anne, I know you're there," he called out.

From between the trees, the doll-like maid stepped into view.

"Very well… Lord Luke. You always… find me," she said in that soft, hesitant tone of hers.

She approached with quiet grace, her maid uniform spotless as always, no trace of dirt, no speck of dust. Perfectly pristine, as if the forest itself refused to touch her.

"Lady Rhiannon… requests… your presence," Anne said.

"Allison? Right. I still need to finish the task in this area first."

Anne pulled a weapon from her inventory, a massive pair of shears, one half missing.

Luke had learned that, despite being a Healer, Anne could fight thanks to her Maid profession. Apparently, it granted her proficiency with blades, tools, and all sorts of improvised weapons. He still wasn't sure how it worked, but it meant she could wield anything from a knife to a sword, or even a sewing needle, and turn it into something lethal.

"Charlie and I… will finish… this task together," she said.

Anne knew Charlie still needed more experience points.

"Alright." Luke took off the pendant around his neck and handed it to Charlie.

"How did you even find us?" he asked, curious, as Anne drew closer. Her face was expressionless, her skin a mix of porcelain and synthetic flesh. She looked almost human, but not quite.

Anne tilted her head slightly. "I placed… a Mark… on Charlie… then used… Maid's Tracking… to locate her."

"Anne, that's kind of creepy," Luke muttered. "Especially when you say it in that horror movie tone."

"Girl… friendship… works like this. Charlie… approved…"

He turned to Charlie, who nodded.

I'm ninety percent sure that's not how girl friendships work.

"Go on already," Artemis interrupted from the pendant. "The trio of heroines needs their screen time."

Anne stepped closer to Charlie, curtsied neatly, and smiled, a small, practiced smile that somehow looked both real and mechanical. Together, the two started down the forest path.

Seen that way, they really do look like adorable friends. Just two girls heading out for a picnic.

"Charlie, shall we… kill more enemies… together?" Anne asked sweetly. "Make… more... blood explosions."

Okay, I take that back.

***

Luke made his way back to his section of the cavern. As he passed along the riverbank, he noticed how much the area had changed. More tents now dotted the landscape, and the fortress, once just a defensive outpost, had become fully inhabited. The future battlefield was being reshaped, studied, and fortified. Stone structures rose among the makeshift shelters, the ground carved and reworked to give the survivors every possible advantage.

When Luke reached the cavern's inner area, he stopped. Allison was there, alone and silent, just her and her katana. She wasn't fighting; she was moving. Each strike, each turn of her wrist, flowed like part of a dance. Graceful, rhythmic, deliberate. The air hissed as her blade sliced through it again and again, the soft sound oddly mesmerizing.

He stood watching her for a while, swallowing hard as it hit him how beautiful she really was. Sometimes he forgot. Maybe it was the chaos, the endless battles, the war councils, the constant life-or-death choices. But here, in the quiet, with nothing but the sound of her blade cutting the air, he saw it clearly. Out of nearly two thousand people in this cursed tutorial, there wasn't a single woman who came close to her. Not even Erza Grimhart.

Allison kept moving, her shirt tied up to keep cool, revealing her stomach — toned but not harsh. Strong, yet delicate.

When did stomachs start being that... attractive?

He shook his head, chasing away the thought. She was his friend. Just his friend.

"I've been working on making my movements smoother," she said suddenly, not breaking her rhythm.

What? She noticed me staring?

A flush of embarrassment hit him. Great. Now he felt like some creep lurking in the shadows.

"They're more fluid now, closer to how they were before. The flow of the sword," she added.

Right. She thought he'd been watching her train.

Luke cleared his throat. "Yeah, they look good. Really controlled."

Which wasn't exactly what he'd been looking at half the time, but close enough.

"I'm drenched," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"You? Really?" he teased.

"The blade's enchanted. It amplifies my strength, kind of like a berserker mode. I'm practicing with it active, without using my ice powers."

He nodded, now understanding.

"Anne told me you wanted to see me," he said.

"I did. We need to head back to the second fortress." Her voice grew serious. "Evangeline's raven brought me a message. Erza's called for a meeting to finalize the war strategy."

That could only mean one thing.

"It's time," she said, looking straight at him. "The preparations are nearly complete. Everything's ready. It means we finally have what we need to go back to Earth."

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