Class Change

Hidden classes bloomed across my vision without end. Of course the Administrators who'd gotten their hands on Interference Power weren't about to sit quietly.

Still — even granting that, this was ridiculous.

It went well beyond anything I'd imagined. What even was this? I scrolled and scrolled, and the list had no bottom. There had to be well over a hundred.

The number of those who'd picked Heroes was considerable to begin with, and none of them had offered just a single class. They wouldn't know the particulars of my unique skill or my stats, after all.

Good grief. For so-called Administrators, they sure knew how to cling. It wasn't just one or two of them after a piece of me.

The ones who couldn't speak to me directly were thrashing about trying to pry my information out of Epathos, the Floor Master.

"You absolutely must not give it to them. You understand?"

"I won't give them a thing, so don't you worry."

He couldn't have given it even if he'd wanted to. Offer enough Interference Power and it wouldn't be entirely impossible — but the Tower and its Floor Masters existed, at their core, to save worlds in danger. Extracting the very talents meant to save those worlds was, in principle, forbidden. Unless a world could weather losing a few of its people and the Administrator of a dimension in crisis gave permission, perhaps. Earth, however, would have been destroyed within a month if time hadn't been frozen. Pulling anyone out of it was out of the question.

"What can they even find out about me right now?"

"Your current stats and skills, converted into a score. ...And that score is going berserk at the moment, which is why they're so desperate."

"They'll have guessed I'm a regressor, won't they?"

They'd had the Heroes they'd picked stolen right out from under them. Then they'd been handed Interference Power, and the Tower had restarted. They would know at least that the Heroes from Earth had been sent back.

Some of them would have pitied Gaia. A good number would have sneered. And even so, they would have been grateful — thinking she'd handed them a golden opportunity. The ones who'd obtained Rankers might be irritated, though. Those people had been ready-made combat power; they hadn't needed a restart at all.

"They'll know that much is likely. Anyone who isn't a fool would. There's a slim chance they're weighing the possibility you were a Ranker candidate who died early — but the weight will definitely be on the regressor theory."

Even setting my current skills aside, my stats already sat comfortably past the twentieth-floor range, not the tenth. And my unique skill was Mythic-grade. I didn't know how any of that converted into a score, but it was clearly enough to cause this kind of frenzy.

To them I probably looked like a shadow beyond a monitor. A very, very tempting shadow.

Even so, the class I was going to choose wasn't going to be some hidden class those bastards were offering. Take one of those and I'd automatically enter a provisional contract with them. Gaia's priority rights would become meaningless.

Besides, I already had Administrators I was decided on contracting with. One was Gaia — already contracted. And the other was...

First, I chose a class. Epathos was thoroughly sick of this circus too.

I selected Priest at once.

Gods. They were Administrators, originally — but at their own insistent demand, the Tower labeled them "Gods." From where I stood, knowing the truth, it was almost funny.

I sneered at them and opened the list.

The list unspooled without end. Plenty of the names on it were familiar.

The Warrior Who Hates Demons, especially. In the first timeline, that one had thrown a message in my face telling me he despised me.

And he was hardly alone. The ones who'd rejected me in the first round were thick on the ground.

They wouldn't know I was a regressor.

Somewhere in a corner of my heart, a petty little satisfaction stirred — a cheap feeling, and a meaningless one.

Messages flooded my vision at once.

Wow. They were really dumping Interference Power into a place like this?

This was their chance. Opportunities to send a Trainee an indirect message were vanishingly rare. The Tower filtered most of it, so they couldn't slip useful information through — but this kind of naked temptation was allowed.

Not getting hooked was harder than it looked.

And they'd seen my unique ability. They'd be coveting me even more now. By this point they would be certain I was a regressor. Nothing like this had happened in the first timeline.

They'd be thinking I knew Earth's situation better than anyone, and that made me that much easier to seduce in reverse.

I had no intention of biting. Not even a little.

I sat there staring at the messages for a long while. And then —

Found you.

It seemed right. But I couldn't be sure. The promised content wasn't there yet.

I waited longer still. All the while, countless Administrators kept tempting me with shameless, naked offers. They would think I was hesitating.

It was only a trickle, but if they wanted to waste Interference Power on me, I was grateful. I dragged it out even further.

The messages started coming in urgent now. Among them, I kept my eyes on the 13th Flower That Loves the Garden.

That's her.

Gaia. The name of Earth's only Administrator. She had said there would be an Administrator who would speak that name and praise her. That had been the promised content.

Gaia had a quietly cruel streak. Judging by "Flower," this one was a goddess — and a beauty-domain goddess, at that. Making a being like that praise her own beauty... Of course, the 13th Flower That Loves the Garden would be a very minor Administrator.

When Administrators who styled themselves gods chose their nicknames, anyone short on power found it extremely difficult to use titles like "God," "Emperor," "King," or "Queen."

There was a hierarchy of strength among Administrators as well. The greater the power of the world or faction they belonged to, the more freely they could wear those titles. Anyone lacking in strength or backing who tried it would be buried in an instant.

Which meant the Queen of Spring and the Goddess Who Praises Beauty were beings of enormous influence — close to figureheads of their factions, even.

They would have Interference Power to match, and they could offer substantial support. But even existences like that were losing their minds over the idea of pulling talent out of the Tower.

The stronger you were, the larger your faction, the more insatiable your hunger for talent. Power and money were the two things of which there was never enough.

In that sense, a Hero who played a decisive role in supporting one's own faction was important enough that the faction's leader would personally take an interest and keep watch.

By that measure, the 13th Flower That Loves the Garden fell well short.

And even so, I had to choose her. She was the only Administrator who had partnered with Gaia.

...Dragging this out must have started to scare her. She seemed to think I was still hesitating. All I was doing was burning a little of the others' Interference Power. It was a tiny amount, nothing that would really hurt them — but better than nothing.

I should choose soon. It wasn't as if stalling any longer would accomplish much.

Indirect messages weren't enough for them anymore. They seemed to be frantically petitioning Epathos, standing right beside me.

"Well, that's as may be — but chances to inflict even a little damage like this don't come often. You have to enjoy them while they last."

"I don't think she agrees."

"...Yeah. I should pick already, if only because I feel bad."

A goddess of beauty had swallowed her pride. She was an Administrator too, after all. Honestly, at this point, I did feel a little sorry.

I selected my second contracted God at once.

"No true name?"

"I don't see a true name."

"You'll only see that once you leave the Tower. Gaia you contracted with directly, outside. In here, even a Mythic-grade skill can't manage more than a provisional contract."

"...I see."

Even a Mythic-grade skill was, in the end, a skill that belonged inside the Tower. It could not cross the Tower's restrictions.

The moment I finished contracting the second Administrator through my unique skill, a chance to choose a new class opened at once.

The base class had been available because of the provisional contract with Gaia. Contracting another God had earned me the chance to take one more.

A beauty-domain goddess, then...

Setting aside the mage line, which didn't suit me at all, these three were about all that remained.

...What the hell is a Beautiful Warrior. Was she just showing off the beauty domain? It felt like the most pointless modifier I'd ever seen.

What? Why were the indirect messages still coming? I'd already chosen. That should have been impossible.

How... no, the selection was already over.

"...And the Tower's restrictions?"

...The usefulness of Information Level was remarkably high. I hadn't expected it to have a function like this. I'd thought interference was only possible through quests.

"What Information Level is required?"

Upper Floors-level. A full sixty. I'd only just scraped over that line myself.

That wasn't a bad situation. By the time I reached that point I would already have a solid position — and if I hadn't, I'd already be dead.

Realizing I didn't need to worry about it, I ignored the messages and turned my thoughts to the class.

I'd already chosen Priest. Taking Priest again wouldn't have been terrible — hidden classes came with unique skills, after all. But my problem had never been a shortage of skills. It was a shortage of skill slots. I already knew how to obtain rare ones, useful ones, even Legendary-grade skills. There was no reason to double up on Priest just to grab a hidden-class skill.

If I considered the physical ability I'd gained from that unexpected Inheritance, a Guardian line — a tank — wasn't a bad choice at all.

Skills were auxiliary by nature. They filled in for talent you didn't have. A warrior overflowing with talent could manage somehow even with too few skill slots.

Sword Qi was the classic example. Given a certain level of mana control, swordsmanship, and martial realm, you could draw Sword Qi without any skill at all. Fall short in even one of those, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you couldn't. Slot the Sword Qi skill, though, and you could use it anyway. That was what skill slots did — they patched the holes in your talent.

Conversely, if your talent was already outstanding, stuffing those slots with passives was the highest efficiency you could get. Your own gift plus the Tower's assistance produced an enormous synergy.

The irony was that the more talented someone was, the more skill slots they tended to have as well.

But that was a luxury only warriors could afford. For mages and Priests, skill slots were critically important.

A mage, in practice, needed a lifetime of knowledge and relentless training from childhood just to cast. The Tower was not a place kind enough to let you live that way. Priests were the same. They spent years — decades, even — studying theology, gathering mana through prayer, and learning their techniques.

Where was anyone supposed to find that kind of time? Which was why mages and Priests had no choice but to run their skill ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slots extremely tight. There were tricks, of course — but not many.

A warrior could lean on stats for physical ability and patch swordsmanship with a skill slot, and the rest would work itself out somehow. More slots were always better for warriors too — there was never enough room to learn every technique. Getting a skill's assistance was never a bad thing. It was simply that they needed it less.

That was why warriors and archers were the most common classes in the Tower, followed by Priests, with mages genuinely rare. Half-baked specialists who could only do one thing were common enough. Proper ones were the shortage. Higher up the ranks, though, Priests became more common while mages stayed scarce — and top-tier warriors were as rare as mages.

That was how hard it was for a warrior to truly excel.

I had lived as a warrior in the first timeline, so I barely needed warrior skills. A weapon technique or two would be plenty. I had six skill slots. Five was enough to make a single Priest line work, one way or another. And Legendary skills often carried multiple effects — the Legendary skill Saintess's Blessing, for instance, was healing and a buff. Skills of Legendary grade and above could overwrite and erase the ones beneath them, so you could learn other skills first and still be fine. That was one more reason Legendary skills almost never appeared on the market.

...Guardian it is, then.

That was the best option.

Going halfway usually meant going under — but I was someone who had reached the Upper Floors as a warrior. And in this timeline I had already filled in the stats and physical talent I'd lacked the first time around. Add Priest buffs on top of that, and there was a real chance I could approach Ranker-level on my own.

After thinking it through, I chose the class called Guardian of the Garden. ...A Beautiful Warrior was, if nothing else, out of the question. I wanted a tank class with better synergy with Priest. Class bonuses were hard to ignore, too.

Rare, of course. There was a reason her nickname was the 13th Flower That Loves the Garden. It meant she didn't have the power. Someone like the Queen of Spring or the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Goddess Who Praises Beauty might well have offered a Legendary-grade class.

Not that it mattered. Even a Normal-grade class would have been fine.

I was just about to pick the one free skill they gave you when Epathos stopped me.

"Lad, aren't you forgetting something?"

"...Forgetting something?"

"The random skill card. I enhanced it for you, did I not?"

"Ah. Right. I should use that first."

Well. Draw this first, then fit everything else around it. And a Floor Master wasn't about to give me advice that would do me harm.

I used the Enhanced Random Skill Card at once.

......Huh?

I wore the stupidest expression of my life. Epathos, who had been watching my face with great care, burst into a laugh loud enough to prove it.