Celia didn't sense any immediate danger around her, and only then did she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
With a flick of her fingertips, shimmering wing-like blades of mana formed and sliced cleanly through the bandages wrapped tightly around her body. She rose gracefully to her feet, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.
Her eyes quickly scanned the surroundings. The room was spacious and simple, sparsely decorated with strange, unfamiliar furniture and odd-looking objects that didn't quite belong in this world.
A neatly folded set of clean clothes lay by the bedside. Without hesitation, she changed into them, covering her snow-white, flawless figure. Once dressed, she stepped outside the room.
In the small courtyard, the blond boy from before was standing quietly. Opaque black lenses covered his eyes, and he was manipulating a blindingly bright point of white light across steel bars—something that looked both strange and dangerous.
"You're awake? How are you feeling?"
John turned his head slightly as he noticed her approaching.
Through the tinted shades, he saw she had put on the clothes he'd prepared. They were somewhat form-fitting, and her flawless physique was impossible to ignore—especially the way her prominent curves strained against the fabric. It looked like they might burst free at any moment.
Hearing his concerned tone, Celia was immediately pulled back to the events just before she lost consciousness.
Two black-clad assassins had been chasing her. She was poisoned and outmatched. In a desperate attempt to escape, she'd stumbled into a cemetery—her memory blurred after that.
Given how ruthless those assassins were, there was no way they'd have let her go if they'd caught her.
And yet here she was—alive. The poison that had tormented her body was now completely gone.
"Why did you save me?"
Celia narrowed her eyes slightly, her voice cool and wary, her gaze sharp.
John didn't take offense. In this brutal and unpredictable game-like world, everyone had their reasons. Every action came with an ulterior motive.
Especially for someone like Celia, an assassin by class—suspicion was second nature.
"I understand your caution," John said with a light chuckle, then pointed at the class emblems hanging from her neck. "This world is vast, and I want to see more of it. I believe you can help me with that. That's why I saved you."
"Oh?"
Celia raised a brow and nodded slightly. "This world is indeed vast, and full of wonders. But it's also riddled with danger. Living a simple, quiet life is often the wiser path."
"I used to think so too," John replied. "But lying low gets boring. Once I've wandered enough, maybe I'll come back and settle down again."
Celia went silent for a moment, then stepped forward and extended a soft, slender hand.
"I'm Celia. What's your name?"
"John. Currently a Furniture Maker," he said, shaking her hand and offering a simple self-introduction.
Their handshake was brief, but not without meaning.
"I am a Class Conductor," Celia said calmly. "I can help other Awakeners change their class—but only if they meet the requirements."
As she spoke, a golden glow lit up in her eyes. Her irises transformed into brilliant golden orbs, as though forged from celestial metal. The dazzling light scanned John from head to toe.
"Such a strong physique…" she muttered, a flicker of surprise flashing across her face.
Was he really just a Furniture Maker? Not a Brawler, a Pugilist, or some kind of body-strengthened combat class?
It was hard to believe.
Her gaze intensified, the golden light probing deeper, trying to read the complexity of John's mana pattern.
In this world, changing or awakening a second class didn't depend solely on physical attributes. The real key was one's innate mana pattern. Physique could be trained; mana pattern was something you were born with.
The denser and more intricate someone's mana pattern, the higher the class they could attain. Combat and advanced classes required exceptionally fine and complex patterns.
But after a moment of careful inspection, the light in Celia's eyes dimmed.
John's mana pattern only existed in a small cluster around his head. The rest of his body was practically empty—no flowing mana, no intricate networks.
Celia frowned and pressed a hand to her temple, eyes closing briefly as if in frustration.
"As far as Class Conductors are concerned," she said slowly, "you're considered 'mana-deficient'—a Class Level-2 Disability. You've got a strong body, which could've carried you into a decent physical combat class, but… with that pattern and your vision issues, I'm afraid you're out of luck."
She opened her eyes—only to see John calmly remove his sunglasses, revealing a pair of pitch-black eyes staring straight at her.
"You're not blind?" Celia blinked, stunned.
"I was, for a while," John admitted. "An accident. But I recovered. Still, as a Furniture Maker, I find it more comfortable to wear the glasses."
Celia shook her head. "I don't think this path suits you."
"Maybe not," John replied, his voice steady. "But how would I know if I never try? Who knows—maybe I'm a hidden combat genius."
"If you're truly determined, then I can assist," Celia said at last. "But your options are limited. There are only three classes you qualify for."
She raised three fingers, listing them one by one.
"First—B-rank Pugilist. Your body's strong. If you polish your striking and defensive skills, you'll be a formidable opponent. It's the easiest option."
"Second—A-rank Martial Artist. This class emphasizes technique and real combat. You'll need to constantly test yourself in battle to grow. High risk, high reward."
"Third—S-rank Swordsman. High offensive power, explosive potential, almost no weaknesses… but it's the hardest to achieve success in. Of the three, it's by far the most difficult path."
John listened quietly, then replied with a hint of nonchalance, "Let's go with Swordsman. Sounds like my kind of class."
Celia raised an eyebrow. "You really think you can just choose to be a Swordsman and make it happen?"
"First," she said, holding up a finger, "you'll need a good sword—one that can merge with your mana pattern and grow with you."
"Second," she added, "combat classes burn money. You'll need tons of rare herbs and tonics to strengthen your body. Without them, you won't last."
John nodded thoughtfully. "So, what kind of herbs and supplements are we talking about? Could you write me a list?"
A short while later, Celia handed him a sheet of paper, blowing gently on the ink to dry it.
John glanced at the list—his eyelid twitched.
"100-year-old Crimson Flame Flower,
50-year-old Mandrake Root,
Wild ginseng over 70 years old,
1 vial of pure black bear bile…"
Everything on the list was either rare, exorbitantly expensive, or outright mythical.
"These might look excessive," Celia said, "but they're essential. Your mana pattern is far too weak—you'll need a lot of support."
"And one more thing," she added. "This list only covers your first 30 days of supplements. Given your aptitude, if you want to become a Swordsman, it'll take at least five years of dedication just to reach the threshold."