Chương 9: Chapter Eight

The truly aggravating thing, he couldn't help but think later as he skulked through the sand and debris, was that the 'Bottom Feeder' class would probably have been very useful to him It had listed 'Scavenging' as its class focus. An activity he was becoming all too familiar with as he continued to peek behind stones and under rotting bits of cloth and leather. It seemed likely that any class skills given would have increased the efficiency of his current task by quite the margin.

Perhaps by pointing him towards the highest value 'garbage' in his area, or drawing his vision towards otherwise unseen treasures. Either would have been appreciated. Especially given that, since the silver coins, he hadn't found anything besides a headache. He was still tempted by it sometimes. It sat there, alone in the new 'Available Classes' tab created by its arrival, making him feel foolish about clumsily digging through the sand when he might have an objectively better solution within arms-reach.

Luckily, unlike most of his relatives, Bob wasn't overly affected by momentary temptation. Even ignoring its less-than-spectacular title, 'Bottom Feeder' was an F-ranked class. A ranking which given all accessible information – as well as the sad grey color it was painted – looked to be the lowest available in the system. He was already stuck with an F-ranked species with F-rank traits and an F-ranked skill as his sole ability; he was determined to do his damnedest not to complete the set with his Class.

Fortunately, it didn't seem likely he'd have to. Because his notification wasn't just kind enough to give him access to a class. It also let him know exactly how to get more. It was all there in the Class requirements. Bottom Feeder (F) Requirement: Consumption of an item considered trash by other Sapients. And luckily it wasn't the whole 'eating trash' part. At least not directly. The system's introduction had previously informed him that accessing a Class required certain attributes and skills.

Things which, given that all his physical stats were under ten and he only knew how to 'bite', seemed a bit out of reach. Fortunately, that didn't seem to be the whole story. Instead, the Classes seemed at least partially determined by the actions you took during your day-to-day life. Skills as well, actually; if him gaining 'Bite' after chomping down on that teen's finger was any indication.

He imagined having low attributes would still limit what was available, but even then, this potentially opened up a lot of opportunities. Admittedly, fewer than he'd prefer given the sack-like body he was currently burdened by, as well as his rather dismal location, but still enough not to settle for the first Class on offer. Especially considering which Class it was. Besides, it's not like all his attributes were bad anyway. His Intelligence and Mana stood at a, hopefully respectable, forty-eight.

With his willpower in a slightly distant third at twenty-five. He could only assume that his mental stats being that high had something to do with his mind and memories remaining intact despite his Kafkaesque transformation into a less-than-designer bag. Especially considering his 'Mimic' Species, rather unsurprisingly, wasn't increasing his intelligence at all. Those stats should hopefully be enough to open a few scholarly or even magical Classes; at least if this place continued to operate on video game logic.

Perhaps even some decent ones, depending on how a twenty first century education compared to whatever they had going on here. The only problem was acquiring the skills or performing the actions that made up the rest of the Class Requirements. Despite having the 'Mana' Stat, he didn't feel the sensation of his magic pooling into a core or setting fire to his nonexistent veins. And he doubted he would have missed it, given how long he'd spent stripped of all but one of his senses.

He also felt unsure what kind of magical activities he could even get up to at the bottom of an underground lake, but was trying to keep an open mind about the situation. The same could unfortunately be said of Scholarly skills and Classes as well. Sixty feet underwater not being a natural landscape for most educational pursuits. Still, the further he traveled, the more Bob was beginning to believe he was actually in a better situation than he'd previously thought.

While the bottom of a lake was an eminently horrifying place to find yourself as a human being – especially when you add the inability to swim and a lack of buoyancy to the mix – being stuck there as a bag might, if anything, be preferable to being on the surface. Were he still stuck in the caves he'd have to contend with an unknowable number of intelligent creatures which, like two of the three men he encountered, would probably know exactly what he was without having any idea that he was also a who.

And could anyone blame them? It's not like he'd pondered possible reincarnation-style scenarios every time he'd squashed a bug or set out a mouse trap. He would be treated like the vermin he appeared to be. Which, at least during his better moments, was a fate he was doing his best to avoid. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. At least here in the lake, his potential enemies seemed to be of fairly limited intelligence.

Most of the fish being easily fooled by his possum impression, with even the more aggressive of them giving up after a few attempted nibbles. None of which had dealt any actual damage. There was still the threat of floods of course. But honestly, they might be just as dangerous to him in the tunnels as they were down here. And at least down here he'd found an opportunity to improve his situation. Unfortunately, whether or not the big one hit before he could get out wasn't really something he could control.

Or rather, if he did have any control over it, it was in how fast he could shove shiny bits of metal inside himself. Bob needing to be far larger and stronger if he wanted to have any hope of pushing past the currents. He was hoping his fortune would increase once he hit the bottom of the lake. Something which was taking far longer than he'd expected, admittedly. Luckily, he was no longer bothered by pesky things like the need to eat, sleep, or take in oxygen.

He wasn't sure they were an even trade for his arms, legs or the existence of his previous world; but he would admit a growing fondness for not being bound to his previous animal necessities. Especially given his current location. He wasn't doing nothing as he slowly inched his way towards unknown depths, however. While he might be enamored by visions of himself blasting away enemies with fireballs and lightning bolts, he wasn't blind to the hard realities of his current situation.

Any amount of growth he could hope to make would be painstaking. And would also likely come from humble beginnings. At first, he tried to continue gaining experience for 'bite'; thinking that an evolved skill might be something of a game changer. His use of it during the recent 'excavation' proved that it could be leveled outside of combat after all, so he was eager to get going. Unfortunately, given that his 'mouth' was also currently operating as his 'foot', the whole process quickly turned untenable.

The currents and his limited buoyancy working against his attempts. Bob giving up after spending an hour trying to walk and bite at the same time. Netting himself six experience and moving a maximum of ten feet for the effort. After that failure, he instead focused on pushing his body to its limits in various ways that didn't slow his migration. Hoping to somehow trigger a Skill or open up a Class requirement during his wanderings.

This resulted in what, were there any observers on hand, would probably best be described as a bag having a traveling seizure. His form flopping about chaotically as he made his way across the lakebed. In actuality, he was hoping to create some kind of movement skill. Perhaps swimming, or jumping, or lunging. Anything to help him break past his current six fpm (feet per minute) top speed. Unfortunately, his less-than-precise control over his body was making that a difficult endeavor.

He'd even had to stop occasionally as his gyrations drew the attention of local fish, dropping motionlessly to the sand until they lost interest. He'd actually planned to give it up around ten minutes ago. But then he saw a large grouping of stones off in the distance and decided he might as well keep going until he'd gotten there. Hopping and wiggling along the way.

He'd just about made it – only having to hide from a few more fish feeling liberal in what they considered 'edible' – when he was pleasantly surprised by the sound of a notification. He perked his jeweled eye up in hope, looking towards the appearing window. Ding! Provocation Path Skill Acquired: Taunt (E) Only to have it droop back down again, feeling disappointed and now targeted by both the fish and his assuredly malicious creator. Though not enough to refrain from opening his new skill page.

Provocation Path Skill Taunt (E) Level: 1 – EXP: 0/100% The ability to anger or entice creatures into attacking you. Efficiency improves at greater level … Well, it was his first step out of F-rank, if nothing else. It certainly wasn't a skill he would have chosen in his current situation though. Which was an issue, as he just realized that it had automatically filled up his only other skill slot.' This isn't permanent, right?'

He thought, almost staring through the screen in front of him as he attempted to speak to the system.' You reminded me like three times that choosing a Class is permanent, but not once about Skills. Which means I'll be able to replace this, right?' Unlike his previous request surrounding his species traits, this question seemed to go unanswered. He also wasn't finding useful information in any of his status screens. The tab for his skills simply listing the two currently in place, their ranking and their level.

Eventually he just gave it up as a bad job and began to move further into the jaw-like outcropping of stones. The pointed mounds making him think they might have been ancient stalagmites, once upon a time. Centuries back perhaps, before the cave was opened to the world and the reservoir filled with water. He found his skill slot being potentially stolen was having less of an effect on him than he'd anticipated.

Perhaps it was simply him becoming inured to continual mishaps, but at the end of the day, he decided it would either be possible to replace it later, or it wouldn't. Either way, he wasn't going to expend any unnecessary mental or physical energy on a situation he had no control over. Mildly proud of himself for starting to roll with the punches a bit more, Bob began to make his way through the cramped ravines formed between the stones; searching for treasure.

The area was fantastically clogged up, filling him with both elation and dismay. The waterlogged wood twisting and binding its way through the stones, creating numerous areas for small fish and invertebrates to hide away. It also, as evidenced by the various detritus clinging to or tucked away inside it, acted as a sort of natural net. Scooping up and holding onto whatever the current sent its way. It looked like a fantastic place to search for hidden bits of treasure.

Unfortunately, it also looked like it was going to be near logistically impossible for an unwieldly, coin-filled sack to traverse. He was really starting to wish his attempt to gain a movement skill had succeeded. Or that he still had hands. Or had been made into literally any other creature pulled from whatever table-top RPG this world was set in. But, if wishes were fishes, this lake would be far more crowded. Bob continued crawling forward.