Chapter 5 The Fool's Attribute
CANDIDATE NAME: ROOK
Status: Transmigrated
Path: Knowledge
Class: Thaumaturge Escamoteur
Grade of Class: Ordinary
Clas Description: You are a genius jester whoose tools are deception and illusions.
Skills:
Misdirection (Passive): Attention naturally drifts away from you when desired. Success depends on surrounding noise and distractions. Ineffective in quiet, focused environments.
Sleight of Hand (Active): Your fingers move quicker than eyes can follow. Useful for theft, planting objects, or subtle tricks. Works best when unnoticed.
Boneless (Consumable, One-Time Use): Temporarily loosen all joints for five minutes. Allows you to slip through tight spaces or escape restraints. Extremely painful.
Luke stared at the glowing words until his eyes blurred.
"...Thaumaturge Esca—Escamo—whatever," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
From the description of the class, it sounded like someone who was skilled in performing tricks to achieve his goals. Something like a magician.
'Can't believe l actually gained a class of a clown. This has to be by far the worst class in this world.'
Ordinarily Luke like everyone else wanted to receive a class that gave him abilities that ensured his capability to survive. Not something that relied on evasion and deception to survive.
While in midst of his thoughts. His vision suddenly blurred like it did the moment before his transition.
The empty space of myriad colours appeared again, followed by the female voice with the majestic tone of a deity.
_You have been mocked by Fate. Congratulations you have met the requirements to unlock the Fool's attribute.
Luke was suddenly stumped the moment he heard the voice.
A moment later he regained his composure and willed his newly attained attribute in his mind, to check it.
The screen status instantly appeared in his mind.
CANDIDATE NAME: ROOK
Status: Transmigrated
Path: Knowledge
Class: Thaumaturge Escamoteur (Ordinary)
Clas Description: You are a genius jester whoose tools are deception and illusions.
Skills:
Misdirection (Passive): Attention naturally drifts away from you when desired. Success depends on surrounding noise and distractions. Ineffective in quiet, focused environments.
Sleight of Hand (Active): Your fingers move quicker than eyes can follow. Useful for theft, planting objects, or subtle tricks. Works best when unnoticed.
Boneless (Consumable, One-Time Use): Temporarily loosen all joints for five minutes. Allows you to slip through tight spaces or escape restraints. Extremely painful.
His eyes landed on the last line.
And as expected he saw new words on the screen, that weren't there before.
Attribute: (1 out of 5)
Attribute's name. The Fool
Attribute's description: You are a fool who is mocked by fate "
Attribute's effect. : You have a Fool's luck
He read the description carefully. His expression soured. "...Yeah, that sounds pleasant. Who doesn't want to be mocked by fate.
He closed the panel with a sigh and rubbed his temples. The phrase mocked by fate still lingered by the moment.
Somehow Luke felt that, this attribute was going to make many big changes in his life. And whether those changes were good were another matter.
As if the clown's class wasn't enough but he also had to obtain a Fool's luck too.
"Ah...just my luck."
He looked at the identity card on the bed again. Given that he had a shitty luck. He had to find a way to secure this important card on safe place. Less he lost it or someone suddenly takes it, which would surely leave him in a precarious situation.
Placing the card safely into his pockets, Luke began to act on his escape.
If there was one silver lining, Luke's class had. It was its domain of evasion. The one time use Boneless skill was perfect for this situation, making his escape plan feasible.
Luke pushed himself off the bed.
He had no intention of meeting the so called Joker, so he had to act f
His gaze flicked to the narrow window above the crooked chair. Too small for anyone to climb through. At least, anyone with bones.
Luke swallowed. "...Right. Guess we're doing this."
He moved towards the window.
He then focused on the word that had burned into his head.
"Boneless."
The world jolted. A wave of sharp, searing pain shot through his body, as if every joint dislocated at once. His knees buckled, and he had to bite back a scream. His arms dangled like wet ropes, his legs bending unnaturally.
"Oh God—oh God—this is the worst idea," he hissed through clenched teeth. His shoulder collapsed as he dragged himself to the window, body slumping like a sack of flour.
The frame dug into his chest as he shoved himself forward. Bones slid, shifted, and gave way like melting wax. His ribs compressed until he thought they might snap, and then suddenly—
He popped out the other side, tumbling onto the alley floor like a discarded rag doll.
He lay there, gasping, until sensation returned to his limbs. The stiffness came back slowly, painfully, like his body remembered it was supposed to have bones after all.
"Never. Again," he wheezed, dragging himself upright against the wall. "Next time, I'll just politely ask the criminals to let me out."
As soon as the skill subsided, Luke didn't linger nor did he wait for the pain to subside. He staggered down the alley, legs still wobbling, weaving between piles of trash and puddles that smelled like rot.
The City of Exiles was alive around him. Men with scarred faces haggled loudly in corners, women with knives strapped to their thighs watched strangers too long, and children darted like rats through the streets, their eyes sharp and hungry.
Luke tugged the collar of his shirt higher and kept walking, forcing himself not to look lost. Misdirection, he thought desperately. Work your magic.
No one stopped him. A few glanced his way, then turned their attention elsewhere, as if he were barely worth noticing. It was subtle, but he felt the shift. His skill was working, in its own pitiful way.
He rounded a corner and pressed himself into the shadows of a cracked wall. His breathing was ragged, sweat dripping down his forehead. He needed somewhere safe, somewhere Joker's men wouldn't think to look.
A memory suddenly surfaced in his mind. It was a place that this body found safe and called home.
The sewers, the home of Vagrants.
The image was sudden, vivid: a rusted grate behind a collapsed bakery, leading down to tunnels that led to the sewers, where vagrants huddled together for warmth and safety.
Luke grimaced. "Fantastic. My grand inheritance: a sewer."
Still, it was better than getting caught. He pushed off the wall and forced his unsteady legs forward.
Navigating the city was like threading a needle through chaos. Fights broke out on corners. A man dangled from a balcony, screaming curses at someone below. A pack of youths chased another down the street, brandishing broken bottles.
Luke kept his head down, muttering under his breath. "Just another day in paradise. Nothing suspicious here. Just your friendly neighborhood walking debt."
After what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes, he finally found it. The collapsed bakery leaned against the street like a drunk, half of its roof missing. Behind it, hidden in shadow, was the grate. Rust streaked its bars, the smell of rot wafting from the gap.
Luke crouched, tugged at the grate, and nearly cheered when it shifted. He squeezed inside. He slowly navigated into the tunnels, merely focusing on his instincts to lead the way. After a few moments later he reached a small opening that led directly into the sewers. He carefully lowered himself through the hole until his feet splashed into ankle-deep water. The air was thick, damp, and sour.
"Home sweet home," he muttered, voice echoing faintly down the tunnel.
He waded forward, following the tug of Rook's memories. Left at the cracked pillar. Right past the pipe dripping sludge. Finally, he reached a small alcove dug into the wall, cluttered with old blankets, crates, and the faint glow of a candle stub.
Luke slid down onto the nearest crate, shoulders slumping. His stomach growled again, but exhaustion was louder. He leaned his head back against the damp stone and shut his eyes.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then
"Brother?"
Luke's eyes snapped open.
And he turned towards the source of the voice with raised vigilance.
The voice was soft and feminine. He turned sharply, scanning the shadows of the alcove.
And there she was.
A girl, no older than him, crouched near the corner of the hideout. Her clothes were ragged but her orange eyes shone brightly in the dim light.
She tilted her head. "You came back."