Jester walked to the next class, 'Trap Analysis and Disarming Fundamentals'. It was held in a different building. In a room that felt more like a laboratory than a classroom.
The air was sterile. With a tang of antiseptic and something faintly metallic. Glass display cases lined one wall. Housing various contraptions... Spring-loaded blades. Intricate wire mechanisms. Complex runic plate. Small, ominous vials.
The teacher was already at the front of the room. She was an older woman. Perhaps in her late fifties. With sharp, intelligent eyes behind thin spectacles. And hair pulled back in a severe bun.
Her movements were precise. Economical. She wore a simple, functional lab coat over her outfit. Her presence was calm. Almost soothing. But Jester sensed an underlying steel. A quiet authority.
"Welcome, Students!" She began. Her voice was clear and even. "I am Evelyn Cloveline. Your teacher. Here, you will learn to navigate a world engineered for your demise. You will learn to see the unseen. To neutralize the deadly."
She gestured to the display cases. "Traps. They come in myriad forms. Mechanical. Magical. Environmental. Hybrid. Each designed to maim, kill, or capture. Your task is to understand them. To predict their function. To disarm them without triggering them."
She walked to a large diagram on the wall. Showing several common trap schematics.
"Let's begin with the basics. Mechanical traps." She said. "Pressure plates, tripwires, falling block traps, spiked pits, spring-loaded crossbows. These rely on physics. Leverages. Tension. Percussion. They are often less subtle, but no less lethal."
Jester recognized some of these. From the manual books on basic traps he purchased in the Night Market.
"Then we have magical traps." Ms. Cloveline continued. "Wards. Runes. Glyphs. They can trigger elemental blasts—fireballs, lightning bolts, ice shards."
She showed different diagram. "They can create containment fields, summon minor entities, or inflict curses. These often require arcane knowledge to identify and neutralize, or specialized tools to bypass their magical energies without direct interaction."
She pointed to a small. Intricate device in a glass case. It looked like a bronze sphere. Covered in delicate, glowing runes.
"This, for example, is a rudimentary mana-bomb." She explained. "Triggered by proximity. It unleashes a concentrated burst of magical energy, capable of disintegrating flesh and bone within a certain radius."
Jester felt a chill. The difference between a simple tripwire and a mana-bomb was stark. The world was truly a dangerous place.
"Hybrid traps combine both." Ms. Cloveline continued her explanation. "A pressure plate that triggers a magical ward, for instance. Or a tripwire that releases a magically animated construct. These are often the most complex, requiring both mechanical insight and magical understanding to circumvent."
Her gaze swept over them, serious. "Poisons and gas traps are another category. The higher levels were often odorless, colorless."
She showed another pictures. Of dead people with unnatural skin color.
"They were designed to incapacitate or kill subtly." She warned. "They were made to be inhaled, ingested, or absorbed through the skin. Knowing common toxins and their antidotes, and carrying protective gear, becomes paramount necessity for us."
She paused. Letting the information sink in. "Now, the danger of mishandling these traps. This is critical."
She stared at Jester and his two friends. "A misstep, a fumbled tool, a moment of lapsed concentration... and the consequences range from severe injury to instant death."
She tapped a finger on the mana-bomb diagram. "Triggering this by mistake in a confined space ensures your immediate demise. A spring-loaded blade can sever limbs. A gas trap can render you unconscious, leaving you vulnerable to whatever or whoever placed it there... And we have them all here."
Jester looked at her seriously. And so did his two friend. They understood the teacher's intention. No goofing and playing around in her lessons.
"Beyond immediate physical harm, mishandling can have other repercussions." She stressed her points. "Triggering one trap might set off a chain reaction, activating other traps, alerting hidden enemies, or even sealing your own escape route."
Jester pictured a dungeon. Dark and winding. Full of these hidden horrors. One wrong move... And the entire danger threats in there could cascade down on him.
He decided to be fully focused in the class. This wasn't about grades. It was about staying alive. About his continued existence.
"Patience is paramount." Ms. Cloveline concluded. "Observation is your first and best defense. Never rush. Never assume. Always analyze the environment."
She reminded them. "When you faced a trap, be observant. Look for the triggers. The mechanisms. The tell-tale signs of magic. Always approach with caution. Your life, and the lives of those you work with, will depend on it."
The lesson continued with more specific examples. And observation practice. Of seven mechanical traps. At first glace, they were the same type of traps. But, actually, each of them had different mechanism.
Th lesson ended with the chilling weight of reality. Jester walked out feeling both invigorated and sobered. He had spent the day learning to become imperceptible and to observe carefully.
The transcender life was far more intricate than what he had imagined. Far more perilous than he had initially conceived.
But he wouldn't back down. This was his path. And he would walk it. One deadly step at a time. The real tests, he knew, were yet to come.
The dismissal bell for the Rogue specialization class rang. A sharp, metallic clang that cut through the lingering tension of Ms. Cloveline's intense lecture.
Jester felt the phantom weight of a dozen unseen traps on his shoulders. His senses still buzzing from the close observation drills.
Outside, the world felt a shade too obvious. Too simple. After spending hours dissecting simulated dangers.
He kept moving. His first thought was Vale. They hadn't talked much since the Awakening Ceremony. And, their schedules were now divergent.
But the Sorcerer classes, Jester quickly discovered, ran longer. The doors to Vale's designated classroom were still firmly shut. Faint whispers of arcane incantations occasionally seeping through the thick wood.
Jester sighed, leaning against a cool wall for a moment. No point waiting. Vale would be out late.
With a shrug, Jester decided to make good on his other plan. He needed information on a camera recorder. Not for school. But for his personal project. Documenting what happened to his body when he entered Toonworld.
He cut through the school grounds. Past the athletic fields. Where students were already engaged in rigorous physical training. Their shouts were echoing in the late afternoon air.
The path to the Market District was familiar. A well-trodden route he'd taken countless times.
The sun was beginning its gentle descent. Painting the sky in hues of twilight.
As he came close to the Market District, he could hear them. The usual noisy shouts of vendors hawking their wares. The chatter of shoppers. And the rumbling of pick-up trucks.
This part dealt with food. Fresh bread. Roasted meats. Exotic spices. The scents mingled. Creating an inviting aroma.
Jester's stomach rumbled. He thought of grabbing a quick bite. Before heading to the Electronics Zone.
Then, it happened...
A sickening tear in the fabric of reality. Not exactly a sound. But more like a feeling of ripping. Like heavy canvas splitting under immense pressure.
A shimmering, jagged crack. No larger than a man. It appeared in mid-air above the busiest intersection. It glowed with an unsettling, sickly green light. Smelling of rotten egg and something far older. Far fouler.
People stopped. Their conversations were dying on their lips. Their eyes were widening in horror. They knew what it was.
Before anyone could scream, the crack widened. Then bellowed. A three-meter tall beast burst forth. Its massive, muscled body was covered in rough, black fur. A Horned Wereboar.
Its tusks were long and sharp. Curving upwards from a snout that dripped with viscous drool. Its eyes, twin points of malevolent crimson, scanned the bewildered crowd.
Panic erupted. The demon didn't hesitate. With a guttural snort, it lowered its head and charged. A living battering ram of bone and muscle.
The first line of people were caught entirely unaware. They were obliterated. A cart full of apples exploded into splinters.
Two men, mid-conversation, were tossed aside like rag dolls. Their bodies slammed into a stone wall with sickening thuds. A woman screamed. A high-pitched sound of pure terror. Before being trampled underfoot.
And then, he saw it. A small, bright red ball. Rolling away from a crumpled figure. A child. No older than five or six.
The Horned Wereboar's massive hoof landed squarely on the child's already lifeless form. The red ball stopped. Stained.
Something snapped inside Jester. The careful, analytical mind trained by Ms. Cloveline dissolved into a primal scream of rage.
The casual cruelty. The senseless destruction of innocent lives... It was a gut punch that knocked all reason from his head. He saw red. The world narrowed to that monstrous, hulking form.
Without a second thought... Without a plan... His hand shot to his side. The familiar weight of his [Wild Nunchaku] materialized from his inventory. A blur of polished ironwood and gleaming metal.
He didn't care about observation. He didn't care about caution. This wasn't a trap to be analyzed. It was a beast to kill.
"You goddamn pig!" Jester roared.