Scum of the system

Ash Procell stood outside the town hall of Fairhaven with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying not to look like he was shaking.

Just breathe. You’ve waited years for this. Four months of training. It has to count for something.

The yearly Class Assignment was the biggest event of the year for anyone under twenty. Today the System would finally look at him, really look at him, and decide what he was allowed to become. For most people it was a formality. For Ash it felt like judgment day.

He had spent the last four months training non stop just to receive a decent class. Getting up at the crack of dawn just to run through the muddy fields. His asthma made every run a battle for survival against his lungs.

Night after night he spent his time by candlelight going over all the possibilities, until he passed out. He had even volunteered with the town guard as a courier. It wasn't glamorous or anything it actually hurt his legs and lungs.

But I tried. Gods, I tried harder than anyone else here, especially my bully Trent Marlon. He was also a year younger than me and bigger too.

All he wanted was something decent.

Not legendary.

Not heroic.

Just good enough to walk through a world gate and join a normal dungeon party.

Laborer was not good enough. Everyone knew laborers stayed on this side of the gates, hauling crates and sweeping streets until their backs gave out. Squire wasn’t even an option on the basic list anymore, those spots were reserved for the sons of actual knights. Merchant, Jeweler, Alchemist, those would have been fine. Anything that let him leave this quiet, ordinary town and see what waited on the other side of the gates.

At least with merchant I could leave and see the universe, no delving but that's still fine with me. Jeweler on the other hand could join groups as support with their enchanted jewelry I could cast party buffs and make enchanted gear. Alchemist would work as well, probably the best out of the basic support classes.

Please. Just something that isn’t nothing.

Ash drew a slow breath and stepped inside.

Ok, Procell this is it.

Rows of long benches filled the space of the town hall. Already packed with families, nobles and common folk shared this space roughly as equals once a year. Parents whispered behind cupped hands. Younger kids bounced on their heels or clung to their mothers’ skirts. At the far end, Magistrate Ordanau stood behind a heavy oak table. The Assignment Crystal rested in front of him, glowing with a soft, steady white light that made the air around it shimmer.

Ash found a seat near the back, wedged between a farmer’s son who smelled of onions and a girl who kept chewing her thumbnail. He tried to breathe normally. His heart refused to cooperate.

For the most part they all look so sure. Like they already know they’re getting something good. I wasn't so sure.

One by one the names were called.

Trent Marlon swaggered up first, all broad shoulders and easy confidence. The crystal flared bright silver the moment his palm touched it.

Trent reached the stage and turned away from Ordanau. “Everyone gathered here has the honor of witnessing my path to greatness!”

He held out his closed hand above his head. “My class assignment will be monumental to this great town and bring our world out to the forefront of the empire.”

The crowd cheered, some even whooping in agreement.

“Alright, alright. Calm down everyone, remember this is a formal function.” Magistrate Ordanau gestured towards the Crystal ball. “Now then, Trent place your hand on the crystal.”

Trent nodded.

“Shield Knight,” Vellum announced, voice carrying to every corner of the hall.

Cheers erupted. Back-slaps landed hard enough to stagger lesser boys. Trent turned, found Ash in the crowd, and shot him a look that clearly said stay in your place, Procell. The ethereal outline of heavy armor flickered around Trent’s body for a moment before fading. He walked back to his seat like he already owned the town.

Of course he gets Shield Knight. Of course the universe hands him everything on a silver plate. Bastard.

Ash’s jaw tightened.

Then Quinn Hannigan.

Ash’s stomach did a stupid little flip when she walked past his row. She had tied her dark hair back with a simple ribbon, and the freckles across her nose stood out under the crystal’s light. She placed her hand on the stone. The glow bloomed orange-red, warm and alive.

“Fire Mage.”

More applause. Someone whistled. Quinn smiled, shy and radiant. Ash looked away before anyone caught him staring.

She’ll be throwing fireballs in a month. Visiting other worlds. And I’ll still be here…

He had known her since they were six. She had once shared her lunch with him when his parents forgot to pack one. Now the distance between them felt like it had just grown by a thousand miles.

Others followed in a steady parade of respectable futures.

A Merchant whose crystal glowed soft gold.

A Jeweler who actually cried when the System confirmed it.

An Alchemist who whooped so loud his mother had to drag him back to his seat.

A Scout.

Even a rare Beast Tamer that made the entire hall gasp and lean forward as if they might catch a glimpse of some invisible animal at the boy’s heels.

Merchant would have been fine. Jeweler. Alchemist. Hell, I’d take Scout. Anything that gets me through a gate. Anything that means I’m not stuck here forever.

Every time the crystal lit up with something useful, Ash felt the hope in his chest stretch a little thinner. He kept his eyes on the floorboards between his boots and counted his breaths. Four months of training. Years of dreaming. It had to mean something. The System had to see the effort. It had to.

Don’t get your hopes up. You always get your hopes up and it never works out. Just… don’t.

The names kept coming.

No one dared leave till the ceremony concluded.

Sunlight shifted across the high windows, marking the slow crawl of the afternoon.

Finally:

“Ash Procell.”

The sound of his own name hit him like a slap. He stood. His legs felt disconnected from the rest of him, as if someone else were operating them. The walk to the table seemed longer than it should be. He could feel every pair of eyes on his back, curious, pitying, already dismissive.

This is it. Whatever happens next is what I am. No more pretending. No more hoping.

Trent’s low chuckle drifted from somewhere to the left. Quinn’s gaze flicked toward him and then away, as if she already knew.

Magistrate Vellum barely glanced up. The old man’s mouth was set in its usual thin line of mild contempt for anyone who wasn’t born into a useful family. He gestured once, impatient.

Ash placed his hand on the crystal.

For a heartbeat nothing happened.

The white light simply continued to glow, calm and indifferent. Ash’s pulse hammered in his ears. He waited for the familiar flare of color, silver, gold, soft blue, anything.

Come on. Please. Just give me something I can live with.

Then the crystal turned a deep, ugly crimson.

The light pulsed like an open wound. A faint metallic scent, like old blood and cold iron, drifted up from the stone. The temperature in the hall seemed to drop several degrees.

A System window bloomed in the corner of Ash’s vision, sharp and final.

[Class Assignment Complete]

Class: Cleric of Murder

Rarity: Unique

You have been recognized by the System as a vessel suited for the quieter rites of death.

Where other clerics mend, you unmake.

Where others purify, you end.

Your path is not one of glory, healing, or light.

It is one of necessity.

Warning: This class is poorly received in most civilized settlements.

Social penalties apply.

“No.” Ash gasped.

Vellum’s face went pale. He stared at the floating System text that only he could fully read, as if the words had personally insulted him. The silence stretched until it became something heavy and alive.

“Cleric of Murder,” the magistrate said at last. His voice was flat, loud enough for the entire hall to hear, and laced with open disgust.

No. No, no, no.

Someone in the back laughed,a short, sharp bark of disbelief.

Someone else made a sound of pure revulsion.

Ash’s mother covered her mouth with both hands. His father’s shoulders collapsed inward, as if the words had physically struck him.

Cleric of Murder. That’s not a class. That’s a curse. That’s what they call the people who never come back from the gates.

Vellum looked at Ash the way a man looks at a diseased animal that has wandered into the house.

“A Cleric of Murder has no right in our fair town,” he declared, each word deliberate. “You will leave by sundown. The gates of Fairhaven will not open for you again. May the gods have mercy on whatever world is unfortunate enough to receive you.”

“That’s not-”

“Fair?” The magistrate cut in, voice rising. “The Class Assignment never lies. It is the embodiment of truth!”

“Then why didn’t I receive a class last year? Or the year before that?” Ash protested, the words coming out thinner than he wanted.

Vellum’s face twisted. He raised his voice so the entire hall could hear every syllable. “I will not have it! Not from scum like you!”

The word landed harder than the class itself.

Scum.

Ash stood there with the crimson light still reflecting in his eyes. The weight of an entire town’s rejection settled on his shoulders like a second skin. He could hear the whispers starting already, sharp, hungry, mean. He could feel Trent’s grin without needing to look. He could sense Quinn’s horror without turning his head.

Scum. That’s what I am now. The System looked at everything I am, every run, every sleepless night, every stupid hope, and decided this was the truth of me. Cleric of Murder. A walking stain. Something that shouldn’t be allowed near decent people.

He wanted to shout once more that he never asked for it. That he would have taken Laborer. That he would have taken anything else. The words stayed locked behind his teeth. There was nothing left to say that wouldn’t just prove Vellum right.

Ash Procell, Cleric of Murder, turned away from the table.

He was effectively exiled. Not even his parents could help him now. He walked out of the town hall without a word, past the staring faces and the sudden hush that followed him like a shadow. Behind him, the laughter finally broke free, loud, scattered, and cruel. A piece of overripe fruit splattered against the doorframe just as he passed through it.

Outside, the afternoon sun felt colder than it should have.

Sundown. I have until sundown to leave the only home I’ve ever known.

He kept walking, each step heavier than the last. The System window still hovered at the edge of his vision, patient and unblinking. The word kept echoing in his head, louder than the laughter, louder than the quiet confirmation of what he had become.

Scum.

For the first time in his life, Ash Procell didn’t argue with it. I his heart he knew as least he has no other choice then to leave.9