Lennox watched as Garrick picked up a slab of meat, a portion of vegetables, and a thick slice of bread before he began eating in silence. The warrior's movements were efficient—calculated. There was no hesitation, no wasted effort.
Lennox was already used to Garrick's quiet nature. The man didn't waste words on unnecessary things. Instead, he expressed himself through action—whether it was through his brutal training sessions, his masterful combat skills, or, in this case, his absurdly good cooking.
Lennox grabbed a plate and piled on his own generous serving. "As always, the food is incredible," he commented, not expecting a response.
Garrick merely grunted in acknowledgment, continuing his meal.
Lennox chuckled and focused on his own food.
Today, he was famished.
Probably something to do with the fact that he had just broken through.
The sheer amount of energy he had burned during training had left his body craving sustenance, and he wasted no time indulging. He tore into the meat, savoring the juicy tenderness of the well-seasoned cut. The bread was freshly baked, soft with just the right amount of crispness on the edges. The vegetables were tossed in some kind of light dressing, adding a refreshing contrast to the heavier flavors of the meal.
He ate a lot—far more than usual. But even after devouring several hearty portions, something still felt missing.
Then, his eyes flicked to his glass.
Eluna's Nectar.
The tall, elegant glass shimmered faintly in the warm light, the golden liquid within shifting with an almost ethereal glow. Occasionally, streaks of silver would ripple across its surface, like moonlight reflected on a calm lake.
Lennox reached for the glass and lifted it to his lips.
The first sip sent a rush of cool relief down his throat, a stark contrast to the fiery boldness of Emberbrew Ale.
The taste was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
It was light, smooth, and exquisitely refined, carrying hints of something floral yet subtly sweet—like honey dripped over fresh petals. But beneath that initial taste, there was a deeper complexity. A crisp, almost mist-like freshness that soothed the tongue, calmed the throat, and settled in his chest with a tranquil warmth.
It was like drinking liquid moonlight.
As the Nectar spread through his body, Lennox felt a profound calmness seep into his very being.
His muscles—still sore from training—relaxed.
His blood, which had been running hot from exertion, cooled.
His mind, which had been buzzing with excitement, steadied.
It was as if every ounce of residual tension melted away.
A slow exhale left his lips as he savored the sensation.
Lennox had expected the drink to be good.
But this?
This was perfection.
Without thinking, he took another sip. Then another.
Each taste was a gentle cascade of relaxation and refinement. His body seemed to respond instinctively, soaking in the drink's mystical properties, stabilizing itself in ways he hadn't even known he needed.
By the time he finished the glass, he felt lighter and centered.
"Damn."
He exhaled as he set the empty glass down, still processing the lingering effects of Eluna's Nectar in his system.
Across from him, Garrick paused mid-bite, lifting a brow at Lennox's reaction. He didn't say anything—just watched for a moment before reaching for his own glass.
Lennox leaned forward slightly, curious.
Garrick took a sip.
And immediately—Lennox saw the change.
The warrior's usually impassive expression shifted, ever so slightly. His sharp eyes flickered with something unreadable as he took another sip. Then another. And another.
Lennox smirked, watching as Garrick—one of the most disciplined and reserved people he had ever met—finished the entire glass in one sitting.
When the warrior set the empty glass down, he closed his eyes, his breathing slowing.
Lennox could tell—he was feeling it.
He let Garrick be, turning back to his meal and helping himself to another serving of meat. If Eluna's Nectar affected even a Peak Rank One warrior like that, then there was no doubt it was a high-grade magical drink.
Minutes passed before Garrick finally opened his eyes again.
His gaze flicked to Lennox, and then, in a low voice, he spoke:
"Good choice."
Lennox grinned. "Right? I knew I had good taste."
Garrick ignored the remark. Instead, he set his elbows on the table, his tone shifting to something more instructive. "You should continue drinking Eluna's Nectar after every training session."
Lennox raised a brow.
Garrick continued, "It'll stabilize your foundation after exertion, ensuring that the progress you make through the Titanbone Method is solid. If you combine it with Emberbrew Ale before training, the two will reinforce each other—one strengthening your body while the other refines it."
Lennox processed the advice carefully. That was almost exactly what the system had said.
He nodded. "Sounds like a plan."
They returned to their meal, finishing off the last portions of meat and bread. But as the conversation settled, a new question popped into Lennox's mind.
"Garrick," he started, leaning back in his chair. "How do people obtain their classes? Like, how does someone become an archer? A mage? A healer? A rogue?"
The warrior regarded him for a moment before answering.
"In the world I hail from," Garrick said, "there are no such things as classes."
Lennox blinked. "What?"
Garrick took a slow breath, as if choosing his words carefully. "The concept of 'classes'—as you call them—is not something that exists where I'm from."
Lennox frowned. "Then… how do people determine what they become?"
"There are only three true paths where I come from," Garrick said. "Mages—also called sorcerers, who wield mana to shape reality. Clerics—healers, priests, and those who channel divine power. And then, Warriors."
Lennox's eyes narrowed slightly. "What about archers? Rogues?"
Garrick shook his head. "They are simply branches of the warrior path. An archer is a warrior who specializes in ranged combat. A rogue, an assassin—whatever name you give them—is just another kind of warrior who chooses speed and precision over brute force."
Lennox mulled over that, his fingers lightly tapping against the table. That was… different.
In the books he had read about Valoria, Eldonia, and Aetheris, the world seemed to operate on a class-based system where people were categorized based on their combat styles. Warriors/Fighters, Mages, Rogues, Archers, Healers… they all seemed distinct.
But in Garrick's world, everything was far more streamlined.
A warrior was a warrior—regardless of whether they used a sword, a bow, or a dagger.
But another thought quickly came to mind.