DMS Chapter 119

Flinx chose the Cleric as his second class.

With that decision, he officially became a dual-class holder—a level ten Wizard and a level zero Cleric. Upon confirming the class, he received three Cleric cantrip spell slots and gained access to the Cleric cantrip list.

The list contained twelve spells. Flinx purchased all of them except those already available to him through his Wizard class, leaving him with eight new Cleric cantrips.

They were basic spells—unlikely to be of immediate use—but he preferred having them available rather than lacking them when needed. What surprised him was the scarcity of healing options. Among the cantrips, only Spare the Dying offered any form of healing, and even that was weak. Compared to it, his first-level Healing Elixir from the Wizard class was far more practical.

In total, he spent eight low-level mana stones.

Despite acquiring Cleric spell slots, Flinx intended to use them flexibly. Thanks to the Transmigration System, spell slots from both classes could be used interchangeably—an advantage he did not take for granted.

Since he had yet to decide how best to utilize his new slots, he filled all three with Prestidigitation from his Wizard repertoire.

It was a simple choice, but for now, it sufficed.

All things considered, the day had been productive.

Flinx looked forward to the next day. He intended to return to the dungeon immediately and begin leveling his Cleric class without delay.

With several hours remaining before the others returned, he lay beneath a tree beside Pondy, sipping a soda purchased from the System’s Shopping Site. The quiet gave him time to reflect.

Back in Beldor Town and while traveling with the merchant caravan, he had been warned about the realities of large cities like Ilioven—cruelty, exploitation, and unchecked vice.

So far, he had seen none of it.

But he understood why.

His movements had been limited—to his tower, the dungeon, and recently, Olivia’s shop. All of them were located in one of the wealthiest districts of the city. He had neither reason nor opportunity to venture elsewhere.

For that, he was grateful.

Flinx knew himself well. If confronted with injustice—slavery, abuse, or cruelty—he would not stand idle. With the power he now possessed, intervention would not be a question, but an inevitability.

And that would complicate everything.

He had already acted on impulse once, adopting four orphans the moment he arrived in Ilioven. If he encountered an orphanage in dire conditions—or worse, a slave market—there was no telling how far he would go. He might claim restraint, but he knew better. Power changed the boundaries of what one considered possible, and therefore, what one might attempt.

Such actions, however justified, would derail his primary goal.

Leveling.

Strength.

Rescue.

That was the path he had chosen.

The temptation to do more—to save everyone, to fix everything—was dangerous. Even if he possessed the means to earn wealth and defend others, there were limits to what he could carry without collapsing under the weight of it.

For now, he would not allow himself to look beyond what was necessary.

His focus remained fixed on the dungeon.

His adopted family was enough. They grounded him, gave him purpose beyond power, and for the moment, that was sufficient.

Flinx allowed his thoughts to drift toward the future.

If he succeeded in rescuing his fellow Earthlings—those who had suffered alongside him as dungeon miner slaves—then together, they would possess the same Transmigration Gift. Given time, they could grow powerful in this world. Strong enough, perhaps, to reclaim their freedom fully… and even return to Earth.

But that future was uncertain.

Not all of them would remain the same.

Flinx understood this clearly. None of them had escaped their ordeal unscathed. The torture they endured had left its mark—on their minds as much as their bodies. Some might break. Others might change in ways that made them dangerous.

There was even a possibility that, once freed and empowered, a few would become tyrants themselves.

Flinx did not dwell on it.

He had no right to judge them.

His role was simple: rescue them. What they chose to become afterward was beyond his control.

And if any among them lost themselves completely, this world was not without its own strength. There were forces here capable of dealing with such threats.

Balance would be maintained—with or without him.

Another thought surfaced.

The Transmigration Gift.

All Earthlings taken by the wizard enslavers had received it. But what would happen if he returned to Earth and brought others back with him? Would they receive the same gift?

It was a question without an answer.

Not that it mattered much.

There was no one he wished to bring.

He had no family left, and whatever friendships he once had had long since faded—worn down by time, distance, and the simple necessity of survival. His life on Earth had been one of endurance, not connection.

Still, the curiosity lingered.

Eventually, Flinx forced his thoughts to a halt.

The past and the distant future could wait.

For the next seven days, he would focus solely on the dungeon. After that, he would need to pause briefly to restock Olivia’s shop for the mid-month cycle.

That was enough planning.

By the time the sun set, the others had returned.

The four children were astonished by how much Pondy had grown. Their excitement quickly turned to requests to swim, but Flinx refused. It was already night. They would have to wait until the weekend—or at least a day free from their studies with Olivia.

Christopher soon prepared dinner, assisted by his chef instructor. The meal was simple, but well-made, and everyone ate their fill.

Afterward, fatigue settled over the household.

One by one, they retired to their rooms—washing away the day’s exertion before surrendering to rest.

The following morning, when Flinx descended to the first floor, he found breakfast already prepared.

The sight caught him off guard.

Moments later, Christopher called everyone to the table. Flinx took his seat in silence, studying the spread before him. The boy’s progress was evident. The meal was simple—scrambled eggs, buttered toast, pancakes drizzled with syrup, and coffee for him and Olivia, while the children were given milk and fruit juice—but it had been executed with care.

The eggs were properly seasoned. The toast was evenly browned.

Christopher was improving.

As they ate, Olivia raised a matter that surprised him.

She asked him to restock the shop.

Flinx paused. He had expected at least two more weeks before replenishment would be necessary. The request came earlier than anticipated.

Olivia explained without hesitation.

Their products—particularly the soaps and candles—were gaining attention. That popularity, however, would not go unchallenged. Imitations were inevitable. Given time, the market would be saturated with inferior copies attempting to replicate their success. Because of that, she wanted to take advantage of the merchants’ desire to acquire their items.

She did not sound concerned.

Even if competitors emerged, their quality would remain unmatched. The materials alone ensured it. The mesh loofahs, in particular, would be difficult to reproduce. Without access to the same resources, others would only produce crude approximations.

Flinx understood her reasoning.

Speed mattered. Establishing dominance in the market before imitation spread was the correct approach.

After breakfast, he accompanied Olivia to the shop.

Restocking required little effort. With the System at his disposal, the shelves were replenished quickly and without complication.

Once finished, Flinx did not linger.

Even so, he arrived later than usual—well past seven in the morning.

By his standards, that was late.

Still, the delay held little consequence.

Having reached level ten, his strength had increased significantly. The difference was unmistakable. What had once required time and caution could now be handled with efficiency.

The final floor of the Dungeon of Mara no longer posed a challenge.

He could clear it in a fraction of the time it once demanded.