Path of the Slayer B1 C1: Once More Into The Fray

When I woke up, the hour was darkest before dawn, and I was due for my daily training. The only thing that slowed me was a small tightness in my chest that I’d never felt before.

Other issues cropped up as I stirred. The muscles in my torso, neck, and arms throbbed. Every motion felt stiff and slow as I swung my frayed blanket off of me and got to my feet.

I was beyond tired, like I was the living dead.

Yet, I ignored my weakness. I grabbed my dummy prosthetic from the drawer and placed it on the nub of my right arm.

Only some scarred flesh remained past the elbow, a disfigurement I’d grown used to. I didn’t feel the phantom pains anymore.

Prosthetic strapped and secured, I dropped and performed a hundred one-arm push ups on my left hand. Then I switched to the blunted hook on my right and performed another hundred one-armed push ups.

Following that, I stood and did a hundred single leg-squats for the left and then the same for the right. After that, four hundred crunches.

The routine was familiar.

The difficulty wasn’t.

I was straining far more than usual. My breath was heavy by the end, and sweat covered my body in rivulets.

I felt the urge to stop, but that was the warm up. There was more to do.

Exiting my rathole apartment, I had on nothing but some old bottoms with patchwork stitches keeping them from unraveling completely. My boots were light on my feet, but the soles were severely thin.

I triple-checked the locks, and once satisfied, I went dashing into the early morning hours. My strides took me down twisting routes between shanty huts and old homes that housed too many families packed together in poor conditions.

The smell of refuse and human decay blew past me as I moved across the slums of the Rank 1 district. As casual fields of Suppression rolled over me, I kept my every breath as measured as I could get them. The weight of my weariness and the tightness in my chest remained, but I refused to let that slow me much.

Eventually, the slums peeled away and revealed the Rank 1 market square. A few early vendors preparing for the day recognized me, their Vitality letting them see my form in the dark. They waved at me, and I waved back with my prosthetic before lunging up a few wooden boxes and hopping onto a cheap metal rooftop above a stall.

I remembered the ones that were the sturdiest, and I wasn’t very heavy. I was a little below average in height, and all of my conditioning turned me into a light and hardy man of peak athleticism. My steps were fast and airy, and my reflexes were sharp and conditioned.

Low rooftops and hard awnings zoomed beneath as I lunged over gaps. The muggy summer air blew over my dark skin that was exposed across my torso and face, my short dreadlocks whipping in the air behind my head.

My concentration sharpened more whenever I used my prosthetic. Every time I caught a ledge with the blunted hook, the shock travelled into the straps that bound it over the nub.

Still, my prosthetic remained secured. My vaults over the lowly structures of the slums went without incident, even if I had to work harder than usual.

Something was wrong, and the tightness in my chest was the source.

I pushed on.

One of the taller structures in the slums appeared. I clambered my way up methodically, dashed across its rooftop, and made the leap that most baseline humans couldn’t fathom.

The moment my feet touched grass, I tucked and rolled on my left shoulder, the shuddering impact forcing the breath out of me. My body strained against its limits that were already hampered the moment I woke earlier.

I came out alright on the other end.

Immediately, I turned to the trees that had old and wet mattresses wrapped around them. Nobody had messed with them, which I was thankful for.

After I whirled my shoulders around and performed some athletic stretches, limbering up a little further, I struck at the trees. I began with leg kicks – low, mid, and high – and ripped away at the impromptu dummies.

My shins were already as hard as humanly possible. The mattresses were more for the trees than for me.

Later, I mixed up the hard, thumping kicks with stiff jabs and straights with my left hand and right prosthetic.

The prosthetic remained fastened properly, but I didn’t dare rely on it too much. I changed up, mixing in sneaky right elbow strikes – horizontal, vertical, and straight forward ones. Knee strikes, too, hitting as hard as I could even with my lowly Rank.

I kept going.

Pushing hard.

And harder.

And harder!

And god damn harder!

The weariness deepened. The tightness in my chest worsened. Mistakes that shouldn’t happen cropped up – the jab wasn’t snappy enough, the horizontal elbow was a touch too slow, the rising knee lacked impact.

I still kept going, keeping note of all of my mistakes. Hand-to-hand was reserved as a last option, but I couldn’t afford not to cover all of my bases.

The sky over Steel Blitz City turned from dark blue to light blue, and something moving at a blurring speed entered my peripherals. I twisted to face the possible threat, and a familiar force struck me. I became rooted, frozen, all of my muscles locked, my breath trapped in my lungs.

Only my beating heart was spared, if barely.

It was a Rank 2 Suppression, targeted.

The blurring figure was already gone, moving at speeds that could only describe a Rank 2 or above. I didn’t get a chance to see who they were. They were probably doing something in the slums they shouldn’t and didn’t want to get witnessed as they ran off.

Typical.

As for me, I had to endure being turned into a statue for five seconds. Then I spent the next five seconds shifting, struggling, reawakening my body, until I finally broke free of the targeted Rank 2 Suppression. By the time I freed myself, I felt like I wanted to collapse and take a five-minute break.

Or longer.

The tightness ravaged my chest with its squeezing hold.

I checked my System Profile.

I knew I shouldn’t.

But I couldn’t deny the compulsion, the betraying hope.

The cursed thing that was integrated with my soul weaved its way out. It became a blue board with bold white text that I alone could see.

[Arden, human.

Rank: 0.

Epiphany: 99%.]

The air struggled on its way in and out of me. I might as well get hit with another targeted Suppression.

I dismissed the System Profile.

The compulsion came back to haunt me again. I broke. I checked one part specifically.

[Epiphany: 99%.]

I dismissed it again. Once more , the compulsion came up. This time I denied it. I shook off my weariness. I shook off the sinking weight invading my body.

My hand, prosthetic, legs, and joints struck at the mattress-wrapped trees again, even if far slower and labored than before.

Then the time to carry on with my day arrived, and I ran back to my rathole dwelling. My strides were less confident, and my foot placements were heavier. I stayed grounded, barely dodging the foul puddles and trash heaps as I drew closer to home.

As I turned a corner, my gaze snapped up as three large men stepped out of the darkest shadows they could lurk in during sunrise. My heart raced, and the familiar rush flowing through my veins amped me up as I tried to redirect my next steps.

It was too late.

Multiple Rank 1 Suppressions struck me, the invisible power hitting on target.

Again, my body stopped being my own, but I knew the circumstance would only last for three seconds.

That was plenty of time for even non-rankers to do what they wanted with me.

Large hands clapped down on my shoulders and arms, with a Ranker to my left and right. One Ranker stayed in front of me, the morning rays catching his face.

He was dark like me, but with short curly hair. On his face was a lopsided smile that would naturally piss anyone off, me especially. And he wore bright gaudy clothing that would make him look like the prince of whores. Purple and gold today, specifically.

“Release me or you’ll have adventurers on your ass,” I threatened.

“You’ll have to tell them you owe us money, first, brother nomad,” said Royce.

“I’m not your brother, you pompous wannabe.”

Royce straightened to his tall height, hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “Really? You would wound me like that, brother? It’s a little hard to pretend otherwise among the usual fair skin of the imperials.”

He looked down at the back of his ring-laden hand, then he looked back at my face. His lopsided smile became more lopsided as the heavy goons, pale purebreds like most imperials, laughed from each side of me.

I did my best to keep my anger in check and analyze my options.

Three Rank 1s.

Two of them had a solid grip on each side of me. One of them, Royce, who I’d rather forget, was right in front of me.

Rank 1s naturally had the superhuman powers that Rank 0s didn’t – Vitality, Aether, Suppression, and a special power or two. All Rankers, people who achieved Rank 1 and up, had Suppression, and that alone could spell death for most Rank 0s. However, their special power could also devastate if left as a surprise.

I would have to surprise them first.

“Don’t you dare,” Royce warned. “I see you calculating, Arden. I know you. You were always plotting and working hard in Lady Tiffany’s Home, and I ain’t dumb.”

“Let’s just rough ‘em up now,” said the goon to my left.

“He’ll stop calculating once we put a knot in that head of his,” said the goon to my right.

I breathed. In. Out. Focused. Anger in check. Body ready. I did all I could to give nothing away. All I needed was an inch, and I would make them regret it.

Royce raised his hands, as if to de-escalate things. I wanted to call bullcrap until he said, “Look, brother, this was supposed to just be a heads up. The boss wants the money you owe early. You think we’ll be up out of bed at the ass-crack of dawn just to rough you up?”

I waited.

Royce shook his head. “He wants the money by tomorrow.”

I tried to remain composed.

The tightness in my chest made me too bitter for that.

I growled. “That’s not part of our arrangement.”

Royce shrugged, his fake necklaces shifting with the movement. “Things ain’t going well for nobody. The empire is being a pain in the ass. The economics is getting crappy out there. The boss is feeling it, and I’m feeling it. So you get to feel it, too.”

I held back from growling again. This … was a problem.

Royce’s lopsided smile tested my patience, and so did his words. “There’s another option.” He drew up close, face lowered down to my level. “We can always use another eye, ear, and hand in the adventurer guild. Hell, you’ll make more money than what you’re getting as a Rank 0 bronze.”

The mobster made it sound like he was doing me a favor.

My response?

I snapped forward, my forehead meeting Royce’s smile.

Rank 1s had Vitality, making them supernaturally tougher, so no broken teeth. Still, the headbutt caught him off guard and probably stung worth a damn.

Royce stumbled back, his hand to his mouth.

Suddenly, a blow struck my stomach and shoved all the satisfied air in my lungs out. I curled down until a hand with a steel grip grabbed my head by the roots of my dreadlocks, yanking my face up.

I had to blink rapidly to clear my vision as I struggled to breathe. The lopsided grin Royce usually sported was gone, a snarl taking its place.

When the large hands holding me up let go, my legs nearly gave out. I fought with myself to keep from falling as I raised my arms and narrowly blocked the sole of Royce’s shoe that was aimed at my chest.

My feet left the ground. The air whistled by me, and the loud splintering snap of wood shattering around me filled my ears with destructive noise. An old and abandoned shack groaned as it collapsed on top of me, my limbs drawn up to defend myself.

Once everything settled, I heard Royce’s voice from outside of the rubble. “I tried to be a brother to you. There ain’t many of us nomads doing well, y’know, and we both came out of Lady Tiffany’s Home. But screw you and the stubborn mule you rode on. You better get the boss’s money and extra on top for me, or you’ll get it worse tomorrow, Arden.”

By the time I dug myself out of the wreckage, Royce and his goons were gone.

My bare torso was covered in scrapes and splinters, and the same went for almost everywhere else. Looking down, I saw my right prosthetic was heavily dented, one strap broken, making it less secured and ready to slip off.

Damn.

A sigh escaped me. I limped to my dwelling. The locks remained. Nobody had messed with them.

Once inside, I focused on stretching my body and working out the kinks while digging out the obvious splinters in my arms and chest. I was more eager to have breakfast, which was the nicest part of my day. A chunk of my money went into that.

Without quality food, I would’ve been far more broken by this point.

If I had a little more money to afford a few droplets from a Rank 1 Vitality Potion, that would do a lot for me. Though, it was ill-advised for Rank 0s to even taste that stuff.

Someone knocked on my door.

I got up from my stretches, grabbed a dagger from under my pillow, and stood a few feet from the door and to the right. The person outside knocked again before announcing themselves.

“Hey, it’s your neighbor. It’s just me.”

I recognized the voice: Britta.

I opened the door a crack, looked beyond her, then let her in, the dagger slipped away behind me.

She was carrying a basket covered by some patterned cloth on arm, her other hand resting on her own dagger she had strapped to her waist. Once the door was secured, she uncovered the basket and revealed some top-end Rank 0 medical supplies.

“No,” I said.

“Oh, hush. I saw what those animals did to you.”

“No,” I repeated more firmly. “I can’t pay you back.”

Britta fixed him with a glare. She was a middle-aged woman with a youthful face, dark curly hair, and dark skin like any nomad. She had a body that knew how to work that came with some curves, and she always smelled like cinnamon, just like the pies she would bake.

I couldn’t ever deny those slices of pies when she left me one.

They were killer.

Still, I tried to deny her from giving any further aid.

“I want to help,” she demanded.

She didn’t have to.

She was Rank 1. Other than the usual powers – Vitality, Aether, Suppression – her special power was a non-combat type, Helping Hand. That sort of power was prized even at Rank 1.

She could’ve left behind the slums a long time ago, but for some reason, she’d stayed, helping the people for a pittance.

At the very least, the interior to her place was nice, suitable for her. I’ve had a few glimpses of it. She lived in comfort, and she’d deserved that, more so than other Rankers. 

Most people were Rankers, at least in the Empire, to where most non-rankers were invisible. But most Rankers weren’t like Britta.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” she said firmly.

Despite my unruliness, she didn’t point her Suppression at me or try to out-muscle me with Vitality. She waited, choosing to glare at me instead, and that had enough of an effect.

I sighed, relenting with body language alone. Britta immediately guided me – gently – to my bed and prodded around my body.

I felt her power, Helping Hand, like a soothing salve that left friendly tingles wherever she touched. The tingles became plentiful around my back and the back of my neck where I missed a few splinters. My hair felt cleaner as she stroked through the locks, removing all detritus.

This was nice.

Nicer than I could afford.

Nicer than I was worth.

The tightness wouldn’t let me feel absolute relief until Britta placed her hand against my bare chest.

Then the tightness unwound suddenly. She said nothing about it, and I appreciated her for it.

She clucked at the damaged prosthetic. Then she went into her basket and pulled out tweezers, a bottle of alcohol, and cotton swabs.

I didn’t realize until then she’d already done a majority of the work with her bare hands, but for the final details, she used her Helping Hand power with medical supplies, increasing her effectiveness even more. The tightness in my chest remained unwound, and for the first time in a long time, I … relaxed.

It was nice being cared for.

“You work too hard to suffer this,” she clucked.

“One of these days, I’m going to have my full Epiphany. But I have to keep trying. That’s all. Then it’ll be worth it.”

She shook her head, bouncy curls flailing. “I wish I can make you Rank Up all the way to the top. The way you took care of those damn monster rats when they plagued me was a blessing. And I’ve seen how you helped the people of our district with all our little quests.”

“It’s nothing to stress over.”

“Many of us look up to you.”

“Even when I’m Rank 0?”

“Your actions speak louder than your Rank. Plenty of tin and copper adventurers don’t care as much. All they think about is hunting dragons and finding treasures.”

“If you’re going to do a job, no matter how small, then you might as well do it well.”

Britta flashed me with a disarming smile. “I agree.”

Speechless, I gave myself over to the moment, extending the trust that we’ve built up as neighbors over the years.

“There. Done. But hon, you’re all stiff and tense as the many hells. When was the last time you had a day off?” Britta grasped my hand gently. “I can help a little further, y’know? With getting you to relax. And dealing with whatever those thugs want. Just ask.”

She was offering me too much.

But the way she’d soothed all my aches and pains was heavenly.

I could say yes. I could find some rare comfort I hadn’t had in a while. But that risked something inside of me, the thing of spite and stubbornness.

Britta’s Helping Hand would destroy that before I was ready.

The tightness regained some strength in my chest, and before I could say a word, Britta was already packing to leave. With a wooden smile on my face, I opened the door for her, bowing as I thanked her.

She stopped outside of the door. “The offer remains, Arden.” Then she went home.

I had a rich breakfast afterward, then I went to the nearby well to draw water with multiple buckets. I washed myself outside of my dwelling with the soap handcrafted by Britta and sold at a pittance a week ago.

I didn’t notice until I looked up that there was a fresh towel waiting for me on the railing. It smelled of cinnamon.

“You’re too kind,” I muttered, taking more time than I should to dry myself with the towel. “Why waste time with me?”

Some people were kind.

A lot of the vendors at the marketplace would offer Rank 0 commodities at a stark discount to me because I’d handled problems that were beneath most adventurers. Britta had done more for me than … well … anyone, even though she didn’t have to.

Some people were kind.

And many weren’t.

***

“You see that guy over there. He’s the only Rank 0 bronze adventurer in the guild. Don’t be that guy. Find your Epiphany and Rank Up quick. It’s really that simple,” said another bronze adventurer, someone I had known as a slacker back when we were newly badged tin adventurers.

Another batch of newbie tin adventurers surrounded the bronze slacker, shadowing him, as I strode up the metal steps of the Steel Blitz Adventurer Guild. Behind me, the industrial city woke up with a weary groan, factories beginning their work of turning metal ores into goods for the Empire. 

Smog rose into the air on another dreary and dark day.

As I moved past them, fleeting glances – concerned, wary, disgusted – passed over me. A few of the newbie adventurers clutched the tin badges on their chests, as if my presence would snatch them away along with their hopes.

That was unlikely. Half of the little assholes would either die or get severely injured in a basic quest because of their own idiocy. Granted, a solid chunk of them was taller than me, so calling them little wasn’t an apt description. 

They still had little asshole energy, in my opinion.

That aside, the tin adventurers were part of a mentee program, where new Rank 0s shadowed a bronze. Bronze adventurers, normally Rank 1s and Rank 2s, applied to the main bulk of operations for the guild, making them the most recognizable in most situations. Bronze adventurers were widely respected, with few exceptions.

Once I was past the tin adventurers, my back facing them, the exceptions revealed themselves.

“He’s a bronze and still in Rank 0 like me?” asked one teen male.

“Ew, that’s bad luck. Why’s the guild keeping him?” asked a teen female.

“The Empire cares for all of its imperials. But some imperials should know better and leave the greater jobs to those more deserving,” said another teen male.

“Maybe it’s because he’s a nomad. You know what they say about nomads,” said a different girl.

“Like I said. Figure out your Epiphany and Rank Up. Or be stuck at Rank 0, picking turnips for an old lady as a daily quest, like a loser,” said the bronze slacker.

They laughed.

The tightness in my chest returned, hidden behind my flesh and the standard adventurer light-gambeson I wore to the guild.

Past the entrance, a marble floor with steel columns stood out, the walls adorned with rich illustrations of adventurers overcoming great and monstrous challenges. Myriad voices of many adventurers, receptionists, and visitors filled the grand reception area. Fields of casual Suppression weighed down on me, the Rank 1s letting loose, since ninety-nine percent of people entering the guild would be Rank 1 at least.

It took them a few seconds to pull back when they recognized me, if they had the courtesy to pull back.

I pushed through and made a beeline for the quest board.

A receptionist moved into my path with a blurring speed – a Rank 2, the manager for sure.

The man was tall, red-haired, had lively green eyes, and sharpened ears that denoted some elf ancestry, even if muddled. He, too, smiled a lot, but unlike Royce, his smile reached his eyes and wanted to cheer the recipient up. Waves of positive emotion rolled off of him, and as hard as I tried, I perked up a little at his presence.

On the inside.

On the outside, my face remained stony.

“The guild leader wants a word,” said the receptionist manager.

The small amount of positivity I felt vanished, my inner state mirroring my outer. “Crap.”

The receptionist manager brightened even further somehow, his green eyes sparkling. “In two hours. He’s in a meeting with some important folks.”

I turned back to the board. The receptionist manager blurred into my way with an instant step. “Maybe you should wait. Or do some training.”

“Sure.” I peeled away, leaving behind the near-manic and exuberant man.

Ugh. That guy … he was truly insane.

Every other receptionist had their personalities annihilated by their second week.

Except for him.

He refused.

Like a true monster.

I should remember his name one of these days.

As I crossed the large reception area, a few silver adventurers I knew saw me. My old ex turned away with a dark look on her face. A few guys shook their heads at me, with one scowling, and one laughing.

The clown tried to reach over and wrap his arm around my shoulders. Automatically, with both the hand and my bent prosthetic, I tried to shove him away.

The effort did nothing to him. The result only pushed me away. I might as well try to push a wall while up against the Rank 2 Vitality of a silver adventurer.

Still, my unruliness was too much, and I had the pleasure of experiencing Rank 2 Suppression once again. 

In the Supreme Sovereign Empire, Rank and power were the backbone and rib cage of society. Rank and power supported everything and everyone, and an adherence to Rank and power mattered more than much else.

For ten long and horrible seconds, I was mostly stuck. I was made vulnerable. I was practically prey. And I hated every moment as other adventurers walked past, deriving some amusement out of my plight.

Unless they were ignoring me, treating me as if I was not worth their concern.

Once I was freed, I walked the rest of the way out of the wide open space. I reached the hallway, turned down a service passage, and leaned against the wall to catch my breath.

The compulsion returned, and I gave in.

[Epiphany: 99%.]

The tightness in my chest ravaged me. A headache struck. All the soothing pleasure Britta had provided me faded, my soreness returning, my body tensing. I could feel more knots in my muscles forming.

I hurried on and entered the workshop. With a wave, I greeted the dwarf, Toregrit, who oversaw the place. The dwarf grunted a wordless greeting in return.

The place smelled of oil, sweat, metal, sweat, wood, and more sweat. Crafters did sweaty work in here, and I was the same.

Once I had my equipment and crafts on a workbench in front of me, the tightness and the headache dulled some, and I got to work with a feverish desperation.

Without Vitality, my long-trained human strength was all I could muster.

Without Aether, I needed special tools to work on magic crafts above Rank 0.

The overseer of the workshop was great about supplying those tools. Even while I was Rank 0, I could tell the difference between tools that were non-ranking and tools that were Rank 1.

Rank 1 items had an eerie weight to them that went beyond the physical. They hummed in my hands, making my arms breakout in goosebumps, almost in fear of getting shocked or burned. I had an instinct crawling in my brain that wanted to let go of powers that were beyond me, warning me away. 

A smile flickered across my face, faint but noticeable. The problems outside of the workshop faded from my mind. All that mattered was manipulating the runes, wires, bolts, joints, and the casings for a Rank 1 Artificer Half Arm.

For years, I’d assembled, disassembled, and reassembled the half arm, an item I couldn’t even afford to wear. Hell, each item in an artificer toolkit had a hefty price.

It cost me a fee to even mess around in here, which I thankfully had a severe discount on because of Toregrit. The dwarf was one of those folks who was kinder than they ought to be.

“Your hands are shaky,” Toregrit said gruffly from across the workshop.

“I only have one hand,” I said, screwing in some bolts with an auto screwdriver.

“That one and the dummy are dinged up, too. But I’m talking about the hands in your head,” the dwarf said. “All crafters got handy hands in their heads, or they wouldn’t be crafters.”

I paused and looked up. Toregrit’s face was weathered like granite and barely gave much away while surrounded by an immense bush of hair that was crispy on the edges. His eyes were dark and deep, and his forehead was a range of wrinkled crevices.

He rubbed his big and calloused hand down his thick beard. “Are you okay, Arden?”

My face remained mute. “Yes, I’m okay. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just sure my Epiphany is around the corner. Maybe I’ll get a decent crafter power as my fourth. Hell, maybe I’ll get multiple special powers, all for being an artificer.”

I forced a smile to appear on my face.

Toregrit nodded sagely. “Epiphanies that take the longest can yield the most. Maybe you’ll get more than you’re asking for.”

I almost laughed, but I didn’t. The laugh would’ve come out wrong.

My attention returned to the half arm. I used my damaged prosthetic to nudge or hold things into place while I used my other hand for more delicate work. Eventually, a point came where I had to work a powerful tool with my mouth.

Tricky, yes.

I made it work anyway.

Toregrit came over, placed his big calloused hand on my damaged prosthetic, and used his power to fix it up. Good as new. I said nothing, and the dwarf said nothing, and we left it at that.

Eventually, other crafters appeared in the workshop with me. Fields of casual Suppression rolled over my non-ranker body, mostly on purpose. The dwarf overseer didn’t intervene, and I was thankful for that.

I kept disassembling and reassembling the half arm while under pressure and discomfort. It was good training, really, even when someone targeted me with a one-second Suppression.

Once the magic passed, I kept working just fine. Then I reached a point where my tools were running low on Aether, and I knew it was time to move on.

I went to the training hall next to work with a sword and shield on a Rank 1 dummy. 

The training hall overseer, a human, glowered at me, which I noted from the corner of my eye. At the very least, the man had the professional courtesy of keeping his Suppression off me, so we had no problems, really.

I struck and lashed out at the dummy. I mixed combinations of hard and fast maneuvers with slow and deliberate. I pushed harder than any Rank 0, keeping up the pace and pressure I placed on myself for the past six years. Anything less, and my dream to be the best adventurer would’ve ended already.

I should’ve been gone by now.

I kept going.

***

“Arden, it’s time,” said the receptionist manager, appearing almost out of nowhere.

His smile was restrained.

That left me on edge.

I put the training armaments back on the racks, grabbed a spare towel to wipe myself down, and drank from a waterskin left on a cart. I took five minutes to compose myself before I walked down a few familiar hallways that led to a grand staircase I hadn’t touched in a while.

I went up and found more silver adventurers, and even a few gold adventurers. The casual Suppression was heavier, and I had to struggle just to walk with my head held up.

Reaching the secretarial office, I was told to sit by the old woman, but I stayed standing instead. She was Rank 3, and she could force her way, but she let me be. After some time, I was called into the executive office.

Nothing had changed since the last time I was here. The giant spiked mace on the back wall caught my attention just like before. 

Behind a big and heavy desk, a gray and grizzly man glared across at me. The guild leader was a half giant, with hands so big they could wrap around my head easily. His chair was big enough to be a throne, even, and there was the thick furry pelt of one of his kills adorning it.

The guild leader, a Rank 4, made it seemed I was out of place, even with the man holding back his Suppression. I kept my usual dead-eyed stare on my face as I stood attentively.

“We’re stripping you of your badge,” grouched the guild leader. “Yeah, I know, it’s unfortunate. You showed more promise than most kids I’ve seen come through the Steel Blitz Adventurer Guild. You’ve worked hard. Constantly. But it’s been six years, and you’re still Rank 0.”

Keeping my voice even, I said, “I was eighteen when you told me I have what it takes to become guild leader. You said that.”

“Well, I was wrong, kid. You don’t have what it takes. The only explanation to you being stuck at 99% after all the training and quests is you being a dud. A permanent non-ranker.”

“Maybe–”

“There’s no maybe. You’re twenty-four and on the verge of becoming too old as a Rank 0 bronze. And forgive me, God Emperor, but let’s be honest. You’re a cripple, and what it’ll cost to regrow that arm is more than I’m willing to spend on a Rank 0 bronze.”

Every word was like a lash.

I grit my teeth and bear it all.

The guild leader wasn’t done.

“The new generation is outpacing even someone like me when I started. They’ll outpace you, too, once they show they have the talent to get over the hump and Rank Up. So, be that you’re a dud and crippled, you need to get out of their way, Arden, and just accept how things are.”

I breathed evenly.

In.

Out.

Even.

In.

Out.

Go.

“If the guild can grant me an Epiphany Elixir, I’m sure it’ll be a worthy investment.”

“NO, dammit! Get it through your thick, stubborn head, Arden! If you can’t Rank Up on your own, why would I risk that? Why?!” The guild leader slammed his half giant paw up and down multiple times to punctuate his point.

I didn’t flinch. I felt no Suppression. I stood, gritting and bearing, with my heart racing like a wild animal in my chest.

My body was hot. My blood rushed everywhere inside me. The tightness in my chest strangled me until I cracked.

“I trained. I did all the quests that even coppers turned down. I made the sacrifices. I taught myself to do artificing at Rank 0 when it’s recommended to learn at freaking Rank 2. I did all the hard work, guild leader, I really did! I did it because I’m trying my hardest to be the best! I can take your spot! I just … I just …”

I just needed more help, but I couldn’t say that last part aloud.

I just couldn’t, so I looked into his eyes, searching for anything that understood me or still had hope for me. I found nothing.

The silence between us was crushing.

“One more quest,” the guild leader said. “If you still can’t Rank Up, then we’ll find you a job somewhere in the guild. Maybe you can work as an assistant in the workshop or the armory with some sensitive stuff. You don’t exude magic, so that’ll be a good gig. It’ll pay well for you.”

The big grizzly man sighed, leaning back against his throne-like chair. “You aren’t the only non-ranking dud, and you won’t be the last. There’s far more of you than there should be, but the empire puts up with y’all, and so will I.”

He made it sound like it was a mercy.

I wanted to shove his mercy down his throat.

Instead, I grit my teeth and bear it all, turning away.

I felt sick to my stomach, and I could barely breathe.

I exited the executive office and had to fight with myself to keep from slamming the door. My steps, brisk and pointed, took me past the Rank 3 secretary, the Rank 3 golds, and the Rank 2 silvers. I went down the stairs, and as soon as I touched the ground floor, my vision darkened around the edges.

My head hurt with something fierce, like an icepick to my brain.

A dizziness struck me, my steps going wobbly. Somehow, I found the restroom that smelled of too much perfume and ended up in front of a mirror.

Blood leaked from my nose.

Something was wrong.

I struggled to breathe.

Something was wrong.

My body wanted to fail me.

Something was wrong.

I was tired. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to go see Britta. I ached for comfort, for the smell of cinnamon, and for her soothing touch.

Something was wrong, and I should quit.

I should move on.

Yet, I refused.

The compulsion returned.

[Epiphany: 99%.]

I refused to quit. I wanted to keep going.

I gripped the sink and waited things out, my vision focused on my crazed bloodshot eyes. The blackened edges around my sight pulsated in and out, fading gradually. My breathing cleared little by little. I remained on my feet, riding out the complication, until I felt in more control of myself somehow.

I should be dead.

But I wasn’t.

Good enough.

“You’re bleeding in the girl’s room,” said a Rank 2 bronze, one of the talented ones. “Whatever’s wrong with you, if you’re not going to fall over, please take your Rank 0 crap out of here.”

She glared at him, but she held back her Suppression, a small mercy.

I cleaned my face. By the time I left, her Suppression was nudging against my back.

I ended up in front of the quest board again. There were fewer people in the grand reception area, but it would never be without some buzz of activity.

A bunch of tins and coppers joked and shouted and talked excitedly among themselves while having nobody overseeing them. They were in between training classes, with the coppers tutoring the tins probably. Either way, the coppers were quick to recognize me, and their bravado became bigger than their badge, with no bronze adventurer to rein them in.

I pretended to ignore them as one quest caught my eye.

“You need a party for that, loser,” said a copper, drawing close to sneer from over my shoulder. He was Rank 1, and his Suppression weighed on me casually.

I took the quest off the board – a bronze one.

Then I turned and put my knee into the copper kid’s balls with all of my power.

Rank 1 Vitality and Suppression be damned, the kid dropped. He stayed down. The other coppers and tins gawked.

Nobody else intervened. Ranks and powers mattered, but I wasn’t bronze for nothing.

“Turn around and go bother a different idiot,” I said.

The tins and coppers did as told. One girl spoke up shakily. “You just called yourself an idiot.”

“I know.”

I found the same receptionist manager at the desk. The green-eyed and bubbly half-elf revealed a rare frown on his face that shocked me as he examined the quest paper.

“You shouldn’t do this solo,” he said solemnly.

I nearly buckled.

Nearly.

“Give me the quest,” I demanded with steel in my voice.

The receptionist manager nodded, signing and stamping the quest with his approval. Then he went a step further, surprising me again. He pulled out another form for supplies – marking, signing, and stamping a dump of funding on it. It was more than I’d ever received from the guild’s coffers.

The receptionist manager – Fritz – gave me a friendly wink. I struggled to say anything before coughing out a hasty thanks. My hand snatched up the quest paper and the request for supplies with funding. My legs moved quickly to the armory, and I loaded up.

Metal helmet. Short sword and sheath. Medium round shield. Two daggers. A standard adventure pack with essentials – waterskin, rope, steel lantern, oil, jerky, nuts, paper, stencil, colored chalk, compass, fire starter, and a few other things. All Rank 0 items.

Then I splurged the extra funds on a single Rank 1 Vitality Potion and on something that I wanted for years.

A Rank 1 Artificer Half Arm.

It came with a pre-charged Aether core and an Aether-charged toolkit for field maintenance and emergencies. It was not something a Rank 0 should have, but the ingenuity of artificer crafts made it possible.

There were multiple crafts: blacksmithing, alchemy, enchanting, and others. But no craft was an equalizer like artificing. No other was the hardest to learn and use effectively, either.

After all, artificing required knowledge of multiple other crafts. Hence, making it extremely difficult and expensive.

“You might as well die out there if you lose that arm, boy. That’s a loan, and it’s worth more than your life,” said a different dwarf who worked the armory. He wasn’t as kind as Toregrit, so I didn’t bother remembering his name.

I dropped my mundane prosthetic on the counter and propped on the Rank 1 half arm. Blue Aether lights glowed along the seams, the casing’s open end sealing over my nub as it activated fully. After a quick zap up my right arm, the Artificer Half Arm reduced its glow and moved per my whim.

I waved the hand, a triangular claw with three gripping digits. The artificial extremities widened and snapped sharply, responding with no lag while showing plenty of range and motion.

It was brilliant.

The tightness in my chest loosened up, and my headaches faded a little. I found it easier to breathe and think.

“I wouldn’t mind becoming an artificer if that’s all I can get for powers,” I said.

“Then go out and Rank Up for once, you waste of talent,” grumbled the armory dwarf.

With everything secured on my person, and paperwork in proper order, I stormed out of the armory. I saw the receptionist manager, Fritz, wave merrily at me. I returned the wave awkwardly with my half arm.

I exited the guild, went down the steps, and stopped on a road.

This could be my last quest.

One that I shouldn’t do solo.

I turned and ran back to my home. It wouldn’t be too far out of the way from my quest destination.

My fist knocked on Britta’s door, and before long, it swung open, and the scent of cinnamon struck me.

I was talking fast. “Who I am right now can end by either tonight or tomorrow. So before then–”

She didn’t let me finish. She moved with Rank 1 Vitality and swept me off my feet. She gave me a powerful, heart-thumping kiss, her lips full and warm and soft, while embracing me with a crushing hug despite all the gear I had on. And if that wasn’t great already, she was pumping me up with her Helping Hand power, all for free, all for me. And I greedily accepted it even though I wasn’t paying her back as I should, at least not yet.

When the kiss broke, she let me recover my breath. Her hands rubbed up and down my torso, both gentle and firm and warm with magic. She even paid attention to my half arm, gripping it like it was just another extension of me.

“Do you have five minutes?” she asked. “My bed is neat, and I can always clean it again.”

“I can’t risk losing my edge.”

“Shame.” Britta patted my chest. “Whatever happens, I’ve watched you for years now. You’ll make it through.” Her smile became a little more brittle. “And if you don’t come back, I’m bedding you in my sleep.”

“That’ll be a shame for the real me,” I said. “The version in your sleep will be dreamier.”

She kissed me again, with some more strength and a little casual Suppression, as if to test my determination. She didn’t let go for five minutes, and I endured it all, feeling more energized than anything.

“Damn, you really don’t quit,” Britta said, licking her lips. “You should’ve been clay in my hands by now.”

“I know.”

“Just answer me this. Are you settling down any time soon?”

“No.”

“Thanks for being honest. I can work with that.” She flashed me an impish smile. “Come back to me, and I’ll see if I can change your mind a little. I might fail, but it’ll be fun.”

“Then I have no choice but to survive.” I turned away with a wide smile.

When I arrived at her door, I was afraid I would lose my edge. When I left for my quest, it felt like I had liquid flames in my veins, my edge sharper than ever.

All the tiredness. All the aches. All the worries and the tightness in my chest. That all faded because of Britta’s Helping Hand, putting me back at my peak, at the highest edge of humanity.

I was ready to take on a quest that was likely to kill me or lead me to a breakthrough. I was ready to face my destiny.

I reached the sewer facility, argued with the workers there to explain I was indeed the adventurer for the job, and finally gained access to one of their storm drain chambers. The walls were slick with moisture, the air heavy with water, and above me was the rattling humdrum of Steel Blitz City.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” grumbled a Rank 1 sewer worker, his Suppression probing me for a reaction.

I shrugged. “If I die, I die.”

I checked the shield straps on my artificial arm. I readjusted the helmet straps. Next, I checked the lantern strapped to my belt, keeping it off for now. I made sure everything on my person – the leather torso armor, the backpack, the weapons – were all correctly done.

Finally, I climbed down from the walkway to the lowest level, water reaching up to my ankles. I unsheathed my short sword. My next steps were quiet, leading me to the wide storm pipe that was twice as tall as me.

The sewer worker surprised me with a prayer. “God Emperor, bear witness to us. Let this young fool surpass his trial and overcome the horrors at the gates of your great Empire. Let him return with a fragment of your glory. Under your might, we pray, so be it.”

I checked before the compulsion made me.

[Epiphany: 99%.]

I wasn’t surprised.

And I didn’t care for once. Maybe to a dangerous degree.

“I think the God Emperor doesn’t give a damn about my nomad ass,” I said.

The sewer worker shook his head down at me from the upper walkway. He might report me for heresy, but I had bigger problems than a religious reeducation.

I entered the large storm pipe.

There was faint light shining down from the Aether sconces above. Still, I had to strain my vision to see through the murky dark spots, lacking the Vitality-empowered vision of Rankers.

I followed the pipe. Water sluiced under me with every step. Intersections appeared, and I went down the directions explained by the quest paper, marking the corners with chalk mixed with paste that resisted water. Then I heard them, my prey, chittering and gibbering in the dark spots of the underground sewers and storm pipes.

Goblins, Rank 1 monsters.