“How long did you last this time?” Noid asked Rafe.

  “No more than five seconds,” he said, still pumping the bellows to stock the fires of the forge.

  “You'll have to keep trying it out during your journey. You cannot depend on that skill, especially after you leave the trial. You do not have the resources to have a skill stay active indefinitely.”

  “I know, I know,” Rafe said, watching the metal that would turn into his sword heat up more and more.

  He'd spent weeks practicing, listening to Noid's lectures in preparation for a journey, a journey to hone his skills, hone himself. He'd thought officially becoming Noid's apprentice meant direct lessons, but no, Noid knew his limits, and he was not teacher material.

  The suggestion that he turn off his mental shield skill every once in a while was a good one, Rafe thought sometimes, but mostly it was painful. He didn't know what all the skill protected him from, but he was too dependent on it. It would be impossible to support the skill with his meager resources outside the trial, because, according to Noid, his stamina was laughable and he didn't have mana.

  Outside the trial, he'd have to start dipping into his life force to support the skill, and unlike health points, life force was a more permanent loss.

  It was strange, Rafe thought, the way he was taking to his new reality. Mostly he just didn't think about it. Skills, concepts, systems, magic. It was all very confusing, all very real. And he had people he cared about here. He still didn't know what to think of all of them, of Jonathan, of Celene, Orlandir.

  “Maybe I should write them a letter at least,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Mhmm?” Noid said.

  “Nothing. I was talking to myself.”

  He wrenched his mind from that road, instead focusing on the red-hot metal of his future as he transferred it to the anvil.

  Bang, bang, bang, he hit, stopping every three hits to check he'd made no blunders. There was a rhythm to it. It was distracting. It was also necessary. He had decided he'd leave the kingdom of Grayward, the whole continent, for a few years, to get his feelings straight. It was another reason he'd agreed to practice turning off his mental protection. He also needed to learn to control his other skills even though he couldn't access the system.

  He'd need them when he started collecting insights on his journey.

  “Insights are seeds, the building blocks for your concept,” Noid had lectured. “Insight into sharpness comes to mind, for a sword concept. An insight into, say heaviness, for a heavy hitter like me, although I wouldn't recommend that one for you.”

  Noid helped him with his sword making too, telling him how important insight into metal, into building his tool, would be when he advanced his concept to the next level. Of course, to advance his concept, he'd have to find it first. He'd have to develop insights, cultivate them until they were perfect, and then turn them into a concept worthy of its name.

  His friend, Orlandir, had cultivated an insight of dominion. He had advanced far enough that he had already developed a concept ability, a concept domain. His sword could cut anything in a given area.

  That was the secret to mastery. Gaining a concept ability, like sword intent or sword aura which enabled masters to launch a projection of their swords. A domain was rather high level, and hearing Orlandir had stumbled into such an ability had solidified his impression of his friend. Orlandir had been a genius.

  Still, without guidance, Orlandir, and half the masters in the trial world had skipped a lot of steps in their development, limiting their concepts to one ability, and limiting their growth. Before the system, so many talented people wasted their potential on small backwater planets.

  “I thought you hated the system?” Rafe couldn't help but ask him the day Noid had praised it.

  “I don't hate the system,” Noid told him, rolling his eyes. “I didn't have the system in my day, so I didn't train with it. I merely don't want you to rely on it too much. In the end, the system is a tool, and you'll have to use it to finish this path. It will make your ascension easier, especially after you've had to make do without its spoon-feeding in the beginning.”

  Rafe had shrugged, taking the explanation in stride. It was a rare occasion when Noid was that loquacious, and he still had many questions.

  Bang, bang, bang, the sound of metal continued for hours. With a hiss, he quenched the metal, testing it with a small hammer. It was solid, with no hollow throughout its length. He tested the edge. It was regular, at the very least. But the process was just starting.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  He had to smooth it, beautify it, then wett it. He worked through the night. In the morning, he tested its edge again. His forefinger came away wet, red.

  He'd already designed his hilt, although he'd used a different, heavier metal for the pommel. The shark skin he'd used to wrap the grip was just rough enough that keeping hold of the blade would be easy, but wouldn't get too uncomfortable. He had gone for a round guard, a very tiny radius. He glued it on and sat back, admiring his work.

  Then, although he'd never know how the dark claimed him.

  When he woke, Noid was standing over his cot, the rest of the room empty. The forge, the anvil, the table, Noid's bed, everything had disappeared like it had never existed. Noid held a satchel out to him. There was no fanfare. He'd only received instruction for a few weeks, and only a fraction of the questions he'd had had been answered.

  “Are you sure you want to stay this far from them?” Noid asked, not for the first time.

  “Yes, I need to sort my head out.”

  “Alright then,” Noid said with a nod.

  “When will I see you again?”

  “To answer all your other questions? When the trial ends. This avatar will leave this trial imminently.”

  “And how will the trial end?”

  “I've never had a trial taker reach this far before. It will all depend on how much energy I can pour into a final challenge. And what that final challenge will be even. We will see. We will see.”

  Rafe didn't understand, but he walked anyway. With his sword sheathed at his hip, a satchel slung over his shoulder, and no idea where he was going, a swordsman went to discover his soul.

  ****

  Somehow, Rafe hadn't thought crossing the ocean would be this hard. Well, he hadn't expected he'd be doing it on a boat. He thought he had time on the dark elven island, but the shadow wielders had been…not welcoming, to put it mildly.

  “Still, I managed to escape with my life and got in a little more practice modifying the earth-shattering technique into a movement skill. Now I just have to aim my sword in a particular direction and zip toward it,” he said to himself, smiling widely, trying to convince himself.

  “Argh! Whatever! Positivity is overrated. Here's to hoping the elves on Dormiel will be a little more welcoming.”

  The other elves were not any more welcoming. Worse, they lived in a great big forest with the largest trees, and their mages had nature affinities that allowed them to control the trees, and they had the best archers Rafe had seen in this world. Well, the dark elves were amazing archers too.

  He did have a duel with a master archer during his long retreat from the forest. He only had to use his modified movement technique to get in close on a few occasions, but she was also mean with a dagger. And was it just him, or were all elves at least partially hybrid mages too.?It was unfair. He didn't have mana, but maybe he needed some kind of magic education so he could form a hybrid class too. He only died that one time he got in over his head and managed a cut on the master archer’s forearm.

  The dwarves were simultaneously easier, and harder to deal with. He looked too puny, they said, and they wanted strong opponents. They mostly specialised in heavy weapons like war hammers and great axes and, rarely, great swords.

  Rafe did have a skill he'd once used to surprise Noid. A skill that, on contact, increased the strength of his blows. Still, after proving his strength, they nitpicked on the quality of his sword, and he was not happy about that, not one bit.

  He'd made that sword himself, and he had poured blood and sweat into it, and very expensive metal. Apparently, that was the problem. He had wasted the devrite, as the white veined alloy was termed. He was adamant he'd done the best he could, and the dwarves found his claim laughable, three duels in, his sword, his pride, broke into three pieces.

  “Tis good this happened now,” a callused dwarf slapped him commiseratingly on the shoulder. “You are in a place where you can fix it, and learn better. Tis good it happened now.”

  Rafe spent almost three years traveling through the underground cities of the dwarves, sampling their ale, fighting in a few bar brawls, challenging masters of strength insights and related concepts. It was in Darvon that he got the idea to form a physical fitness skill. Not for his strength, per se, but for his endurance and stamina, his speed. And to sculpt his body a bit, look the part. Maybe it'd help him with his virginity problem.

  He couldn't help but scoff whenever he thought about that. Already pushing on thirty years, and nothing more than a few deep kisses.

  He had decided to try his hand at a hybrid fighting style, so before heading to the tumultuous land known as the demon continent, he had to search for a floating island known as Maeve, where the temple of light resided. The celibate monks there were masters of magic and melee hybrid combat styles. He wasn't scared of going to the famed crucible that was the demon continent.

  ****

  The girls were unsatisfied with his explanations. Once upon a time, they would have been asking about their big brother Noid, but somehow Guy had taken root in their minds. And in their hearts.

  Jonathan didn't know where Noid had taken the boy.

  No, not a boy, a man. A full-grown warrior who could now perhaps even hold his own against Jonathan himself.

  “A letter for you Mr.Wilde,” one of his mercenaries told him.

  “Is it important?” he asked without looking up.

  “How the hell should she know?” A familiar voice asked.

  Jonathan's head whipped up, a smile etching itself across his face.

  “Ah, Julia. Thank all the gods you're here. Your sister, well, she is not at her best. And the girls too.”

  The woman frowned. “Why, what did you do? Do they require Bird's help?”

  “What? No! Unless healers have developed magic for healing stress in the past few years of your journey.”

  The woman winced. “Not that I know of. So what happened?”

  Jonathan decided he'd as well read the letter now while he had the time.

  “Well, one, you took my best healer and disappeared for ten years. And when you return, instead of checking on your nieces who probably don't even recognize you, you come to make—”

  He let out a loud whoosh of air as he scram

  bled from his desk.

  “What is it?” Julia asked.

  “It is from Guy! The letter is from Guy!”

  “Who is…”

  He never got to hear the rest of her question because he was already running.