The air hung heavy with ash, smothering the remnants of life and replacing it with the acrid stench of charred wood and blood. Smoke curled in the twilight sky, shrouding the sun in a haze of despair. Among the ruins of the village, a young boy stumbled forward, his small frame caked in soot and streaked with tears. Broken timbers and lifeless bodies littered his path, each step a struggle against the searing pain in his legs.

  Monsters roamed the chaos. Towering beasts with claws that gleamed like blades and eyes that burned with a crimson light, tearing through the village as if it were nothing more than a toy to be destroyed. Their roars shook the ground, a harbinger of the death they delivered without mercy.

  The boy tripped over a loose cobblestone, falling face-first into the dirt. He gasped, choking on ash, his heart pounding as he scrambled to push himself up. A low, guttural growl froze him in place. The shadow of a beast loomed over him; its fiery eyes boring into his small, trembling form.

  He clenched his eyes shut, his hands digging into the dirt as he braced for the inevitable. His short life flashed through his mind—a series of fleeting, simple joys now swallowed by an endless wave of terror.

  Then, it came: a flash of blinding light that seemed to tear through the suffocating darkness. The air hummed with a strange energy; the growl of the beast silenced in an instant.

  Cautiously, the boy opened his eyes. The monster was gone, reduced to a pile of smoldering ash that crumbled in the wind. Standing where it had been was an old man, his posture weary but firm. He was clad in a robe, frayed at the edges, with a staff glowing faintly in his gnarled hand. His sharp eyes surveyed the boy, seeming to pierce through him and see the depths of his soul.

  “Come, child,” the man said, his voice steady yet carrying an unmistakable note of kindness.

  The boy stared at him, unable to form words. His body moved on instinct as he reached out and took the man’s hand.

  The journey away from the village was a blur. The boy couldn’t recall how far they walked or how long it took. His exhaustion and grief blended with a flicker of hope, creating a strange numbness in his mind. The man led him with a steady hand, his presence radiating a quiet strength that kept the boy’s terror at bay.

  When they arrived at the mage order, the boy's breath caught. Towers spiraled high into the sky, their tips disappearing into the clouds. The very air seemed alive, buzzing with an unseen power that made his skin tingle. People in flowing robes moved about with purpose, some carrying glowing orbs, others chanting incantations that filled the air with whispers of energy.

  The man guided him through the grand halls, their walls adorned with intricate carvings and shimmering tapestries that depicted scenes of ancient battles and powerful spells. At last, they reached the halls, a bustling haven of warmth and life with children just like him. The boy’s senses were overwhelmed by the scent of freshly baked bread and the laughter of kids bustling around the warmth. It was a stark contrast to the silence of his ruined village.

  “You’ll stay here,” the old man said, his tone firm but not unkind. “Learn the ways of the Order. Fate has smiled upon you for you have the Gift to one day become an official member of this Order.”

  The boy clenched his fists, his gaze following the mages he could glimpse through the windows. They moved with an elegance and power that seemed otherworldly. Something deep within him stirred—a spark of determination.

  From the shadows of the hall, he watched some magical students practice their craft, his heart set on one goal. One day, he would stand among them. One day, he would wield the same power that had saved him.

  But then, a crack formed in the world around him.

  The boy—no, Uldric—stiffened, his awareness snapping into focus. His surroundings felt less solid, as if the very fabric of reality was slipping through his fingers.

  Immersion rate 15%.

  The words echoed in his mind, disjointed and foreign, yet somehow familiar.

  “Huh? What sorcery is th—wait… this isn’t real.” Uldric’s voice cut through the illusion, shaking as realization dawned. “I’m not… this boy. This is a memory. And not even the one I was searching for.”

  The world around him froze, every detail of the memory suspended mid-motion. He looked down at his hands—hands that were smaller and unfamiliar.

  “Neurolink what is immersion rate?”

  Immersion rate is the rate at which the user’s mind is overtaken by transplanted memories.

  “And what happens when it hits one hundred percent?”

  Results may lead to mental breakdown, madness, and many negative variables.

  “So, in short, you don’t know,” Uldric muttered. “But you’re sure I’m going to get screwed over if I don’t find the memory I need—the one with the skill method I came here for.”

  Affirmative

  “Well then let’s not waste any more time, get me to those skill memories.”

  Command accepted.

  The world shattered around him like glass, each fragment glimmering before dissolving into nothingness. Uldric felt himself disintegrate, his form scattering like dust as he was plunged deeper into the labyrinth of fragmented memories.

  ***

  The room was dimly lit, its stone walls adorned with flickering torches casting dancing shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of their own. Elder Rigard as Uldric came to know as his savior, was a grey-bearded, bald old man, stood at the center of the room, his white piercing gaze fixed on the young man before him. The years had not dulled the sharpness of his eyes; they bore into his pupil as if peeling away every layer of doubt, searching for even the faintest trace of hesitation.

  “Are you sure about this?” Elder Rigard asked, his voice as deep and weighted as the ancient stones surrounding them. Every syllable carried the gravity of the warlord that had raged the battlefield with supernatural entities for far too long—a war that had taken much and spared little.

  The young man, his armor bearing the emblem of the Order of Lord Evermore, placed his fist firmly against his chest in a salute. His eyes, steady and determined, met Rigard’s without wavering. “For the Order of Lord Evermore, I shall do what I must,” he replied, his tone resolute.

  A faint smile softened the elder’s stern features, though it did little to mask the weariness etched into his face. “Good,” Rigard said, nodding slowly. “This war demands sacrifices that few are willing to make. It will take unwavering devotion such as yours to turn the tides.” He paused, the smile fading into something more somber. “You remind me of myself in my youth—full of purpose, unyielding in resolve.”

  The young man straightened his back, the elder’s words igniting a spark of pride within him. But the moment of warmth was fleeting. Rigard’s expression darkened, and he stepped closer, his hand gripping the young man’s shoulder with surprising strength. “Survive,” he said, his voice a low, urgent growl. “Survive for the Order, for Lord Evermore, and for me. Bring no shame to my name, for when your deeds are sung, I want the world to know that Elder Rigard’s eye for talent is unmatched.”

  The elder released his grip, but the weight of his words lingered, pressing down like a heavy mantle. The young man swallowed hard, nodding once more. Rigard reached into the folds of his tattered robe, producing a scroll. The parchment was ancient, its edges frayed and worn. A faint, unearthly glow emanated from the runes etched upon it, illuminating the space between them with a ghostly light.

  “This,” Rigard said, holding the scroll out with reverence, “is the [Forbidden Vitalis Core Fusion Skill]. It is not taught lightly, nor is it bestowed without necessity. It demands more than skill—it requires the strength to endure its cost.”

  The young man hesitated only for a moment before accepting the scroll with trembling hands. The name alone sent a shiver down his spine, but he pushed the fear aside, his resolve solidifying. “I will not fail,” he promised, his voice steady.

  Elder Rigard’s gaze softened briefly, but his tone remained firm. “You will need this, but be warned. This path will tear you apart, test your limits, and reshape you into something unrecognizable. Do not falter.”

  The young man nodded; his hands steady now as he unrolled the scroll. The ancient symbols danced across the parchment, writhing like living serpents. As his eyes fell upon the script, a sudden pressure surged in his forehead. His vision blurred, and a beam of light struck the center of his brow, searing into his mind like a hot iron. Pain erupted, rippling through his thoughts as if a tidal wave of energy was crashing against the shores of his sanity.

  The symbols began to shift, rearranging themselves into patterns that defied comprehension. Just as the fragments of knowledge began to coalesce, the stream of information halted abruptly. A hollow ache settled in his mind, and a disembodied message appeared before his eyes, hovering in the air like a decree from another world:

  Data collected. Skill Restoration for Mana Core Cultivation is at 23%.

  The words lingered, cold and mechanical. He blinked, his heart pounding in his chest. “Elder… what is this?” he stammered, turning toward Rigard.

  But the elder was no longer himself. His body had frozen mid-motion, his features stiff and lifeless. Cracks spiderwebbed across his form, glowing faintly as if he were made of fragile glass. The young man’s breath caught as the horror of the moment sank in.

  “Elder!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the empty chamber. The cracks deepened, and with a deafening shatter, Rigard’s form fragmented into countless shards, each piece dissolving into the ether.

  Immersion rate 45%.

  “No… no, this isn’t real,” the young man murmured, his voice trembling as realization dawned. He looked around frantically. The chamber was unraveling, its walls crumbling into ash, the torches extinguishing one by one.

  “Yes… I’m searching for information,” he muttered, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. “Memories… I’ve finally made progress, but every time, it feels like I lose myself for longer periods of time. This is taking more of a toll than I expected and, I’m losing grip, I maybe got two or three more deeper dives left in me.”

  The ground beneath him splintered, the stone floor cracking open to reveal an endless void. A pull, both invisible and inexorable, dragged him toward the chasm. His body began to dissolve, atom by atom, as the force hurled him into the abyss.

  A thunderous sound echoed through the void, like the shattering of a great barrier. The reverberation tore through his very soul, a reminder of how fragile his existence in this fragmented reality had become.

  As he fell deeper into the endless expanse, he could only hope that the next memory would bring him closer to the knowledge he sought—and not to his own undoing.

  ***

  Uldric stood among a sea of young robed initiates, their identical white garments a stark contrast to the myriad expressions etched on their faces. The hall was vast and cavernous, its stone walls adorned with ancient runes that seemed to hum faintly with power. The air was heavy with unspoken tension, the weight of the ceremony pressing down on them all like a suffocating shroud.

  The initiates' pristine robes fluttered slightly as an unnatural breeze swept through the room, carrying with it the scent of burning incense. Some of his peers stood resolute, their eyes burning with determination, as though they had already accepted their fate. Others shifted nervously, their gazes darting to the towering arches and the shadowed recesses of the chamber, searching for an escape they must have known didn’t exist. Uldric swallowed hard, feeling the coarse fabric of his robe chafe against his neck. It was a minor discomfort, but it anchored him to the moment—a reminder of what was to come.

  At the head of the hall, raised above the rows of initiates, stood a masked woman who exuded an aura of authority so potent it seemed to command the very air around her. Clad in flowing crimson robes embroidered with golden threads that shimmered like living flames, she was unmistakably one of the Order’s high overseers. Her mask was sharp and severe, its features sculpted with a precision that seemed almost otherworldly. The torches nearest her flared brighter as she stepped forward, the light casting her shadow long and imposing against the wall behind her.

  “You have all shown courage and devotion to the Order,” she began, her voice clear and commanding, yet devoid of warmth. Each word was precise, like the tolling of a bell, resonating through the chamber. Her piercing gaze swept over the initiates, lingering on each one just long enough to make them feel exposed, as if she could see the fears and doubts, they tried to conceal. “For that, we commend you. But know this: the path you have chosen requires more than courage. It demands sacrifice, obedience, and the willingness to cast aside the remnants of your former selves.”

  A faint murmur rippled through the crowd; a fleeting whisper of unease quickly stifled by the overseer’s unyielding presence. Uldric’s throat tightened as her words struck a chord deep within him, their weight pressing against his chest like an unseen force. He glanced at the initiates beside him. Some had closed their eyes, their faces serene as if surrendering to the overseer’s words. Others wore expressions of quiet panic, their resolve visibly crumbling under the gravity of what lay ahead.

  “In exchange for your devotion,” she continued, her voice rising slightly as if to pierce through the layers of doubt in the room, “we grant you a gift—and that is the chance to traverse the dangerous path of a True mage.”

  The room descended into a deathly silence, the air growing heavy with unspoken dread. Uldric’s heart hammered in his chest as the overseer’s declaration settled over them like a suffocating fog. The thought of embarking on such a path sent an excited shiver down his spine. He clenched his fists, the rough texture of the robe’s fabric grounding him as his thoughts spiraled.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Immersion rate: 75%

  A disembodied voice echoed suddenly in his mind. It was cold and mechanical, its tone devoid of emotion. Uldric’s breath hitched, and his eyes flicked around the hall, but no one else seemed to react. The voice was a private intrusion, alien and unwelcome, yet impossibly intimate. He gripped the edges of his robe, the smooth fabric feel against his damp palms.

  “This... isn’t real. I must go deeper, find the memories of the skill,” Uldric muttered, his voice barely audible in the void around him.

  The world froze again, its colors fading to muted grays as his body grew weightless.

  All the initiates and Overseers begun to fragment, and the world shifted.

  He felt himself pulled downward, sinking into the recesses of his mind. Shadows of memories flickered past—disjointed images of faces, places, and whispers of knowledge he couldn’t quite grasp. Each fragment felt familiar, yet elusive, as though hidden behind an impenetrable veil.

  The deeper he descended, the colder it became. His breath misted in the still air, though he wasn’t sure if he was breathing at all. A faint hum echoed in the distance, drawing him further into the depths. Uldric reached out, his hand trembling as he sought the threads of memory buried within.

  Suddenly, a burst of light erupted before him, revealing a glowing fragment etched into the fabric of the void. It pulsed with an energy that resonated deep within his soul. The knowledge he sought was here—locked within the shard. As Uldric reached for it, the void around him began to tremble, threatening to consume him if he hesitated even a moment longer.

  ***

  The chamber was silent, its walls dimly lit by faintly glowing inscriptions etched into the stone. The air was heavy, almost stagnant, as if the room itself held its breath in anticipation. In the center of this ancient, arcane space, a young man sat cross-legged on the cold, smooth floor. His posture was rigid but purposeful, his eyes closed in deep concentration. The stillness around him was so profound that even the faint rise and fall of his chest seemed to disrupt it.

  Moments passed, stretching into an eternity. Then, his body trembled. The shift was subtle at first—a slight twitch in his fingers, the faintest ripple in his shoulders. But it grew. His form convulsed for a brief, violent instant before snapping back into stillness. His chest expanded suddenly, and he let out a sharp gasp, as if surfacing from the depths of a suffocating sea.

  His eyes flew open, wide with alarm. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his ears as he scanned the room. The chamber looked the same: the faintly glowing runes, the oppressive stillness, the enigmatic hum that seemed to come from the stone itself. But something felt… off.

  “Am I back in the chamber?” he murmured aloud, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  He turned his head, his gaze darting to the familiar inscriptions on the walls. They pulsed faintly, just as they had when he first entered this place. Yet, despite the familiarity, an uneasy sensation curled in his chest, gnawing at his certainty.

  “No,” he said slowly, his voice steadier now. “I’m still inside the memories of the previous soul, but it’s different.”

  Realization settled over him like a lead weight he did not forget himself this time but, although his consciousness was there, he wasn’t in control. Not yet.

  His eyes moved to his hands, resting palms-up on his knees. They didn’t respond to his will. It was as if he were a passenger in his own body, forced to watch events unfold from a distance. Slowly, he became aware of something changing.

  From beneath his skin, faint blue veins began to emerge, glowing softly at first but quickly intensifying. They spread like a network of rivers coursing across his forearms, his legs, and even up to his neck. The glow pulsed in time with an otherworldly rhythm, a strange energy circulating through his body.

  He wanted to move, to inspect the phenomenon more closely, but his body remained rooted in place. The strange rhythm quickened, and his skin began to radiate warmth. Heat blossomed within him, growing steadily until it bordered on unbearable. The blue veins turned blindingly bright, shifting to a brilliant white.

  Despite the apparent intensity, there was no pain. Only an odd detachment, as if his mind and body existed on separate planes.

  A dispassionate feminine voice echoed through his consciousness, resonating with a mechanical precision.

  “Data collection in progress. Skill Restoration for Mana Core Cultivation at 88%.”

  “Data collection in progress. Skill Restoration for Mana Core Cultivation at 90%.”

  “Data collection in progress. Skill Restoration for Mana Core Cultivation at 92%.”

  “Data collection in progress. Skill Restoration for Mana Core Cultivation at 94%.”

  “Data collection in progress. Skill Restoration for Mana Core Cultivation at 96%.”

  His pulse quickened. He could feel something being taken from him, as if an invisible force was siphoning away the essence of his very being. It wasn’t physical pain, but it left him hollow, as though a part of his soul force was being drained.

  The light coursing through the veins reached an unbearable brilliance, and the chamber around him seemed to fade into a void. Darkness encroached on his vision, but the voice continued, cold and unyielding.

  “Data collection complete. Skill Restoration for Mana Core Cultivation at 100%. Analyzing data...”

  His breathing stilled as the words echoed in his mind. Time seemed to stretch unnaturally as the voice processed the information it had taken from him. The heat in his body subsided, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling cold.

  One hundred and sixty-three errors detected within skill that could pose problems to the user.

  The light in his veins began to dim, fading back to the faint blue glow from before. His body felt weak, as though drained of all strength. His vision swam, the edges of his consciousness fraying.

  “This is when he died after he failed. He had lost most of his vitality.”

  “Immersion rate: 99.99%. Permanent memory sync averted. Returning to simulation area.”

  The dispassionate voice brought a strange mix of relief. He barely had time to process the words before the world around him shattered like glass. The chamber dissolved, fragments of light and sound spiraling into nothingness.

  When his awareness returned, he was back. The endless expanse greeted him and the door he had entered nowhere to be seen. His body felt ethereal again.

  The mechanical voice was silent now, its presence a lingering echo in the recesses of his mind. But its words stayed with him, etched into his thoughts. The errors. The danger. The imperfection within the skill he had obtained.

  He closed his eyes, leaning back. The silence around him felt oppressive, but he welcomed it. For now, it meant the ordeal was over.

  But he knew it was only a temporary reprieve. The errors within the restored skill loomed like a storm on the horizon, threatening to unravel the progress he had worked for. He couldn’t afford to fail—not when his second life was at stake.

  Steeling himself, he pushed the thoughts aside. For now, he needed to recover, to gather his strength for the trials yet to come.

  As he sat in the stillness of the expanse, the faint memories and experiences he had just had casted a long shadow in his mind, he resolved to face whatever came next. There was no turning back now.

  ***

  Uldric sat cross-legged in the white expanse of the simulated world, its indistinct horizon stretching endlessly around him. The air shimmered faintly, alive with the latent energy of the simulation, but he ignored it. His focus was inward, on the memories burned into his mind. The forbidden mana core cultivation skill he had extracted was dangerous—designed to push the user to their physical and mental limits by siphoning away their vital lifeforce to create a magical mana core. Yet, it was also a powerful foundation, a key to achieving mastery few could fathom, according to the transplanted memories he had experienced of course.

  Memory Acquired: Forbidden Vitalis Core Fusion Skill

  Detected Imperfections: 163.

  His jaw tightened as he whispered to himself, “Now I have to safely activate the skill and fix all the imperfections from the memories. I can’t afford to use it in the real world until it’s flawless.”

  He closed his eyes, steadying his form as the simulated world bent to his will. The Neurolink embedded in his mind hummed softly, a faint but constant reminder of its presence. It delved into the fragmented memories stored within, meticulously replaying the scenes he had witnessed countless times—the harrowing moments when the original Uldric, whose memories he now bore, had perished while attempting to wield this very skill. Each replay was a searing reminder of failure, the pain and despair etched into the memory like cracks marring an otherwise flawless masterpiece.

  By immersing himself in these memories, Uldric exposed himself to the full weight of their torment. Yet this exposure served a purpose: within the simulated environment, his body had turned partially ethereal with streams of dark smoke reconstructing, refining and reforging his body. His body mimicked the imperfect skill, and crafted it to be as identical to his memories. Every motion, every nuance, every flaw was replicated, providing a precise canvas upon which to refine the skill later. The goal was clear—to remake the skill, to identify and eliminate the imperfections that had once doomed its previous wielder. Through relentless forging and adaptation, Uldric sought to transform this imperfect legacy into something unbreakable.

  He started off slow learning and mimicking to slowly detect the mana veins within him, and he would then make the mana flow within. Each time he came to a bottleneck he would let his body disintegrate, restart the attempt and take another route, till he made a worthy mimicry.

  Although it sounded easy in theory, it wasn’t enough. Uldric had been at this for what felt like countless hours, looping through the same sequences of memory, each cycle only slightly better than the last.

  It took him what felt like ages, however all it took was a notification to announce his success.

  Simulated physical mimicry from memory complete at 100%

  Forbidden Vitalis Core Fusion Skill

  Detected Imperfections: 163.

  To get rid of these imperfections the user is recommended to increase the pain immersion to 24% to make it easier to detect and fix these faults. Warning simulated pain still harbors negative effects to the mental state of the user.

  A frown appeared on Uldric’s visage as he opened his eyes, “So I need a more realistic feel to things, hence the need to increase the pain immersion,” he muttered, his voice grim. “But can I handle it mentally?”

  Although the simulated pain was nothing compared to the real thing, it was still at the end of the day pain. The neurolink had safeguards to prevent users from overwhelming their minds, yet even at 24% pain immersion, was uneasy of the strain that would mount and for how long he would be able to hang on. Because if he pushed too much it bore the risk of irreversible mental damage a common theme with his second life now.

  He stared into the expanse of the simulated world, considering his options. The memory fragments had made one thing clear: the original Uldric’s mastery of this skill had been a torturous ordeal. The deeper he delved into the mana core awakening process, the more excruciating it had become, and the more perfectly he had to align his mana core to prevent catastrophic failure.

  His predecessor did not have a neurolink to show him his imperfections though and Uldric was going to make use of that fact, although it was not necessary to make a zero-error practice of the skill, Since the previous Uldric had made some imperfections to the skill and still managed to go further. The thing that led to failure was that he had made too many errors and imperfections than he had advantages. It was just one of those things where it was normal in this new world to have imperfect skills hence why the path of a mage was said to be a dangerous one.

  “There is no way forward without pain and hardship. Neurolink.” Uldric commanded, his voice sharp with resolve. “Increase pain immersion to 24%.”

  A warning flared in his vision.

  Increasing pain immersion to 24%. Warning: Mental side effects may occur.

  He exhaled slowly, then nodded. “I’m ready.”

  Pain blossomed in his simulated body the moment the immersion increased. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was sharp and precise, like a blade slicing through his veins. He grit his teeth, forcing his mind to focus on the task. To rid his mimicked form of imperfections.

  The skill required absolute precision. He visualized the network of mana veins beneath his skin, guiding the flow of energy through the fragile pathways. Blue light pulsed through the veins as the mana surged, but the rhythm faltered. The energy caught on an imperfect spot in the flow, crackling dangerously before erupting.

  His simulated body shattered into a thousand fragments, disintegrating in an instant.

  The simulation reconstructed him within seconds, but the memory of the pain lingered. Uldric gasped, clutching his body as the pain dulled. He paused to recover for only a moment.

  “Again,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The process repeated. Over and over, he activated the skill, guiding the mana through his veins, only for the flow to hit an imperfect spot, destabilize and destroy him. Each failure revealed a new flaw, a subtle misalignment, or a minute inconsistency in the body. And each time, he adjusted, learning from the mistakes, refining the flow.

  Refinement process 150/163

  “Good, it’s working.”

  Refinement process at 149/163

  “Good now to really get busy.”

  The neurolink updates were his only solace. Slowly but surely, he was piecing the skill back together, shaping it into something functional.

  But it wasn’t enough. He needed more immersion, more realism.

  Refinement process at 138/163

  Refinement process at 138/163

  Refinement process at 138/163

  “Neurolink,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Increase pain immersion to 25%.”

  Another warning flared.

  Severe mental side effects warning. Proceed with caution.

  Uldric’s hands trembled as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Just do it,” he ordered.

  The change was immediate. Pain slammed into him like a tidal wave, raw and all-consuming. It tore through his simulated body, burning along the pathways of his mana veins. His vision blurred, and his thoughts scattered under the weight of the agony.

  “This is necessary,” he reminded himself, his voice a strained whisper. “Pain is a guide. Pain shows the way.”

  He buckled and fought to maintain focus, channeling the mana through his veins with surgical precision. The simulation responded, magnifying every sensation to a terrifying degree. The blue light in his veins flared, then shifted to white-hot brilliance as the energy approached critical levels.

  Failure. Again, his body exploded, and the simulation reconstructed his body.

  He screamed as he reappeared, the pain now a constant presence in his mind. But he refused to stop. Each cycle brought him closer to perfection, closer to aligning the mana flow without error.

  Refinement process at 106/163

  Refinement process at 100/163

  Refinement process at 98/163

  Hours passed. Then days. Time lost all meaning within the simulated world.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, something changed. Uldric activated the skill once more, guiding the mana through his veins. This time, the flow was flawless. The energy coursed through him like a river, smooth and unbroken. The blue light turned pure white, radiating from his body in waves.

  The neurolink chimed.

  Data Refinement process at 0/163 Faults. Skill fully reforged. All imperfections corrected. Simulation pain immersion: deactivated. Mental strain at critical threshold. Stress Recovery active.

  Uldric collapsed onto the simulated ground, gasping for breath. His body trembled, his mind teetering on the edge of collapse. But he had done it. The skill was perfect.

  He lay there for a long moment, letting the silence of the simulated world wash over him. The strain was still there, a dull ache that pulsed in time with his mind, but it was a small price to pay.

  When he finally rose, his movements were slow but steady. “End simulation,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  The simulated world dissolved around him, and Uldric opened his eyes to the real world. The chamber greeted him once more, its stone walls cool and unyielding.

  He exhaled, a faint smile tugging at his lips. The skill was ready. And so was he.