Robert's first week went on with repeats of the first day, the only change was the nature of the tests. They repeated the first day tests three times, to gauge his growth and calculate some variables. The Samson instructors gathered as much data about him as possible. Come Saturday morning, he sat in a meeting room with Patrick, Amanda, and Edward, representing Jeremiah. Amanda didn't display her usual cheerful demeanor. Robert wondered if she was mad at him or anything like that.

"Let us begin," Patrick said. "On the screen you can see Robert's evaluation. His essence capacity, absorption, and skill with Life spells, as well as his projected growth. On the other side, his physical performance. While he showed promise with the former, he is unsuited for frontline combat."

Robert knew that. Some Archhumans had ridiculous strength and endurance. Robert was below average even when compared to other support Archs. He glanced at Amanda, expecting her to say something. She didn't.

"Moving on, this is what our estimates predict he can reach with full tempering and alchemical assistance."

The numbers seemed good enough for Robert. He wouldn't become an Olympic Athlete overnight because his affinities didn't have good tempering techniques to improve his physique.

Lavi flows kept him in top shape. Vitae infusion primed his body to recover from injury at an accelerated pace. During the week, he finished tempering his body with both of these techniques. The same healer who examined him as he mended the cadets' wounds helped him safely use vitae infusion on his organs and head. He even said Robert might get the ability to increase the quality of healing effects on his body.

He refocused on the presentation when Edward raised a hand. Patrick nodded.

"In your opinion, instructor, is Mr. Blaze suited to act as Ms. Samson's bodyguard?"

"Yes," Patrick answered straight away. "Because of his talent and spells. Physical performance is useless. Robert can keep Ms. Samson safe from any threat below three stars."

Amanda was startled when his talent was mentioned.

"Today they are delving into the Mollusk Realm," Patrick said. "A party of six, three days and two nights. I expect no problems even if a deviant shows up."

"Is this your final opinion?"

"Unless you set up some sort of ambush or sabotage for the kids, yes," Patrick glared at the pencil pusher.

"Nothing like that," Edward replied without losing his composure.

"Good. Ms. Samson, do you have any questions?"

It took Amanda longer than usual to react. "No. I have complete confidence in Rob-- Mr. Blaze's competence."

She didn't sound so confident. Something was eating at Amanda's nerves.

"Mr. Blaze?"

It was his chance to put Edward's worries to rest. "Why don't we make a little wager, Edward?"

The man was surprised. "What?"

Let's put myself to the test. We can set up a training dummy representing Ms. Samson here, and have a selection of security personnel pretend they are hostile attackers. If any of them can harm the dummy, then I'm unfit to defend her against real attackers and you fire me."

"No!" Amanda jumped on her feet. "Wager something else."

"Very well," Edward was calm, collected, and as cool as a heartless serial killer. "I will select a dozen attackers, two of them early two-stars.

"Why not two dozen?" Robert said in open confrontation. "Just make sure the people you select can endure some humiliation."

He couldn't believe what he just did. Why was he so upset? Was it Edward? No. He disliked the guy but not to that point. He dove into the void to think. Two days later, he came up with the answer. It was Amanda's strange spell of bedlam.

He read some library books he borrowed to kill time while he waited to get back.

"If Robert wins," Amanda said, angry. "You will do your utmost to shield him from grandma."

What did the Samson matriarch have to do with that?

"I agree."

*

*

Half an hour later, they assembled at the underground training facility. Patrick and two other instructors filled the role of umpires, while twelve elites from Damson security forces stood a hundred feet from Robert and a punching dummy. In his hand, he held a red permanent marker used to make trail markers. The ink seeped into most materials, making it almost impossible to remove.

"The exercise will start when the flare fires," Patrick said. "Lethal attacks against Mr. Blaze are forbidden. On your marks. Get set. Go!"

Robert dove into the liminal void the moment he saw light coming from the flare. He walked to the crowd of attackers and checked if any of them were moving or had any hint of color on them. Satisfied they didn't, he placed the marker against one of the two stars' neck and waited. As color returned, he marked the neck and dove back. He had less than twenty seconds to reach the other two-star, the fastest visit to the void. Another mark, this time on the forehead. Dive.

He saw a kunai flying towards the dummy. He grabbed the round end, and once he felt the tug, he returned to the void with the weapon, which escaped his grasp and remained stuck. Halfway to the third attacker, he slipped back into reality and re-entered the void as fast as he could.

He felt a sting in his mind. Using his talent in such rapid succession required a lot of concentration. Not to mention ninety-nine times a fraction of a second didn't leave him much time to catch up. The fifth attacker predicted where he would reappear and punched Robert. He flew backward even as he shifted dimensions.

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He coughed blood. His mind swam. The energy stored in his cells through vitae infusion worked to fix his ruptured internal organs. He reappeared on his back, still coughing blood. Closing his eyes, he returned to the liminal void. Robert stood up. The guy who punched him was still moving his arm back. Robert pressed his marker against the man's eye, changed dimensions, pulled down, and used his talent. To those affixed in reality, he seemed like a vengeful ghost, visible only for split-seconds.

Another kunai, mid-air. He dragged it to the void, then marked another seven, including the guy who threw two kunai in less than four seconds. Checking the dummy, he confirmed it was still intact. Halfway there and the most dangerous ones were already out.

He stumbled toward the thirteenth assailant. Red mark on the neck, back to the void. Robert puked, the mixture of blood and bile floating in the shape of an upside-down dish. If he could see himself, he'd notice bloodshot eyes, a sign of talent abuse. Blinking in and out of reality, he marked another four when the ground underneath the dummy erupted. With no choice, Robert went there, wrapped both arms around the dummy, and dragged it to the void with him during his next brief visit to the void. He set the dummy fifty feet to the side and a hundred away from the group of attackers. Robert reappeared with the dummy and watched a crystal spike twenty feet tall come out of the track's third lane.

The survivors readjusted their aim. Some ran to close the distance. He heard Patrick and the other umpires yelling but didn't understand a thing. He counted to five and phased. He had a little more than ten minutes to rest. Hovering his hands over his stomach, he fixed the rest of the damage. Robert wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, and charged. His shoulder bounced on something but he ignored it when he saw nothing.

The four closest to the dummy were tagged out without issue. Robert was lagging and now he needed almost an entire second before he could focus on using his talent after returning to reality.

Three people left.

Robert approached a guy who was shooting fire from his hand from behind and marked his nape. Next, a woman with floating water drops around her. He stayed for two seconds in the real world, trying to breathe but only wheezing. He shifted. Three minutes in the void. His vision was blurred. He reappeared two feet from the last attacker. The flames were still going toward the dummy.

"Johnson, you are out!" Patrick yelled.

Who was Johnson? Why was the guy in front of him holding a spool of silver thread? No.

The dummy's head fell off. It crashed on the artificial grass. Robert felt the defeat in his soul.

"FINISH!" An umpire shouted.

Robert coughed more blood.

"Medic!" Patrick shouted.

The silver thread guy was smiling, triumphant.

Robert used his talent. In the liminal void, he tried to approach the last man standing but lost his balance and fell on his back. He passed out.

*

*

Robert woke up in a medical bed. Someone was holding his hand. He followed the slender arm and found Amanda on the other side of the limb.

He squeezed. She raised her head. Her mascara was running down her cheeks.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Robert was dazed, groggy, and still suffering from a massive headache from abusing his talent. His insides felt upside down.

"How long?" He croaked. His lips were dry.

"An hour?" She guessed with an angry scowl. "Grandma sent our best healing elixir down. You had an internal bleeding and a missing spleen!"

"What happened to my spleen? I'm pretty sure these organs are important." His attempt at humor ended in a fit of coughs.

"It blew up when Tyrone punched you!" She protested, gesticulating wildly as she spoke. "Fucking bastard. You only survived because you healed yourself fast enough. They needed to operate on you."

"I'm sorry I lost."

"You WHAT?" Amanda squeaked. She shook her head and took a deep breath to calm her feelings. Her next sentence came as soft as she could. "Robert, you won."

"No, I didn't! I saw it, the silver string guy cut the dummy's head."

She let out an imperious chuckle full of scorn. "The fuckers were disqualified. Tyrone used lethal force. You won the moment he punched you."

"Still failed."

"Tyrone can punch through a quarter-inch steel plate! They went against the mission parameters, and everyone there agreed. Hell, even my granny. She made Tyrone pay for the potion they used on you and fined him the same amount on top, as damages."

"What difference does it make? If it was a real situation, you'd still be dead."

She pinched his wrist. "Idiot! The scenario was that they wanted to capture you alive. You still took down two dozen elites, way above your pay grade. Nobody expected anything like that. Patrick said the punch staggered you, and slowed you down. Without it, it'd have been a wash."

Robert conceded the point without any further protest. He was too upset to argue, and knew it was a losing battle. He won but his pride was shot. What was it? Did the test results fill his head like a balloon and make him believe he was invincible? It obviously wasn't the case. Enemies who could react faster than he could command his talent would make mincemeat out of him. It was eye-opening. Sobering. Yes, he defeated twelve elites on a technicality but would've died along with his charge.

"I can't imagine what you suffered," She said softly. "I'm honored. Thank you for doing that, no matter how stupid it was. I know it was painful."

"You bet it did. I still feel like shit. My head feels like it's about to blow up. Oh! What about the delve? Did we miss it?"

"I sent a message to Chris, postponing our delve."

"Sorry."

"Take better care of yourself! The delve is not important, and we can't go if you're dead!" She berated. "You already have so little–" Amanda clamped her mouth shut.

"I what?"

She looked away. The tip of her ears took on a darker color. If Robert had to guess, she was blushing.

"Can you tell me why you were mad at me during the presentation?"

Startled, she looked back with wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You. At the evaluation presentation this morning. You were obviously upset and avoided me."

Amanda shook her head. She closed her eyes to think, then sighed. "No. I wasn't. Okay. Maybe I was. Upset. But not at you. We bought the ATA report on your visit and trade, along with their evaluation of your Prime Vestige."

"Can they do that?" It felt like a breach of etiquette, an invasion of privacy.

"Nothing is impossible in this world for the right price, Robert."

He took that to mean the information was expensive. And his guess was correct.

"What really matters is that I learned you only have a year to live!" She revealed with tears in her eyes.

"What? No, I don't! Where did that come from?" He asked.

"Your talent! You will spend ninety-nine percent of your life in the void!"

Robert blinked as he let the information sink in. Then a smile crept into his mouth. "The ATA scammed you," he said as he let his body fall back on the bed and laughed. His stomach flared in pain and he grunted.

"Take it easy!" Amanda protested. "What scam?"

"Hundred parts ye may live, ninety-nine ye shall spend in a liminal void," Robert recited. "Is this what they based their guess on?"

"And humans live only around a hundred years. Maybe more if you ascend. Is this why you push yourself so hard? Why did you spend all these nights awake at the library, checking hundreds of books? By the way, when do you sleep?"

Robert didn't reply. He just studied her brown eyes.

"Say something!"

"The ATA scammed you," he repeated. "I could sell you better information for half the price."

She glared. She sighed. Then she smirked. "Deal."

Robert pulled the pillow over his face. Then he groaned and rolled his eyes. Rich people. He hoped he would never get used to it.

"Okay. My talent is exactly what the Prime said. I spend, say, one hour of my life here in reality, and then I spend ninety-nine hours in the liminal void. For every three days, fifteen hours, thirty-nine minutes, and thirty seconds of real-world time, I live a year in the void."

Amanda did the math. "Yes, that's one to ninety-nine, but doesn't it mean you—"

His raised finger made her stop. "I don't age in the liminal void. I don't grow hungry, my beard doesn't grow. Wounds don't bleed. And the time I spend there, it's in-between instants here. What you call teleportation is just me going in and out of the void at different places."

"Then what you did during the fight... it lasted twelve seconds."

"I had twenty minutes in the liminal void to move and strategize. And to heal myself. The ATA got it wrong. I don't have one year to live. I'll live a normal lifetime here, and ninety-nine times that in the liminal void. If anything, it means I will live ten thousand years. You know of my nightly library visits, don't you?" She nodded. "Each night, I spent a month reading books and taking notes there. The night shift librarians might think I'm just goofing off taking books from the shelves I barely open but I read all of them through and through."

"I this why you never sleep?"

"I sleep in the void. Time there is cheap, why waste eight hours of reality?"