The surge hit me again, more intense this time as I pushed off the floor.

My movements were faster, more deliberate.

I darted across the room, each step calculated, each pivot precise.

I imagined facing an opponent, their sword slicing through the air, and I responded with a swift sidestep. The room blurred around me as I moved.

The strain was immediate.

My muscles, already fatigued, began to protest more loudly. The ache turned into a sharp, insistent pain.

But I kept going, refusing to slow down. If this was going to be a weapon in my arsenal, I had to know its breaking point—and mine.

I shifted again, this time imagining multiple enemies, each one attacking from a different angle.

My body reacted on instinct, ducking, weaving, my feet barely touching the ground before I propelled myself into the next movement.

But the pain was relentless, growing with each use of the skill. My legs felt like they were on fire as the burning sensation crawled up from my calves to my thighs.

Still, I didn't stop.

I couldn't.

I came to a halt, breathing heavily, and my legs were trembling from the exertion.

The room spun slightly as I steadied myself against the wall as the aftermath of pushing the Quick Footwork went beyond what my body was ready for.

The pain was a stark reminder that power without control was as dangerous as no power at all.

Needing a moment to collect myself, I mentally summoned the system interface, bringing up the description of my Skill Mimicry ability.

I needed to remind myself of its parameters, to see if there was anything I had missed before. The familiar screen materialized in front of me, listing the skill I had copied, its description, and their limitation.

My eyes scanned the screen until they landed on Quick Footwork. I was about to close it when something caught my attention—a small, blinking icon next to the skill's name.

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Skill Name Skill Mimicry Skill Type Utility Skill Tier Unique Skill Description Allows the user to copy and store up to three non-unique skills observed from other beings. The copied skills are stored in available skill slots and can be used at will. Skill Slots Used 1/3 - Quick Footwork (🗑️) Skill Activation Automatic upon observation, manual selection for use Skill Cost None for copying, varies by copied skill usage Cooldown None for copying, varies by copied skill usage

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For a moment, I just stared at it as my mind raced to process what I was seeing.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

This option hadn't been there before.

I was certain of it.

I'd checked and rechecked, desperately searching for a way to free up my skill slots, and it had never appeared.

But now, out of nowhere, it was there, taunting me with the possibility of erasing the skill that had been both a boon and a burden.

Why now?

What had changed?

My thoughts spiraled as I considered the implications.

Had my training triggered this?

Or was it something else entirely—some unknown condition that I had finally met?

I hesitated with my eyes hovering over the delete option.

The idea of getting rid of Quick Footwork was tempting, especially after the toll it had taken on me.

But the uncertainty of what might happen if I did—what it would mean for the empty skill slots and my overall lack of ability—kept me from acting.

The room felt suddenly colder. The reality of this decision settled over me.

I could erase this skill with a single thought.

But should I?

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[POV Shift]

Lorian sat behind his desk as Tomas, Luca, and Derek entered the office.

The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them, sealing off the small dimly lit room from the bustling guild outside. The lone candle on the desk flickered, casting long shadows that stretched across the walls, deepening the ominous atmosphere.

Tomas led the group, trying to mask his unease with a cocky grin, but the nervous glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Luca lingered at the back with his wiry frame tense as he avoided Lorian's gaze, while Derek's broad shoulders seemed to slump slightly with his usual intimidation dulled by the oppressive silence.

They had faced many dangers as part of the guild, but this was different—this was Lorian.

Lorian let his cold gaze sweep over them, noting every flicker of discomfort. He let the silence hang heavy in the room and allowed their anxiety to build.

Finally, he spoke with a low commanding voice.

"Sit."

The word cut through the silence like a blade.

The three men quickly obeyed and each took a seat in the hard uncomfortable chairs in front of Lorian's desk.

The sound of wood scraping against the floor was the only noise in the room.

Lorian leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the polished surface of the desk with his fingers tapping rhythmically as he observed them.

The tension was palpable. Tomas's bravado faltered, Luca's eyes darted nervously around the room, and Derek kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

Lorian could see the fear taking hold and he knew he had them right where he wanted.

Lorian let the silence stretch as the three men fidgeted in their seats. He wanted them uncomfortable, on edge.

Only when the tension was nearly unbearable did he finally speak.

"I called you here for one reason," Lorian began, his voice calm but with a cold edge. "Darius is dead."

The heavy words hung in the air. Tomas stiffened as the color drained from his face. Luca's eyes widened in shock, while Derek's hands clenched into fists.

Lorian watched their reactions closely, measuring each one.

"Dead?" Tomas finally managed, his voice shaky. "How? When?"

Lorian ignored the questions.

Instead, he reached under his desk, pulling out a small wooden box and placing it on the table with deliberate care.

The box was unassuming, plain wood with a simple latch, but its presence seemed to fill the room.

"Open it," Lorian said with his gaze locking onto Tomas.