My heartbeat was the first thing I became aware of; it was a steady thump in my ears.

Next was the soft sheets brushing against my hands, then the creak of footsteps wandering the room. The familiar chemical smell permeating the air told me this was Grathskin's medical room.

Assessing the damage, I noticed that my stomach no longer burned with pain, and I ran my hand over it. I was wearing a shirt, and underneath, only a thin scar remained on my skin. Looking inside, I found my mana core full again, undamaged by whatever skill Scorne had used on me.

The footsteps stopped, then started towards me, most likely noticing I had begun to move. Grathskin's voice was quiet, telling me Scorne had intentionally avoided my spine—telling me I was good as new.

But I was tired, feeling like a used ragdoll tossed about and stepped on.

***

Eskal had come for me the next day, dragging me down to what he called the training hall. It took up an entire floor, and our voices echoed throughout the room.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Eskal told me. "Scorne hasn't lost a single battle since he's been here. When I first fought him, he broke my ribs and punctured my lung."

I grabbed an axe, grimacing. I was only frustrated because Scorne had so easily reduced me to a helpless child in front of his strength. "What was that skill he used? Why didn't I ask you about the others' skills before?" It was foolish to think anything had changed now that I had formed a core.

Eskal sighed, swinging his sword in testing strikes. "I wouldn't have told you—neither would anyone else. I went through the same process, since it's sort of a ‘rule.’ No one gets any knowledge beforehand.

"And that skill Scorne used is called [Mana Shockwave]. It sounds exactly like what it does, and I've heard rumors he's got it up to level five," Eskal finished, then he came at me with a brutal swing.

We sparred for endless minutes, and despite everything, my blade felt fast and light, blocking and striking in every direction. It was a friendly fight of only weapons this time, and we danced until our breaths turned labored.

"Want to practice your skills?" Eskal asked between heaving breaths. "This space can take the force of practically any skill without suffering damage." I nodded, stepping away, and Eskal moved across the expansive room to do his own thing.

Breathing out, I summoned a flame. Where before it had burned down my arms to exit my hands, it was now a subtle rush, like the floodgates had been effortlessly opened.

My flames appeared in the palms of my hands, visible to me like always. The swirling fire reminded me of my mana—constantly in motion. I fed more through my pathways, letting the flames grow higher until my entire hand was engulfed.

It didn't drain my mana as fast as before, and I figured a lot had been wasted in my body every time I used a skill with no pathways to contain it. [Summon Flame] made the mana travel to my hands, but it wasn't the same for my other skills.

[Map Line] and [Spectral Hand] had mana shooting through every pathway. Focusing on [Silent Blade], I found it also traveled to my hands, then it seemed to jump out and seep into my axe. I swung the blade, and I could barely sense it. The skill was still at level one, and I found it a shame since it was the skill that came with my class.

Using flames wasn't probable while fighting with an axe since, for now, I could only summon them to my hands. So it was better to fight with a knife—or other one-handed weapons—if I wanted to use my flames. [Silent Blade] didn't just apply to axes, after all.

I let myself get used to using [Silent Blade] on my axe. When it was applied, there was no sound of the air being sliced, and I could only sense the axe since I was moving it.

My mana pool had significantly lowered, so I put the axe on the ground. I wanted to practice using [Spectral Hand] with what power I had left. The skill had given me an upper hand on Scorne, if only for a second.

I had been able to block his blade, but if I'd been able to deflect it, I could've hit an area more vital than his arm.

It was strange to watch the hand float through the blackness, wispy and the size of my own. Something told me only I could see it, but I had no way of knowing unless I asked.

Moving it under the axe's haft, I made to lift it up using the hand, watching as my mana rapidly depleted. My head began to pound, and it was like I was trying to lift something extremely heavy with my mind.

The axe-head scraped against the ground as the hand got it to lift a tiny bit, but soon after, the handle's wood banged against the floor as the hand dissipated, my mana nearly gone. It used so much for such small results, and I could only hope the ratio improved as the level of [Spectral Hand] increased.

I crouched, gripping my head as a wave of dizziness washed over me. I had forgotten the toll of practically using all the mana I had, as the previous times had been in fights where other pains and worries plagued me.

After I recovered, I returned the axe to the rack of weapons. I bid goodbye to Eskal and left—I felt better than when I had entered, and had to commend Eskal for that.

Leaving the building for fresh air was a relief after I had only found myself pacing in my room. I felt restless and wandered to the market street that wasn't far. The smells were as potent as ever, but it was a little less crowded than it had been before.

Wandering from stall to stall, I was drawn in by voices calling out their wares. One boasted gems and jewelry, and I ran my fingers over intricate chains, metal cold against my skin. The stones were smooth, some heavy in my palm.

Another stall was filled with fabrics, and one was the softest thing I had ever felt. I let it slide over my hand, relishing in the feeling. Asking the owner what color it was, he said, "The palest blue you've ever seen." I let myself imagine it.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

I could only think of a dead soldier back on earth, his eyes starting to cloud over, making the original blue even lighter. Thanking the vendor, I moved on.

A woman running a food stall gave me a sample of the juiciest meat I had ever tasted, and it was then that I realized. Someone I had briefly noticed at the fabric stall was at the booth next to me, and I recognized his voice as he talked to the person running the stand.

Walking slowly, I moved on, debating on whether to chalk it up to coincidence or not. Still, I kept track of the man’s position as I left. Sure enough, his footsteps followed after me. Stopping at another stall, I didn't even register what they were selling, enhancing my hearing as best I could.

The man stopped again with me, so I walked on. With paranoia creeping in, I noticed another set of footsteps across the street from me, perfectly in time with each stride I took. Pausing to get a hold of my surroundings, I registered that Victor's shop was just two stalls down.

Just to make sure, I activated [Map Line], and it led me straight to the weapon store. I increased my pace, and the two people following me seemed to startle, upping their speed as well. Their footsteps were heavy and frantic to my ears compared to the leisurely citizens surrounding us.

I pushed into Victor's shop, closing the door. It was empty except for him again, and he greeted me with surprise.

"Didn't expect to see you so soon! Did ya come here to buy something?" the man asked.

"No," I responded. Then, deciding to trust him for now since I had begun to trust Eskal to some degree, I said, "I think I'm being followed. Two of them and I don't—" The door opened, cutting me off.

Two sets of what sounded like boots stomped in, the door closing with a bang, the lock turning with a click. I stepped back, one hand resting lightly on my knife.

"I don't want any trouble here, gentleman," Victor told us.

"No trouble, if you give us your back room to talk," a gruff, deep voice replied.

"Cain?" Victor whispered to me. "What'll it be?"

I nodded. "It's fine; I'll see what they want."

Victor directed me past his counter, opening a door. The other two followed behind as I entered, the last one shutting the door after him. Turning around, I listened to their calm breathing.

"Take a seat," one told me. His voice was soft, yet I was wary of the underlying edge that laced through it. I stepped back till a table bumped my hip, then walked around to sit across from them. They sat as well, chairs creaking.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm Olmor, and this is Frederick. We're members of a party outside of the current monarchy… that is pushing for change," the same man said.

I leaned back in my chair. "So you're revolutionists."

"I'd call us something a little more subtle," the other responded.

I scoffed. "What do you want with me?"

"We want you to assassinate the King."

My eyebrows raised. Straight to business, it seemed. "That's not very subtle," I said. Out of all the people in this city, these guys just had to come to me. "Why me?"

Olmor leaned forward, hands hitting against the table. "Multiple reasons. You're an outsider, for one. No one will suspect that you have been accepted into a faction so quickly, and the only other nation ours engages in isn't involved in politics, only in trade. The Kingdom doesn't really care about what lays west past Hellsgate."

Frederick cleared his throat, then continued what Olmor started. "More importantly, your skill set is vital for this mission. The only known info of the King's skills is that they are predominantly ice-based, and they're all over level five—the exact levels are unknown."

It still didn't make sense why they had approached me. "I know I'm not the only fire user. I'm also not very advanced in its use," I retorted. "My flame skill isn't even level five yet."

"The majority of fire users in this Kingdom are in the power and forge industries. Even if their skill level is high, they can't be used in combat, and they aren't trained. You are," Frederick told me. "The rest of the fire users are guards or knights, personally employed by the King."

Crossing my arms, I thought. I still didn't buy that a fire user was the best option. There were plenty of others who fought in The Pit that were stronger than me, Scorne one of the more noticeable ones. Surely an expert would be a better option then one with just the optimal skills.

I brushed aside those thoughts for the moment. "How do you expect me to get anywhere near the King, and how do you expect me to win?" I asked.

Olmor clicked his tongue. "That, we're still working on. If you win more than you lose in the arena, there’s a chance government officials will take notice, and approach you. Who knows, you might become employed in the castle itself. The other option is creating a distraction—or an attack—big enough to draw away the majority of guards, providing a small window for you to slip into the castle."

"As for winning, we don't expect this to happen soon. You have ample time to train, and we know you've seen a magic instructor. Get more of her help—she's quite advanced," Frederick advised.

That unsettled me, and I shifted in the chair. Who knew how long they’d been following me every time I left Lifdol’s building?

And did I really want to get involved in this conspiracy? It wasn't like I had much attachment to this Kingdom, but this was deadly. I was dealing with powers I hadn't even touched yet, and people I couldn't begin to comprehend. And, of course, I still remembered how it turned out with Davion—I knew enough to infer that leaders are powerful and who knew how the King stood when compared to him.

My head was also still trying to wrap around the fact that they had approached me.

"Why do you want him dead? And what's in it for me?" I asked the two, skeptical.

Olmor sighed. "The King isn't as bad as many make him out to be. His policies are solid, and the economy is stable. The homeless are few." He tapped his fingers against the table. "A lot of what is said about him is just petty rumors. However, we are connected to a man who wants the throne, and while the current King sits on it, that will never happen. Many want our man in power as well. We can't say anything else about it, however.

"As for compensation, your debt to Lifdol will be paid in full, any supplies you want and need will be provided, and the night you kill the King, safe passage to the Raugan Islands is guaranteed."

I thought it over, curious. "Describe the Raugan Islands to me. Like you said, I'm an outsider."

Frederick took this one, explaining. "They're a group of islands to the northeast, with a sizable population. They have no main leader, just what I call 'guiding political figures.' It’s the place I mentioned that we trade with often, as it's where rare fabrics are made from plants indigenous to the islands."

It definitely didn't sound like a bad place to land. But did I want the peace I felt that I would find there? The pyromaniac definitely didn't, but still urged me to take their offer so we could burn it all down. He wasn't thinking about what would come from it.

There were also other options to take if I wanted to escape my debt. The idea of killing Lifdol had never been far from the forefront of my brain. I would only have to bide my time, but the question would be where to go after.

"I can't give you an answer now," I told the two men. They paused, perhaps consulting with each other non-verbally.

"We expected this," Olmor said. "We'll give you a week, then we'll find you again. We expect an answer at that time."

I nodded, and they stood, leaving quickly. A few moments passed, then Victor joined me in the room.

"What the hell was that all about?"