Senior Rubrik, having spoken with the Copyist Scholar he knew, had set an appointment for us to meet later that week. In the meantime, I needed to finalize the decision of which Skill Book I would request if I succeeded. I had made my choice already based on my extensive knowledge of Skills, but I recalled Bessie's scolding words: do you really think you know better than the actual professionals?

That was how I ended up asking the advice of Veronica, the Adventurer Guildhall's receptionist. Unfortunately, we were somewhat derailed when she inquired after my current combat ability and discovered my lack thereof, at which point she began strongly recommending I sign up for Basic Combat 1. Her exact words were: "If you can't bother with this one class, you're not worth bothering with."

"But I'm not a fighter," I protested. "I only have one offensive and defensive Skill each."

"The course is designed for all beginners," she said. "We have much younger children with no Skills coming in. And your instructor will be the best person to ask for Skill advice, since they will see your combat style in action."

I stared at her. "I don't have a combat style."

"All the more reason you need this class." She pushed the schedule in front of me pointedly. I was surprised to see Basic Combat 1 was held every day, sometimes up to three times in a day, like today. I was too late for the morning session and the slot after lunch was marked as 'FULL,' but a later opening was conveniently before I was due to meet my friends for the dungeon.

Though the limited spaces meant we had to reserve ahead of time instead of just dropping in, the rate was the same as for my failed -- slightly held-up -- class on [Mental Resistance]: one silver for any ten sessions. The receptionist stared at me expectantly until I forked over the silver and my badge, which, despite being nonmagical itself, she used to record the transaction in her awesome black-box artifact defying Appraisal. Then she winked. "You can thank me later."

I was not feeling thankful but strong-armed, harried, and anxious when I hurried to my second adventuring class. I sternly reminded myself I was to be brave and appreciate learning of all types. Surely they wouldn't pummel beginners; [Pain Resistance] wasn't even a prerequisite.

Entering the assigned room, I immediately felt reassured. Though there was ample space, the other students were clumped together near the doorway, and as Veronica had said I indeed saw a group of children who all looked around eight to twelve years old. At seventeen, I was actually one of the older-looking attendees, though there were also some middle-aged outliers.

My gaze drifted over the spacious rest of the room, where I saw fifty large, evenly-spaced rings, each with a central pillar containing a large store of mana. The majority of the thirty or so people limbered up with stretches and other exercises, while the rest waited with varying feelings of excitement, impatience, determination, and boredom, though I noticed some glanced at me with interest and curiosity.

Unfortunately, I soon realized the cause: I was wearing my Scholar's robes -- I wasn't willing to expose my one dress to potential violence -- and carrying only a book. Looking at the exercise outfits or straight-up armor of my classmates, not to mention the variety of weapons, I considered perhaps another shopping expedition was in order. This hadn't been a problem on my dungeon runs because we at most moved at a cautious pace. Without my friends to act as a buffer, however, I doubted I would be allowed to remain safely in one place during combat.

While I was busy fretting and berating myself between turning pages, more people trickled in, until we numbered nearly fifty in total. The instructor came last, followed by an assistant, and promptly sealed the doors against any unfortunate latecomers.

I realized I'd forgotten to Scribe his name, but I would certainly remember his scarred face, enhanced replacement eyes, and the frightening feeling he gave off. Like his gaze, it was fierce, contemptuous, and predatory, like we were the exploitable weakness in the enemy army. Though he kept his aura politely restrained, I still received the distinct impression he was ready at any moment to leap into violent action.

Safe to say, he was nothing like any of my past teachers.

"All right, most of you know the drill," he barked in a commanding voice. "Those who don't, stay here."

An instant migration took place as nearly the whole class streamed away toward the rings. He thankfully turned away as well.

Instead his assistant, a mild-seeming woman -- though anybody might seem mild compared to him -- stepped forward and began explaining: "You will each face a training golem you can give voice commands." Startled, I glanced back toward the rings, where I could see fifty humanoid golems unfolding out of their respective pillars. "Say 'level up,' 'level down,' or 'level' followed by a number to adjust its difficulty. The golem starts at level one, the easiest setting. Level three is meant to roughly simulate a completely unfit, untrained, unskilled human. To advance to Basic Combat 2, you must be able to consistently defeat level ten. The golem will display its current level number and count of victories and defeats at that level. With me so far?"

We all nodded. Someone asked, "Can we set it to level eleven?"

"No. The golem's available levels are from one to ten." Seeing no more questions, she continued: "If you have any items you do not want to see lost or damaged, place them in one of the storage lockers to the side. The lock will require your personal mana to engage and disengage. Step inside one of the unused rings to begin combat. Either leave the ring or say 'stop,' 'yield,' or 'surrender'--"

I jumped as I heard a loud, derisive voice suddenly start shouting. Glancing over, I was met with the disturbing sight of the instructor looming over one of the younger kids. It took me another moment to realize he was offering words of advice that sounded more like insults.

"--to stop combat, which will count as a victory for the golem. Say 'start' or reenter the ring to continue. If you are injured or otherwise require assistance, leave the ring first before raising your hand. If you are incapable of leaving the ring for whatever reason, say 'help' or remain on the ground and wait for assistance. I must warn you either case will likely result in--"

Another round of yelling ensued, though the instructor had switched targets. No, maybe this was his normal indoor voice?

"--your removal from today's class, and you should know the receptionists are strict with refunds. On the other hand, Healing services up to [Lesser Healing] are available for free if taken during or directly after and because of this class. To help prevent accidentally injuring yourself, I recommend warming up beforehand. Consider taking Basic Physical Fitness if you aren't already."

My lecturer took a deep breath before continuing, "Now for the most important part." I instantly gave her my undivided attention. "These golems can withstand up to the standard Tier-3 Skills in damage. What this means is you are not allowed to use the Intermediate level in Skills such as [Fireball] or [Reinforced Strike]." I could tell right away nobody here had such a higher-tier combat Skill, judging from the deflated reactions -- I doubted my basic Tier-2 [Fireball] would ever upgrade to Intermediate -- and she probably knew it too but doggedly continued: "If you break a golem beyond repair, you will be held financially responsible. These golems are almost certainly worth more than you are, and the guild is being incredibly generous by offering them as a semi-public service. If you are unsure whether one of your Skills is capable of dealing too much damage to the golem, remain after to ask me personally. Do not risk it yourself."

She appeared to be done with the obviously rehearsed speech, relaxing and looking around at us. "Any questions?"

I actually did have one: what happened to teaching us? Was that it for the so-called lesson? But seeing as everybody felt eager or anxious to get started, I kept my mouth shut with the rest.

The assistant nodded and said, "Then go. And have fun!"

In short order, and after storing my book, I approached an unoccupied ring and eyed my training golem. Three numbers were printed across its chest: '1, 0, 0.' I couldn't help feeling incredibly impressed by its sophisticated construction, but also rather nervous: I was pretty sure it had explosive inbuilt failsafes to prevent attempted thievery.

Standing there, I told myself I could do this. Everybody had to start somewhere, right? I understood in theory how fights worked, and even little children were here, facing an identical opponent. I realized my knees were knocking together and straightened. Sure, it was a lot bigger than me and my first real fight, and... I was overthinking it. I winced as I heard the instructor screaming at someone again, though I didn't dare look.

More out of fear he would approach me than anything else, I only took a few more seconds to mentally prepare myself before stepping inside the ring, whereupon I immediately pointed at the golem that was just beginning to turn towards me and cast: "[Fireball]."

The golem paused, mana thickening and swirling around it. When it resettled, the golem was slightly charred but already starting to repair itself, and its numbers now read '1, 0, 1.' I breathed a sigh of relief that counted as a victory before balking as the golem resumed approaching.

Hold on, that was unfair! I had landed a direct hit; shouldn't it wait longer before recovering and coming at me? I backed to the very edge of the ring before remembering myself.

I hastily cast, "[Mana Shield]," and flinched when the golem struck. Unlike Mana Barrier, [Mana Shield] couldn't be adjusted after its casting, meaning the armored fist came within inches of my face. Furthermore, while each blow was ponderously slow, they were also heavy. I held on for as long as I could, but finally my shield shattered, prompting me to step outside the ring.

"What in Hellsfell was that?" I jumped at the sudden, forceful voice behind me and swung around to see my instructor, looking even more intimidating with his face like a thundercloud and exuding disgusted disdain. "Don't just stand there! Have you never heard of dodging? Are your legs made for decoration?"

Without waiting for a response, he disappeared. I stared for a moment longer before looking around, where I caught sight of him well across the room and already haranguing another unfortunate. He was faster than Blake! No, of course, he was a combat instructor after all.

In the ring beside mine, a little kid who was maybe ten years old was repeatedly knocking a golem down while it tried to rise, his leg moving in a blur. At least he appeared to be almost comically focused instead of disinterested. Sadly, I couldn't see the golem's current level from here.

Biting my lip, I turned back to my golem, its numbers reading: '1, 1, 1.' I set my shoulders and stepped back into the ring.

This time I noticed how slowly the golem moved. So long as I kept retreating around the ring, I could more or less keep it at bay while waiting out my [Fireball]'s cooldown. When it came anywhere close to catching me, I simply cast [Mana Shield].

Unfortunately, this tactic proved tiring. That I was already low on mana from holding [Mana Shield] for so long didn't help, but the main issue was... frankly, I was accustomed to a sedentary lifestyle. My usual sort of strenuous activity consisted of mentally taxing textbooks and complex runic equations. I might be able to run circles around the level-one golem, but I equally quickly ran out of breath.

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I eyed the golem and its chest proclaiming: '1, 1, 4.' Then thinking of that neighboring kid, I slipped around the construct and shoved its broad back with all my might. From its bulk and expected weight, I imagined the only reason this worked was because its level-one setting actively aided me, but in any case, it went toppling over. Feeling the ridiculous urge to offer it a hand up, I instead backed away and tried to Meditate. But to my dismay, it stood back up and resumed approaching me without delay. I hit it with [Fireball]. Again, it paused, reading '1, 1, 6,' before closing in. Groaning, I left the ring.

"Have you taken a Basic Physical Fitness course?" This time I was unsurprised by my instructor's sudden appearance, ringing voice, and the contempt he blasted me with. "Because if you have, you should ask for a refund. Stop pussyfooting around on level one." And he was gone.

Thankfully, I was too exhausted to feel much of a sting from his words. I took my time Meditating and catching my breath before stepping back into the ring, but my voice still quavered: "Level up."

The golem's displayed numbers changed to '2, 0, 0.' I could tell the difference in its movements immediately, which were smoother and faster, preventing me from easily keeping away. How was this not considered the level of an unfit human already? Hello, I was one! Then again, I supposed it was easier to play the pursuer than the pursued.

I'd spent long enough recovering I was able to recast at will: "[Fireball]." Then I took advantage of the golem's pause to hurtle around it and repeat my shoving maneuver. This time, however, whether because I'd somehow botched up or because of the increased level, it recovered its footing. I blanched as it swung around at me, casting: "[Mana Shield]." Once more my opponent harried me around the ring, but I was only barely able to hold it off with liberal use of my Tier-1 Skill, thank its short cooldown.

When my shield broke, I stumbled out of the ring. To my pleasant surprise, the instructor didn't immediately appear to insult me. Glancing around, I spotted him squatting by a student who appeared to have injured her leg; her golem nearby looked heavily damaged and busy repairing itself. I couldn't help noticing the neighboring kid was once again laying a one-sided beatdown on his golem, and he was definitely benefiting from at least one Passive Skill.

This class, I decided, was completely unfair on less Skilled mages who consequently had to wait out prohibitive cooldowns. Nobody had even taught us the basics of combat.

Dispirited, I kept looking around the room, hoping for inspiration. But of the nearly fifty students, I only saw two other obvious mages. One had clearly cast the Tier-3 [Entangling Vines], which appeared particularly effective against these low-level golems. The other, like Bessie, interspersed low-tier spells with melee combat, though unlike the swordswoman he fought bare-fisted. I had to admit there was something entrancing about seeing either multi-class mage-warrior in action. Perhaps it was simply that fighters were naturally more graceful and yet I was partial to magic. In any case, he was much more entertaining to watch than the mage smugly standing over the Entangled golem.

"Done twiddling your thumbs?" The harsh words seemed to be spoken right into my ear. The instructor had surprised me again despite my Empathy; he just moved that fast, on top of all the noisy emotions cluttering the room. "Get back in the ring, maggot!"

Sensing he was gone along with his repugnance, I glanced at the clock hopefully. But only thirty-five minutes had passed. Still another twenty-five to endure.

Reluctantly, I stepped back into the ring, as gingerly as if I were entering a beast's den. I couldn't help thinking I really wished I had the Skill I'd chosen before I'd instead asked for advice, starting this whole mess. The assistant had said Healing services were included, and I'd seen multiple fighters covered in bruises, carelessly trading brutal blows with the stocky golems. But knowing I should similarly stand to benefit wasn't the same as knowingly getting punched in the face.

In other words, I just couldn't do it. Whenever the golem entered grappling range, every time without fail I instinctively retreated, even past the ring. I had no great trauma or anything that motivated me. Rather, I'd never been exposed to pain myself, only seen its terrible effects on others, and I honestly was in no hurry to remedy this situation. No matter how much certain persons might disagree.

"More than Skills, you need to grow a spine," the instructor bellowed. "Stop flinching away from a light tickle! Are you incapable of taking a piss without your magic too?"

"It's not like I can't take criticism!" I fumed much later, when I was well out of his sight and hearing. "But does he have to be so vulgar? And so loud?"

"You're just very different types of people," Bessie said after she'd busted a gut laughing. "I'm not surprised Ruddick would consider you soft or rub you the wrong way in return. But really, he's a great teacher, especially for warriors. You know, he was Gold-Ranked back in his prime before retiring to spend more time with his family, and he's never stopped training to improve himself."

"Wait, Instructor Ruddick?" Even Hannah was surprised. "How by my hammer do you know that?"

"He told me, of course," Bessie said. "Apparently I remind him of his daughter."

Staring at the ever exuberant, always energetic adventurer, I thought it was no wonder he'd been made to retire. And presumably had a Skill to move around at lightning speed. I also made use of the repeat reminder and finally Scribed his name.

"So, what did he recommend for your Skill?"

I jolted and then looked away guiltily. "Er... I didn't ask." Feeling my friends' disapproval, I added weakly, "I didn't want to be late for our meeting?"

"That's a poor excuse and you know it," Blake said. "Receiving personal instruction after the golem combat training is an invaluable part of the class. You're wasting time, money, and opportunity not to."

"I know," I said, hanging my head. "I just couldn't bring myself to prolong my time in that room, much less approach him."

Bessie sighed. "Oh, Rena. Just when I think you've grown less timid, no offense."

I hadn't. It was merely easier to behave more boldly around friends. "He probably would've said something else hurtful." I didn't add that I would prefer not to attend another class. The nine large coppers I'd be throwing away stopped me more effectively than any rebuke.

"Actually, he probably would have taught you some basic moves to practice on your own," Blake said. "I'm surprised his assistant didn't pull you aside during the class."

"No, mages are treated differently," Bessie said. "They might have simply emphasized personal fitness. Non-combat mages like you often make the mistake of disregarding it. Sure, improving our stamina doesn't help our magic directly, but when we're tired we also recover mana slower and use it less efficiently, sort of like how our breathing can affect our [Meditation]. Everything in the body is interconnected. At least that's how they explained it to me."

Fascinating. I hadn't heard of such a thing, but then I hadn't read training manuals... or similar such literature...

Eureka! My low mood abruptly reversed. I saw a light in the dark tunnel of combat: I could engage in my very favorite activity, namely reading, so as to research, plan, and prepare before my next forced foray into fighting. Surely even the vagaries of violence wouldn't feel so intimidating if properly notated. Yes, from now on whenever I was presented with any daunting or unfamiliar situation, my first and best response should be: There must be a good book for that.

"The point is you don't know what he would've said," Blake said, "Because you chickened out just because he called you chicken."

"Hey, lay off," Hannah said. "I think she's already stretching far enough out of her comfort zone. She doesn't have to learn how to deal with jerks on top of everything else."

Blake just shrugged, disinterested, but Bessie said, "Instructor Ruddick is not a jerk! He's just... aggressively grumpy--"

I turned to stare at her. "No, he definitely is. I literally could sense his emotions."

"But you can't tell his thoughts," she said. "And sensing isn't the same as interpreting. I doubt you really understand him at all. He's lost a lot of good people to shoddy training; that's part of why he turned to teaching. Well, and also he genuinely enjoys teaching people he's not related to."

I couldn't help feeling moved from her passionate defense of the scarred veteran. "I don't actually dislike him. I just would prefer to stay far away from him."

She laughed. "Fair enough. And I guess it took guts to stay yourself no matter how he embarrassed and intimidated you. How about if I pop in at the end of your next class for moral support?"

"Really, will you?" I asked hopefully.

"Sure. You just need to talk to an instructor by the end of the week, right? Though if you can't beat a level-two golem without [Fireball], I think we'd better first teach you some basic self-defense techniques. After we get you started on exercise."

"I'm not a warrior. And you don't think I need to take Basic Physical Fitness?"

"It would definitely help," Tom said. "They coach you through stretches, weights, and especially running. Give advice on gaining the right Passive Skills."

"He found it super useful," Bessie said, "But I doubt you'd like it, Rena." Judging from what I sensed off all four of my friends, that was an understatement. "Have to admit, I'm a little tempted to recommend you try anyway... great deities, it could be hilarious! But no, probably would just be cruel." Hannah relaxed. "We can guide you to start. If and when you become more comfortable with sweating it out, you can maybe try the class. No matter how fit you are, though, you still need to learn how to handle yourself." Correctly interpreting my reluctance, she added, "Or if you're grabbed, will you just stand there and deliver a strongly worded argument?"

I flushed. "Fine. No need to sound like Instructor Ruddick." Ugh, I was not looking forward to his brand of instruction again.

Almost like she was empathic herself, Bessie said, "Don't worry, he only teaches maybe two classes of Basic 1 per week." She grinned. "You'd practically have to ask for him to get him twice in a row. How about we go together after this to reserve your spot? I'll see if somebody nicer is available. Now we really should finish up here."

On cue, I could hear scrabbling claws drawing nearer. I hastily finished my circle before we repeated the [Mana Barrier]-blocked doorway maneuver of yesterday and with similar success, though we only pulled a fraction of the dungeon's minions this time. That, or the number had somehow shrunk again despite our avoidance of killing. I hoped it was the former.

While recovering my mana and waiting for the dungeon to wake, I tried running laps around the room, while my friends offered tips on breathing, posture, and pacing myself. They kept one person on guard at all times and would have even if we'd cleared the dungeon, since it was possible for a minion to be created on the same floor where people were present, though fortunately not in the same room. I wasn't worried because we were still in the starting room, which made watching the one passageway trivial (as well as fleeing at the first sign of true danger).

I nearly collapsed in relief when the dungeon awoke, mostly for the excuse to stop running. For some reason, it felt... friendlier? I almost thought it approved of my exertions. As I was catching my breath, however, this positive sensation slipped away like smoke. I thought perhaps I had imagined it, but when I experimentally tried resuming my run -- to my friends' obvious surprise -- the dungeon seemed to perk up again. What in the name of mana?

"Well, it makes sense," Blake said after I managed to convey this weirdness through wheezing breaths. "When you're tiring yourself out like that, you become much easier to surprise, subdue, and snack on."

"Maybe dungeons just like when we challenge ourselves," Hannah said, though she felt doubtful. "Like how we can train more easily in one? You're the Scholar, Rena. What do you think?"

I honestly wasn't sure, and... "I'm... too tired... to think properly... right now." Perhaps this wasn't the best activity for me.

"It gets better with practice," Bessie said. "Some people find exercise Meditative, even." I found that hard to believe. My expression must have conveyed my doubts because she grinned, saying, "No, really. Unlike, say, combat training... coincidentally the next item on our agenda."

I really honestly tried to learn, but even Bessie for all her optimism had to admit I was objectively awful. Her exact words were something like, "Are you even trying? No offense."

"I hit you that time!"

"You poked me with your fist. Put some force into it!"

But no matter how many times my stance was adjusted or different variations of the same or similar advice repeated, my performance left everyone dissatisfied and somewhat baffled. In fact I'd probably have given up a lot sooner, but the dungeon kept sending me encouragement... or what I imagined was encouragement. At least we'd successfully whiled away the time until my mana recovered and we could perform another round of rat versus [Mana Barrier], and also, it turned out the dungeon did have a whole host of armed-and-legged minions still eager to swarm us.

Before leaving, I tried running (ugh) the proposed names for it -- Dungy, Duni, Denny, Wizm, and Lor; the words were beginning to repeat in my mind like a mantra -- by the dungeon, but I couldn't even figure out how to form the concept of naming via our rudimentary communication method.

"Today is just not my day," I said, sighing.

"Don't feel bad," Hannah said. "Starting is always the most difficult part, and you've already succeeded at that. You know you're no warrior, but improving your ability to defend yourself or run away can only be a good thing. As for the dungeon, honestly, naming or talking to it is one thing, but you really shouldn't be trying to get close to it or whatever it is you're doing."

"If you give it a single chance, it'll eat your face off," Tom agreed.

"No risk, no reward," Blake said, but then added: "It can still be useful, even if it's not people-friendly."

None of this was what I wanted to hear, though I couldn't deny the logic. Bessie glanced at me and said, "Oh, who knows?" And, grinning, wished for what I could never dare: "Maybe one day we'll all be the best of friends."

Of course, even she didn't truly believe it. She was a good friend, but she couldn't change what we all knew. Whether Dungy, Duni, or Denny, whether Wizm or Lor, whatever silly name we settled on calling this dungeon would be what we'd remember it by for the rest of our lives.

After all, the dungeon had no real chance of surviving long enough to officially be named.