Orlan paced around the room. "What is Visentii thinking? Is this a jest? Are you an actor?"

He had been pacing in the hut for the past ten minutes. August ignored him. He focused on the flat plane and the color at the center. He was studying it. He had asked Orlan questions about these colors, and, apparently, influencing living things was a primary requirement to be a mage.

To give life and to take life. The use of arcane itself, like a single flat plane, was too costly and unwieldy to maintain, so mages also utilized living weapons to give the arcane a more concrete form. It was easier to inscribe a shield and imbue it with arcane than it was to create a shield out from nothing.

"There must be something," Orlan said. "August. Give me a flat plane."

August did.

"Good. Rotate it."

He rotated the plane slowly. When that didn't seem to satisfy Orlan, he spun it faster and faster until he saw the man change in expression. "Turn that into a box and rotate it. Maintain speed."

August did it effortlessly. "What are we doing?"

"Testing your fundamentals. Good, good. Make a pyramid. Spin it. Same speed. How do you feel?"

August sighed. He had been doing this since he was a child.

"Getting tired, are you?" Orlan said. August pursed his lips. He didn't have the heart to correct the man. "Arcane is fickle, brittle, and difficult to maintain alone. The fundamentals increases the vitality and control over your own arcane, but in itself is useless if you can't influence anything around you. You might conjure a sphere to protect yourself from offensive attacks, but you might as well just dodge them or use environment for cover. Taking an entire attack with sheer arcane would exhaust you to a coma. Two triangles now."

August listened to the man's instructions. At the same time, he couldn't find it in himself to believe Orlan. He had never influenced living things like he did with the flower, but he never needed to.

When hunting wildlife, or being hunted, he had used arcane like he would fill the gaps within the hut to stop the rain from seeping in. It was the same strategy. He utilized the arcane to block the eyes to confuse the predator. He conjured a film to tug at their feet and make them fall.

All his hunts turned to a dance. An art form of utilizing several dozen moving shapes at once to surround the predator.

When a mother bear charged at him, and he didn't have the time to react, he did use a half-spherical arcane shield. It was a good thing he had a bow with him. He was able to shoot through the gaps, and he only shielded the parts where the bear attacked. It wasn't a problem for him at all.

"Stop whenever you want to. Conjure two boxes, three triangles, four spheres. Increase your speed."

August nodded, conjured them, and spun it around at the same speed.

"Tell me if you're feeling strained."

Orlan conjured small arcane pebbles. He made it look so casual that August would have missed it had he not learned how to sense arcane when killing insects. A ball shot forward, through a box of arcane, and hit his forehead. He felt a slight disorientation that would have made him slip out of focus before, but now it was just a minor distraction.

Another came, and another, and another, until he was being barraged by tiny needles that tickled more than it hurt. Then more instructions. Upward swings. Downwards. Small shapes, bigger shapes. Flickering light spheres at irregular beats. Random beats.

"Your focus is impeccable."

"Are we doing this all day?" August finally asked.

Orlan blinked. "Hm?" He looked around. It was raining outside. "How long--"

"Two hours. We began when the first raindrops fell," August said confidently. He had learned to time himself a lot more competently this time around. It was necessary since he had to measure his progress in getting better at creating arcane.

Orlan straightened. "Very well. Stop." He did. "How long can you maintain this?"

"Every day for the past eight or nine years," he said bluntly.

Orlan laughed. "Yes, and I've learned to speak three languages when I was five and never stopped until I learned several more."

August cleared his throat. "It's not like I mastered it then. It took a couple of years to do it every day."

Orlan stared at him. "What's your routine?"

August showed him. Arcane, he told the stranger, was the art of maintenance and survival. He hunted while maintaining his home and his surroundings. It wasn't much of a strain on him to conjure arcane roofs and insect traps.

He pointed upward.

For the first time since entering the hut, Orlan looked up. His eyes widened. Hundreds of holes made up half of the rooftop. He walked around and stared at them all. August showed him the traps for the insects. They were so tiny and minuscule they could escape the human eye.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Orlan had to use arcane to very carefully inspect under the floorboards. He withdrew his hand and stared at August.

"I found successfully keeping insects away means using arcane underneath the floorboards to act as the floor."

"August," he said. "What is arcane to you?"

"A tool," August said. "Just a tool."

Orlan chuckled, then he laughed. "You and Visentii both. We're leaving. Don't pack your things. I will have clothes tailored for you if you fail the first floor. But should you succeed, they'll have all the accomodations you'll ever need."

Half an hour later, August stood before his hut. He had grown attached to it. He had fixed it, and since his master refused any physical modifications, he had used arcane to keep it alive even when he was asleep.

Perhaps this was what his master wanted for him. He hesitated. Next to him, the Lord of the Flowers stood drizzled by rain. "Earlier, you told me that a child would have a better chance than I am at being a mage."

"Phrasing. I didn't exactly say--"

"I like magic," August said. He rubbed his cheeks thoughtfully. "I love learning it. Will I have that opportunity in this tower of yours?"

"You'll be forced to," Orlan said grimly. "Every single day."

He fished something from his pocket and threw it down on the ground. The box began to unfold.

August smiled. He willed the arcane that held the hut away. In an instant, the house crumbled and crashed. They stared at the scene in silence.

"You've been keeping that house standing," Orlan realized. "How long has that house held?"

"For as long as I've lived," he said.

The box on the ground boomed, and a spherical, transparent sphere appeared. Orlan said it was the portal that led to the first floor. August stepped through. Orlan caught his hand.

"Good luck," he said. "There are different Lords managing the same floor. Once you enter the Tower, it will randomly place you under a random Lord to be tested. Be careful. As long as it's not the Lord of the Trials, you might stand a chance. Should you end up with him, fail the test on purpose. Whatever it may be. Only one-tenth survives his tests, and it's better to surrender alive. For you, at least."

August nodded and stepped through.

In an instant, August was surrounded by darkness. It was cold. Like the chill of a winter morning. While his eyes adjusted, he shut them and spread out his arcane instead. He heard voices. One, two, three--distant. Strangers, perhaps mages?

He felt his way through and counted the people here. Counting insects had its charm, and since these people didn't move around, he was able to count up to thirty. Then forty, and sixty, until he felt something stomp on his thin strand of arcane and crush it.

August blinked. Who was that? No one had ever done that before. He followed the residue of his arcane. He extended his arcane all around him so that even if he couldn't see them, he could still feel their presence.

He stopped at the last residue of the strand. It was a woman slightly shorter than him. Her skin seemed like they were made of silver. She wore a white dress and fashioned no hair. Her mask was black and devoid of a mouth. It was a little creepy seeing those eyes.

"Are you the one who noticed my arcane?"

"Yes." She stared at him. Her voice seemed to come from her throat. The way she spoke sounded strangely monotonous. The pupils of her eyes glowed white. "I eliminated a potential threat."

That was good enough of a reason for him. "Did you coat your skin with silver?" he asked curiously.

"No. I am an Arcane Automaton, Domestic Amelia Prototype 07, or P-07 for short. I am part of thte Domestic Amelia Prototype Series. This is a special material for automatons."

"I'm August. Domestic? Automatons?"

She explained herself rather punctually.

An automaton, she said, was an artificial mind given body to assist their masters.

Strangely, she tended to the housework of other people. She cleaned after them, cooked for them, and assisted them in whatever they needed. August could do all that himself. Why would these people need other people to do it for them?

He told her he cleaned his home too, and hunted and cooked for food. He asked her what kind of duties she did.

She took one step closer towards him. "My memories have been erased prior to my last mission," she explained. "Presently, I am to enter the Tower to finish the tests and climb up the floors until I am terminated by the environment."

August was taken aback. He created a small sphere, dim enough that it would be difficult to see. Then, he hovered over her, inspecting her head down to her feet more clearly. There were cracks on her skin, and some of her internals were showing.

She wasn't taken care of like the state of his hut. He felt an urge to cover her exposed parts with arcane, but decided against it.

"Can I call you Amelia?" he asked.

"Request denied. There are thousands of the Domestic Amelia Series. You may call me P-07."

"Seven," he clarified.

She nodded. "That will suffice."

Light bloomed next to him. He shielded his eyes. As he slowly acclimated himself to the world, he saw people around him. They had been standing on a large, circular platform. At the center was a large hollow, and a person floated in the air.

"Welcome to the 1st Floor," the voice boomed. It was a man. "I am Meneesh, Lord of the Trials, and I will be governing this test."

August frowned. That was the person Orlan warned him about.

"A test culls the rabble. There are many lords who creates interesting and complex puzzles for you to solve. I can't deny that intelligence is an important quality. But those worthy to climb the heights of this tower must be individuals who can think on their feet. Which is why I created this arena: the Blood Run Trial."

He floated higher. The light illuminated the entire sphere. Then, soundlessly, it started to spin slowly.

"There are a hundred tower climbers today. This sphere will endlessly turn, and its speed will increase again and again and again as you pick up the pace. It will stop once fifty of you are dead. So keep running and pray to your gods that your limbs do not give up on you. That is all. Good luck."

The light dimmed extremely low. It was difficult to see. August started walking in the opposite direction. If he fell, he might never get up to try again.

Some people chose to sit down and let themselves be spun by the platform. He watched them get further away, then closer. Other people avoided them like they would an obstacle.

It was an interesting sight to see. Everything was interesting. Despite the fact he might be running for several more hours, he couldn't stop staring at other people. Then, out of the corner of his eye, a person pushed another person, and his screams echoed until it was gone.

"To remain loyal to the nature of this run, I've decided to give rewards," the Lord of Trials said. "You will be ranked. If you're ever the lucky few to receive 1st to 10th place, I will give you something that will absolutely help you win my next trial. Good luck."

A translucent window appeared in front of him.

{ Remaining Tower Climbers: 99 }

{ Current Position: 74 }

The speed of the platform ever so slightly increased.

August cursed. This wasn't just a test of endurance to see who would be the first fifty to give up. It was a survival test to cull the lower fifty dead.