Then the room begins to break apart into millions of puzzle pieces that spin and shift, smashing back together. From the armory, I now appear in an open field.

Not too far away, maybe a few minutes of walking, there’s a forest line. In the opposite direction, I see mountains and desert. It’s almost like I’m standing on the crux of some messed up geography experiment.

“What just happened?” I ask, expecting no answer.

“Your training begins, chiik,” a nasally voice growls back.

Spinning, I bring the greatsword to bear against a tattooed orc nearly twice my size. How he managed to sneak up on me, I’ll never know.

I look around, wondering if Loboden would reappear from thin air. When he doesn’t, I meet the orc’s gaze. “Who are you?”

“People usually swing first when they see me, chiik,” the orc says, surprise written all over its face. “You can call me Master Orc, if a name is important to you.”

“Master Orc, what training do you mean?” I query.

He points at the greatsword in my hand. “What is that for, human?”

“Fighting,” slips out instinctively.

“Incorrect,” he says, lifting an identical one. “Weapons are for killing.”

“Is this a philosophical debate now?” Surely not. Master Orc looks like he could probably crush my head like a melon if I say something wrong.

“An interesting question, chiik.” Master Orc seems to ponder for several seconds before coming to a conclusion. “You lack experience in wielding a weapon to debate philosophy with.”

“That’s fair. That means I’ll be doing weapon training?” I ask, looking around. I don’t see anything else to train against, and surely Loboden doesn’t expect me to fight Master Orc. Even he looked like he’d get bodied.

Then again, size isn’t everything. I think?

“You need an active skill, right?” Master Orc asks, to which I nod. “You have a few choices at your level of weapon proficiency, chiik.”

“Okay.” I can’t imagine there’s too many variations of greatsword skills, but in a world where magic exists, what do I know? “What do you recommend?”

Master Orc lifts his own sword over his head with one hand and slashes in front of himself. I move out of the way of the sheer force of air threatening to knock me over. The force of the slash cuts a perfect line nearly ten feet away.

“Wow,” I mutter, eyes widening and heart racing with excitement, “what skill is that?”

“[Slash], but my proficiency is at pinnacle. You won’t have anything even remotely close to this effect, but the first swing is the step to mastery.” Master Orc holds me a thumbs up and smiles. “Now get to it, chiik!”

“Get to it?”

“Failure to comply will result in disciplinary measures, chiik!” Master Orc roars, holding the blade at my eye level. “Now slash!”

Without further hesitation, I assume the same pose Master Orc had, albeit with two hands. With a mighty heave, I bring the sword up, then down.

“Terrible, chiik!” Master Orc roars. “Again!”

I repeat the action, already feeling the strain in my arms. I make minor adjustments and slash again. Less arm strain now, but I’m still wearing out fast. Again, adjustments make things easier on the next swing. But they don’t make it good.

Like this, I keep going. Slash, adjust. Bend knees, pivot feet, add in more shoulders to support the momentum, and so on. The repetition of action creates a humming pattern of movement that I let flow through me, one that takes on a life of its own as I continue moving.

As I overhead slash, I feel another moment in the movement where I can break the trajectory using the momentum to change the angle of the slash or even add in a secondary horizontal slash—kind of like an upside down T.

Once my arms feel like lead, my breathing is ragged, and I think I’ll die if I move even a single muscle more, I feel a tug of something odd within my chest. The feeling hums through my body, invigorating my muscles, easing my labored breathing, and pushing me forward.

The energy flows through me, pulsing in tune with my heartbeat. In that moment of clarity as the pulse matches my movements, it extends down through my blade and into the air after the attack.

Repeating the action two more times exhausts the rest of my energy, and I can’t stand one second longer. I collapse forward onto both knees, my greatsword clinking to the ground as my hands slam into the ground.

With all my might, I will myself to remain awake. The black tinging the corners of my vision creates a tunnel of focus. Two powerful hands lift me up like an adult would a child. A jostling ensues for some time, and then I’m falling.

Water embraces me entirely. The chill immediately causes panic to stir in my chest, but I contain it, keep my heart still, and stop myself from thrashing about. Instead, I use what little breath I have to orient myself towards the smallest semblance of light peering down from above and swim up and out of the water.

The moment I break the surface, I desperately fill my lungs with air and drag myself to the grassy bank. Rather than gracefully climb out of the water, I weakly roll onto the muddy ground that will hold me and stare up at the sky.

A hairy chest comes into view, two arms perched at the man’s waist. Blinking away the water and fatigue, I recognize Loboden. “You threw me in?”

“Sure did,” he admits easily, tossing down my Existential Identification Card. “Magical waters, you see? Give it ten minutes, then you’ll be up and at it like brand new.”

“I’m sure,” I grunt. What felt like an eternity passes in the blink of an eye. Lo and behold, my body feels better than ever. Rising to a sitting position, I nod towards the hairy man. “Sure enough.”

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“You’re too calm for almost drowning,” he says, frowning. “But I suppose it makes sense, given your status.”

“My what?”

“Did you even look at your Existential Identification Card?” he asks, shaking his head. “Maybe you’re not quite as smart as I thought and just got lucky.”

“Probably true,” I agree, grabbing the black metal card and looking at it over for real this time.

Name: Gaian One

Race: Human

Innate Trait: Mental Fortitude

Level: 2

Class: None

Active: Slash

Passive: Two-Handed Swordsmanship

Equipped Items: Greatsword

Merit: 0

World Coin(s): 0

“I’m sure you’ve looked at my status. Care to explain what everything means?” I ask Loboden, hoping he’ll shed some light on what these things mean.

“It’s what I’m here for,” he says, nodding. “From the top, you have your name. This is your Existential name, not your human name. Nobody cares about your human name, and only through merit can you change it to something more befitting your station. At this moment, though, you look like a Gaian One.”

“Thanks.” I stand and gesture for him to continue.

“All Numbered have an Innate Trait. Until you upgrade your EID, you won’t be able to see things in detail.” He shrugs. “Just one of those things everyone has to do.”

“Seems lame,” I say, shrugging. “Everything seems pretty straightforward to me so far.”

“It’s all pretty simple, to be honest,” Loboden says, tossing my greatsword towards me.

I catch it in my hands, and it feels quite a bit lighter. Looking towards the water, I sigh. “Magic water, you said?”

“Aye, it’s part of the beginner tutorial package.” He furrows his brows. “Really thought they stopped doing those things a long time ago, but I don’t remember the last time up high acquired a new world either. A vendor might’ve saved some to invest in some new world newbies.”

Curious, I ask, “What would you estimate the worth of the beginner tutorial package to be?”

Loboden points towards me. “Entirely depends on you and what you can get from it, but if I recall correctly, I don’t think it gives out less than fifty Coins worth in skills and equipment.” His finger moves toward the sword. “Just that alone is thirty Coins. Add in the accompanying skills, and it’s likely got you many times what you paid already.”

“Nice.” I’ll have to thank Kahirin when I see her in the morning. I look for my watch, only to see it’s nowhere to be found. I look around to see if I can find it, but no such luck. Finally, I turn to Loboden and ask him about it.

“That thing?” He thumbs over his shoulder. “Gardrek took it as payment. Thought it might be useful for his youngest son.”

“I’m sure he did,” I mutter, letting out a sigh. I can get a new one easily, so no need to worry about it. If anything, hopefully it does help Gardrek’s son. “What now?”

Loboden snaps his fingers with a sly grin. The ground rumbles before a giant sandworm swallows us both whole. Things get a little weird afterwards. The world shifts, slides, tips, and… inverts?

But then I’m in another armory with Loboden groaning next to me, his hand clenched over his mouth as slimy gunk falls away from both of us. Each time the sound of a wet glob plops against the ground, he nearly loses his lunch.

Karma, I’ll say.

“You alright over there?” I ask, concerned he might die and leave me trapped here. That would be interesting but, at the same time, not something I’d want to deal with. “You look a little ill. Anything I can get you.”

No answer comes, but he does vehemently wave me away. So following the precedent set by the round with the greatsword, I look around through the catalog. All sorts of armor hangs on prop bodies in a place as big as a football field. A quite impressive array, indeed.

Contemplating what I want here takes me a little longer. Light armor, like robes or cloth, seem far too unsafe and don’t ensure confidence in my well-being. Given the goal is not dying, I skim past any I see.

Leathers are heavier and provide more protection than the cloth style armor, but again, unsafe. Gardrek’s display is my only example for what I might be facing, though he did mention his skill being at pinnacle level.

It’s safe to say I want sturdy. Hit hard, get hit hard and not die.

Heavy armor.

As Loboden said before, I’m a fairly large guy. Stocky frame unbefitting of my demeanor, or so I’ve heard. It’s just proper to keep your physique tempered for the health benefits.

With the heavy armor, I’d probably want something underneath. However, as much as I may want something, I don’t think the tutorial came with such an option. No matter how much I look, there is no multi-layered equipment.

Cloth, leather, mail, and plate. Those are the options available. Naturally, I don’t want to die, so I choose platemail. Getting it equipped takes me the same time it takes for Loboden to calm his nausea.

This time, the hall shifts to a circular track. He points at a clock in the center of the field between the two sides of the track and pantomimes running. Putting two and two together, I know I’m in for the time of my life.

Running with plate mail.

I double-triple check everything to make sure it’s appropriately adjusted. In all, the whole set is made of a lightweight helm that doesn’t obstruct my vision, a single shoulderguard strapped to a full chestplate, simple gauntlets with wristguards. Last, but not least, greaves and boots to protect the lower half.

Which means it’s all decently heavy. I tried to make the selection as protective and mobile as possible, but that only goes so far. I’m also about to experience how breathable everything is, which, admittedly, might be what makes me reconsider my choices.

Then Loboden stomps the ground, and I take a runner’s stance. He holds up three fingers, drops one, then a second. Finally, the bell rings, starting the timer—a total of fifteen minutes.

At first, movement feels awkward. I’m not used to the additional weight. The first third of the running is spent learning how to run with the boots while trying to conserve enough energy to make it to the end of things without collapsing.

The second five minute section is used for really opening up my stride once I finally get the hang of things. By the time the third section is over, I’m standing and proud. Tired, but standing.

“Don’t relax just yet, Gaian One,” Loboden grumbles, rubbing his hairy stomach. “The fun part is just starting.” He lifts a large staff made of something similar to bamboo and rests it on his shoulder. “Next part, training.”

After the last session of training, I don’t really look forward to this. But I’m sure Loboden has no reason to want to kill me.

Until he swings with the staff at terminal velocity.

No thanks. I dodge out of the way and backpedal away. “Can we skip this part?”

The hairy man looks as if I insulted his mother as he shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Okay, fine,” I concede. “Then tell me what skill I’m training?”

“Not dying,” is all Loboden says before rushing me again with the heavy staff.

Nothing I did could stop the staff from smashing into the center of my chest. No amount of dodging could avoid this terrible pain.

I drop to my knees like a sack of potatoes and fall forward onto my hands, dry heaving. Another blow cracks across my back, and I hit the ground with a heavy thunk. Blows rain down like a torrent of bursting pain, each hit punching through the layers of armor and sending incredible waves of force through my body.

Only when that invigorating pulse of energy appears again and fills my body, extending that warmth to my armor, do the blows finally stop.

“You’re a fast learner,” Loboden says, though he sounds way too displeased at not getting to wail on me anymore. “Round two in the pond. You ready?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before he drags me by the back of my armor across the field, out a gate, and over a wall. I fall a few feet, passing through several areas of strange spatial distortions before slamming into that cold pool again.

This time, I immediately begin swimming with everything that I have left. The invigorating energy still pulses through my limbs, aiding me as I drag my armored body out of the water and onto the bank once more.

“Ow.”