There were images painted in gold on the walls of the sparring chamber, showing faceless figures in different stances and fighting poses that contrasted vividly with the dark padding surrounding them.
The chamber was alive with a buzz of excitement as Leo walked to the center of the room and called for quiet. The veteran proceeded to inform the initiates that the first thing they would need to learn was to fight unarmed, one-on-one.
To the unnamed surprise, he and a rangy young man were the first chosen to demonstrate a basic punch and block. Leo called them out into the center of the square and began setting their feet and arms in a basic fighting stance, all the while talking through some of the history of the guild and its prowess.
“The Brawler’s Guild is home to warriors, barbarians, rogues, and skilled fighters who blend the abilities of each of these classes. We are among the oldest guilds in Havenspire and have enjoyed a long and illustrious history.”
Leo moved behind The unnamed, pulling his right leg back a little and turning him slightly side-on.
“As you have already learned, unlike many of the other guilds, we pride ourselves on service, in addition to the faithful fulfillment of contracts. This is both how we earn sufficient coin to keep the guild running and how we gain rank both as individuals and as a guild.”
He moved to the rangy young man who was already approximating a similar stance to the unnamed.
“There are other means of gaining rank, of course. Contests, dungeon delves, and the like. But we have always found that contracts are the surest and most reliable path to success.”
It sounded like he was delivering a well-rehearsed speech, said so many times that he knew it by rote.
“This does not mean that, if you are successful in becoming a fully-fledged guild member, you won’t have the opportunity to participate in dungeon delves and contests. But you will find that the successful completion of contracts is the surest path to rank here at the Brawler’s Guild.”
Leo stepped back, scowling at the pair as they stood with fists balled up and staring uncertainly at one another. The unnamed had never thrown a punch in anger in his former life, and in this moment he would have given anything not to be the one standing in the middle of the fighting square, preparing to embarrass himself in front of the other initiates. The only thing that made him feel a little better was the fact that the tall, lanky figure standing opposite him seemed equally as nervous.
“Over the next two weeks,” Leo went on, “our key focus will be combat. If you already have a preferred combat style, then we’ll work to sharpen your skills and prepare you as much as possible prior to entering the Rat Run. For those who have yet to develop your fighting technique, we’ll need to identify the most viable path quickly and give you as much practice as we can in the short time we have. I’m not a miracle worker and two weeks isn’t enough to do much more than hone a few basic skills, but we’ll do what we can.”
He clapped his hands together sharply.
“For the next two days we’ll be working through swords, daggers, clubs, and staves, in addition to hand-to-hand combat. This will give you a taste of different fighting methods and hopefully help you lock in your preferred fighting style. Of course, there’s nothing to stop you from switching once you’re in the Rat Run. You’ll need to adapt and work with your team, so choosing one preference here won’t necessarily be the end of it.”
“Or, we might not have a weapon at all,” the unnamed mused, realizing too late that he was speaking out aloud.
Leo smirked, nodding.
“An excellent point, initiate. You might choose a healing potion, or perhaps a coil of rope, both of which may be equally as helpful in the Rat Run as a sword or cudgel.”
He cracked his knuckles, stepping back as he continued.
“All the more reason why you shouldn’t discount hand-to-hand combat as an option. True, there are more efficient ways of fighting and, given the choice, most of you would be wiser to choose a weapon, but there will always come a time when you’ll need to face an enemy without a sword or club, so these skills will be invaluable.”
He moved forward and tapped the unnamed’s balled fist.
“We begin with the first strike.”
Leo moved in beside the unnamed, putting a hand to the other man’s hips and twisting him around as he spoke.
“Lesson one, power comes from the whole body and particularly your legs and waist. Your fist is just the point of impact, but power comes from the base.”
He turned to the unnamed.
“You’re righthanded, yes?”
The unnamed nodded.
“Good,” Leo said, addressing the other initiates. “Notice his right leg is back, his left is pointed at the enemy. He will draw strength from this right side, from his legs, up through his hips, to his shoulder, arm, and then finally his fist.”
Leo turned side-on, modeling a simple punch by thrusting his fist forward and twisting his hips sharply around. The movement was so quick and violent that the unnamed felt a slight rush of air move past as Leo threw the punch. He swallowed hard as the veteran motioned for him to do likewise.
The unnamed felt his right arm click as he performed the basic maneuver, very nearly stumbling forward and having to shuffle his feet to stay standing. The rangy initiate was a little more successful, completing the punch and returning to the basic stance without difficulty.
“Again,” Leo said, and they both obeyed, once more throwing punches at the air. “Again!” he repeated.
The veteran moved up to the unnamed, tapping his hand. “Hold your thumb outside the fist like this. If you throw a punch in that manner, you’ll break your thumb within the first moment of the fight. Now, again!”
The unnamed tried again and Leo frowned, shaking his head.
“It’s important that we get this right, folks. It doesn’t matter as much for the Rat Run, but once you get a sigil, it will adapt to your individual technique. So, if you learn to punch incorrectly, the sigil will map that action and future augments and maneuvers might not be available to you because your form is no good.”
He pointed to the unnamed, once more modeling the correct technique. The unnamed performed the punch again, this time with Leo nodding in approval.
“Better.”
He leaned forward, tapping the unnamed’s training collar and expanding the holographic display which showed up and navigating to small announcement block.
** RAT RUN INITIATE 012 **
** NEW MELEE MOVE RECOGNIZED **
** Punch: Level 1 **
“For the most part you won’t see these notifications,” Leo said. “But I wanted you all to see what’s going on here. The training collars aren’t anywhere near as sophisticated as your sigil will be, but they’ve been programmed to perform some similar functions so you can understand how your sigils will work.”
He closed down the display.
“It’s all about technique, people. Now, continue.”
After several more attempts, Leo walked up between the two young men, holding his palms out to either side so that each of them was presented with an open hand at head height. He scanned the group and called for two more initiates to come forward and stand opposite the unnamed and his rangy companion.
Another guild member standing by the wall walked forward, holding two leather pads and handing them to the newcomers as Leo arranged them into pairs with one person throwing punches and the other cushioning the blow.
“Alright,” he said. “Fifty clean strikes and then we’ll move to the next group. Clean strikes, mind you. I want to see your hips twist and real intent behind each punch. If you slacken your pace, I’ll have you start again.”
He motioned to the other initiates who were being split into pairs with one person given pads and the other preparing to punch.
“Fifty clean strikes. Points will be divided according to speed and technique.”
The unnamed got back into his ready stance, smiling as he noted that Tusk had been chosen to be his initial sparring partner.
“Come on Captain Custodian,” the half-orc grunted. “Make me feel something!”
“Commence!” Leo shouted, clapping his hands together with a sharp crack.
The unnamed threw his first punch, twisting and driving his fist forward into the leather mitt Tusk was holding. It felt like hitting a brick wall.
“Flapjack!” he hissed, as the sound of fists hitting leather resounded around the training room.
“Did you go yet?” Tusk asked with a broad grin. “Cause I didn’t really feel anything.”
The unnamed returned his smile. “Stick around, princess. You’ll feel the fire soon enough.”
He threw a second punch, once more feeling his muscles and bones jar at the impact. Tusk didn’t even flinch. He held the leather pad up with one hand, counting each punch so that the unnamed could focus on gathering his strength and trying again.
“Four,” Tusk said, as the unnamed punched again. “Five. Six. You’re doin’ good, boss. Just, you know, maybe try to hit a little harder.”
“What the hash do you think I’m doing!” the unnamed hissed, getting back into position and preparing to punch again.
“Seven. Are you sure you’re twisting your hips? Punching from your base and all that?” Tusk asked.
The unnamed rolled his eyes, already too exhausted to bother replying.
“Eight. Nine. Ten.”
As he continued punching, forcing himself to put as much strength into each blow as he could manage, the unnamed reflected on the nature of his simulated body. He was taller than he had been in the real world and, from what he’d seen so far, he was relatively fit and well-muscled. Yes, compared to Tusk, he was a toddler standing next to a giant. In human terms though, his body was pretty close to perfect.
Why then was he struggling to do something as simple as throwing a punch then?
“Sixteen.”
Why did his muscles already ache and why was he so uncoordinated?”
“Seventeen.”
The unnamed slipped, following through after the punch and almost falling on his face, before his trajectory was suddenly halted and he felt himself pulled upright. Blinking, wiping the sweat out of his eyes, he frowned at Tusk who nodded towards Leo, currently walking past and watching each of the sparring partners with narrowed eyes.
The unnamed quickly returned to his beginning stance and put all his effort into the next punch.
“Eighteen!” Tusk said loudly, grinning as Leo moved past and his attention turned to another of the initiates.
“Thanks for that,” the unnamed said.
Tusk shrugged. “No trouble. We get extra points for that fraternity stuff, so I figure I should start now.”
He tapped the edge of his collar, and the display showed up, with five points allocated to fraternity.
“See,” the half-orc said, beaming. “You keep falling on your butt and let me pick you up and I’ll be raking in the points in no time.”
“Glad I could help,” the unnamed muttered, throwing another punch.
Five more punches landed, and he was able to stay upright throughout. His fingers were aching, as were his wrist and shoulders, but there was one thing the unnamed was good ate, one transferable skill from his time in the real world.
Pain.
He could deal with pain.
Punch after punch landed as he drew closer to his goal. Now dripping with sweat and panting heavily, he looked over to see Vella sparring with someone nearby. She was punching with impressive speed, each blow darting into the cushioning pad with such force that the tall woman holding the leather pad winced each time a blow was struck.
“Fifty,” Vella said, barely breaking a sweat as she brought up her display, grinning as she saw twenty points appear under martial prowess.
“Thirty-seven,” Tusk moaned as the unnamed returned to his own efforts, trying not to think of how many of the other initiates had already finished. Some were beginning to swap duties with their partners, and he could see frustration starting to creep onto Tusk’s face.
He braced himself again and punched, ignoring the pain as Leo came walking up, moving uncomfortably close and repositioning his fist as he prepared to punch again.
“Stay limber,” the veteran said. “If you stiffen up like that, you’ll reduce the amount of power you can generate and be more prone to injury.”
Injury, the unnamed thought. Why was that even possible? Once more the baffling nature of Havenspire rose in his mind. An afterlife simulator where you have to be careful that you don’t twist and ankle or sprain your wrist? It was insane!
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“Thirty-eight,” Tusk said as the next punch landed.
“Good,” Leo mused. “Keep going, you’re almost there.”
The unnamed turned to look at the sparring partners nearby. All of them had already swapped over and it was looking as though some of the second-round initiates would complete their punches before he had finished his.
“No,” the veteran said, gently turning the unnamed’s head back towards Tusk. “Focus on what’s right ahead of you. Don’t worry about anyone else. This is about getting the technique right and learning by repetition. Stay focused on your own efforts.”
Fighting embarrassment, the unnamed went on punching.
“Thirty-nine. Forty. Forty-one.”
It was getting harder to breathe, but the unnamed forced himself to continue, pushing past the burning pain in his muscles, the sweat stinging his eyes. He had one goal, to finish this exercise before all of the second-round initiates completed their tasks. He used that idea to drive himself onwards, his complete attention focused on the leather pad Tusk was holding as he punched again and again.
“Fifty!” Tusk shouted, rolling his eyes and ripping off the leather pad.
The unnamed hunched over, panting for breath. “Did you feel it?!” he managed between rasping breaths. “Did you feel the fire?”
Tusk walked over and patted him on the back.
“Yeah, buddy. You hit like a jackhammer.”
They both laughed as Tusk handed the human his leather pad. The unnamed took the object, grunting as he slipped it on over his arm and moved into a bracing stance. Unfortunately, the last of the other initiates had now finished the exercise and now all eyes were on the unnamed and Tusk as the burly half-orc rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. The unnamed was still heaving with breath, sweat pouring down his face.
“You ready?” Tusk asked.
The unnamed nodded, bracing himself for the pain that would soon follow. Tusk’s fist thundered into the leather pad, sending a jolt of agony up the unnamed’s arm and shoulder. The brute hit with such force that the unnamed’s feet slid back a little on the padded floor.
“Ham schnitzel!” the unnamed muttered.
Before he could catch his breath, a second and third blow landed, followed by a rapid flurry of punches that hit with bone-crushing force.
The unnamed locked his arm in place, leaning into the punches his muscles screaming in pain, bones cracking beneath the onslaught. The only mercy was the Tusk managed to get through his fifty punches in record time, finishing with a roar of triumph as he growled the word fifty to the accompanying sound of spontaneous applause.
The half-orc’s collar display popped up with the number thirty shining with golden light next to the martial prowess indicator.
“Alright,” Leo said, “we go again. Three more times, and I want you to focus on technique, not speed or force. Hit hard, but more importantly, hit correctly, keep your movements nice and smooth.”
The words faded to the back of the unnamed’s mind as he tried to focus. His arm was locked tight, holding to the straps of the sparring pad, fingers unable to unclench. He had to force himself to concentrate on uncurling the digits, grimacing in pain, tears falling from his eyes as he released the leather pad.
“You okay, boss?” Tusk asked, walking over and putting a hand on his shoulder.
The unnamed flinched, a stab of pain driven through his body at the half-orc’s touch. Tusk backed away as the sparring pad slipped from the unnamed’s hand, dropping to the floor and revealing the shattered mass of his ruined arm. His fingers twisted at unnatural angles, and the skin around his wrist was swollen and blue, the bones of his forearm too pronounced as he stood hunched in place.
“Ah, I think we’ve got a problem here,” Tusk said, turning to look for Leo.
Without turning around, the veteran tapped the sigil mark on his wrist and brought up his display. Twenty-two symbols showed up on the screen, all glowing faint green except for one, which was pulsing with an angry crimson light. He tapped the red symbol, and the unnamed felt a strange warmth fill his body while the collar tingled around his neck. That warmth quickly shifted, making it feel like his entire body was being tickled by millions of butterfly wings before the sensation ended and he found himself fully restored.
He flexed the fingers of his previously ruined hand, testing out the miraculous healing that had taken place. There was no sign of the damage Tusk’s blows had caused. There wasn’t even any stiffness.
“Nice,” Tusk said, nodding to himself.
“Three more times!” Leo repeated. “Quickly now.”
The next few hours were spent punching, kicking, and learning to block and deflect attacks from an opponent. Mercifully, the unnamed swapped partners for each new exercise and, while all the initiates outstripped him in combat ability, strength and speed, none were quite so devastatingly powerful as Tusk.
At the midpoint of the day, the unnamed found himself partnered with Vella, practicing a basic throw technique. Already bone weary, the unnamed tried to push back his infatuation with the beautiful elf and focus on not making a complete fool of himself.
“How you doing there?” she asked, smirking as the unnamed wiped sweat from his brow.
“I could use a shower,” he replied. “And then about thirty hours of sleep.”
“Well, bad news, I’m afraid. We’ve gotta do fifty throws each, and we’re only about halfway through the day.”
He grimaced. “Trying not to think about it.”
She’d been working just as hard as anyone in the group, and the unnamed could see that even Vella was starting to feel tired. But the fact was, even sweating profusely, her hair now lank, her cheeks slightly red, she still looked like the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Standing this close to her, as he prepared to be thrown over her leg, he could smell the scent of lilac, a hypnotic aroma that surrounded her.
Focus! Keep your eye on the ball.
He chided himself as Vella moved in close, getting in the correct stance.
“You ready?”
He grinned. “Ready to fall on my butt fifty times? Sure.”
She swept her leg so quickly that he was genuinely taken by surprise when the room shifted around him, and he went tumbling to the floor with a grunt. Vella immediately got back into position and the unnamed picked himself up off the mat, managing to stand a moment before she took out his legs again and sent him falling back down immediately.
He was about to complain, when he saw the mischievous look in her eyes. Instead, he climbed back up and, once more, was immediately knocked down. It wasn’t painful so much as it was discombobulating, being repeatedly driven to the floor. By the time Vella hit the fifty mark, the unnamed’s head was starting to spin.
She helped him get back to his feet and he waited a few moments, his vision slowly settling.
“You okay?” she asked, genuinely worried.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just…give me a second.”
She walked up to him, pressing her hands against the side of his head and staring up at him. The unnamed froze as the warmth of those hands and the piercing look in her eyes utterly disarmed him.
“My mother used to do this,” she explained. “Whenever I had a dizzy spell. It sometimes helps the room stop spinning.”
The unnamed’s heart was thudding in his chest. She was so close, standing right in front of him, her hands pressed lightly against his ears. In that moment he felt happier than he had in his entire life. He could have stayed there forever, locked in that strange embrace with Vella.
“Better?” she asked, pulling her hands away.
He blinked, looking around the room experimentally.
“Yeah. That’s great. Thanks.”
She grinned. “No problem.”
The unnamed moved into his throwing stance, a disturbing and wonderful thought prodding into his mind.
Is she…flirting with me?
“Speed and technique!” Leo shouted from somewhere nearby. “That should be your focus here.”
The veteran’s words jolted the unnamed out of his reverie. He took a breath and prepared to begin.
“You ready?” he asked, not sure at all that he was ready himself.
Vella nodded. “Don’t go easy on me. I can take it.”
The unnamed smiled, though he felt anything but confident in his ability to perform the maneuver in the correct way. As he went over the technique in his mind, visualizing what he’d seen Vella do, the image kept shifting. He saw himself not sweeping his leg, but sweeping a broom, efficiently brushing aside dust from the padded floor.
That was the other thing. He noticed dust everywhere. It was as if he’d been given superhero vision, but that enhanced sight only related to dust and dirt. Even now, some part of his mind was aching to grab a broom and start clearing away the dust that had gathered at the edges of the fighting square.
But it went further than that. He could see that the leather pads used for sparring could use a good polish, and some of the stitching in the floor pads below was coming undone. He felt the urge to grab a needle and thread and mend the objects, like a compulsion.
“You okay?” Vella asked.
He looked over at her, smiling, trying to calm his thoughts.
“Yeah, just working it out in my head,” he said.
Stupid custodian nonsense!
It must be part of how he was uploaded. Along with he custodian tattoo, the Company must have built in some impulse parameters which centered around custodial duties. It made sense, in a sick kind of way. He’d be much more effective as a custodian if he actually enjoyed cleaning.
He took a breath, flexed his fingers, and then performed the throw, trying to emulate how he’d seen her do the move, but finding that his body didn’t respond with the same grace and dexterity as hers. He managed to get Vella to the floor, but with more of a shoving move than the sweeping kick and throw he had been taught.
“No!” Leo snapped, stepping forward and pulling the unnamed aside. “Like this,” he said, grabbing the unnamed’s leg and pushing it through the right angle of motion. “And you need to move faster. This should take an enemy by surprise, so you need to strike as fast as you can, catch them off guard.”
Embarrassed, baffled at his own body’s inability to follow the simplest directions, and so tired that he was finding it hard to concentrate, he tried again, this time demonstrating on Leo. The veteran didn’t move. Instead, the unnamed twisted his own legs up and went tumbling to the floor.
Leo held out a hand, helping the unnamed back to his feet.
“You’re not using any momentum when you throw. You’re just trying to pull with your arms, but that’s not what this is about.”
The unnamed nodded, but all he could think about was that dust. He needed a broom. Needed to clean this place up and fix those sparring mats.
“Try again,” Leo ordered. “And this time focus on generating momentum with your base.”
Sweep, sweep, sweep.
It took another three attempts before the unnamed was able to approximate what he was supposed to do. To his increasing embarrassment, Leo had Vella move to another partner and insisted on practicing with the unnamed himself. He pushed himself to keep going, trying to stay focused despite his wandering thoughts and the lethargy that was dragging his body down more and more with each passing second.
At the close of the first day, they had kicked and punched and thrown each other thousands of times. The unnamed had been healed by the collar twice and, subsequently, the few points he’d managed to earn had been stripped away by the need to heal, which apparently deducted points each time it was required. Several others had required healing as well—primarily those that faced Tusk—but they had managed to acquire more points than the unnamed in the first place, so they still gained some upward momentum by the end of the day.
The group was led out to the entrance where a digital display had tallied up their points and displayed a leaderboard with allocated points listed. Not surprisingly, Tusk was at the top of the list with two hundred and thirty points, while Vella at number four in the rankings with a hundred and seventy-five points. The unnamed looked for his own ranking, realizing that he had no name or title which could be used to signify his position. That realization soured as he saw the mop and bucket symbol down at the very bottom of the list with zero points.
There were other symbols listed on the leaderboard, obviously symbolizing other initiates that didn’t yet have a name. All had at least fifty points on the board, marking a clear difference between his performance and everyone else’s.
“Dang, dude,” Tusk said, walking over and scratching the back of his head as he looked up at the tally. “Today just wasn’t your day.”
“Yeah. I got a feeling tomorrow won’t be much better either.”
The half-orc shrugged. “Yeah, but you’re completely green, dude. I’ve been training for years, preparing for this. You got to Havenspire, what was it, two days ago?”
The unnamed nodded. It was still baffling to him how much had happened in the past few days, from being uploaded, sent to die in the blood pits, admitted to the Brawler’s Guild, to now engaging in a three-week test that would decide his fate. So much had happened.
“Yeah,” he breathed as Vella came walking over to stand on his other side. “I’m just worried I won’t pass the Rat Run and then I’ll end up back at the Blood Pits.”
The elf shook her head. “You’re not going back to the Blood Pits and you’re not going to fail at this, because it’s a team effort, remember.” She pointed to Tusk. “We’re all going to go through it together and we’re all going to pass this test.”
Tusk frowned. “Wait. We’re going as a team?”
Vella’s eyes narrowed. “Of course we are. The three of us.”
“I was gonna go solo,” the half-orc said, rolling his shoulders. “Big ball it, you know?”
“Don’t be stupid,” the elf hissed. “You go in there alone and it won’t matter how many points you’ve got stored up. You’ll die so many times you’ll be down to zero before you reach the end, if you even make it that far.”
Tusk pointed to his name at the top of the leaderboard.
“You see that? It’s my name up the top there.”
Vella rolled her eyes, reaching over and tapping his training collar. She did the same with the unnamed and her own, comparing them side by side.
“Okay,” she said, “so you and I have done well in martial prowess, and pretty well in all the other areas.”
Tusk nodded as the three of them examined each other’s displays. The unnamed was more than a little envious of the points the others had managed to acquire.
“Look at this, though,” Vella said, tapping a green tick at the bottom of the unnamed’s collar display.
The tally expanded to show red numbers in brackets next to several of the skill areas, each with a minus symbol ahead of it.
** RAT RUN INITIATE 012 **
Total Score: 0
Fraternity: 0 [-10]
Perception: 0 [-100]
Endurance: 0 [-70]
Martial Prowess: 0
“How did you figure that one out?” the unnamed asked.
Vella shrugged. “It’s just how these things work in Havenspire. There’s always more data, you’ve just gotta go hunting for it.”
Tusk squinted down at the unnamed’s display.
“What does it mean though?”
“It means,” Vella said, pointing to the highest number, “that his combined score would have been better than mine if his collar wasn’t reset so many times. Look at his perception. That’s probably higher than anyone else here. Solid points for endurance too. You add those up and combine them with our scores and we’ll be crushing.”
“Yeah,” the unnamed said, “but those scores don’t add anything because the fighting let me down.”
She turned to him, eyes bright. “They don’t add anything now because you’re only new at this. But you’ll get better at the fighting exercises and, as soon as we’re in the Rat Run, those other skills will be far more important. Perception especially.”
Tusk shook his head, looking like he was chewing on a particularly tough piece of gristle.
“I don’t know, Vel. I reckon I’d have a pretty good chance on my own.”
She looked up at him, her arms crossed. “One word, Tusk. Traps.”
He grunted, chuckling a little in response as she went on.
“Chances are that Rat Run is going to be filled with traps, and you know you’re not much good at sniffing that sort of thing out.”
The unnamed was only partly listening as the two of them continued to talk. An idea had sprung to life in the back of his mind while Vella was talking through the stats. He massaged the idea, thinking through possibilities and formulating a plan.
“You remember the trial we did last year when we were preparing for this? You didn’t do so well in that, did you?”
The half-orc shook his head. “Because of the traps,” he admitted.
“Because of the traps,” Vella confirmed.
“Fine!” Tusk grunted. “We’ll do it together then.”
He jabbed a finger toward the unnamed.
“But if I have to carry Colonel Clean all the way through the Rat Run…”
“You won’t have to,” the unnamed said, a broad grin spreading across his lips.
Tusk and Vella turned to him.
“I’ll hold my own. Once we get into the Rat Run. Trust me.”
***
Before laying down to sleep for the night, the unnamed forced himself to find Leo. The veteran was eating in the main dining hall, laughing with several of the other guild members as the unnamed approached. He turned to face the unnamed, holding a piece of what looked like cooked chicken in one hand.
“What is it, initiate?” he asked flatly.
The unnamed threw a thumb over his shoulder.
“The chores,” he said. “The ones we have to do each morning before practice. Do they have to be done in the morning, or could I do mine the night before?”
Leo’s eyes narrowed. “There’s a roster. Most of the jobs could be done at night, I suppose. You might have to swap some duties because some won’t make sense during the middle of the night, but I don’t see why that couldn’t be arranged.”
The unnamed nodded. “Would it be possible to get a list of what I need to do tomorrow?”
Leo nodded, tapping on his sigil and opening up the roster menu.
“There. I’ve sent it to your collar. The next two week’s duties are in there, so you’ll be able to see what’s required.”
“Great, thanks.”
The unnamed moved to walk away, but Leo’s hand shot out and caught him before he left.
“Let me get this straight. You’re planning on doing your chores tonight. After everything you went through today?”
The unnamed nodded. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”
“Why?”
“I wanna get an early start on training. I figure I’ve got way more to learn than the other initiates, so I need to make up that time somehow. Can I access the training room early in the morning?”
Leo tapped his own neck. “As long as you’re wearing the collar, you can go wherever you like.”
“Even the Rat Run?”
The veteran tilted his head to one side, like a dog trying to understand complex arithmetic. He was silent for a few moments before responding, smiling as he answered.
“Why on earth would you want to go into the Rat Run this early?”
The unnamed shrugged. “To see what kind of things we should expect. I figure I’m stuck at zero, so I might as well make the most of it. See what I can find out about the Rat Run before we actually have to go through it in a few weeks.”
“You want to go into the Rat Run before the test has started to scope it out?”
“Yeah,” the unnamed replied, “and you said it’s also super dangerous as well. There should be plenty of things in there trying to kill me.” He tapped the edge of his collar. “This thing will bring me back to life at the start of the Rat Run if I die, right?”
Leo stared at the unnamed for a short while before bursting into laughter.
“Excellent point, initiate. You’re right. As long as you’re wearing a collar you’ll get sent back to the start if you die.”
“And there’s no going into negative points, right?”
Leo shook his head. “No. zero is as low as it goes. You’ll still see the points you’ve gained and lost, but your current score will always start at zero. You’re gonna be working up hill to come up with five-thousand points just by going through the Rat Run though. Most initiates would have at least a few thousand before heading in. Some have closer to ten thousand and still barely make it out with the required score.”
The unnamed nodded. He’d already considered that. Given that he was unlikely to gain more than a few points during the combat training anyway, it made sense to him to bet it all on the Rat Run. If he could get some idea as to how the maze worked and what kinds of enemies and obstacles they would face, he’d be able to steer his group to some extent and, maybe, rack up enough points himself to pass the test.
“I think this is my best shot.”
Leo nodded. “And you know that the Rat Run changes every time you enter it, right?”
The unnamed nodded.
“That’s what I’m counting on.”