Ike stared at the skill orb for a moment, struck dumb. Realizing he was just sitting there like an idiot, he wiped his mouth, stood, and walked over to pick it up, carrying the giant chicken leg with him. He turned the orb around in his hand, taking a good look at it. It glowed with a faint green light. The entire orb was translucent, but not perfectly so. In its depths, the translucence grew thicker, until the center became opaque. The thickening of the translucence wasn’t perfectly centered, either, but slightly off-center. It jabbed out into the round orb like an exploding star, rays of less-translucent orb piercing almost to the surface.

Ike frowned. I’ve never seen that before. When it comes to skill orbs, the more perfect, the better, right? In that case, could this be an imperfect skill?

He tilted it around in his fingers, then frowned deeper. What does it mean for a skill to be imperfect? All the skills he’d found so far had been clear, or had even distributions of translucency. Or I didn’t have time to notice, he amended, thinking back to the Salamander, and the conditions under which he’d acquired that orb.

He took another bite of chicken, thinking. At the end of the day, it came down to a simple choice: absorb the skill, or not. Absorbing it was a risk. He didn’t know what the skill was. He hadn’t encountered harmful or negative skills yet, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. There was darkness to everything in this world. He’d seen enough of it under his uncle’s thumb to be sure of that.

On top of that, the skill might not mesh with his current setup. It was a low risk; at the worst case, he’d simply not use it. Then, though, he wouldn’t be able to sell the skill later. He’d be wasting money.

Assuming I ever get out of the Abyss, that is.

The biggest risk, though, was that he didn’t know what imperfect skills would do to him. Would it simply be a weaker version of the usual skill? If that was all, he was fine with that. He could level it up, maybe find more copies of it, and raise its strength. But if it only activated sometimes, or activated more slowly, that could be deadly. In a battle where life and death were decided in a matter of seconds, a slow skill, let alone a failed skill, could be the end of him.

On the upside, more skills were always good. And for all he knew, the star pattern was a good or neutral thing, and the skill inside was in perfect shape.

He rolled it around in his hand a few more times, considering. Money could be ignored outright. He’d rather have a skill that might let him survive to tomorrow rather than maybe one day have a few more gold in his pocket. Even if it didn’t mesh with his build, he could always use it somehow, for something. He hadn’t encountered negative or harmful skills. If they existed, he knew nothing about them. There was no point fearing something that might never come to pass. Not knowing if imperfect skills would harm him somehow…that was the point that truly gave him pause.

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If not right now, then maybe when I go to rank up, it will. Who knows? Maybe that’s the difference between upper-city mages and lower-city hunters. Hunters can’t pass Rank 3 because we all have too many imperfect skills, while the rich mages can afford to buy all the perfect skills off of us.

Pinching his chin, Ike mused his options for another few moments. He chewed at the chicken leg, tearing the last of the meat off, then tossed the bone to Loup. Taking a big chunk of chicken with him, he walked over to his pack and crouched.

Rosamund’s head sat atop the pack. Her jaw worked, though whether she was shouting nonsense or simply cursing his name, Ike couldn’t tell. He lowered the gag.

“—and when I get back to the city, my father will—”

“He abandoned you,” Ike reminded her.

Rosamund’s mouth shut. Her eyes widened, and the veins at her temples stood out against her head, but she said nothing more.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Sorry about that. You know, I was thinking about something you said recently. That slumrats can’t pass Rank 3.”

“Rank 2,” Rosamund corrected him quickly.

Ike blinked, taken aback, then nodded slowly. Right. That is what she said. I internally adjusted the number upward because of my encounter with Orin. “Right, right. So…why would that be?”

“Because of the filth you live in,” she spat.

Ike raised a brow.

Rosamund barely needed the encouragement to continue. “The mana in the slum’s air is tainted. It’s poisoned. Even if you practice in the lower city, you absorb poison as you absorb mana. You’re doomed from the start. The higher you Rank, the more poison you absorb, the quicker you die. A higher Rank’s extended lifespan only staves off the poison. Compared to an upper city Rank 2, your Rank 2s die pitifully early.”

“Good to know,” Ike said. A small, vindictive part of him cheered. Uncle is destined for an early death!

At the same time, he felt a queasiness that he’d even think that. He’s family. Even if he’s a shithead, he’s family. I shouldn’t want him to die. And, weaseling its way in, a jaded voice murmured, Yeah, early for a Rank 2. Gods only know how many hundreds of years we’d have to wait.

“You seem unworried about your impending early death,” Rosamund commented.

“Well, that’s because I have perfect skills,” Ike said.

Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. “Perfect skills that you stole! They were mine. My skills, you filth-sucking, thieving bottom feeder! You should be chewing on trash imperfect skills like all the rest of your filthy brood, not dining on fine perfect Unique skills!”

“So perfect skills extend one’s lifespan?” Ike wondered aloud.

“Not only that. Every skill you absorb builds your foundation. With every new skill you absorb, you place another brick in your foundation. If those first, early bricks are flawed, the foundation will crack, unable to support the weight of Rank 2 or 3 mana.” She paused, then cleared her throat. “To use a simple metaphor the youngest disciples can understand.”

Ike rolled his eyes. Yeah, yeah. “So I shouldn’t absorb imperfect skills?”

Rosamund’s eyes narrowed. She shut her mouth.

Whoops. Gave up the ghost. Ike nodded. “Thanks, though. I appreciate the lesson.”

He reached for the gag, then hesitated. If she’s not going to be obnoxious, I don’t mind—

Rosamund took a deep breath. The first note of a high-pitched top-volume screech echoed in the clearing.

Ike quickly gagged her again. Never mind.