There is one thing, above all other things, that determines if you’re going to thrive or die in the fathoms. It’s not even how high your essence level is, or how rare your class is. It’s not about your skill in combat, though that goes very, very far.

It’s not even about what kind of artifacts you have, though that might just save your life. No, the fundamental, average thing that decides whether a trespasser lives or a trespasser dies is who is standing beside them—your team, your army, the people you work with. That, that is what makes sure that you see another day or that you find yourself sleeping in the dirt.

Sure, you can get plenty powerful here. Your class can grow and allow you to burn mountains or, if you survive long enough, even boil entire realms. But that’s nothing without a proper force behind you, a proper apparatus and architecture. Even the Mepheleon to hold his arrogant ass up.

And what you’re gonna learn is that the higher you climb, the more you’ll need other people, not less. We don’t exist alone. We never did.

-John Bishop, Trespasser

II-62

Team Building (I)

Wei activated the item he obtained from the Tower of Possibility. He felt a pocket of space rupture and suddenly be pulled across. It was as if reality had become a canvas, and he was standing on the surface of quicksand. But rather than sinking through, he was drawn along—inverted. One moment he was in Slumberland, held in the Old Man’s mansion at the heights of the Claimed Hells; the next, he was exactly where the Tower of Possibility stood. Not even his Omniscience could fully describe what happened. It was like an overlap in spaces, or perhaps a punt between places.

“Well,” Vendrian said, shaking his head as he adjusted to the disorientation. “A little bit of pre-employment would have helped.” He glared at the young master, but Wei could only shrug.

“It is not as if I expected this,” Wei replied.

The Scion of Death glowered. “So what, this is the first time you’re using that thing?”

“Yes,” Wei replied.

Vendrian looked up and began to massage the bridge of his nose. “Great. Perfect. So you didn’t know if that was going to turn us inside out, or actually teleport us.”

“Why would it turn us inside out?”

Vendrian just stared. “You know, sometimes I wonder if you’re really smart or just really fucking dumb. And increasingly, I think the answer might be both. You’re too goddamn trusting and too goddamn paranoid at the same time. Somehow. By the Hound. How did I get out done by you.”

Wei wanted to retort, to reject the Scion of Death’s accusation. But his Shell—the traitor that it was—agreed without protest. “The Trespassers are not our allies, Wei. They never will be. Take heart, and listen to the Scion’s words. There is a reason why he lives in chains. We must never become like him.”

Looking around, Wei realized that the door connecting the Tower of Possibility to the Trespasser’s Lodge was nowhere to be seen. Good—that would grant them some privacy. Aside from that, the rest of the space resembled exactly how he remembered it: countless frayed bridges of gleaming crystalline wood extended outward from the central pillar, and there, a flat, golden surface awaited, seeking the integration of someone’s class.

Agnesia surveyed the area, her gaze taking in every detail as determination and impatience flitted across her expression. “So, where’s the portal? When do we get started here?” she asked.

Wei gestured toward the large screen layered over the enormous base to which every bridge was fused. “I simply need to get things set up. Let me see…”

As he approached the screen, a sound came from above, followed by a ripple of subtle Essence. It wasn’t a massive emanation of power, but it was substantial enough that it couldn’t be ignored. Someone well above Knight-Tier was emerging from a spatial rift. A second later, Wei sensed the signature of John Doe, and the Trespasser leaned over the edge.

Wei made eye contact with the trespasser, and the man offered him with a quick nod. With a casual hop, John Doe descended from a bridge a few hundred meters above the ground. This was no colossal feat for a Classed, but he landed without a sound—every bit of force that should have crashed into the ground simply surged into his armor and vanished.

Wei blinked, impressed. That took quite a feat of control. “How did you do that? Is that the product of an Artifact, or something resulting from your Skill?”

John Doe didn’t reply. He simply observed Wei with an inscrutable expression, and the young master strained his very Ambition not to look away. There was something flat in the man’s stare—something unnerving.

“Here for training?” John Doe finally asked, barely glancing at the others Wei had brought along.

“Indeed,” Wei said. “We wish to take our minds off recent matters.”

John Doe didn’t inquire further. Instead, he continued studying Wei.

“Give him nothing,” the Shell growled.

Wei held strong, and finally felt a pressure lift from his mind. There. That wasn’t natural. John Doe was using a Skill—or a Title. He had to be.

“So,” John Doe said, finally breaking the silence. “Are you here to train as a group, or to seek personal evolutions?”

Wei considered that for a moment and then grinned. “Probably both. We’re going to do a full assessment.” After which, he looked toward the Scion of Death, and then, Agnesia. “I think it is good for me to get a grasp of my companion’s capabilities.”

“That would be wise,” John Doe said.

“Do you want to participate?”Wei asked, his curiosity and fascination getting the better of him. The Trespasser had challenged him to a duel at the end of the week, but perhaps he wanted to accelerate the timetable. Wei would welcome such a thing, after his recent shaming at the hands of the Souldrinker.

John Doe considered him for a second before shaking his head. “We are still on track for engagement. But right now, I have other matters to attend to.”

Wei didn’t let his disappointment show. “None taken. I wish you the best of luck on your endeavors, Master Doe.”

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John Doe shook his head. “I’m not a master. Never was. Never will be.”

This drew Wei’s attention. For cultivators to push aside accolades was usually a demonstration of false modesty. Still, what was the purpose of a feat or achievement if one could not nourish their pride and rise to new heights?

“We are only ever students.” John Doe finished, “only ever disciples.”

Wei didn’t know how to reply to that. But before John Doe left, he gave Agnesia a final glance. “You,” he said, addressing the princess directly, “it won’t help you.”

“What?” she replied. The anger, the frustration in her voice was palpable.

“It might push you. It might be useful for someone weaker than you. But it will only end with you dying on someone else’s sword. You’d better master it before it swallows you.” And with that, John Doe walked past them. With a wavering hand, a doorway opened, revealing the hallway leading to the mansion where the Trespassers resided.

Wei narrowed his eyes at the departing Trespasser and tried to guess at what they were thinking. A snort from Vendrian told him he wasn’t the only one who was put off by John Doe.

“What the fuck was that?” Vendrian growled. “You feel his Essence pressing down on us? Lke a boot on my Will.”

“That was John Doe of Trespasser’s Lodge.” Wei watched as threads of crystalline wood crawled over the doorway and sealed the path shut. “I am due to face him in an honorable challenge at week’s end.”

The Scion of Death sneered and spat, “Trespasser cunts. They think they know these Fathoms better than we do. They think they’re so special, so blessed.” He spat again, somehow hitting his first globule with a second mouthful.

“Why do you hate the Trespassers so much?” Wei asked.

Vendrian glared at him from the corner of his eye. For a few moments, Death’s Bastard said nothing. “You’ve never had an infestation of them on your home realm, have you?”

“No,” Wei replied. Then, he considered his father. “Not an obvious problem, anyway.”

“Good. I’ll tell you this: They think they’re better than us. They don’t even believe we’re real—that we’re actual people. They’ll come and take and raid and defile whatever they want. Worst thing is how easy they can just… take to a Class. How they slip and slide into spirits—like the mystical is just a soul-glove for these bastards to wear!”

Vendrian took a moment to steady himself. “I’ve killed so many of them. So many that just… appeared on my world. Like a locust. Like a plague. They burned people. Killed people. Stole and took. And every time I cut one down, I saw the confusion in their eyes, like a child’s eyes, like they didn’t think they deserved it. And I was the monster. Me. So. To make an ugly point simple, fuck the Trespassers. Fuck them, fuck their corpses, and fuck their souls—except they don’t have any.”

Wei blinked.

“Forgive my brother,” Mourning said. The sword’s sigh told Wei this wasn’t the first time Vendrian gave this speech. “One does get tired of cutting through Trespassers, however. I would protest, but too often the cause is beyond just.”

“Quite the speech,” the Shell deadpanned.

Indeed.

Behind Wei, Rafael shuffled awkwardly. The lich found a certain patch on the ground to be interested in. It was odd for the usually gregarious Trespasser to be the quiet one in their group of four, but right now, silence seemed like wisdom.

“Right,” Wei replied. “Well. Since you're with us, your life has taken a turn for the better.”

“Yeah? How’s that?” Vendrian frowned.

“We’re going to be killing a lot of Trespassers. And eventually… we’re going to take their world from them.” Wei smirked. “No need to perform anymore half-way acts of revenge.”

The Scion of Death considered that for a second and grinned slightly. “Shit, Wei. You gotta way with appealing to a bastard.”

The young master’s felt his joy dim slightly. “We might not be all the different.”

“Might not,” the Bastard nodded. Suddenly, he angled his head past Wei, and just then, the young master noticed Agnesia stomping toward the screen at the base of the tower’s center.

“Agnesia, wait. You need to…” Wei began, but then he saw Essence tendrils extend out from her. They splashed into the golden screen, and at once he felt the Tower of Possibility come alive around them. “Okay, good instincts.”

The girl didn’t trade any banter with him. That set the tone of her mood sufficiently.

“Welcome, Agnesia of Dawnrest to the Tower of Possibilities.” The tower’s voice filled the chamber. Agnesia looked up slightly and scowled at nothing in particular. “Class Specialization Evolution threshold reached. Would you like to undergo—”

“Yes,” she snapped, without hesitation.

“Acknowledged. Receiving Class information… Please hold.”

She turned, fixing a vicious glare on Wei, and suddenly he felt a shiver dance down his spine. It was as vicious a glare as she ever gave him, and behind her eyes was an inferno—an inferno that was constantly building. Then, suddenly, the flames sputtered, and her expression softened. “Sorry. I need to… I need to hit or burn something.”

“I understand,” Wei said. “I share the same urge. But keep your focus. So you are not the one who is burned or struck.”

Agnesia let out a slow, shuddering breath. “Yeah. Alright. So, what do I do here?” She gestured at the various bridged extending upward and grimaced. “This is a big place. Don’t tell me I have to pass through all these bloody portals?”

“No,” Wei began. “Here, the Tower will sort through all the portals and realms that might offer you an adequate challenge. They will start from common-level challenges, in which you will face a scenario you must overcome or an adversary you must defeat. Once you do, their existing Classes will be offered to you as an evolution option. Afterward, you can choose to evolve your Class.”

“And I have to do this alone?” Agnesia replied.

“Correct,” the Tower of Possibilities answered on Wei’s behalf. “Generating 54 specialization rifts.”

At once, Wei felt a series of portals open far above him. The majority gave off weak Essence signatures, but the final ten ground against Wei’s spirit, and one among them felt nearly as overwhelming as the one that held the Celestial Vanguard.

Wei winced internally.

Agnesia had grown quickly and substantially in terms of power. But power wasn’t enough in this case. For whatever advantage her strange flames could provide, Wei didn’t fancy her changes against an enemy like the Celestial Vanguard—or even the Graviton Brawler. She simply didn’t have the skill. And he couldn’t fault her for that. He spent his entire life as a cultivator. She was a noble young mistress of a non-martial sect.

Or something of the variety.

“Alright,” Agnesia took a deep breath. “Suppose I best be on, then. I’ll make this quick.”

The young master offered her a weak nod. “Fight well. But if you are bested, if you fall—”

“It will be my fault,” Agnesia replied, her expression growing sour. “My weakness. It’s not your—”

“You will awaken outside the portal and might be granted the chance to try again,” Wei finished, speaking over her.

Agnesia’s eyes went wide. “So, what? These challenges are non-lethal.”

“I wouldn’t have brought you here if there was a chance you might die,” Wei said flatly. “This is supposed to be a place of power and growth, not crippling and death.”

She stared at him for a few moments longer, and something almost like a grin crept over her face. “Well, then. I think I might be able to get some steam off after all.”

“Focus on winning,” Wei said, not liking the reinvigorated glow behind her eyes.

“Oh, certainly.” Wings of black and gold flame burst out from her back, and she looked upward. “Wei. How many times did you need to retry?”

“None,” he answered casually.

Her wings froze mid-flap. Her head shot to him again, eyes wide. “You jest.”

“It is the truth. Doubt me, and delude yourself.”

Her eyes twitched. “Fine. Then I’ll do the same.”

He sincerely doubted it.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Wei said, unable to resist taunting her.

Her face turned red, then she exploded up into the air with a growl. A trail of fire painted the path she traveled, and Rafael and Vendrian both stared up at her.

“Was it wise, taunting her?” Rafael asked.

“I couldn’t resist,” Wei admitted. “And she could use a bit more motivation beyond sour anger.”

The Scion of Death for his part let out a low laugh. “Yeah. Poor girl’s probably going to eat shit. We going to get a chance to watch?”

Wei turned his attention to the golden screen. “Yes. Let me see if I can get this contraption to obey me.”