Within the palm of his hands were a set of gauntlets capable of handling the force of the legendary Mjölnir, a weapon capable of mass destruction eclipsing any modern weapon. That was the level of power he held in his hands.

[ Congratulations! You have fulfilled the necessary conditions! Receive the 'Intermediate Martial Artist’ class! ]

‘There it is.’

The conditions necessary to gain the Intermediate Martial Artist was a mix of natural skill and damage output, as the Whispers’ records indicated. He had already been close to the Intermediate level of his own accord. The gauntlets pushed him into reaching that second requirement.

The conditions were agitating and specifically intended to promote magic and supplementary items. Dasha had unlocked the Black Belt Karate Proficiency skill, Black Belt Krav Maga Proficiency, Tenth Dan Judo Proficiency, and a hundred-seventy-five additional martial arts skills of the same calibre. He had mastered nearly everything Earth had to offer, yet here, he was denied the Intermediate Mixed Martial Arts Class.

‘Mastering human martial arts seems to be useful in bursts. I only get an increase in whatever it specializes in. For example, the Black Belt Brazilian Jiu-jitsu Proficiency doesn’t increase my stats. It instead gives me forty points in deftness during ground fighting. It’s useful as a back-burner skill. However, the fact that it’s a B-rank skill despite me putting over a decade of work into it tells me that they aren’t comparable to the styles in myth and legend.’

Pankration, for instance, the ancient mixed martial arts that Heracles and Achilles used to defeat many of their foes. If Dasha learned that, he suspected he would gain a substantial leap in his martial arts prowess.

“Fits you like you were meant to wear it,” said Hephaestus, grinning. “For an early player, you sure have guts. I doubt anyone else has an S-class weapon.”

“Your power is not dissimilar to Kali’s,” said Tvashtr, arms crossed. “We cannot tell you what to do. I can only hope you take the same role as well. Use the darkness to defeat the darkness.”

Dasha didn’t respond. He didn’t look at them either. He sensed their unease—what they accomplished was truly great, but was that greatness worth it? To give it this masked man secluded in darkness?

Dasha would give them an answer, though not in the way they assumed.

A portal soon opened up and in came Grace and a short man in a Sapphire Order uniform. Grace was chippery and waved at him with her arms. Dasha gave a curt nod.

“He’s here, just like you asked. I’ve been talking to him for a week now. He’s great!” Grace winked.

‘So she’s planted the seeds. Excellent.’

“Bennet,” Dasha called out. “So you have arrived.”

Bennet. Little Bennet. He took a single step inside and stopped. His eyes, once so arrogant and powerful, were drowned by fear. “D…Dasha…?”

The young man in question peered down at him. The gap in height had suddenly widened. “Is something wrong?”

“You…” Bennet actually took a step back. “How have you…how are you strong…?”

Dasha opted to answer his question with another. A question that he already knew the answer to. “Why isn't Lyle here?”

“H-he's busy.” Bennet swallowed. He checked behind him; the portal was gone. His eyes returned to Dasha, then behind him. The Great Forge. His eyes widened. “This has to be…”

“The Great Forge. The greatest forge.” Dasha put his hands behind him. His cloak fluttered as he went to the source of the golden hue in the Great Forge, away from ears of the gods. The glorious windows glimpsing into what appeared to the wider universe. “Come.”

Hesitantly, Bennet did, his eyes widening as he gazed upon the stars. Bennet didn't speak, his body and mind tense with fear. It was understandable. He allowed him a moment of respite before posing a question.

“You saw the moon landing?”

“I did.” Bennet swallowed. “This is…outer space?”

“So it seems,” Dasha said.

Nothing was said. The tense Bennet would glance at Dasha, prickling from the subtle darkness bursting from behind his mask.

“I’ve never been here…” Bennet trailed off. He was trying to make conversation yet understood what he admitted was a sad omission that reflected on his guild.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Why?”

“Because…” Bennet swallowed. “Because they didn’t want me to be.”

“They being the Sapphire Order?” A nod. Dasha continued, “Your friend, Lyle. When I first met him, he was number seventeen. Why had he suddenly sprung up to number two in the matter of weeks?”

“He experienced a breakthrough. Lye came from the previous Heavenly Games so he has a lot of room to grow. It’s just…” A frustrated sigh escaped Bennet. “...it's just how it is.”

“And you?” Dasha turned his head. Across his white mask lay a single splatter of blood and an eerie power flowing through it. “You can feel it, can’t you? I’m stronger than you, Bennet.”

No response. His eyes, warped with fear, focused on the stars. The stars that brought him comfort.

“I’m not going to kill you. Why would I? Bennet, you are not weak,” Dasha said. At that remark, Bennet let out a small breath. “After all, you come from the Golden Generation.”

“I did.” Bennet responded negatively to that fact. “So what?”

“What number are you under Spectre Perdana?” Dasha already knew. He was number four. He told him as much, as did the tattoo.

“...number four.”

“Do you believe you’ve reached your limit?”

“...no.”

Dasha had already planted the seed of betrayal through Grace. With his real eyes, with his handsome features, it would have been easier to convince Bennet. ‘I’ll have to make do with my words.’

“Then partner with me.”

His suggestion caused a sharp breath. “I-I can’t break a contract—”

“Contracts are a fickle thing dependent on intentions. You don’t need to think about it, Bennet. Go to the shop where we meet.”

“The shop?” he asked, shifting away from the stars and towards him. Towards the man that seemed to be giving him another option.

“If you want to help me, then go there. Otherwise, you’re free to leave. Tell the Sapphire Order. It makes no difference.”

“You’re really not going to kill me?” Bennet asked. He must have been worried over the fact that the Great Forge didn’t seem to be a neutral territory.

“Why would I do that? We are friends, aren’t we?” Dasha’s tone went higher, kinder. “You took me under my wing when I was weak and now I wish to do the same with you.”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, fair enough! I did, didn’t I?” Bennet chuckled and tried touching his arm, missing due to his own clumsy fear. Awkwardly, he stepped back. “So…how do I leave?”

At his question, the yellow portal appeared. Dasha quickly explained, “It responds to intentions. You did not really wish to leave before. You wanted to be here, didn't you?”

“I…I guess so.”

‘A lie. I have temporarily been given the ability to open the portals myself.’

The two gods had been so impressed by his instructions and blueprinting abilities that they handed him the keys to the Great Forge. As long as he carried the Keys of the Great Forge, he was able to come in and out as he pleased. Only ten other players were given the same privilege. As Bennet was beginning to reach into the portal, Dasha spoke up, “Don't forget about your mother.”

Bennet stopped. His face half-submerged, he wasn’t able to speak, only listen.

“Remember what you told me? It wasn't her fault, and it's not yours either. Just write. Just let it go,” Dasha said. “You will find relief…my friend.”

Bennet went through hurriedly. Xavier appeared from nowhere. He had been hiding via an invisibility cloak.

“Do you want our men to follow him?” Xavier asked.

“Yes. But I know him. He will go there.”

“I left the items as you instructed,” said Xavier. “Are you sure that will be enough to turn him?”

“Bennet has remained in the Wizard Class since the moment he lost the System. He will not break that limit unless he has something to regulate and bolster his magic.”

“Won’t the Order notice his spike in power?”

“I had Hephaestus enchant the bracelet with a special incantation. It will be invisible to everyone but the wearer. They will assume he had a breakthrough."

'If they do find out about the bracelet and following that they discover a leak in information, Bennet will be the first they suspect.'

“Are you sure the contract won’t go into effect?” Grace asked, hands on her hips. “I had to tiptoe a lot in our conversations. How are you so confident?”

Still staring out the window, Dasha lifted his hand, unveiling his gauntlet from the comfort of his cloak, and counted with the back of his palm to them. “There are five main articles within their contract. Membership, Duties and Obligations, Rights and Privileges, Termination and Withdrawal, and finally, Binding Nature. Bennet showed the contract to me once. It’s quite thorough, but it’s based on intentions. ‘The Applicant shall uphold the secrecy and confidentiality of the Guild's affairs, refraining from disclosing any information or practices to unauthorized individuals or entities.’ Basic but thorough, except there’s nothing about unintentional leaks. For example, what if the information is overheard? What if they speak in a dream? Or as a drunk? The contract won’t go into effect.”

“Obviously!” Grace chuckled. “So what’s the point of sending him to the shop? Won’t he know what to do? That would cause a breach, right?”

“He will lose himself. I guarantee it.”

“That sounds a biiit overconfident.” Grace grimaced. “Are you sure that will work?”

“Bennet came to me as a a tax collector and an alcoholic. It didn’t take long for him to spill his story: Bennet was a boy that loved his mother, but his mother was a lazy drunk, though he refuses to think that, and she died as one. Her last words before her death? To write a journal. To remember their family legacy. A task he has been holding off since her death—for decades now. So, I put the same glass of alcohol that killed his mother beside the diary. He will drink and he will leak. A new coping mechanism and new power for Bennet.”

Grace didn’t respond, eyes wide. “The exact same drink that killed his mother? What?”

“The White Russian. Popular during the seventies.”

Grace blinked. “How did you figure that out?”

“Because he hates Russians and he avoided darker alcohol during our time together. He always picked lighter colours.” Dasha’s answer baffled Grace, who stared at Xavier and gesticulated wildly. Xavier lowered his hat, silently agreeing.

“The White Russian drink…originated in Belgium, did it not?” Xavier said.

“Indeed.”

‘The loose ends have started to be dealt with. Paul is dead and Bennet is in my hands. There’s Lyle, but he’s been the recently promoted number two. I doubt Spectre Peranda will let Lyle out of their sight. There’s Samantha and Alex too. Irrelevant, frankly.’

“All that’s left…” Arms locked behind him, hand on wrist, Dasha flexed the fingers of his remaining gauntlet. Too much movement and strength and he felt he would eviscerate everything. “...is to test these out.”