An older, bitterer version of Noid stood and watched the world he'd created.

“So it's almost over, heh?” the thief asked from beside him.

“I have to make it end somehow. I didn't think the boy's skill could get any more ridiculous.”

They stood in silence for a time, watching the boy fight with his new friend. He looked happy, and that forced a scowl on Noid's face.

“Whatever the case, it's been of use to us. I'm still unable to determine what all the skill does, or rather, it does way too much. A lot,” the first Skyholm said as he joined them.

“Hmmm,” the enchantress said as she joined them in their vigil. “Even the greatest soul architect in the universe cannot understand such a simple thing. The boy’s subconscious is trying to keep him in one piece while he heals.”

“So he created a brand new skill?”

Enith shrugged. “That may be interesting and all, but I'm more interested in what your little turning off the system experiment is doing, Noid?”

“What do you mean?” Noid asked.

It was the first Skyholm who answered. “While I don't have Enith’s love for experiments and all that, I have to say the damage to his soul from not being able to level up is intriguing.”

Noid looked flabbergasted. “He cannot gain levels? But then all the experience he'd have gotten from this…Does that mean the trial is having to recalibrate all the monsters and foes so he's not totally outclassed. What like a guided rift?”

They watched another part of the make believe world. A part which Noid was influencing as they spoke. The ugly expression of the noble man he knew so well as he spoke to lord Grandill about the unfairness of commoners getting in his business. Sure, the boys found something unpleasant in the now devastated woods, but they should have reported to lord Grandill before going to the guild. Or so his biological father kept saying. Commoners were not allowed to stand up against nobles, and so they ought to be taught a lesson. Noid turned away from the scene with disgust.

“Is that really necessary?” the thief asked.

“Breaking his applicants is part of Noid's trial, so maybe,” the first Skyholm said.

Noid sighed. “I'm not trying to create a clone of me like someone here. I need to see how he reacts.”

Everyone looked to the enchantress, who just whistled a jaunty tune and wouldn't meet any of their eyes.

“Anyway, about the fact the boy isn't leveling up. How will he defeat my final challenge if he cannot grow stronger?”

“I thought you don't want him to defeat the challenge,” the first Skyholm said, “besides, he is effectively immortal anyway. He can come up with tricks after fighting someone for a few hundred rounds.”

“I will be happy if he chooses not to take the final challenge. Only, it's impossible for him not to destroy my family. If not for revenge, then for some other reason. The trial will force him.”

“I can't believe he has a skill that allows him to tolerate desonance caused by time dilation, among many other mental status effects. That has potential,” Enith said with a thoughtful smile.

“And that is where his experience is going, in case you were wondering. It's weird. I could probably heal his soul, but if those wounds can be left, there is a lot of potential there.”

“You mean…his skills?” Noid asked with a bemused expression.

“And on that note, I would like your help with my latest project, Sam,” Enith addressed the thief.

The woman only snorted. “So I take it you've decided on a gift for the boy?”

“Well, it's more like I really need his help,” she confided.

“Well tough luck. I have some shit I wanna give him too. You can't change my mind.”

“It's about the kids,” Enith said in a small voice.

The thief just snorted. “You're gonna have to try a little harder than that. Everyone knows you're an emotionless asshole.”

The woman just shrugged and grinned. “I just asked you as a courtesy, Sam. I'm not going to bribe you. Rather I'll just force your hand.”

Then she leaned toward Noid, whispering so the thief could not hear.

“Give him your blessing.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Noid started, “but that will—”

“Force her hand. This is the only time someone has completed your trial, and in such a way that they've completely exhausted your spirit remnant. Your trial might not be available for the next million years, if ever. Think about it. I've done the calculations. He's the perfect candidate.”

Noid looked at the enchantress for a long time, then down at the boy.

“He has exhausted me,” Noid admitted, “but he hasn't completed the trial yet.”

****

It took Guy, Orlandir, and their quiet party mate Grunter only five years to buy a house for themselves in the city. They'd had to spend a lot of their money going for training from some of the most famous trainers in the city, even Grunter getting courses in blunt weapons and arm to arm combat. And they'd somehow made it all the way past bronze and into the middle of silver.

In a few more years, Guy knew they'd reach gold rank status, only a step away from jade. Although that was still years away, and they'd have to be at the peak of advanced level in whatever form of combat they chose.

Guy watched Orlandir jump up and down in a downstairs room that, in a normal house hold, would have been a dining hall. They'd decided to turn into a gym instead. Grunter was somewhere up the stairs inspecting the bedrooms.

Orlandir was going to achieve mastery with his self created style in a few months. Guy sighed. He'd had to learn two more styles of swordplay, and he'd risen all the way to the advanced rank in all three, but geniuses still had that edge about them.

Would he ever catch up to Noid, Orlandir even? He didn't know the answer. He'd started to use his left hand more, in a bid to learn Orlandir's style as well. He wanted to be ambidextrous. Still Orlandir's looked like the kind of style that would benefit from short twin blades.

And all the styles were like that, he'd found. The demon god's promise prioritised short swords and parrying knives, while the earth shattering preferred great swords. The sword saint preferred long blades, and the Northern wind preferred sabers.

He'd wondered why Noid used a bastard sword, but now he understood. It was what he was most comfortable with. He had to adapt all the skills he got from those many different styles and use them to create his own style. That was his path to mastery.

Guy grabbed a piece of paper from his pocket, studying the sword he'd envisioned. It was a slim saber, single curved edge, long. It had a circular guard and a long grip to accommodate two hands. It was light enough that he could hold it with one hand. And despite the fact that Orlandir, the asshole, said it was too pretty it was more like a lady's ornament, Guy knew it was deadly too. It was also delicate, and would probably get destroyed a few times, which is why he hadn't commissioned one yet.

“What are you thinking?” the subject of said thoughts slapped him on the back. “Do you not like the house?”

“No, I like it. I was just wondering how your girlfriend Jasmine would feel once she found out I'll be able to hear you two going at it every night.”

Orlandir stuck out his tongue.

“Am as single as you bro. Thanks for bringing down the mood, now we gotta earn enough money so we can afford to keep girls around. And, as if I could ever date a girl as classy as Jasmine.”

They both looked into space, quietly contemplating their celibate lives.

“Let's get to the guild right now. Let's take on a quest right this instant,” Orlandir prompted.

“Yeah, no time like the present to start collecting money.”

They yeld at Grunter that they'd be going, and he answered, through a series of grunts that he was good. For some reason, Guy was starting to understand the reticent man's language. He'd stayed with these guys for years, and he was starting to wonder whether he'd ever go back to the Wilde company. He could surely get back by now, but he did not.

A few friendly faces greeted them at the guild.

“There's our silver rank geniuses,” a big man called Hodo, an old acquaintance said. “Heard you guys got yourself a house?”

Orlandir shrugged. “Yeah man. And it's quite big.”

Guy left Orlandir to do the bragging, as he was wont to do. He noticed that way more people were paying attention than usual. Maybe getting a house was a big deal. He could have sworn someone from the jade pavilion upstairs was watching Orlandir as he spoke. He wondered what was special about the floor, one of the few visible perks of reaching the high rank.

“So what quest are the new property owners thinking of taking up?” a gold ranker who'd never so much as spoken to him beamed at him.

“That's private info,” Guy said with a frown.

The man backed up, his hands raised and a forced laugh. Guy watched him go all the way. His head was killing him. There was something trying to probe him somehow, and he had to fight. He blinked all of a sudden, looking at the retreating man. He surveyed the rest of the common room with a growing frown, but then his headache returned and he decided to leave it.

For some reason, the quest they'd got reminded him of that quest they'd done as a test all those years ago. It was a monster subjugation, although these were stronger monsters that looked like the pre evolutionary versions of wild boars. They were bigger, almost as big as an adolescent elephant, and they had fire for manes.

“Is that a dungeon overflow?” Orlandir asked as they watched the stampeding monsters from a rise that surrounded the front of the dungeon.

“Yeah,” Guy said with a frown, “apparently every silver ranker and above is going to be forced to come here until this problem is dealt with. Personally, I'm confused. Isn't this dungeon supposed to be one of the popular ones?”

“Who cares about any of that? This is perfect for you. I'll just wait over here while you destroy the stampede. Then we can get all that reward money for this quest.”

Guy snorted. “And the genius planner strikes again. Just dive in, he says.”

“Dude, it's your speciality. The only thing that you're better than me at. Surviving untenable odds. Think about the women, bro, the women.”

Guy studied the at least more than two hundred monsters. He was sorely tempted. Still, the destruction they were causing was not insignificant, and the last time Guy had battled a horde of beast's he'd razed a whole section of a forest, a section that was just starting to grow back five years later. He looked at Orlandir who was staring at him with the most innocent expression, probably lost in his head thinking about women. Guy snorted. Fine, he'd do it for the crazy idiot. He'd do anything to repay this idiot for the last few years.

It was uncomfortable, using a running start to launch himself into the air and strike with an earth shattering technique while using a long sword. Still, using weapons incompatible with the disparate styles allowed him to prepare for when he'd use his own special blade. A line ten boars long was cut to pieces. He landed in a crouch, sword tip already pointed towards the ground, and he swung before the beasts had finished surveying the new intruder.

And just like that, his warm up was done, and the techniches were flying, transitioning from flowing strikes to powerful diagonal slashes to heavy overhead swings to small but uncountable stabs and slashes. It was exhilarating. It was also easy to get injured, especially when he used the heavy strikes of the earth shattering style. They were more concerned with damage than speed. Somehow he knew when he fully adopted the style, he'd change it's focus from strength to speed.

The injuries piled up, but he was so deep into the boars lines he hoped Orlandir didn't see too much as he found a rock to hide behind and waited for the boars to finish him off. He came back swinging, and tried to not get so injured this time. He'd finally found what the resurrections cost him.

Every time he died, he resurrected with the worst headache, and it had been getting worse over time. It had started as a big blunt drill, but it had steadily gotten smaller over the years, and now it was as small and minuscule as a needle. A needle like drill. When they couldn't get any smaller, they'd started to increase in number, and now it felt like hundreds of tiny sharp drills were trying to tear his brain apart.

He gritted his teeth and kept on fighting. If nothing, he'd at least become quite accustomed to pain by now.

He breathed deep as the last boar fell, using his sword to support himself. He dragged his exhausted body back to the slight rise where he'd left his friend watching. There was no way he was going to enter the over full dungeon alone.

Only, shouldn't Orlandir have talked to him by now, called out a joke or something. He was already two thirds of the way up the slope, and there was not a sign of anyone. Wariness seeped through the haze of pain that was his head. He raised his sword and continued to trudge upwards, this time a little more consciously.

There was no one up on the hill. Only, there should have been someone. Where was Orlandir? Why was his enhanced perception unable to pierce a certain area around him?

“Oh, this one has good senses,” a voice said from right behind him.

Very close behind him, like he'd only need shift his back slightly and they'd be in contact. He started to turn, but the knife was already sheathed in his neck by then.

The illusion fell and he saw a torn and bloodied Orlandir scream in defiance against more than thirty opponents.