Tom stood outside the trial room in something resembling a line. Dimitri had done a pretty good job, truth be told. The yelling and cajoling had been annoying, but now, miraculously, the children were standing almost in a single file.
Tom frowned and looked at the entranceway ahead. In a minute’s time he would be back in the trial.
He was more than a little apprehensive, to put it mildly. Last week had been so emotionally damaging that April had ended the session early. She had done what, to him, seemed almost a crime: forcing him to prioritise mental health ahead of progress. Since then, he had oscillated between feeling aggrieved and accepting the wisdom of her decision.
He understood where she was coming from. It wasn’t necessarily a misplaced worry. Her executive decision to handle him with kid gloves was probably correct, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t also frustrating.
Yes, the trial sessions were the singular most harrowing period of his life.
Yes, he appreciated her concern, but there was more at stake than his mental wellbeing.
By rote, he moved forward, leaving the sun for the shadows of the building. He was close to going in again.
Tom was confident about his own resilience. In his previous lives, he had literally spent weeks of elapsed time fighting off infections, curse energy and venoms which were consuming him from the inside out. Those inflictions had, because of their potency, necessitated him suffering through it without pain relief. He had lacked the mana regeneration to keep it contained, heal it, and ensure pain relief at the same time. There hadn’t been a choice if the options were to die or suffer. He hadn’t liked it, but he had survived and grown. Being forced to fight on the edge of oblivion with only his limited healing sustaining his life had often pushed his skills to new levels. Previously, he had thrived through adversity, and her decision to protect him felt like a robbery. There were levels he could have earned.
But she was probably right, he acknowledged. Honestly, he didn’t know what to think.
This, the trials, were something different. In real life, once the battle was joined, once he was infected or injected or contaminated, his only choice was to fight. The trial required significantly more willpower, because every new obstacle required a conscious choice to continue.
A simple sentence would end the pain. It would also slow down his progress, yes, but he could go from agony to safety in seconds. He just needed to ask, and that was the most insidious of thoughts. It seduced him and played on his weakness. A few words, and he didn’t have to do this. The temptation was almost overwhelming.
Dimitri broke his introspection when he seized him firmly by the upper arm. A spark of static crackled momentarily between them. The older man grimaced, studied him more closely, and then guided him forward.
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When directed, he touched the sphere’s surface, and the world changed.
He was sitting in a café with a buzz of undecipherable conversation around him.
April was perched on her stool across from him, studying him carefully.
A tentative smile, like she was about to ask for forgiveness or permission, played fluidly over her face. She reached out and grabbed his hand and squeezed.
He studied the plastic table, not understanding all of his own emotions and not wanting words to break open the floodgates.
“One more day, Tom. Get through today, push your boundaries, and afterwards, I promise, it’ll get better.”
“The combat won’t.”
“It will,” she disagreed. There was another hesitation, and she smirked. “All you need to do is stop getting hurt.”
His head snapped up, and he glared at her:
“How’s that possible when you keep sending stronger and stronger enemies against me?” He was not blaming her as such, or at least that wasn’t his intention. All he was trying to express were the facts. If the challenge grew stronger every time you won a fight, then eventually you would lose.
“That’s not what I’m doing.” She raised an angry finger when he went on to argue, and the words died in his throat. “No, I’m not sending waves of stronger and stronger enemies until you fail. It’s not the point of the scenarios. They’re for training. Tom, this isn’t a game. I’m not trying to break you. My only agenda is to push your limits and make you better.”
“I die almost every session.”
“And is that on me or you?”
“Neither, it’s the monsters you send against me.”
“Is it, Tom?” She met his eyes. “You’re the one who knows he’s under a GOD shield and fights like a berserker because of it. I’m not willing to send weak opponents against you and reward that shit. Your style is problematic.”
“Two octolegs.”
“And what’s so hard about that?!” she yelled back, exasperated. “Put me in your body and I’d crush them. You struggle because you disregard your health and trade damage like you’re immortal. It’s not sustainable.”
Tom sighed, seeing straight to the heart of the accusation. “I can see why it looks like that to you. But, April, I’m not relying on the GOD shield, I’m not throwing away defence. It’s just… it’s just that I’ve always had high-levelled healing skills to patch myself up mid-battle. I’m using the fighting style that’s consistently worked for me.”
“If that’s your excuse, then you’re an idiot, because you sure as hell don’t have a high-level skill right now. I’m not new to this role, and do you know what I think? I see a person who fights using instincts honed over decades. I see a flawed fighter needing guidance. Right now, in this trial, your instincts are wrong, because you have neither the healing proficiency nor the mana to be so wasteful with your health. And I know you’re about to argue that those issues are only temporary, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to adapt.”
“I wasn’t,” he muttered surlily.
“Yes, you were, and yes, you’ll earn them again. When you go out to earn ranking points, they’ll be in your arsenal. But tell me, Tom, is this the best way for you to fight? Do you always want to be on the edge of death? Will accepting a hit to strike back be mana-effective even when you get all your upgraded skills? Is that fighting style complementary to your development plans?”
Tom thought about pushing back, then realised she was right. He was so used to trading off a wound to get a kill that he did it instinctively. Sometimes the willingness to sacrifice had let him kill monsters that would otherwise have been impossible for him to defeat. But for every time that had occurred, there was probably a dozen significant wounds he had taken for no benefit, or possibly only to finish a fight a handful of seconds earlier.
Across from him, April smiled as she observed the realisation sinking into him:
“Good. Meditate on that epiphany before your next fight.”