Tom could clearly see the envy in Dimitri’s eyes. His new title, Reveal Hidden Threats, was going to be incredibly useful, especially when paired with a precognition ability. After all, due to his affinity, the latter was as strong as a newly purchased tier-six alternative.

“It’s an incredible title, and make sure you don’t pigeonhole it. It’s not only useful in this type of artificial situation,” Dimitri explained. “In higher-ranked areas, there are lots of magical hidden ambush predators. I’ve been in teams in the wilds where we’ve known that there was a threat in our path, but there was nothing we could do to identify it. Almost every mission, I’ve had to back track multiple times because of something like that. This is far more valuable than you realise.”

“I doubt that.” Tom told him. “I can see its value. I survived for over forty years in the tutorial. I know what’s out there.”

Dimitri shook his head vigorously. “No, no. You really don’t. It gets worse at higher ranks. The tutorial, for all its realism, was very much like training wheels. For example, did you reach rank eighty there?”

Tom grimaced. He hadn’t. He hadn’t even gotten close to that number. The other man was right. For all that, he had been the most experienced person when first coming to Existentia. Now, however, that was far from true. Everyone from Earth had at least twenty years on him, and some might have had as much as fifty. He needed to listen to advice, because these people knew more than he did.

“It’s not your fault.” Dimitri continued with a sympathetic frown. “Most reincarnators go through this crisis. We were exceptional mainly because we’ve been able to survive in the tutorial for longer. It gave us more contribution points and a better foundation to make a difference in Existentia. That advantage we’ve had, the advantage of extra years of experience, had been stripped away. That’s one thing, but there’s also structural problems. While the tutorial threw challenge after challenge at you, the experience awarded for your success was far less than what you get here. It was a training world, and, for whatever reason DEUS wanted slower progression there. So, that’s what she got.”

Tom looked up sharply. “Is that actually proven? I sort of felt like that in my first life – that experience was easier to get, but I thought I was just being lucky.”

“Yes, it’s proven. Experience in Existentia is between three and six times richer than what you got in the tutorial.”, Dimitri was packing away the ritual status screen as he lectured. “Our time is almost up; any last questions?”

“Can I use the isolation rooms?”

The big man hesitated for a moment. “I can’t guarantee they’re safe. I know they probably are, but I’d advise you not to. The wider orphanage should definitely be considered off-limits, even if you’re training spells under your clothes.”

Tom had a sinking feeling. “You’ve noticed that?”

“There’s been a couple of times you’ve got sloppy. Come on, Tom. Don’t respond to the criticism like you’re a puppy being told off. You didn’t do much wrong. And I only picked up on it because I was watching you specifically. If your training mistakes reached a level that I thought you were putting yourself at risk, I would have stepped in to warn you. In summary, definitely no general training in the orphanage, and, as for the isolation rooms…” He pondered the problem for a moment, stroking his chin. “No. Don’t do anything in them. The risk is low, but it’s there, and I don’t believe that the three weeks of training you’ll lose before the place is declared safe is worth whatever residual risk is out there.”

Another three weeks locked in his system room. It was almost enough to make him cry. His shoulders slumped. “That sucks.”

“So would dying.” Dimitri patted him on the back. “Take the training loss. Given this raid already had one layer of deception, I think it is a definite possibility it has another. And you’re being a bit precious about maximising your training time. When I was your age, I spent half the time huddled in cave systems, hoping the nearby monsters wouldn’t notice us. If I practiced anything during those periods, I got walloped. A little boredom is fine.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Fuck you. You’ve got an answer or anecdote for everything, don’t you?”

Dimitri laughed. “That’s my job, Tom. But time’s up, so we need to finish.” The wards on the walls unpowered themselves, and, with some more psychologist speak, he saw Tom off.

Two days later, Tom sighed in relief as he entered the trial. April threw him straight into training, but during the first hour of his crafting she sat with him and chattered. His quality went way down as a result, but he didn’t care. After that, he transitioned into fighting and crafting by himself.

He was halfway through the session, and was converting lines of the wood into patterns that matched the metal framework in front of him while barely glancing at the master three-dimensional ritual that took up the whole table. The changes were taking place at the microscopic level. Even those that extended to the surface were all but invisible to his eyes. Only the control awarded by his skill and the effort he had put into manually manipulating mana allowed him to change it basically at the cellular level. A millimetre of the wood was transformed, with dozens of lines added in the tiny speck of space, and then he moved onto the next section.

The massive metal framework April had created to show what he needed to do was rotating as he progressed, bringing the section he was working on to the closest point to him. Minutes passed; finally, he completed the last step. Tom was aware of the mistakes he had made, so he tossed it carelessly into the discard pile. That one had been close, but the physical ritual he had created within the wood had been ridiculously lopsided.

“Don’t be so hasty.” April scolded him.

“I’m not. That didn’t work. The middle third was too thick.”

“I saw, but all the lines are there, with mostly the right thickness. Yes, the proportions are off in places, but it still might be good enough to sell.”

“Are you serious? That’s worse than the last five you’ve rejected.”

“The last five had critical failure errors. If I’m not mistaken, this will only have an efficiency problem. Fill it.”

With a sigh, he focused on his other skill and filled it with precognition mana.

Two minutes later he finished the process, and April smiled. The band he held vanished.

“Sold.”

“Are you serious? I’m profitable?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No. Not yet. But you got most of the cost of the attempt back.”

“I still don’t understand why I’m being charged for these attempts. I’m not good enough to turn a profit? Trial-created materials should be free. Can’t I use them instead of shop bought ones?”

April sighed at that question. “I was kind of hoping you didn’t ask that. You know that DEUS is one of the seven in the competition.”

“Of course.”

“The rules I operate under ultimately become a negotiated outcome.” She smiled sadly. “Once you reach a certain level of proficiency, you have to use real-world materials.”

“Can’t I at least recycle the failures? I don’t like the debt this wasteful disposing of materials is creating.”

“Of course we can, but I feel it’s harmful to your long-term credit position. Recycling costs time; it also results in slight changes in the converted bracelets. Even if you try to revert things perfectly, there’ll be lines of cells that are more prone to being adjusted. Rather than,” she tapped her head. “Using your mind you subconsciously follow those. The training becomes less efficient, potentially detrimental, even, if you recycle one too many times. You feel like you’re doing better, because every real band ends up getting sold for profit, but in a year’s time all those bad habits would mean you’ll be making bracelets three times slower.”

“You could have just said. ‘In my judgement this approach is better long term,’ and I would have fallen into line.”

She laughed. “I could have, but would you have believed me?”

“Yes.”

“No,” she squealed in outrage. “There’s no way you would have.”

He chuckled. “You’re right.” He held up his hands in defeat. “I’m too suspicious for my own good. Thanks for explaining the reasoning, it helps. It’s just… well, it’s frustrating. I got my first partial success, and the attempt still costs. The whole process sucks.”

“It does,” she agreed without hesitation. “But these rules were made to hinder as much as to help. If you put in the effort, you profit. If you don’t...” she shrugged. “No reincarnators, but a large minority of normal children never turn a profit. It’s heartbreaking, to be honest. As for you...” She grabbed his hands. “Tom, this is progress. Keep pushing. I think you’ll still get Spear Mastery before I can afford to buy the skill to teach you Power Strike, but they’ll finish close together. You’re two weeks ahead of schedule. You’re doing great.”

Tom returned to work. He produced seven more bands, and only two ended up rejected in totality. The others recouped most of his costs, but not all.

“This feels hopeless. I thought I had solved that one.”

April shrugged. “Have a break. Go kill some monsters. Then, when you come back, try a different routine. Maybe do it faster. Sometimes people overthink these things. By this stage, you know the ritual form inside out. Going slow and deliberate might actually be hampering your progress. For physical creations, trying to trace a design is significantly more cumbersome than creating them fluidly. I think, there is a good chance that if you don’t give yourself time to think, you’ll get a better result.”