Sara jumped between Rassan and me when she saw the fight brewing. She then turned to me, and said, “You should go.”

  I laughed.

  (Absolutely not.)

  From the sounds of it, the man was in Sara’s adventuring party, meaning that they were together often—but that was simply unacceptable. I didn’t plan to let him stand next to her a second longer, especially in his current state!

  Sara disagreed. Her eyes and tone combined to say, “Don't interfere. I'll be furious.” My balled fist and webbed veins combined to say, “Then be furious,” but I hesitated. A pulling wave of terror had gripped me, terror that said:

  (You’re going to fuck this up.)

  I’m not sure what this was, but it felt significant. It tempered my rage enough to think clearly. I activated [astral gaze]. Neither of their cores were fully open, let alone layered, but if hers looked like a campfire—his looked like smoldering coals. Her muscles had fused with mana, and she was oozing unrefined aura. Sara could snap that man’s limbs like dry, frozen sticks. That said—

  (“No, stay!” Rassan said to me. “I insist. Let’s get to know each other!”)

  —my rage wasn’t just for her protection. It was personal.

  “Kalas,” Sara said calmly. “I got this. Go.” There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in her tone. She wanted me to leave. So, I said—

  “Fine”

  —and picked up a shard of his broken beer mug with telekinesis. I could do some nasty things with divination—and that shard would let me do it, if necessary.

  Sara watched me in wonder, and that’s when Rassan snapped. “Hey!” he screamed as she restrained him, snarling like a trapped beast behind a locked cage. “Don’t ignore me! Who’s that? Who the fuck is that?”

  “Shut up!” Sara yelled, voice becoming distant. “Let’s go!” She dragged him away as I ducked into an alleyway. I cast [wraithwalk], and for a moment, I considered flying after them to make sure she was safe, but that seemed to cross a line. So, instead, I spread my wings and took flight, returning to Wild Boar to obtain information on Rassan.

  I landed under the guild’s sign and thrust open the door, immediately on guard after seeing Emilia fly up to me. “Oh, thank the Maiden you're here,” she said. “You didn't hurt him, did you?”

  “Hurt who?”

  “Rassan. I saw him run after you and thought there’d be problems.”

  “No, I didn't. And why are you worried about him? Who is that prick, anyway?”

  “Sara’s party member. Well, not by choice. Rassan's father's in politics, so it's dangerous to mess with him.”

  I laughed. “So what? You just allow him to harass her?”

  “Allow’s not the right word. We're getting rid of him, but it's a process. As for Sara, you don't have to worry about her. If he touches her, he’s losing the limb. All's fair if she can pass the truth pact; so she's actually praying he'll try. It’d save us all a hell of a lot of trouble.”

  My anger cooled at Emilia’s reassuring tone.

  “Don't worry,” she said. “If she was even remotely in danger, we'd’ve gone to war. But she's not. So trust us: we got this handled, kay?”

  I nodded, but my heart wouldn’t stop knocking. Sara. That pull. That revulsion. An unnecessary desire to protect. I hadn’t felt any of these emotions living with Sleya. Perhaps it was powerful emotions like these that Sleya was hiding from in that isolated cabin above Riaka. They were certainly good when they were good, but as I was learning, they could also be excruciating.

  I couldn’t even sleep that night. I just lay there, mind drifting but never disconnecting. Then, the birds began chirping, and I finally gave up.

  This is a bad way to take a test… I thought as I rubbed my eyes. I stood and looked out the window. I hope she’s okay.

  I drank a stamina elixir and dressed, purifying my body before descending the stairs toward the tavern.

  It was barely seven, but the area was already bustling with adventurers standing around a large corkboard with various posters.

  I wanted to get Sara off my mind, so I checked it out to distract myself.

  The board had sections for each rank: iron, copper, bronze, silver, gold, platinum, mythril, orichalcum, and adamantine. Each section was progressively smaller, and the large bounty posters disappeared the further you got to the right.

  I approached the platinum section and read one of the options:

  Wanted: Caravan Bodyguards

  Type: Contract

  Description: Transport Coam Supply Company wagons through bandit territory.

  Requirements: Platinum party—archer, mage, and healer.

  Reward: 150 hawks

  I wonder how much that could buy me… I pondered. Since I obtained the medallion, I still hadn’t used money. So I tried to gauge it against another job. The posting was between the gold and platinum sections, and it had a far more elaborate design.

  Wanted: Hunters for the Traskan Cull

  Type: Bounty

  Description: An abnormally high number of traskas has migrated to the Hanglands for mating season, leading to crop devastation in Morinville. Cull their herd.

  Requirements: Gold party or above.

  Reward: 5 hawks per top canine (10 per head)

  I regarded the job seriously. I wish I didn’t need a party… I thought. I was great at hunting. If I could accept the quest, I could clean the forest and be set on funds for a nice while. Then again, it could prove disastrous for reasons I didn’t understand. I still needed to learn the extent of my power (relative to others) and establish a baseline for interacting with the world. At the end of the day, I was on a mission: I had to be mindful of my actions, relationships, and behavior. That included learning the law, becoming licensed, and embracing customs.

  I sighed.

  Suddenly, I heard the doorbells jangle as the door flew open. I turned in time to see a golden blur streaking through the reception area. It was Sara, blonde ponytail whipping left and right. She nearly ran into Emilia, who was stocking documents at the front of the reception counter. Emilia turned to Sara, accepted a folded rectangle of paper, glanced at me, and said something. Sara nodded, turned, made eye contact with me, panicked, waved, and then dashed back out of the door.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Hey!” I ran after her, but Emilia flew after me with unexpected speed, catching me by the hood. I coughed as I skidded to a halt. “Hey… what?”

  Emilia giggled and said, “She’s late for work, idiot.”

  “Oh…”

  “Which is why~...” She waved the card Sara had handed her. “It’s strange for her to go out of her way to come here when she’s already running late. Right?”

  I tried to take it, but Emilia pulled it back to tease me. I snatched it with lightning speed, and she giggled. “Okay, okay.” She leaned in nosily. “What does it say?”

  I tried to hide it, but she followed me around, so I let her read it. It didn't matter much. The card had white paper with embossed flowers on the inside, and in the center, written in calligraphy that was even worse than Emilia's, Sara had written three words punctuated by an exclamation mark:

  “I had fun!”

  Emilia grinned knowingly.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I can just imagine her sitting in front of that card all night, thinking of the perfect thing to say, and then waking up and being forced to finally write something terrible because she was running late.”

  My heart twinged with strange emotions after hearing that, and I smiled slightly, relieved more than anything. Sara was safe—and I didn’t mess things up with her. I couldn’t feel more grateful.

  “What a lady’s man~,” Emilia said, patting my shoulder. “Okay, get ready. Your test’s about to begin.”

  “Okay.”

  Emilia turned and flicked her hair, something that seemed way too personal for a normal interaction with a client. Maybe that was what it meant to have friends? She was my age. Should I be more personal? I debated it as I followed her to a large set of doors at the edge of the tavern, meeting up with Celia, who was already waiting there.

  “Are you ready?” Celia asked.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  Emilia grinned and thrust open the doors with both hands, revealing an elaborate gym that explained the size of the building. The room was massive, featuring five fighting rings—two smaller ones flanking each side of a grand stage in the center of the room. All were covered in barrier wards that encased the fighters within them.

  Now that’s what I’m talking about! I thought as I rushed into the room. Every stage had an elaborate ward painted on the floor. From a glance, the ward looked like a gigantic array: runes within a circle, all connected by geometric lines and shapes to express magical relationships. However, the arrays used mana crystals to keep them active without a mage's activation—and they were quite impressive. Each had three layers: one to create a barrier, safely enclosing the fighters in the ring; another to automatically heal the contestants should they be injured; and a third to set activation conditions, preventing premature healing or other complications.

  It wasn't an impressive ward, by any means, but it was well done and far beyond what I was expecting to find in the Lands Beyond. Just the sight filled me with excitement, but it quickly turned to a lingering unease.

  Wait. How can they have this but not basic purification arrays? I wondered, smile fading. There's no way that's possible. There’s gotta be a story…

  A sudden yell broke me from my thoughts. I turned to the main stage and saw two fighters, both sloppy and undisciplined.

  One wrapped their practice sword with electricity before swinging it. His opponent accepted the blade head-on with his gauntlets. A mixture of barrier and fortification spells allowed him to grab the sword directly with his gloves and hold it in place. The swordsman tried to pull back, but he was locked in place.

  Grinning, the bruiser push-kicked the man in the ribs. The kick was hard, sending his opponent flying thirty feet into the barrier with a set of broken ribs. The barrier slightly rippled an orange color from the minor impact, and then the crippled swordsman fell onto the stage.

  The healing ward then activated, automatically healing the man’s ribs.

  I had trained in such wards my whole life, so I felt a trace of nostalgia as the bruiser approached his fallen opponent.

  “Round two?” he asked.

  “Nah, I’m good,” the swordsman said. “I never want to feel that way again.”

  It was good he didn’t because Emilia whistled and screamed, “Okay. The gym’s reserved for the next six hours, so get out!” The bruiser groaned, and she snapped her eyes on him. “If you have time to groan, you have time to cull. Now go!”

  I felt a degree of amusement watching this tiny woman boss around burly, sweaty men. I wondered if she packed a punch; she did have a relatively refined core (at least for a “Beyonder,” as I decided to refer to them).

  “You staying around?” I asked.

  “Nah, I gotta work,” Emilia said. “But make it good for me, kay~?”

  “Uh… okay?”

  Emilia catwalked off, and Celia turned to me. “If you play my apprentice, I’ll break your legs.”

  “Who’s your apprentice?” I asked. “And what do you mean by ‘play’?”

  Celia studied me, and then cracked a smile. “Sara. Sara’s my apprentice. And… never mind. Just take good care of her, ‘kay?”

  My eyes darted toward the floor. I was more confused by those words than Emilia’s behavior, but if “treat her well” was literal, I meant to. So I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Celia smiled gently. “Sweet boy.”

  “I’m not sweet,” I grumbled.

  She laughed and then checked her pocket watch. “Late people. Late people everywhere…”

  Suddenly, the door banged open, and a man jogged into the room.

  “Sorry I’m late,” my proctor said. His name was Balphoa, and he couldn’t look more unprofessional. He unbuttoned a dress shirt, exposing his bare, hairless, muscular chest, and smoothed his hair, as if these were things he should do in front of a woman wearing an elaborate dress.

  “At your age, really?” she asked sternly.

  He shrugged. “The missus was talking, and divorce is expensive, so…”

  She rolled her eyes as he pulled out his stud earrings.

  I used [identify] on them.

  Name: Mythril Stud Earrings

  Purity: 76%.

  I wonder how much those cost, I pondered, thinking back to my twenty pound bricks.

  Balphoa felt my stare and turned to me, eyeing me up and down. “You gonna… put on some armor or something?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  He tongued his canine and turned to Celia. “This isn’t political, is it? ‘Cause if it is, you should warn me. I don’t wanna break a rich kid’s spine, even if it's healable.”

  “It’s not political,” she said. “At least, not in the way you’re asking. As for breaking his spine… you should be the one who’s worried.”

  Balphoa turned back to me, eying my cloak with interest. “Is that so… I’ll take your word for it, but he’s attacking first. I'll gauge my starting strength to whatever he throws at me.” He turned to me directly. “So don't hold back.”

  Does he expect me to go all out? I wondered, glancing at the small room. Here?

  “Uh, sure…” I walked to the stage.

  He hopped onto the tiles, cracking his neck and jumping up and down to warm his muscles. “Don’t say much, do you?”

  “I just…” I paused. “My master told me that I should never talk while fighting unless I’m communicating to allies.”

  “Good master… Wish mine taught me that.” He winked at Celia, who scowled.

  I laughed. I liked this man. He did and said a lot of things that could’ve been unlikable, but the way he did and said them was always friendly and good-natured. It might have just been his age. Despite looking under thirty, his core's age was closer to forty; those extra years likely helped to balance him out a bit. At least emotionally.

  “Seriously, kid,” Balphoa said. “Don’t hold back. Even if you can whoop my ass, don’t hold back. It’s been a while since I’ve had a real fight. So don’t disappoint me.”

  I entered a combat stance. “Okay.”

  —Celia—

  Celia watched with apprehension. Balphoa oozed aura, clearly taking things seriously. By contrast, Kalas had the same strange aura film he always had—thin and seemingly insignificant. Until Sara mentioned it, Celia didn't even know it was there. Unlike her and Balphoa's aura, which glowed blue and smoky under her [eyes of millennia] spell, Kalas's was clear to the point it was transparent. Celia couldn't help but imagine someone throwing a rock at Kalas and having that “aura barrier” shatter like a storefront window.

  (If a rock can do that, what could Balphoa do?)

  Nothing good. Celia couldn't help but imagine that barrier breaking from a single knee-kick, leaving Kalas defenseless as Balphoa’s foot snapped his leg backward into a sideways V.

  Kalas's class screen told her that wasn't possible, but the imagination holds more power over humans than swords and declarations ever could, and hers was showing her things that she wouldn't describe in ghost stories.

  He’s making me nervous… Celia thought. She took a strained breath. “Are you ready?” she asked Kalas.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Celia turned to Balphoa, who burned blue like a gas burner. “Are you ready?”

  He nodded. “For anything.”

  She swallowed. “Okay, let’s commence the ranking test. The rules are simple: incapacitate the other. Magic is permissible. Weapons are permissible. Intentional killing or attacks that vaporize tissue necessary to heal are not. There are no other rules. The exam will begin in three… two… one…”