by Jakob Tanner
Max blinked.
This is incredible.
Harold assumed a fighting stance once more.
“Are you ready, kid?”
Max matched the old man’s position.
“Let’s do this!”
In the forest near Max and Harold’s training spot, a pair of hazel eyes peered out from the shadows.
They glowed out and then disappeared.
If anyone had been paying attention, they wouldn’t have seen anyone, but they would have caught sight of the footsteps in the mud and snow.
23
U’lopp and the frog-folk team sat at a round stone table in a Caesarian winery.
A server brought them each a glass of red wine and large wooden board filled with cheese and grapes.
They eyed it all with suspicion.
“What is this?” said Tadpo, the frog-folk team’s E-ranker. “Wine, grapes, cheese—and yet no flies?”
“I don’t think the other tower races like flies as much as us frog-folk,” U’lopp explained.
“I don’t think the other tower races like us very much,” said Long Tongue, the team’s A-ranker. “Do you see the looks they give us?”
U’lopp felt a pit in his stomach. It had been his idea for the frog-folk to come here.
After he met Max, Casey, and Violet—U’lopp realized that they could either take part in the larger tower society and have more control over their own affairs, or they could continue as they were, letting the politics and squabbles of the more powerful tower races dictate their own lives and circumstances.
He hoped coming to this tournament wouldn’t prove to be a mistake.
“They don’t see us as a fully fledged tower race,” U’lopp admitted. “But that’s why we’re here. To prove them wrong.”
“I hope it will be a worthwhile endeavor,” said Long Tongue.
“If they start serving some flies with all this grub,” Tadpo added. “it will be.”
Oliver, the Elestrian team’s B-ranker, walked through the market streets of Caesaria with his fellow teammate Will.
They were investigating what types of Caesarian manatech would be available for them to purchase when a powerful shoulder knocked into Oliver.
“Hey, watch where you’re going?” said Will, angry on his team member’s behalf.
Oliver turned around to see who had bumped into them.
It was the A-ranker from the Flaron team.
No wonder I felt that blow so deeply in my shoulder, Oliver thought to himself. I’d been knocked by not only an A-ranker but a half-giant.
The Flaron leader stared them down.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Will clenched his fists and Oliver placed his hands on his shoulders.
“Nothing,” said Oliver. “An accident isn’t worth getting upset over.”
“Sure,” said the Flaron, smirking. “Or you just don’t have your puny human pals around to save you from your own fights.”
With that, the Flaron turned and walked away from them.
“That guy!” Will said, shaking his fist at the half-giant walking away.
The civil war on our floor has left our reputation tarnished, Oliver thought to himself. We’ll just have to rectify that in the tournament.
Tiberius, the Caesarian team’s A-ranker, moved through the throng of streets in the capital, his face hidden by the hood of a cloak.
He always went for a brisk walk late in the afternoon as a light break to his intense training regimen.
“My money is on the Flaron or Boldrin,” said a voice nearby.
Tiberius bristled at the words of the overheard conversation.
He was strolling through the casino district where there were loads of betting shops.
Tiberius slowed down his pace so he could listen to the conversation further.
It was two Caesarians discussing the upcoming tournament.
“To be fair, all the teams seem a bit lackluster this time,” replied the other man. “There’s no doubt in my mind, though, that our team is the worst.”
“Agreed,” said the other. “The soldier class has always been a blight on our race’s high stature.”
Tiberius clenched his fist and walked away.
His own people didn't even believe in him or his team.
I’ll show them, he thought to himself as he hurried back to his training.
In another darker corner of the city, in a secret attic above a house, conspired the mercenary team and their leader, an older woman who went by the title of Mother.
She and the rest of her team had come together to go over the plan once more.
The team’s B-ranker was noticeably absent for this conversation, but Mother was good-natured about other’s peculiar habits.
“I thought the humans were going to be killed mommy,” said a middle-aged man in a one-piece pajama suit. “Does that mean I get to kill them?”
Mother sighed.
Their plan had been going smoothly up until the failed assassination of the human team. They had succeeded in keeping their identities secret and jumping through the bureaucratic hoops to be allowed to compete in the tournament. The only flaw Mother could see were the meddlesome humans; but even they shouldn’t be too much of a nuisance.
“Who is this B-ranker guy you brought with us?” said Winifred, the team’s E-ranker. She was a pale-skinned girl with stringy black hair that she let fall right over her face. “This job feels suited for The Scarlet Demon.”
“The Scarlet Demon is dealing with a more important affair higher in the tower,” Mother explained.
“Can we trust this new guy?” said Kai, the team’s D-ranker. The boy had pale blue skin and long green hair the color of seaweed.
“Yes, I assure you we can trust him,” said Mother.
“That’s good,” murmured Kai. “Regardless, I’ve been setting up a back-up all across the city in case things go awry.”
Kai lifted up a piece of a paper with a summoning rune sketched on it.
Mother grinned. “Your plan-B might be even more devastating than our actual plan.”
“Just thinking ahead,” grinned Kai.
“I want to kill too, mommy,” said the pajama suit man on the ground. “When do I get to kill?”
“Soon, darling, soon,” said Mother.
Gregoire, the cat-folk team’s B-ranker, was playing cards in a seedy bar across the city from where the mercenary team was convening.
He sat at the back table playing with three other people. Two lowlifes who hid beneath the shadows of their hoods along with the dealer who was running the game.
He felt a hint of a presence behind him. His mana sense didn’t pick anything up, but that didn’t prove anything.
Especially, since he knew someone who could go undetected by mana sense.
“You know, I really hate it when you sneak up on me that way,” said Gregoire, his eyes focused on the game he was playing.
Suddenly, appearing against the blank wall behind him was his teammate Mirabel.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Not sure,” said Gregoire, still focused on the card game. “Intuition, I suppose.”
Mirabel walked up closer behind him.
“We must discuss something,” she said.
Gregoire kept his back turned to his accomplice. He was concentrating on the game.
Mirabel always interrupted him when he was in the middle of something.
“One sec,” he said.
He laid out his hand in front of the dealer.
The man was shocked.
Then the two hooded people playing pulled down their hoods, revealing themselves to be identical clones of Gregoire.
“Counting cards is easier when you know what everyone else is carrying,” winked Gregoire.
He stood up, while his doppelgänger clones burst into puffs of smoke.
Gregoire began to walk out of the seedy bar with Mirabel behind him, as the dealer shouted
at them to never come back there again.
“C’mon, let’s find somewhere quiet,” said Mirabel. “I’ve found out more about the red-haired boy on the human team.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mirabel and Gregoire stood on the rooftop dome of a temple that overlooked the city with the orange sky precipitating the evening ahead.
The rooftops and buildings stretched before them. The grandiose columns and sculptures intermingled with the advanced Caesarian technology.
“No one will overhear us up here,” said Gregoire, leaning against a chimney.
“Good,” said Mirabel.
Gregoire snickered. For someone who more often than not was the one spying and sneaking up on people, the girl had a strong sense of paranoia. Perhaps it was her own skills at espionage and assassination that had made her that way.
“What have you found out?” asked Gregoire.
“The human A-ranker is training the red-haired boy,” said Mirabel. “They’re using some kind of time manipulation trait to dilate time and train for longer than a month.”
Gregoire raised his eyes at that.
Time dilation, huh?
That was impressive and a smart way to train given the constraints imposed on the human team with the first round coming up at the beginning of the next month.
“That’s some clever training,” said Gregoire. “I’m impressed, but will it be enough?”
Mirabel crossed her arms and stared out at the city ahead of them.
“The red-haired kid,” she said, “he’s impressive. He’s got a scary determination in his eyes. It makes me uncomfortable. I’m scared to think of what he could become in the future.”
Gregoire stood up straight from where he was leaning, surprised by Mirabel’s words.
“Wow,” he said. “I’m surprised to hear you’re actually rattled.”
Mirabel shook her head.
“You mistake my words, Gregoire,” she said. “If I am rattled, I am rattled by the potential, the possibility. The reality of the present is a comforting relief, for right now the boy currently isn’t a threat and the human team has left themselves in a weak position that can easily be exploited. In such a case, it would be inappropriate to not take advantage of the situation for ourselves.”
Gregoire grinned, his tail wagging behind him mischievously.
“Now, that’s what I like to hear,” he said. “What do you reckon we should do next?”
The two cat-folk grinned as they hatched their plan to disqualify the red-haired boy and the rest of the human team from the upcoming tournament.
24
Max collapsed onto his knees, gasping for breath.
His whole body ached harder than it had ever before.
“We’ll call it a day,” said Harold. “Or days, really. However, you choose to think about it.”
They had been fighting for literally days and only ten seconds had passed in the mountains around them.
They’d trade blows for nine seconds before Harold rewound time back so they could continue sparring.
A dizzy feeling overtook Max and he collapsed onto the ground.
Holy crap, he thought. This has been the most intense training of my entire life.
Harold held out a hand and helped him up.
“You put up a good fight, kid,” said Harold. “I think we might just be able to get you into fighting shape!”
“You mean,” Max panted. “We’re going through this incredibly painful training and you don’t even know if it will work?”
“Hey kid,” said Harold, helping him walk back to the floor’s departure teleporter. “One lesson you learn as you get older, is that in life—even when you can manipulate time—there are no guarantees.”
About thirty minutes later, the two returned to the Zestiris climber’s guild outpost.
They found the rest of the team hanging out in the common room where they were all staying.
Toto was in the middle of the coffee table, rolling over on his stomach, soaking in the attention of the other three.
“Don’t tell me you’ve spent all day admiring that rat,” said Harold.
“It’s a gerbil!” shouted Casey.
Toto, too, took an indignant stance, standing on its legs and practically crossing its arms.
“I’m not even sure what the difference is,” giggled Sarah.
Blake turned to Harold. “Don’t worry, we’ve been training all day. Can’t let you guys get too far ahead of us, can we?”
Max could barely follow the conversation. The room was spinning around him. The exhaustion was taking over.
He politely waved to the rest of the team and hurried to his room where he collapsed on his bed.
Sleep was rushing towards him instantly, but then something stopped him.
He sat upright and rubbed his eyes.
He hadn’t even done the thing he loved to do after a day of training.
Check his stats.
He took in his profile and was immediately shocked and amazed.
Name: Max Rainhart
Rank: D
Trait (Unique): Mimic. Unleash the last move you were hit with at double the power.
You may choose to retain three abilities you’re hit with, adding them to your arsenal of attacks at double the power.
Ability Slot: Shadow Blink (Rare)
Ability Slot: Chain Lightning (Rare)
Ability Slot: Phase-Out (Uncommon)
Strength: 37
Agility: 37
Endurance: 35
Mana Affinity: 37
Passive Skills:
Kokoro (Warrior Spirit)
Holy crap.
His first three stats—strength, agility, and endurance—had all jumped up two stat points within a single day. Even the one stat point added in mana affinity was impressive.
In the past, he might have been able to see these results within a week or two of training if he really pushed it.
To achieve this level of power and growth so quickly was incredible.
To do so in a day defied everything he’d come to know about climber stat growth.
But then again: his training hadn’t really been a single day, had it?
A week later, Max and Harold traded blows in the misty forest of floor-29 as they had done every single day for the last week and a half.
Max would fire off punches, kicks, and any other kind of attack while Harold would dodge, dive, and flip to avoid them.
Then Harold would yell, “Stop.”
Their positions would reverse.
Max would feel ten seconds rewind, his actions reversing backwards until he was standing straight.
“Again,” Harold yelled and the fight would continue.
On and on it went.
Max felt his punches and kicks were getting faster and stronger and his stamina to keep going was increasing at a rapid rate as well.
Harold was a seasoned and talented martial artist and, for the first half of their training, Max had struggled to keep up.
But now, after a week of training, Max was finally beginning to catch up to the old man.
A lot can happen in ten seconds, Harold thought.
A punch. A kick. A jab.
A lifetime.
He craned his neck to dodge Max’s most recent high kick.
“Again,” Harold shouted as he reversed back ten seconds.
He took in the kid, ragged and out of breath.
The boy was getting stronger.
He’d never seen such determination before.
It was uncanny.
Time reversed once more and Harold shouted, “Again!”
Second one. The kid shadow blinked behind him.
Second two. Harold swerved and threw out an offensive elbow.
Second three. Harold hit empty air.
Second four. Harold swerved back.
Second five. Harold blinked in surprised. Where did the kid go?
Second six. He looked up.
Seco
nd seven. His eyes bulged.
Second eight. It was too late now.
Second nine. Max’s fist was inches away from Harold.
Second ten. The punch landed.
Harold smirked and looked at the kid landing back on the ground, out of breath.
So, the punk finally landed a hit, huh?
“Nice hit,” the old man said. “Again!”
Harold reversed time by ten seconds once more and the training continued.
A few days later, Max stood in the misty forest catching his breath after another long grueling session of training.
After his first hit, he’d managed to hit Harold again three more times.
The problem was Harold seemed to get stronger, faster, and smarter with every hit.
The old man was improving and learning to read Max just as much as he was learning how to beat him.
It was an endless cycle of pain and exhaustion.
“Check your profile,” said Harold. “Tell me your progress.”
Max called his profile to view and took in his stats.
Name: Max Rainhart
Rank: D
Trait (Unique): Mimic. Unleash the last move you were hit with at double the power.
You may choose to retain three abilities you’re hit with, adding them to your arsenal of attacks at double the power.
Ability Slot: Shadow Blink (Rare)
Ability Slot: Chain Lightning (Rare)
Ability Slot: Phase-Out (Uncommon)
Strength: 52
Agility: 51
Endurance: 51
Mana Affinity: 43
Passive Skills:
Kokoro (Warrior Spirit)
Out of breath, Max relayed the information to Harold.
Max couldn’t believe the progress he’d made.
His strength, agility, and endurance stats were all over 50, they were all C-rank levels of power now.
He could bend mid-level magical weaponry with his bare hands, and his punches could rip through the flesh of most copper-ranked monsters with ease.
