Staring at the mini map that had taken the place of Sys’ face, I found myself thinking about where to go first.

  Haldrith’s layout is a bit irregular, so I’ll do my best to explain it. Imagine an hourglass, but instead of smooth curves, the shape is more blocky, almost rectangular, and with a noticeable bulge at the bottom. That bulge? That’s the city’s entrance.

  Because of this unusual shape, Haldrith is split into four distinct sections. At the very bottom, the entrance where everyone enters, you get a kind of preview of the city. There’s the central plaza, a scattering of homes, vendors, and the kinds of shops you’d expect in any normal city. Talley Lane, the shopping street I had explored earlier, winds out from this area and leads upward, acting as a gateway into the shopping district: Copper Row. If Haldrith were a literal hourglass, this lower portion would be the bottom bulb of glass.

  Above Copper Row is a narrow section called Willowrest, the city’s main residential area. Of course, not everyone lives there, just like how not every store is in Copper Row. I guess some people just live where they want. Maybe it’s for convenience's sake.

  At the very top of it all sits the Arena. That’s where the tournament is currently taking place, but usually, it serves as the World Guild’s training ground, for rank-up trials, official meetings, and all the important stuff they do behind the scenes.

  I glanced up from the mini map, the plaza stretching around me in all directions, buzzing with life.

  Well, there’s really only one direction to go.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  I had grown used to a more relaxed, quieter setting—places like Lurindell. After being born into such a peaceful community, I’d kind of forgotten what came with a big city: the noise, the motion, the relentless energy.

  Though, I have been forgetting a lot of things lately, but whatever.

  Copper Row brought back memories of the city I used to live in back on Earth. It was the sheer number of shops, the endless storefronts stacked side by side, that really triggered it. Streets that felt like they never ran out of things to sell, or people to sell them to.

  The air buzzed with conversation, laughter, haggling voices, and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps. It was overwhelming, but also familiar.

  Sys flew by like a miniature helicopter as we walked.

  The street curved slightly uphill, flanked on both sides by rows of tightly packed buildings, most no more than two stories tall, but all bursting and bustling with energy. No two storefronts were alike. Some were made of warm, sun-faded brick with ivy crawling up the corners; others gleamed with polished stone and hanging lanterns. A few shops were built right into the older city walls, with uneven archways and thick wooden doors propped open by crates of goods spilling onto the street.

  Signs swung overhead, each one painted with a different flair—swirling gold calligraphy, crude chalk drawings, glowing sigils. A tailor’s shop had bolts of cloth draped outside like flags, catching the breeze: emerald greens, blood reds, and shimmering silvers. Across from it, a jeweler’s window displayed enchanted necklaces on floating glass stands, the gems pulsing softly. A cluster of children pressed their faces to the glass, wide-eyed.

  Sys and I joined them.

  “What’s up with some of these gems?”

  They’re Artifacts.

  “Artifacts?”

  Magical objects imbued with the power and will of a past adventurer. Think of them like standard magic tools, but upgraded, infused with the lingering soul of someone who once lived a life of battle and exploration.

  “Magic tools?"

  That gives me an idea.

  "Then couldn’t I have just used one to solve my elemental magic issue?”

  Uh, no. Magic tools are meant to assist a user, not replace their abilities outright. If someone struggles with fire magic, for example, they could use a tool to help channel it more easily. But in your case, someone with zero elemental affinity, they’d be practically useless.

  “Bummer.”

  “Hey, do you think if I had one of those, I’d be as strong as Mayern?” one of the nearby kids suddenly blurted out.

  I turned to glance at the group. There were three of them, all young and wide-eyed just like………..Again. This feeling that-

  “Definitely not,” another one replied flatly.

  “Haven’t you heard?” the third kid added in a hushed whisper. “Mayern can kill ogres all by himself.”

  An ogre? You mean the bigger, nastier cousin of an orc? The same type of orc that nearly took me out?

  “Really?” the first kid asked, eyes wide.

  “Didn’t you see what he was wearing today? That was ogre hide.”

  Huh. So this Mayern guy actually came here. I wonder if Elder Alric knows him. Maybe he’s another one of his pupils-

  “Then, isn’t it obvious that he’s going to win the tournament?”

  Hold on—what? This Mayern guy is competing in the tournament? I thought he was some grizzled veteran, not just some teenager.

  “Obviously, but there’s also Zin,” the second kid added with a shrug.

  “Ugh, I hate Zin,” the first muttered. “He’s so cocky and rude.”

  “He’s got a reason,” said the third. “Son of a baron and naturally gifted? Of course he acts like that.”

  “I guess.”

  And now there’s another name to remember.

  “Oh yeah, what about Nyra?”

  Okay, this is getting out of hand.

  “The sister of Merilda? She’s definitely strong,” one of them nodded. “But she’s younger than the others. She's only fifteen.”

  “She’s still older than all of us.”

  “Hm.” The first kid sighed and stared off toward the arena in the distance. “Do you guys ever wonder what it’s like to be one of them?”

  The question hung in the air for a moment. It was simple, innocent, but heavy in the way only dreams could be.

  “One of what?” The second asked.

  “One of the talented ones,” the kid replied. “Instead of being some dirty villager kid.”

  “Not particularly,” the second shrugged.

  “Yeah,” chimed in the third. “I kind of like my life here. I don’t really like the idea of risking my life fighting monsters.”

  “You guys are so lame,” the first one scoffed.

  They all burst out laughing at that.

  “Still,” the first kid continued, his voice softening, “if I was ever given the chance, I’d take it in a heartbeat. I’d be free from this place and I could travel anywhere I want.”

  “You’re not going to stay?” The second asked with a mock, tearful look.

  “No. If anyone was given such talent, regardless of age and status, they’d take to the skies and go anywhere they could, right?”

  Regardless of age and status...........

  “I’d stay.” The second answered.

  “Psh, whatever. Though, if someone actually was willing to stay, or rather chose to stay despite such blessings, then it’d be a huge waste.”

  A waste.

  “Like that’d ever happen,” someone muttered.

  “You’re right, but that chance might be given to someone else. And they could become one of the talented ones.”

  “What if it gets handed to some lazy guy?” one of them joked, grinning.

  “Then it’d be a cruel joke,” the first kid said, almost too seriously. “To waste the dreams of one person, just for the sake of someone who won’t do anything with them.”

  …………

  “Hey, what’s up with you?” one of them asked after a short silence.

  “Yeah, you’re acting kind of weird.”

  “What? No, I’m just—”

  Their conversation was abruptly cut off when the store owner stepped outside, waving a cloth and scolding us all for loitering near the windows and scaring off customers.

  The kids scattered like startled rats, laughing and yelling as they ran off down the street.

  I, on the other hand, just turned and walked away, quiet. Sys floated silently beside me.

  To waste his dreams, huh?

  I looked up at the blue sky that was the same wherever I went. I looked at the man-made city that I chose to be in. I glanced down at the cobblestones beneath my feet.

  I wonder if I’m wasting mine.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  We continued exploring.

  There was a herbalist’s shop nestled between a weaponsmith and a mapmaker. The herbalist had dried flowers strung like curtains in the doorway—lavender, rosemary, and some spiny crimson plant I didn’t recognize. Inside, shelves were packed with corked vials, bundles of roots, and glowing terrariums housing tiny ecosystems. Next door, the weaponsmith had a bold display of rows of blades hanging on dark oak walls, some humming faintly with runes. There were spears with carved hafts, daggers shaped like thorns, and one axe that looked far too heavy for any one person to swing. The mapmaker’s shop was quieter, dimly lit with amber lanterns, its windows covered in parchment maps pinned edge to edge. Some were of Haldrith and its surrounding wilds; others looked impossibly vast, with swirling oceans and constellations sketched in shimmering ink. A pair of adventurers inside argued in hushed tones over a chart laid flat on a long table. The maps would’ve usually taken my attention, but I spotted a familiar person talking with the weaponsmith.

  I walked over to the store.

  Inside, the two were chatting over a countertop, the weaponsmith behind while arranging items at the same time.

  I watched my steps as scraps of metal littered the ground like pebbles. The store was pretty big, with many swords, longswords, spears, axes, hammers, maces and basically any weapon you could think of. There were even crossbows, something that I didn’t think this world was advanced enough for.

  “What are you doing here, Elder Liora?”

  Elder Liora turned to me, her eyes slightly widening in surprise. “Beric?”

  Liora wore a dark viridian sleeveless vest coat, its fabric catching the light with faint leaf work patterns embroidered in dull gold thread. The garment was structured but lightweight and slit at the sides. Beneath it, a fitted black blouse with short sleeves kept her look refined yet utilitarian. Her trousers, still practical, were replaced with dark flaxen wrap-pants bound at the calves with silken ties. She still had a bun as her hairstyle. She must really like it.

  “Who’s this?” The weaponsmith asked.

  He had his head laid on his right hand on a table in a lazy manner, dark brown eyes directed right at me. His dark black hair was tied back, probably a habit from avoiding the flames in his forge. Despite having remains of soot on his rugged and older face, and a mostly charred apron that he was still wearing, he looked clean. He wore a simple, sturdy linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, scarred forearms. His trousers were made of coarse wool, durable enough to resist sparks and grime, and tucked securely into ordinary leather boots.

  Elder Liora turned to him with a proud smile. “This is Beric, the pupil I was just telling you about.”

  The weaponsmith got fully up with a grin spreading, but his eyes held a hint of skepticism. “This is him? Well, color me surprised.” He leaned over the desk and offered a hand. “I’m Volk. Nice to meet you.”

  Uh.

  What’s up?

  “He’s nice and all, but I can see soot on his hand.”

  Sys looked at it.

  I don't see anything.

  "Look closer."

  Sys hit the back of my head in response.

  Just shake his hand. There's nothing there.

  Cursing at him, I shook Volk’s hand.

  “You weren’t kidding. He really is just a kid.” Volk said, blinking in disbelief.

  “Did you think I was joking?” Elder Liora raised an eyebrow.

  “Not exactly, but still-” Volk frowned. “He’s going to be up against people almost twice his age. Are you sure he’s going to be alright?”

  Elder Liora crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “Do you not trust my judgment?”

  Volk scratched the back of his head, visibly uncomfortable. “It’s not that, but still-” His eyes shifted back to me. “Well, if you trained him, I guess he’ll at least survive.”

  Huh? Woah, what are we talking about?

  Are you getting cold feet?

  “No, but still, survive? What’s up with that?”

  Relax, dude. He hasn’t seen you fight yet. You’ll be fine.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one fighting.”

  Yeah, but I will be giving elite comms.

  “Such as?”

  *ahem* Right there! He’s one tap! I cracked him-

  Anyway, while Sys was still giving shitty comms, I was curious about their relationship. Seeing how well they seemed to know each other, and their relatively close age, I wondered if they were comrades of some sort.

  “How do you two know each other?” I asked.

  Volk thumped his chest with his right arm. “I’ve been supplying weapons to adventurers for years now, and your teacher here has been one of my more loyal customers.”

  “Ah,” I nodded.

  “Maybe not loyal, considering she still hasn’t paid off her tab.”

  Elder Liora scoffed. “It was only a few swords.”

  “A few Artifacts that happened to be swords,” Volk corrected, crossing his arms. “They weren’t exactly easy to make. I’ve been letting it slide because we go way back, and because your past kids have been very polite and well mannered-” His eyes landed on me. He froze.

  “No.” He pointed a stern finger at Elder Liora. “You’re not doing this again!”

  “Doing what?” she asked innocently.

  Too innocent.

  “No, no, no.” He waved both hands, backing toward his desk. “You are not finessing me again!”

  Elder Liora laughed. “Alright, alright, calm down. I was just teasing. Beric here doesn’t need an Artifact.”

  “Hmph.” Volk slowly stood upright again, squinting suspiciously. “I knew that.”

  Then he turned to me, eyes scanning me like he was searching for something I’d forgotten. “Still, where’s his weapon? The tournament’s starting soon.”

  “Oh, that,” Elder Liora said while leaning on a wall, smiling with her eyes closed like this was all perfectly normal. “He doesn’t have one.”

  “Huh?” Volk blinked.

  “I forbade him from using a conventional weapon and from owning one.”

  “………..” Volk stared at the two of us in disbelief. "Have you finally lost your mind?” he asked flatly.

  Elder Liora gave a small shrug.

  Volk let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what kind of plan you’re cooking up, but I seriously hope your confidence in him isn’t just delusion.” His gaze turned sharp, all traces of humor gone. “This tournament isn’t some soft sparring match,” he said. “If he’s not careful, he could get seriously hurt.”

  Wait, is he being for real? I thought we were just fighting for the fun of it.

  Elder Liora looked at him with an unwavering expression. “I know.”

  Volk let out another heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not the sword master here. So, I guess you know what you’re doing.” He turned his gaze back to me. “You’re really sure about not letting him carry a weapon?”

  “Yep,” Liora said simply, without hesitation.

  “Mhhhmmg.” He made a weird groaning sound, as if he really didn’t want to see me head off to battle without any weapon.

  That really didn’t calm the growing sense of unease that I had.

  “He’ll be fine. And if I’m being honest,” Elder Liora said, her tone light but certain, “I fully believe he’ll win the entire thing.”

  “The entire thing?” Volk raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. Not with him in the tournament.”

  She scoffed. “He’s just a child.”

  “So is Beric here,” Volk countered, nodding toward me.

  Elder Liora narrowed her eyes while crossing her arms. “What, do you think I’ve lost my touch? You really think my star pupil would lose?”

  Volk raised both hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, the odds are stacked against little Beric here.”

  “Oh, really?” She stepped in closer, a competitive glint in her eyes. “Are the odds so against him that you’d be willing to make a wager?”

  Volk leaned in as well. “Depends. What are we putting on the line?”

  She pointed toward a section of the workshop where a hand-carved sign read: Artifacts. “If Beric wins the entire tournament,” she said, “you’ll forge him a custom Artifact, one of his choosing.”

  Volk visibly twitched. “Of course you’d say that.”

  “But,” she continued smoothly, “if he even loses one match, just one, I’ll pay off my entire tab. Every coin.”

  The light in Volk’s eyes suddenly sparked like a forge catching flame.

  “You’re on,” he said, extending a hand.

  They shook on it, grinning like gamblers with fire in their veins.

  Uhm, why do I have to be in the middle of this?

  I slowly backed up as tiny sparks began to form from their little eye staring contest.

  I wanted to leave, but Sys was distracted by the merchandise.

  The shop’s interior looked like a disaster had been recovered from, like a forge had exploded and then politely reassembled itself into a showroom. Walls of dark stone were scorched in places, marked with blast stains and deep nicks from test swings gone wrong. Weapon racks were crammed in tight rows, some leaning slightly under the weight of gear too heavy for most people to lift, let alone wield. Tools hung from overhead beams—blacksmith hammers, rune-stamping chisels, tongs large enough to grip a horse—and everything smelled of smoke, metal, and just a hint of burnt leather. The forge at the back glowed silently, its heat radiating into the room and causing the air to shimmer above it.

  As for the merchandise, among the usual fare of swords, spears, and axes, there were the Artifacts: the magical tools and weapon hybrids. Each tool had a sign next to it, informing the viewer of its use. For example, there was a set of shimmering throwing knives, which were supposedly able to return to the thrower’s hand mid-flight. There was a lantern that never ran out of fuel, a bracer that vibrated when danger was near, and a ring with shifting symbols that reportedly let you understand any language, if you could figure out how to activate it. Some weapons had built-in enchantments. One had flame along the blade’s edge, another with ice that trailed behind a swing, and even a halberd that adjusted its weight based on the user.

  The thing about Weapon Artifacts is that you can’t simply buy them.

  “What do you mean?”

  Remember the whole Core Reset thing? With the True Avatar?

  “Yeah?”

  If the weapon that appears during your True Avatar doesn’t match the Weapon Artifact that you buy, then the soul within it will simply not allow you to wield it.

  “So, since mine was a sword, I can only wield a sword?”

  Yep.

  That blows.

  But still, while a sword might not be the rarest or most unique weapon out there, it’s because of how common it is that it’s birthed so many unique variations. After all, it’s the only weapon with unique styles, such as the ones you learned from Liora.

  “I guess.” I murmured. My fingers gently traced the cold, polished blade of a certain sword. “There are a lot of Sword Artifacts.”

  And if you win the tournament, then you can have one of your very own.

  I let out a quiet sigh.

  Win the tournament? Yeah, right.

  “How am I supposed to win when there are people like Cedric and Merilda?”

  Well, they’re not entering this time. So technically, you don’t need to worry about them.

  “But from what Alric said before, there are probably tons of other geniuses at their level. And remember those kids? They talked about that Mayern guy, the baron’s son, and even Merilda’s little sister.” I rubbed my face. “Ugh. Why do I have to go up against geniuses?”

  I’ve always hated geniuses, or just naturally talented people in general. I hated the idea that some people could just be good at something, while I had to claw and scrape my way just to be average. Sports, grades, games—it never mattered. I always had to work twice as hard just to keep up.

  Why did there have to be geniuses here, too?

  And why did I have to be the one pitted against them?

  Did I spend my time right?

  Did I actually train as hard as I could have?

  Did I…....really try?

  Did I waste it?

  But, so are you? You’re one of them.

  “Meh.”

  I needed the memories of a past life and an entire system just to catch up. I don’t think that counts as being a genius.

  You don’t feel confident anymore?

  I don’t know if I really ever did.

  “I guess.”

  Man, if that’s how you’re feeling, then you seriously have nothing to worry about. Both Alric and Liora are super confident you can win this thing. That’s why Alric put you up against Merilda back then. And why Liora made that absurd bet with Volk. They believe in you, dude.

  “That’s because they have to.”

  Huh?

  “They’re the ones who spent all that time training me. If I lose, it’s kind of their fault. Me losing means their……ideals are wrong. That their way of fighting is wrong. Basically, they need me to win. It’s not that they personally believe I can. They just need me to win to prove they’re not wrong.”

  It’s pretty selfish.

  Ah. Here we go again. He's going to return.

  Annoying Beric has surfaced once again for his usual whining session. What is it now? Feeling angry at how unfair everything is? Overwhelmed by envy toward the geniuses of the world who remain ahead, even after you traded your very soul just to get a head start?

  Yeah, I do.

  It’s not like that’s unexpected. You’ve always been slow. You've always had to work twice as hard just to catch up. Except you never actually do. You don’t even try that extra bit. That’s why you keep complaining about those geniuses, always blaming fate or luck for not blessing you the same way, when you could’ve just shut up and done the work.

  But I did work hard this time.

  So what? It’s still not enough. You’ve always known that hard work alone doesn’t cut it. Hard work without god-given talent is just a loser’s way of convincing themselves they did something.

  You’re not a genius.

  You’re just a sulking loser.

  A sudden molten rock zipped right past my face.

  “Sorry about that!” Volk called out.

  He’s back again. He’s usually quiet, but I guess this was the perfect moment to knock me down a peg, though there have been plenty of other chances.

  Hmm, well, there is one difference here.

  You.

  I wonder if he only shows up when I talk to you. But why? Does he do it because he likes having an audience watch me suffer?.........Or does he do it because—

  You like it.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  As I left the store because of a sudden shift in temperature, either from Volk returning to his forge, or the sheer atmosphere of those two egging each other on, I found myself in front of a tall, narrow building tucked between a candle-maker’s and a calligraphy supply shop. At first glance, it didn’t look like much. There was no sign, no flashing display, just a dark wooden door framed by stone columns and a carved owl perched above the entrance, its eyes inlaid with a blue gem. But the scent that drifted out as someone exited, of a mix of old paper, ink, and something faintly floral, it told me everything I needed to know.

  The library was quieter than I expected, but not silent. The sound of pages turning, soft footsteps across worn rugs, and the faint ticking of some unseen clock gave the space an enjoyable rhythm. It was tall, three stories at least, with shelves that stretched from the ground all the way up to a glass-paneled ceiling that filtered in golden light. Spiral staircases spiraled like vines between the levels, and ladders on wheels creaked as they were pushed from shelf to shelf by robed attendants.

  It reminded me of back then.

  Tables were scattered throughout, some with people hunched over books, others completely covered in scrolls, quills, and whatever else was available here. A central desk sat near the entrance, manned by a thin, owl-eyed librarian who didn’t even look up when I came up to her.

  “Take what you want, leave the money here, and return when you want to. Have a good day.”

  Real welcoming.

  She was the stark opposite of Mrs. G-

  “Beric?”

  I turned to the familiar figure of Elder Walden with a book in hand.

  While he wasn’t wearing a hooded mantle, he still wore his dark cloak that covered basically his entire body, save for his face. His walking stick, the same strict and old face, yet. He was the exact same.

  “What are you doing here? You should be warming up for the tournament.”

  “I wanted to explore the city first.”

  “Hm.” He then returned to reading his book.

  Huh. I can't say I was expecting anything else.

  “Elder Walden?”

  “Yes?” He replied without looking up, still reading.

  “So why are you here?”

  “It’s quiet and calm. It’s too much of a bother to be out there with everyone.”

  Loner. Oh, uh, no offense.

  “Shut the he-”

  I stopped myself.

  “I see. But shouldn’t you be used to it by now? I mean, isn’t this your, what, nine hundredth time coming here?”

  He looked up at me.

  Uh oh.

  “.........It’s much louder this year.”

  He must be in a good mood.

  I eyed that walking stick of his warily. Usually, it would’ve left a dent in my head by now.

  “Isn’t it always loud?”

  “Yes, but this year it’s different. There are many more people, probably because last year’s festival got canceled, and also because of the appearance of them.”

  “Them?”

  He flipped a page. “Have you met Alric’s pupils yet?”

  “Oh, you mean Cedric and Merilda?”

  “Yes, those two.” He closed the book and pulled out another. “Those students are famous soldiers, and many more like them have appeared this year. It’s because of that, plus the canceled festival last year, that even more people have come. It’s almost like-” He paused. “There’s a reason for it.”

  “A reason?”

  He frowned at what he was reading and swapped books. “It could be that the Count has a big announcement for everyone, which is why he called everyone here.”

  The count. Roland, Elara, and Selene. I wonder when I’ll see them again.

  “Never mind that.” He suddenly shut his book. “The tournament starts soon. You don’t have time to waste here. Go on, head over now.”

  “Oh, right.” I turned to leave……..but then I stopped.

  What’s up Beric?

  I needed to do this.

  “Hey, Elder Walden?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think I can win?”

  I already knew what he’d say. He’d say he believes in me. He’d say it because of all the time he’s wasted on me. He’d say it because of the assurance he needs for both me and myself. He needs to say it……...and I need to hear it.

  I need to hear that. Even if I think it’s wrong, even if I know it’s not true, I can’t help but want to hear it.

  I want someone to tell me I’m doing alright.

  “I don’t care if you win.”

  Oh. I forgot. It’s Elder Walden.

  What did I expect?

  “If you win, you’ll get tons of praise and admiration for that power at such a young age. If you lose, it’ll just be chalked up to inexperience. You might impress some people, but in the end, you’re just a loser.”

  Yikes.

  “However, did you come here to win?”

  I turned to him.

  “Did you spend those three years training under the three of us, pushing yourself every single day until you collapsed, all for this one tournament? Did you work tirelessly until you could barely stand, just to win in a brutal slugfest? Did you vow to get stronger, to change from that pitiful child you once were, all to impress your family?”

  ………”No.”

  “That’s right. You came here to prove your strength. You wanted to show how much you’ve grown. You wanted to help that Sprite of yours too, didn’t you?”

  I gripped my chest. I’d somehow forgotten about her.

  “Y-Yes.”

  “Then you’ll be fine. You don’t need to win to prove any of that. You just need to give it your best. Winning isn’t the only way to gain something.”

  Ah, right. Who did I think I was? There never was a chance for me to win. "I understand.” I turned to leave again.

  “However, yes.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I do believe you can win.”

  “Elder Walden—”

  “You better win, considering I spent all those years personally training you. If you don’t, you’re just a waste of potential.”

  ………Ah.

  “Don’t overthink it. Show what you’ve learned and do it with everything you’ve got. If you win, you win. If you lose, you lose. But no matter what, give it your all. You’ve been trying your best under us all these years, haven’t you? Just do the same here.”

  The same. When did I try? When did I give it my all?

  I thought back to those laps with Alric. I remembered running until I collapsed, rolling like a tumbleweed across the ground. I remembered Alric’s laughter, but also how he stayed by my side, waiting patiently for me to recover. I remembered his quiet patience as I struggled to finish each grueling workout.

  I thought back to those sword drills with Liora. I remembered swinging my sword until my hands could no longer hold on. I remembered Liora’s soft yet confident corrections as I tried to perfect my form. I remembered the pride in her voice when I did well in our mock duels.

  I thought back to my lessons with Walden. I remembered his harsh voice snapping when I botched a spell. I remembered the light taps of his walking stick when I dozed off while reading the books he gave me. And I remembered his quiet, proud smile when the Sprite and I finally succeeded at a new spell.

  I remembered that they all took the time to teach me, and I remembered that, through it all, I stayed.

  Maybe I stayed because I was scared of Alric’s punishments. Maybe I stayed because, while Liora’s lessons were repetitive, they were still manageable. Maybe I stayed out of self-hatred, desperate to grow stronger as fast as possible.

  But I stayed.

  And while I didn’t progress as much as I wanted, and while some might say I wasted this second chance at life, I still tried.

  And you know what? Those three years weren’t just time passing by. I did work hard……..but so did they.

  I’ve seen their stats. They had the talent and the drive I envied.

  But whatever. I don’t have their talents, nor their same relentless ambition.

  However, I have my own. My own talent, and the will to push it forward. No matter how small or insignificant it may seem, I’ve managed to come this far.

  And it’s time to show it.

  I lost focus when Elder Walden lightly hit my forehead with his walking stick.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “.........I did.”

  “Then?”

  It’s true that, by this point, I should have become an adventurer. There’s no excuse with how poorly I’m handling this life, but, you know, it wasn’t easy getting here. It took a lot of willpower to push through.

  That’s got to be something to be proud of.

  And it’s my life anyway. I can live at whatever pace I want to. Though, is it what I expected? No.

  But I’m still enjoying it.

  “I will win.”

  He lightly hit me again. “Then, get going. You can’t win if you’re not present. If you’re late, they may disqualify you.”

  Oh shit.

  I then ran off as fast as I could, Sys flying behind me in a flurry.

  “Hmph, just like his brother.” Elder Walden said before returning to reading his book.