The sound of steel rang out as Tyrius deflected another strike and lunged forward, aiming to skewer his opponent while his guard was down.

  But the man only leaned back, bringing his offhand around.

  Tyrius’ blade met an armored forearm—sparks burst as steel scraped down the length of the guard. The resistance threw off his balance. He stumbled.

  His enemy sidestepped smoothly and raked a line down Tyrius’ back with a precise, punishing slice.

  Gritting his teeth, Tyrius regained his footing, careful to avoid the narrow channels of water carved into the floor. He spun and brought his sword up just in time to catch the incoming downward strike.

  The force of the blow rattled his arms. He braced with both hands, pushing back against the pressure as his attacker flexed and pressed down harder.

  Two projectiles came at him from either side. Tyrius angled his blade, allowing his opponent’s weapon to slide along its edge—

  Then, using the momentum, he spiraled out of the way, narrowly avoiding the incoming attacks.

  Maintaining that momentum, Tyrius flared his leg out, aiming a high kick at his foe’s head—

  But a sudden force slammed into his back, knocking him off balance. He staggered, earning another cut down his spine.

  Spinning with a flash of anger in his eyes, Tyrius swung wildly.

  The man deflected with ease, then swept Tyrius’ legs out from under him.

  Oh shi—

  Mid-fall, Tyrius saw his master follow through with a brutal motion—bringing the pommel of his sword down toward Tyrius’ head with a deafening crack casting his vision black.

  Stars swam in his eyes while his vision fought to return. Slowly he regained his bearings and found his cheek was pressed to the floor and he felt the cuts along his back rapidly stitching back together alongside a warm glow.

  “You’re still not using your skill right!” Tyrius’ master snapped coldly.

  “I can’t push it in every direction,” Tyrius muttered from the ground, watching his master’s feet pace back and forth in thought.

  “It doesn’t make sense. You’ve managed to expand your perception further than the skill should even allow. That’s unheard of. And yet, you say you can only push it out in a thin cone? That’s ridiculous. You should be able to see in every direction at once.”

  “It doesn’t work,” Tyrius said, using his arms to unsteadily push himself back up. “I keep trying to explain—my perception only seems to work in a concentrated direction, that I spin around to find your attacks.”

  “I know. That’s why it’s so easy to sneak a hit in on you,” his master said with another frustrated sigh. “You’re not seeing everything at once. But you must be able to. If you’ve trained this lesser skill to such a degree, it can be trained further. The sensitivity you’re showing is unheard of for a lesser skill—it’s nearly on par with a regular ability. If you could form a full perception sphere, there’s no telling what the Ethereal Words might offer you next week when you undergo your ascension trial.”

  “I know. You keep saying that. And I keep trying. But nothing’s working,” Tyrius grumbled.

  He’d had several breakthroughs with the ability since first encountering that strange veil. He’d torn it open, pushed it farther back from his body, and had begun sensing things well beyond his natural reach. That alone had been enough to let him catch the water droplets and start popping the orbs.

  But his perception only extended in a narrow cone. He had to spin it constantly around himself like a radar to locate incoming attacks.

  Once he got used to that, he did well during meditation—at least until Metz or his master inevitably increased the difficulty.

  The orbs started getting harder to pop. He was told each one had a weak point he had to strike precisely. So now, Tyrius had to rotate his cone of perception around his body, search for those weak points, and cast his awareness upward at regular intervals to catch the damn droplets.

  It felt like his head was on fire sometimes.

  When he explained this to his master, the man had only looked at him, confused.

  “Wait—you don’t feel all around you at once? It’s a perception skill. That’s how they work.”

  Tyrius had insisted that no, he couldn’t. He only saw in that cone.

  From that point on, his master seemed to think he simply wasn’t practicing hard enough. They had long since moved to using steel blades in training.

  And though Tyrius had to admit his swordplay had improved, and his combat style was refining by the day from the added danger, he hated getting beaten and sliced half to death every day only to be told he was doing it wrong.

  His master sighed again. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

  “Okay. Just go meditate on the boulder while I think.”

  Tyrius rolled his eyes and got to his feet. With practiced ease, he walked over to the boulder and began climbing its face.

  He noticed, not for the first time, that although the rock was massive it had been seemingly getting smaller.

  However, that didn't matter to him and he paid it no mind. What did Tyrius care if the stupid meditation boulder was shrinking at a noticeable rate.

  A moment later, he was at the top, settling into a lotus position.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  He was already casting his perception outward, intercepting orbs as they drifted near.

  With each glob of mana, he quickly studied it, searching for the thinnest point in its structure before poking it and letting it pop.

  All the while, he flared his awareness upward toward the point above—snagging the occasional drop with his index finger and letting it trail down his arm. He made sure to alternate hands after each interception.

  Tyrius found this meditation game surprisingly good for the brain. There was a lot to keep track of, after all.

  Still, he always got hit sooner or later. He couldn’t fully sense everything around him.

  He felt two orbs breach the edge of his perception—too fast.

  They struck him hard, slamming into his sides and knocking him down onto the rock.

  He heard another sigh from behind him and felt his master’s eyes on his back—the disappointment they held.

  Tyrius knew the man was watching him at all times now and he was getting real tired of that look the man always had on his face now.

  The silence lingered for a long moment as he continued until he got hit again.

  “I do not think you have the proper incentive,” his master said firmly, breaking the quiet—his disappointed tone immediately grated on him and he had enough.

  “What!?” Tyrius spat, venom lacing his voice. He didn’t even bother to look at the man.

  “I’ve been working my ass off for this. I’ve tried everything I can think of—for you. I’ve bled for this. For you.

  “And I’m already farther ahead than anyone else my age should be—according to you.

  “But this one thing? I can’t do it. Maybe it’s not even possible. But now, all you do is look at me like I’m a failure.”

  His voice shook.

  “I guess you sort of own me now though, right? I mean... you won’t even tell me your name, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  His fists clenched.

  “Who wouldn’t be disappointed if their show horse couldn’t jump high enough?”

  Tyrius hadn’t been able to have a normal conversation with the man in months. It was like he’d become obsessed. He saw some imperfection—and he needed it fixed.

  If he’d just left the skill alone, Tyrius didn’t think the man would have changed at all. But having this half-working, not-even-meant-to-be-a-real-skill lesser ability? That was a blemish his master just couldn’t stand.

  Tyrius had never felt like an object around him before—but for the better part of a year, that’s all he’d been.

  Always another critique.

  Always being told he wasn’t trying hard enough.

  So they trained harder.

  Until Tyrius could no longer move.

  That is—he couldn’t move until—He felt the warmth of healing begin to seep into him, chasing away the cold sting of the stone beneath him.

  “Leave it!” Tyrius snapped.

  The warmth vanished—like a hand jerking away from a hot stove.

  And somehow, he found comfort in the cold, wet stone. The pain he felt in his joints was better than the healing his master brought, because it only meant more punishment.

  He used to love that warmth.

  But lately...

  Lately, it just felt like another tool. Another way to squeeze more performance out of him.

  No different than spurring a horse to run faster.

  Tyrius had never spoken to the man like that before. He was a bit shocked himself.

  But he couldn’t take being treated like an object anymore.

  He had started to like his master—but if this was any indication of how he’d be treated after advancement...

  Then honestly?

  He’d rather die now.

  The moment dragged. The silence stretched long enough that Tyrius began to think he might actually be killed.

  Tears rolled down his cheeks—he couldn’t help it.

  Tyrius had already lost everyone and if he lost his master, he would be truly alone. And he couldn’t take that.

  A long sigh finally broke the silence. Then the warmth returned, without warning and without care. It was coiling itself around the boy like a snake constricting it's catch. It began to heal his injuries, it began to heal his fatigue. And then it began to lift the boy.

  He wanted to fight it but how could he? A cold pit sank in his stomach as a realization blossomed in his mind.

  He wouldn’t force me... would he?

  Tyrius’ blood froze. Real fear gripped him for the first time in years.

  He remembered the man who had stood over him that night—the one he’d so quickly handed his life over to just so he could live.

  He remembered then: the being looking at him was very powerful.

  And that thought terrified him.

  “No, don’t—stop it!” Tyrius cried out, thrashing his arms.

  The warmth continued to lift him. Drag him upward.

  Tyrius clawed at the obsidian beneath him, trying to stay down.

  His fingernails tore off. Bloody streaks painted the smooth black surface. But still, he was pulled upright. He was sobbing now, body limp.

  Then he was turned. Forced to face his master.

  The room was dark. Heavy with mist.

  They had been training deep into the night—and for the first time, Tyrius looked at this stone enclosure not as a gift, but as a prison.

  The man towered over him, casting Tyrius fully in his shadow.

  Slowly, he was drawn forward.

  His master raised both his arms—high—like a puppeteer preparing to command his doll.

  Tyrius squeezed his eyes shut.

  “No, please... no. Kill me. Please.”

  He continued to be dragged—until arms closed around him.

  “Nooo,” Tyrius pleaded weakly, slamming his fists into the man’s chest.

  His master was kneeling, gently wrapping his arms around the boy. He let Tyrius struggle until he couldn’t anymore—until only soft sniffles filled the room.

  And still, his master held him.

  “Tyrius. I’m sorry,” he said simply, with sincerity.

  “Don’t force me…” Tyrius sobbed, still trying to push away. But he knew—his master’s grip would be unyielding.

  “I hadn’t even realized I was pushing you this far, my boy. Sometimes I forget what it feels like or rather felt like. It's harder for me to understand sometimes because of my tier and when I get fixated on something. I keep trudging away until I'm satisfied. I didn't mean to drag you with me Tyrius. It’s okay. Take a deep breath. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Tyrius’ sniffles began to fade as he realized he was only being hugged.

  “My name is Arlac,” his master said gently, “now how about we make a deal. What do you say to that?”

  That caught Tyrius’ attention.

  Arlac? I thought he'd be more like a Balthazar or Edwin.

  But Tyrius wasn't focused on the name just yet.

  No, he loved to negotiate—and in the rare times he’d tried it with his master Arlac, he always felt like he came out ahead. Sure, Arlac would always smile like he got the better end, but who cared if Tyrius had to train a little more for extra food?

  With careful consideration, he opened his eyes and looked away.

  “What kind of deal?”

  The training room was no longer dark. The glowing riverbed had returned, and its reflections danced along the walls.

  Tyrius thought he caught a smirk on his master’s face before the man stood, hands clasped behind his back, and began slowly pacing a circle around him.

  “I will not train you or push you in any way for the next week. You’ll be completely free to do as you please.”

  “Okay… and what do I have to do?” Tyrius asked, already liking the sound of it.

  “Nothing. That is the deal,” his master said immediately.

  What, so I get his name for free, and now he wants to give me a week off?

  This was exactly what Tyrius meant—this deal was stacked in his favor. He could almost laugh.

  But he had to play it cool.

  “Okay, bu—”

  “But,” his master cut in, “I would like you to dedicate yourself to fixing this little skill issue we’ve identified.”

  “And what if I can’t? Or… don’t?”

  “Then nothing. We move on.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “Okay… then it’s a de—”

  “But if you do manage to figure it out—to a degree that I find acceptable—then I shall answer one question. One question, with full honesty.”

  Wait… so I get to learn his name, and if I pull this off, I also get a free question?

  What a steal.

  “Deal,” Tyrius said immediately, thrusting his hand out.

  Arlac had been behind him a second ago as he explained—but he suddenly appeared in front, taking Tyrius’ hand and shaking it firmly.

  That smile again. Arlac looked like he just got done stealing some suckers wallet. But it made no sense to Tyrius.

  I clearly got the better end of this deal though…

  Tyrius then realized he was smiling like an idiot. Still shaking hands.

  He quickly let go, face warming in embarrassment—over the crying, over thinking the man would control him like a puppet.

  He laughed softly to himself.

  He wouldn’t do that… of course not…

  …Right?