Alyssa pushed me past exhaustion. Even after draining every last drop of Torment in that sprint, she didn’t let up. Push-ups, long jumps, flexibility tests—how far could I bend, stretch, twist? Could my tail hold my weight on its own? (It could.) Every physical test in the book, and then more.

  Days passed in a blur of strain and repetition. When I wasn’t moving, I was recovering, but even then, she kept watching, evaluating, analyzing. The questions I threw at her were mostly ignored, brushed off with vague non-answers.

  She never wrote anything down. Not once. Yet every time she made a new request, it was like she already knew what I was capable of, like she was storing every movement, every limit, somewhere in that sharp mind of hers.

  After a couple of days, we moved back to the swamp. She watched as I fought, as I took hits, as I let pain carve Torment back into me. And then we did it all over again—every test, every measure, every demand.

  Frustration built in me like a slow burn. I could acknowledge the usefulness of this. Having a deep understanding of my own limits was valuable, but I was getting no answers. No explanations.

  It started to feel like I was wasting my time.

  When I finally voiced my frustration, Alyssa blinked, looking genuinely confused. “Wasting your time? I know Earth is about to be inducted and you need to get as strong as possible, but you have way more time than you realize.”

  I frowned. “What do you mean?”

  She tilted her head slightly, studying me like she was trying to gauge how much I actually understood. “Your lifespan increases as you level up. You’re only in E right now, but that’s already hundreds of years. If you reach A, time stops mattering.”

  She said it so casually, like it was common knowledge. Maybe it was. But it was still news to me.

  My breath caught. Hundreds of years? If I reached A, I wouldn’t age at all.

  Not immortal. She didn’t say I couldn’t die. Just that I wouldn’t wither away. But still—a lifespan without an expiration date.

  A wonderful little piece of knowledge.

  "Still, you’re right to bring up time," Alyssa continued, stretching her arms above her head before settling back against the bench. "I lose track of it sometimes. My specialization is about discovering new races and detailing them for my planet. I’ve been marking your efforts and sending my findings to my family."

  Then she absolutely beamed at me.

  "In fact, you’ve given me almost twenty specialization levels." She let that hang in the air, watching my reaction with something close to glee. "You are mind-boggling. I’ve never leveled this fast. It’s like just being near you is itself an achievement."

  She had been leveling off of me.

  Instead of teaching, she was the one learning. Instead of training me, she had been observing, cataloging, growing stronger in the process. And from the way she said it, from the sheer delight radiating off her, she didn’t feel even a hint of guilt.

  The little brat.

  I couldn't help but smile. I was helping her. Not just taking.

  A quiet laugh escaped me as I reached out, tapping the top of her head like she was some excitable child. "Let’s do this as a give and take then. I’ll keep doing your tests, but I need information. For example, how do you level your specialization? Mine is listed as 1E, but I can’t interact with it at all."

  The moment I said that, she practically bounced in place, barely containing her excitement. It was like she had expected me, again, to not know something so simple, and the confirmation absolutely delighted her.

  “A specialization defines you,” she said, her words tumbling over themselves in her eagerness. “It’s what drives you—your passion. The system recognizes that and shapes your path accordingly.”

  She beamed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “That’s why I took this job! A new world being inducted? Of course there’d be new races to study—and then you showed up!” Her voice pitched higher toward the end, teetering on the edge of a squeal.

  “The system discovered that when people understood their own motivations, they were far more willing to push themselves forward.” She clapped her hands together, eyes gleaming. “So, really, it’s just helping you become more of who you’re meant to be!”

  Her words stuck, settling deeper than I expected. I had always wanted to be a hero. I had wanted to save others, to be the kind of person who stood between the helpless and the horrors of the world. But had wanted—past tense. Somewhere along the way, that drive had dulled, or maybe it had twisted into something unrecognizable. Was that why I failed the test to become a hero? Because my wants had changed before I even realized it?

  The thought unsettled me.

  If the system shaped people based on their desires, what did that say about me? My eyes drifted to the description of my path, the words standing stark against the void.

  “The system does not guide you…”

  It didn’t push, didn’t force, didn’t lead. It only reflected what was already there. If I couldn’t interact with my specialization, then maybe the issue wasn’t with the system. Maybe it was with me.

  I had a billion more questions. Questions about my chosen Path, about Alyssa, about her planet. How could she send information to her family across worlds? How did specializations even work in the long run? Was she bound by hers, or did she have the freedom to shape it? The questions were endless, burning in me with a need I couldn’t ignore.

  This was my life now. I needed to understand it. But the world didn’t work that way. People were coming. To my swamp, and I recognized multiple of them. They were the ones who waited and watched with me. The ones I marked as more dangerous than others.

  There were at least six of them. Four humans, one elf, and one Orc. They approached with arms raised in peace. Once they got close, the Orc stepped out in front. He was large and heavily muscled. Intimidating. Not a great choice of a leader to signal peace, but a fantastic choice to threaten.

  “Have you seen a demon around here? We have urgent business with him and he moved off in this direction.”

  I couldn’t help but smile internally. So they had stayed, watched, and tracked which way I had gone. Smart of them. But outwardly, my expression remained neutral, giving away nothing.

  “A demon?” My voice carried only mild curiosity. “What business do you have with him?”

  The orc moved closer, slow and deliberate, looming over me with the weight of his presence alone. I wasn’t small, but he dwarfed me, easily a head taller, built like a fortress of muscle. The kind of strength that didn’t just threaten—it promised.

  “You smell like him,” he rumbled, his voice more growl than speech. “Like a cousin.”

  His breath washed over me, not foul like I had expected, but fresh, sharp with something almost clean. That, more than anything, caught me off guard.

  Before I could craft some flippant remark, Alyssa stepped in, her tone light, almost casual, yet perfectly placed to defuse the moment.

  “We had to fight off another human who attacked us,” she said smoothly, turning her attention toward the orc as if offering an explanation. “He had a teacher—a demon. We won the fight, but before he disappeared, the demon did something. Brushed Sylas here with his shadow.” She tilted her head slightly, feigning uncertainty. “I think he’s marked.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The way she said it, so effortlessly, so innocently, was almost enough to make me question my own memory. The white lies were woven so neatly into the truth that I barely caught them, and I had been there when it happened.

  The orc studied me for a long moment, his massive frame still and imposing, as if weighing whether to accept the explanation or press further. His eyes flicked toward Alyssa, then back to me.

  I didn’t blink. Let him wonder.

  One of the humans in the rear called out, his tone light but edged with authority. “Ugvosh, at ease, man. Demons share the same scent—it’s part of their race. One of the reasons they’re not trusted.”

  The speaker was tall and lanky, his movements fluid as he strode forward with a deliberate lack of caution. His confidence was calculated, meant to disarm.

  “I can examine you if you’d like,” he continued, his easy demeanor betraying no tension. “See if you’re marked by the demon. If you are, we might be able to use that to draw him back here. That would be... super helpful to us.”

  I narrowed my eyes, the casual way he spoke setting my teeth on edge. This was my territory now. I had claimed it with blood over the last month, carved it into the bones of the swamp through trial and survival. And this human thought he could just walk in, making requests as if I owed him something.

  “Get out.”

  He faltered, clearly thrown by the venom in my voice. But he was determined.

  “Look, friend, we can help one anoth—”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  My tail curled slowly behind me, rising inch by inch, deliberate as a serpent preparing to strike.

  The air thickened, tension coiling tight, balanced on the edge of something violent. A single misstep, one wrong word, and this would explode.

  Frustration clawed at me—I should have appraised them the moment they arrived. I activated Cloaked Appraisal now, and the information sent a smirk curling at the edge of my lips.

  Level 19. All of them. They must be on their specialization quest. And somehow, I was part of it.

  That explained why they were looking for the demon. But me? I was no longer bound by the same restrictions. With Alyssa pushing me, testing me, I had already climbed to level 27.

  If a fight broke out, I would dominate them. With pain.

  Ugvosh moved first.

  I caught the shift before he lunged—the tightening of his shoulders, the weight shifting in his stance—but knowing didn’t mean stopping it. His fist came fast, a brutal hammer aimed at my head. I burned Torment, forcing my body to move faster than instinct alone would allow, twisting away—only to catch the flash of movement behind me.

  The lanky human.

  His sword whistled through the air, forcing another pivot. I wasn’t fast enough. The blade bit deep into my side, sharp enough that I only felt the pressure at first, the pain a delayed pulse in my nerves.

  More movement. The second human, dagger low, lunging for my gut.

  I spun, sacrificing balance for speed, and lashed out with my tail. She tried to duck, but the strike connected, sending her stumbling. I barely had time to track her before something punched through my shoulder.

  An arrow.

  I snarled, ripping it free before the pain could settle. The elf had already knocked another.

  Too many. Too coordinated.

  They weren’t just attacking; they were pressuring me. Cutting off space. Limiting my options. Ugvosh wasn’t the real threat—he was the wall. The unshakable force keeping me locked in place while the others bled me out, piece by piece.

  A cut on my thigh. Another across my ribs. A second arrow, grazing my arm.

  I was bleeding too fast.

  My breath came ragged, muscles burning from the effort of pushing my body past its limits. Torment was a weapon, but I was accumulating it faster than I could spend it. The balance was tipping, the line between control and instinct thinning with every wound they carved into me.

  So far, this had been a test—an unspoken agreement, a measured fight where neither side was truly trying to kill.

  That ended the moment I healed.

  Crimson Reconstitution.

  The skill pulsed through me, activating with a thought. My wounds sealed shut, flesh knitting back together in a rush of stolen agony.

  I felt the shift immediately.

  I should have retreated, should have played it smarter, should have controlled the pace—but those thoughts were slipping away. I was on the edge.

  I lunged at one of the humans, moving in a blur, when a shimmering blue barrier flared to life between us. The sudden obstruction forced me to react mid-motion. Twisting, I planted a foot against the barrier and used it to launch myself toward my real target—the elf.

  Before I could close the distance, something wrenched me backward. A lasso, glowing faintly blue, coiled around my ankle and yanked me toward Ugvosh. I felt it pulse, tendrils of energy expanding as if it were alive, reaching, trying to wrap around me completely. I slashed at it, but my sword passed through like smoke. The damn thing was intangible, yet it still dragged me across the battlefield.

  Fine. If he wanted my attention, he would get it.

  A flicker of movement at my side came too late to counter. A human emerged from my blind spot, blade stabbing toward my kidney. I let the steel sink in, ignoring the pain, embracing it. Another wound. Another thread of agony to weave into my growing Torment. My lips curled, breath sharp, as a pulse of something dark and eager coiled in my chest. This was getting fun.

  I turned my full fury on Ugvosh. He thought he was superior. How dare he. I attacked with everything I had, forcing him back with a relentless assault, my strikes coming faster, harder. Defense no longer mattered. Every opening I took, another wound followed, but I barely felt them. Ugvosh’s movements turned frantic, his massive arms barely keeping up as I drove him into a corner. Fear flickered in his eyes, and I relished it.

  Then that fucking shield appeared again.

  Every time I forced an opening, a flash of blue swallowed my attack, blocking what should have been a devastating blow. I shifted my angle, feinted, tried to outpace it, but the barrier was always there, perfectly timed, perfectly placed. My frustration turned to fury. My attacks became wild, raw. I burned more Torment, pushing past limits, feeding the madness, but the damage I took was mounting.

  I spared Crimson Reconstitution only for the worst wounds, letting the lesser injuries stack, letting them drive me deeper into instinct.

  Then I saw it.

  A brutal strike forced Ugvosh to stumble, his balance faltering for the first time. The lasso flickered, its grip momentarily loosening. That was all I needed.

  I drove my sword forward in what should have been a kill strike. The shield started to flare to life. Good. At the last second, I twisted, breaking my momentum and pivoting into a spin. My sword vanished into my inventory as my off-hand grabbed Fangpiercer.

  I had seen him casting the shields. I had watched, waited. He could only maintain one at a time.

  Fangpiercer flew from my grip in a perfect arc, charged with Torment, turning into a silver blur as it cut through the air. The elf barely had time to register it before the dagger buried itself deep into his chest.

  The shield around Ugvosh flickered and died.

  I completed my spin and drove a kick into the orc’s chest, sending him staggering backward.

  BOOM!

  An explosion erupted beneath me, launching me through the air. Pain struck like a hammer, a concussive force that rattled my bones. I barely registered crashing into—no, through—a tree, the bark splintering on impact.

  Before I could regain my bearings, I caught a flicker of movement below me—a sigil flaring to life.

  BOOM!

  The second blast detonated before I could react, but I managed to brace this time. Instead of tearing through another tree, I only slammed into it, the impact rattling my skull. Smoke and scorched earth filled my senses, my arms shredded, burns searing deep, but none of it mattered. I couldn’t care.

  The mage stood at the back, already preparing another strike. My body tensed, ready to push through, ready to—

  And then she was there.

  Alyssa moved with an effortless grace, a blur that barely registered before my mind caught up. She wasn’t just fast—it was something more. Measured. Precise. Each movement controlled, deliberate, striking with the fluidity of a master who had done this a thousand times before. And yet, somehow, I saw it.

  She flowed between them, her strikes landing in rapid succession. Every hit was surgical—clean, efficient. The moment her hand made contact, they froze. Bodies locked in place, rigid, trapped within themselves. The orc. The humans. The elf, even me. In a single blink, the battle ended.

  And then, like puppets on invisible strings, we were lifted into the air. Drawn to her. Suspended, motionless, encircling her like students in a classroom.

  She spoke, slow and measured, or maybe my mind was too dazed to keep up.

  "You all did great.”

  The words barely registered. My dagger—Fangpiercer—was yanked free from the elf’s chest with those invisible strings, his body immediately wrapped in a familiar green glow. The same healing magic she had used on me before.

  The fight was over. Just like that.