They had outings about once a week, on average. Sometimes the trainees would have to fight goblin nests—never war goblins—with varyingly large numbers of weaker goblins. Sometimes they faced other smaller scale threats. More often they were dropped individually or in teams of eight into the wilderness and had to survive for a few days or make their way to some destination; Ranthia almost always got stuck wearing a blindfold on such wilderness survival outings. And every now and then they were sent in random teams into the colosseum, though that abelisaurus never had to face Ranthia again (and yes, that was exactly how she thought about it; she wanted revenge), only fodder meant for them to kill.

  Ranthia’s 20th birthday came and went, barely noticed. Then the summer solstice. And on the one-year anniversary of the academy starting, the trainees found themselves gathered in the courtyard instead of attending to their morning exercises.

  “You are all halfway through your time at this Academy! Congratulations! New lesson plans have been prepared for everyone. Come get ‘em from the instructor or Ranger Team 1 member that took your team on its last outing!” A Sentinel that Ranthia didn’t know the name of called out, before he left with zero fanfare. Ranthia had to quietly laugh at herself when she had the disgruntled thought that he hadn’t even introduced himself—as if it would have mattered.

  Ranthia had to blink at her new schedule once she received it.

  4th Gong: Physical Exercise

  5th Gong: Breakfast

  6th Gong: The Historical Foundations of Imperial Law

  8th Gong: Visualization Exercises

  9th Gong: Hand-to-Hand Training

  10th Gong: Ranged Combat Training

  11th Gong: Unit 2 Sparring

  12th Gong: Lunch

  13th Gong: Geography & Cartography

  14th Gong: Speedster Training

  15th Gong: Advanced Monster Slaying

  17th Gong: Physical Exercise

  18th Gong: Dinner

  19th Gong: Field Leadership Training

  20th Gong: Countering Sapient Foes

  21st Gong: Dance Rehearsal (alternates daily with Woodworking)

  What on Pallos? She wasn’t even sure which part of it was the strangest! Woodworking (why?!) or the… something about dancing that she couldn’t even understand the second part of. And oh sweet Xaoc, she was pretty sure whatever that law-and-other-words class was going to be the worst thing she had ever experienced.

  Ranthia, Statia, and one of the A-Ranked Adventurers—naturally the one that Ranthia barely knew (she was pretty sure he hadn’t been in Ariminum for very long)—were the only ones in the horrific-sounding law course. The class took place in a new building that had popped up away from the villa overnight. A somewhat barebones building, though three small desks and a comfortable-looking chair had been brought in.

  And then one of the head honchos of Ranger Command walked in, a man Ranthia hadn’t seen since their induction ceremony a year ago. The trio scrambled to rise and salute. But the man wordlessly waved them back to their seats, closed the door and activated an inscription that had been carved across every wall in the room, even the ceiling.

  “You three have been selected by recommendations from the Sentinels, collectively, which were augmented by at least five instructors each. Surprised we got even one candidate, let alone three. First, let me say that everything I will cover in this class is top secret. On direct orders from the emperor, if any of you speak of anything you learn in this class to any other person, you will be killed by a Sentinel.” The man announced in a disturbingly conversational tone of voice.

  He didn’t even give any of them the opportunity to opt out.

  “I will be teaching this course personally. In the event I am not here, the three of you will sit quietly in this room until the 8th Gong. We can’t have anything thinking anything is unusual about this course. If anyone asks, just groan and be evasive. Don’t try to be creative, any explanation you might offer has a risk of dropping hints.

  “We will begin this unit by discussing our closest neighboring nation. The dwarves of Khazad.”

  And that was how Ranthia began International Studies.

  Each day—when the commander actually showed, which could be inconsistent—they discussed the other nations that Remus knew of and the people that lived there. There were never other humans, oddly. In fact, most of the other nations seemed to be comprised of a single species almost exclusively.

  The level of detail that was provided varied. Khazad was seemingly well known. The information about The Tympestshard Council—the oddly-named nation of elves—was far more speculative. The Dullahan Dynasties were either idyllic or brutally oppressed in favor of those in power, depending on which account they studied. The harpies were covered in a single day and all the information seemed to suggest they were engaged in some sort of internal strife and best avoided. The nation of the devils was equally enigmatic, as they were noted isolationists. And there were even more out there, it seemed; more than even Ranthia had expected.

  Visualization Exercises had only Ranthia and Statia in it. A class of two that was, once again, held in the new building.

  It was taught by a man neither recognized that refused to give a name or allow them to refer to him by anything—not even Sir. Which certainly wasn’t constantly awkward or confusing.

  He would briefly show them an object, then ask them to write a detailed description of it. Or he might hold a scroll up at an angle and ask them to write their best efforts to recreate what was drawn or written upon it. Or he could enter the room wearing an elaborate outfit, then disappear as soon as he reached his chair, while his disembodied voice asked them to write down every detail about his outfit. After the first two days, they would get no warning on what to pay attention to. Often something elaborate was worn or carried that was a mere red herring and they would be asked to describe something else entirely, such as the exact angle his chair had been in before he sat down.

  The class frustrated Ranthia and gave her headaches almost as awful as those she developed when she tried to control multiple images independently while channeling, but she—quite grudgingly—had to admit that she gained a lot from the class. Her eye for detail and her ability to recall improved steadily.

  She still hated the course though.

  Hand-to-Hand Training was, mercifully, exactly what Ranthia expected and a wonderful return to normalcy. She wasn’t sure if she could have tolerated nonstop weirdness.

  “Grapples, grabs, throws, punches, kicks, tackles. And counters to these. All of this and more will be drilled into you. We’ve gone through some basics already, but you trainees have been selected to learn more. Your skills all favor weaponry, but sometimes we all get caught off-guard or end up disarmed. My responsibility is to ensure you don’t die when that happens!” A balding, but affable, instructor that Ranthia had rarely interacted with announced.

  Twenty-two of them were in that course, which was held outdoors. Each day followed the same format: A quarter gong or so worth of lecture, followed by practicals. It was fun and worth every bruise.

  Ranged Combat Training followed, for the exact same group of students—minus two—in the exact same place. Just a different instructor showed up and took over almost the instant Hand-to-Hand Training concluded.

  “Bows, throwing knives, darts, slings, and even just a rock you find and throw. All of this and more will be drilled into you. We’ve gone through some basics already, but you trainees have been selected to learn more. Your skills all favor melee weaponry, but sometimes we all get caught in situations where you cannot reach your opponent. My responsibility is to ensure that you don’t die when that happens!” The short instructor announced.

  Ranthia found out that the two that left were getting Melee Combat Training instead, from the female instructor.

  Ranthia strongly suspected that the three instructors were tightly coordinating their lectures, because the format was the same in each course and the introductions were uncannily similar.

  They even sometimes got to mingle, as they practiced ranged weapons against the ranged specialists in Melee Combat Training or played the role of melee combat specialists against them.

  Unit 2 Sparring was both Ranthia’s favorite and least favorite of her new courses.

  The twelve trainees over level 200 were the only ones in the course. They were paired off to spar against each other or an instructor or member of Ranger Team 1. Or they formed randomized groups of eight that had to face a random number of instructors or members of Ranger Team 1.

  That all was great and gave Ranthia quite a bit out of the class.

  There was just one problem.

  “Today’s roll of the die says Trainee Ranthia has to wear her blindfold today!”

  She swore the damned piece of carved wood had to be weighted to favor the stupid blindfold.

  Geography & Cartography was, in theory, the same course as it had been during the first year. Except for the second year it had only the three from International Studies in it, and they were in the new building once again. There they studied international maps, terrain, and landmarks.

  It should have been interesting, but frankly the information they had was so rough and piecemeal that Ranthia had to question the merits of the course. One of the maps they studied was created “based upon a poem about the Tympestshard Council” by an unidentified [Artisan] which just… gods it was so stupid that it pissed Ranthia off for days every time it crossed her mind!

  It was better than nothing, but only by the tiniest amount.

  Speedster Training had only a few trainees in it, scattered across the levels. The course had been run during the first year already, but there were a handful of trainees that had either recently gained a speedster class or had gained a speed stat high enough to require the basics. Thus the course was just a rerun for those that didn’t qualify during the first year.

  The lessons were all about how to handle movement, navigation, and combat at high speeds. They also covered how to recognize more subtle signs of Skill use, since speedsters were expected to deal with [Mages].

  Advanced Monster Slaying was, once again, the same three trainees from International Studies. In many ways it was a direct continuation of the normal class Ranthia had enjoyed so much last year. Except now there were additional monsters unveiled, many with downright horrifying levels—including beasts that were often seen over level 800—and they were candid about which nations various beasts were typically found within. Wyverns, hydras, and dinosaurs that Ranthia had never even heard of were discussed, often with first-hand accounts written by others.

  Even in dwarven lands, monsters and beasts were often well over level 200. …And apparently hellhounds came from there. It was nice to have her theory from the first year confirmed, but what the heck had a pack been doing in Remus?

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The course often left Ranthia with a sense of discomfort or with more questions than she had answers to. All too often the answer to how to deal with these monsters was… don’t. The Rangers tended to use a (somewhat self-explanatory and overly obvious, in Ranthia’s mind) framework for dealing with beasts: Placate, kill, drive off, and tolerate—with a silent addition of call a Sentinel.

  Yet it was doubtful that even Hunting could have handled many of the creatures they studied. Ranthia had zero doubts that the man could punch up above his level, but what could anyone do if they were hundreds of levels below their opponent? Placate or tolerate were practically the only viable options, and if they were impossible…

  Well, Adventurers had their own option that the Rangers clearly preferred to ignore: run.

  Field Leadership Training and Countering Sapient Foes were still the exact same classes, just continuing where they left off. It was the same group as last year too, minus the few that had abandoned the Academy since the courses began.

  Ranthia had begun to feel vaguely comfortable with the notion of taking on a leadership role in a team, for a single engagement. And by ‘vaguely comfortable’ she meant that she figured she could if there was no other possible option. She had less than no interest in dealing with leadership responsibilities, and she still had real concerns about the egos at play.

  Kallisto continued to guide her through tactics and counter-tactics when dealing with enemies of potentially comparable intelligence to her own. She had always assumed that the course was about dealing with bandits and other rogue classers, but International Studies had given it a bit of a darker tone in her mind.

  She really didn’t like the possibility. They were all created by the five great gods—Xaoc had a hand in the origin of every being on Pallos. Surely there weren’t any other cultured people living in Pallos that humanity was wholly unable to co-exist with.

  “Ah, there you are darling! Come on, come on! I had been at my wit’s end after Vop stormed out on me, when lo, I get offered a… you! Well, beggars cannot be choosers, as they say. C’mon, get in line sweetie!” An overly animated, extremely old man emoted at her when she opened the door.

  Once again, she was in the new building.

  Except this time, it housed an old man that seemed to be pathologically incapable of holding still or making subdued motions. Him, 15 [Artisans] that were clearly dancers of some form, and three [Bards] were all crammed into the small building. How they weren’t positively melting from so many people in such tight proximity, Ranthia couldn’t explain.

  Ranthia was put into line with the dancers, and then they ran them through a dance number, one-by-one. Ranthia was (apparently?) expected to perform last. The [Bards] were playing a beautiful piece of upbeat music—Ranthia just might have started liking [Bards] at that rate—repeated while each dancer performed their dance. Ranthia was reasonably confident that she had picked up the number pretty well from watching the others perform—she watched their legs and feet primarily this time!—and she was all smiles by the time she finished her own rendition. It had felt great, it was fun, and her joy died a horrific death when she finished and the old man reacted.

  “What was that?! No no no no no no NO! Wrong wrong, oh so wrong! Where is your art? Your passion?! Come darling, don’t act like this is some amateur thing! Oh I… Well, we can fix you. …Hopefully! There is still time, right everyone?” The man never stopped moving while he spoke.

  A few of the other dancers hesitantly nodded, two were outright glaring.

  How was she that bad?!

  The training was redoubled, and Ranthia felt more lost than ever. This had to have been what Hunting set up for her, but what in Xaoc’s eternal chaos was any of this about?! Sure, she was still learning, but she was a [Blade Dancer] now; her class skills wanted to dance. So what was the problem?! Then, partway through the night, Ranthia was offered a new General Skill.

  [The Art of Dance]: Dancing has become a passion of yours, but it was only recently acquired. Your body has yet to embrace proper rhythm. Take this skill and get better, before you ruin the reputation of Fausteo’s Musical Theater. Dancing is more than a set of movements; it is a form of art! Increased sense of rhythm and improved dancing prowess per level. -512 Mana Regen Rate while dancing.

  Ranthia was vaguely resentful that the System had somehow become the only thing that gave her any answers to her questions, but she took the skill. She had a slot open after all. Hunting had advised/forced her to keep it open, so she chose to assume it was for that moment. Especially since the man wasn’t going to be around to correct her for who knew how long.

  The next night when she showed up to Dance Rehearsal, there was—oddly enough—a crowd gathered outside the building. Most of the instructors and a few members of Ranger Team 1 were holding a cookout right in front of the only entrance to the building while they loudly conversed.

  They waved her through.

  “Trainee Ranthia, don’t mind us. We’re just taking a chance to bond and relax while we can. Go on in.” The female instructor called out.

  Weird.

  Ranthia didn’t miss it when the inscriptions lit up as soon as she was inside, activated by an unseen force—much like the logs during the hell months.

  Inside the building was a short, hairy man. …Woman? S/he had a massive beard, so Ranthia had no idea what to think. There were no tattoos, so the individual wasn’t from Laconia—probably—but that didn’t really answer anything.

  “Ach, yer here finally! Been lookin’ forward ta meetin’ ye! Still just cannot believe you poor lasses dun get a whisker on ye. So unattractive! How do ye ever land a husband?”

  “Er, actually I prefer women.” Ranthia replied automatically while her mind tried to catch up. Fortunately, for a change of pace, it didn’t take long. “Oh Xaoc, you’re a dwarf!”

  “Hah! That I am lassie. Rigira Granu of the 88th generation, and I am sorry to say I am quite ‘appily married so please do not fall in love with me!” She extended her arm for a handshake.

  Ranthia reciprocated the handshake and fought down her momentary annoyance at the woman’s words. Which got so much easier once she paid attention to what [Divine-Touched Identify] was showing her. [Mage – Mirage] level 619, [Mage – Wood] level 488, [Artisan – Wood] level 174.

  That was damned intimidating. Not even the Sentinels had been that high!

  Her hair—and beard—were dark brown with dark green dye striping through both, though there was a hint of grey too. She was considerably shorter than Ranthia was, with a burly, stocky build.

  “Um, what can I do for you, ma’am?” Ranthia asked, bewildered.

  “Hah! Well, ye can start by being half te lass that sexy laddie with the beard of such’a remarkable shade of blue claimed. I took a nasty near-death experience out fightin’ them shimagu, n’ my pal Bluebeard said I would be perfect fer trainin’ ‘is ‘prentice! A relaxin’ trip to this Remus place to rest my mind n’ train te next generation? Sign me up!”

  “Okay, training… What sort of training will we be doing?” Ranthia picked one of the easier to parse bits from the woman’s thick accent.

  “I was told ye got a skill that lets ye sense attacks before they hit ya? Tell me what yer system says ‘bout it.” She insisted, grin still plastered on her face.

  Ranthia hesitated, but finally decided that since—if she understood the woman’s horrific accent correctly—Sentinel Hunting had specifically asked the woman to come train her; she really needed to play it as straight with her as she would have with him. He believed that this dwarf had something she could teach Ranthia, possibly even better than he himself could have. …And with a level like that, Ranthia was inclined to believe it.

  “[Combat Awareness]: Instantly become aware of any attack or movement with hostile intent that comes within a fixed range of your body. Provides awareness of where the attack or action is coming from, where and what it will affect, and approximates probable damage. Increased range, accuracy of estimations, and increased probability to circumvent masking skills with level.” Ranthia read the description off of her System interface, though she left out the mana regeneration cost.

  “Oh aye, tis a great skill. ‘Til the moment it gets ye dead.” The dwarf nodded and stroked her beard.

  “Pardon?” Ranthia asked, mildly offended.

  “Right there in te skill, like ye said. Masked attacks. Attacks that have been hidden by another skill. Sure, ye might, might, be able to see ‘em from somethin’ lower level than ye. But somethin’ stronger than ye? Ye get all comfortable-like with yer skill and ye got a bad case of the dead ‘fore ye knew what gotcha.”

  Ranthia paused. That… was actually a frustratingly valid point. She had already half seen it for herself already, when she fought the abelisaurus blindfolded. There were times when by the time [Combat Awareness] ‘saw’ an attack it was far too late to react… at least at her level.

  “Okay, I suppose it would be good to train myself to not rely on it exclusively. What sort of training do you have in mind?” Ranthia reluctantly agreed.

  “Can ye turn it off?” The dwarf requested.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Good! Ah’ll make this a solid a learnin’ experience for ye lass. Turn it off n’ stand over near that wall.”

  Ranthia walked over and stood where she was directed.

  And mere moments later the air was full of large wooden lances that launched in her direction. Ranthia shrieked and froze up… and then one passed right through her.

  Fucking Mirages!

  “Ach, yer supposed te dodge ‘em lass or this will not be much of a lesson!” Rigira yelled, annoyed.

  “Sorry ma’am, just… wasn’t expecting th—” Ranthia cut herself off as another volley came.

  This time she started dodging. They were just illusions—probably—but her other senses screamed. Her eyes saw pointy death. Her ears heard the volleys whistle through the air. Even her skin felt the breeze of the illusory lances passing by. Rigira was a hell of a skilled Mirage [Mage].

  They were not all Mirages, and the dwarf made herself scarce while one of the instructors got a [Healer] to Ranthia.

  That day in Unit 2 Sparring, Ranthia found herself facing off against Kaesios. Blindfolded, of godsdamned course.

  Her new courseload was helping her out substantially, even—bizarrely—her Dance Rehearsal course. The alternation between it and the training with the dwarf lady—whose name Ranthia was still desperately trying to absorb—managed to keep either from becoming routine. Ranthia was learning about herself and how she could move, which was about all the two had in common. She just wasn’t sure if she liked either course. There was so much physical and verbal abuse, she wasn’t sure how she had ever allowed herself to have a single whit of pride in what her abilities had been.

  Not that any of it helped much against Kaesios. The man was an onslaught that never tired or quit. Ranthia dodged, weaved, and danced around, but she was utterly unable to close in with the man. He was slower than she was and she was practically certain she had higher dexterity than he did, but his area of battlefield control was just far too wide for her to get inside his guard to stab him with one of her generic, cheap knives.

  Gods she missed her beloved companion knives. These pieces of scrap barely counted as knives, in Ranthia’s mind. Their balance was poor, and their edge was a joke.

  [Healers] were present for everything Unit 2 Sparring did, so the course was full contact, aside from intentionally going for the head. …Minus a few Skills, which were strictly barred from use—such as Ranthia’s [Void Edge]. At least Kaesios couldn’t use his favored overhead attacks with the rules, not that it seemed to help Ranthia much.

  She was, of course, still restricted by Hunting’s orders. She could use one image—no shifting—but she had gotten to be more than a bit stubborn about actually using it. It was idiotic and she knew it was just because she was fishing for the Sentinel’s approval, but she continued to try to avoid using it.

  It was damned clear she wouldn’t beat Kaesios without it though. His Mirage slashes were hard to predict. Most were illusions, but there were two mostly real blades mixed in there—unless he had improved the Skill, in which case she was double-doomed—plus the real sword. And she didn’t trust that she had correctly judged the true blade’s position, not against a Mirage user.

  Once she finally forced herself to make the decision to use the image, she was left trying to figure out how and when while she danced around Kaesios to buy herself more time. Her first instinct was to throw it behind or to the side of him, surprise him, then hopefully get past his guard. But no, that was a terrible idea. It was too desperate and too unlikely to work, especially since he’d seen her use them exactly in that way. She fell deeper into [The Flow of Battle] and freed her mind to dwell on the problem.

  It was a trick she had learned from her attempts to survive Rigira’s illusory barrages. For a short period of time, she could trust herself a bit more to her Skills while she freed her mind for other tasks. The flaw was that it made her movements a bit more predictable, though even that steadily improved as she leveled.

  And then Ranthia was struck with inspiration. [Persistent Imagery] had gotten pretty high level… It was a gamble, but it was one that she was curious about whether it’d work. Curiosity always made it far easier to accept the risk.

  Kaesios went for a wide strike across her side (seriously was he trying to bisect her?!). Ranthia lightly hopped backwards and activated [Scattered Reflections] for the first time in… a while. A mirror image of her appeared, knives crossed roughly where his blade was coming in. His thin, long sword caught, for a single moment. But in that moment, Ranthia was already lunging forward.

  Two of the illusory blades she passed through were mere illusions.

  The third was not.

  Blood bloomed as Kaesios’ true sword sank deep into her shoulder. Her image had only caught one of his Mirror mostly-real blades!

  “Match, Kaesios!” One of the instructors called, even as a cursing [Healer] rushed over to Ranthia.

  Ranthia pulled off her blindfold with a curse, using her good arm.

  “What did we learn?” Kaesios asked smugly.

  Ranthia wanted to respond with obscenities, but the instructors were watching. And the [Healer] was already working his wondrous abilities to stitch her flesh and bone back together, which brought enough relief it undercut her ire a bit.

  “Shoulder guards have value.” She replied moodily.

  “Fuck, though, I’d almost forgotten your tricks. Been a long time since I’ve seen ‘em. Thought they broke from a butterfly’s fart, but it stopped my Mirror blade cold… briefly.” He offered.

  He wasn’t wrong, the mirror blade had cleaved through her image shortly after his true sword attempted to disarm her.

  “Yeah, you had me backed into a corner. And if I’m honest with myself, that gambit probably only worked because this was a sparring match. If you were really trying to kill me, even your Mirror sword would have likely had enough force to break it easily.” Ranthia muttered.

  “Eh, would have still fouled my swing more than a bit. It’s a sound strategy if you can improve it more.” He replied, clearly trying to put her in a better mood.

  “I can’t believe I can’t even beat someone so far past his prime.” She sassily muttered.

  He cuffed her so hard that [Combat Awareness] tried to make her dodge. She took it though; it was only sporting.

  Or so she thought at the time. The [Healer] muttered dark threats over the wasted mana and effort to heal yet another injury.

  They were well into Winter and the trainees were starting to look forward to the Academy’s inevitable conclusion. It still felt far away to Ranthia though, half a year felt like an eternity while she struggled with her course load.

  Dance Rehearsal had been especially exacting and demanding of late too.

  “Now don’t forget next week we will be doing a full dress rehearsal every day at the theater!” The energetic old man, Fausteo (she could double check off [The Art of Dance], which made her kind of wish she had a Skill with every important name in its description), called out after Dance Rehearsal finished.

  “…Wait, what?” Ranthia asked.

  Even with her vitality the dancing was so demanding—both of body and of mind—that she was always left sweaty by the time they were done.

  “Oh, right. I forget someone doesn’t get to attend our meetings because we have to come out here just for rehearsal with her! Yes, yes, you’ll be coming too! Already cleared it with your bosses, got a cot ready for you with the other women! We have only a bit more than a week before the big show during the Winter Solstice! Tickets are sold! Seats are filled! Well, aside from the ticket each of you get.” So many gesticulations.

  “Wait, WHAT?!”

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