After the Wood, I moved on to the Mace simply because I already had the necessary ampoules, and my extensive plans involved all types of qi. The more I learnt to distinguish between them, the better I'd be able to defend myself in combat. In the arena, that could cost not only points, but bones. Not to mention that in a year, I'd have a stalker ready to strike me in the back with anything sharp enough to pierce it.

My Mace root was only at 2, and I had just 10 ampoules — so at best, I'd still need to buy another three. I'd already been burned once with the Wood and knew that essence didn't always guarantee a +1. Still, it was the largest supply I had available, and the choice wasn't great: Mace or Palm. For Palm, I had only two ampoules, which Omar had exchanged for some Fist essence.

By the way, he'd almost raised his Fist to 15 and was waiting for me to find time to show him my techniques. He hadn't started training air yet, specifically because of me — because my armour wasn't ready, though that was supposed to change any day now.

Of course, I now treated taking essence more seriously and didn't use it straight after training, when I could still feel the echo of Fist Qi in my arms. I wasn't sure how much that actually mattered, but if concentrating on a specific qi was recommended to get a bonus +1, then the opposite had to be true as well — if you were actively using a different kind of qi, it might completely nullify the effect of the essence.

So, neither before nor immediately after Rene's training hall would I take essence. The perfect time for that was a cultivation day, when I had plenty of free time to rest before my evening visit to the Flow Chamber. As it happened, the first day I took Mace essence was a cultivation day. And, just in case, after injecting the essence, I decided to review the mace techniques on my tablet. Not exactly pure concentration, but I was analysing what to expect in battle.

The +3 to Mace came easily. As did the +335 to cultivation level. Although, about 325 of that still had to dissipate. That part wasn't so easy to accept, but I'd already made peace with the harsh realities.

The main thing was that the next morning, right after breakfast, I was skipping Rene's training and heading straight to Alan's for my second armour fitting.

Alan's workshop was far from the kind of sterile space with rows of equipment and dressing platforms. It was a cramped, dim room cluttered with parts. The air smelled of hot metal and burnt rubber. Along the walls hung armour plates, helmet samples, tangles of wires, and even some tools that looked medical — those same scanning pens the Doc used.

I'd seen all this before, but now there were even more components. Even the sofa had things piled on it. There was barely enough room left for one person to sit.

What was new, and something I hadn't seen before, was a breastplate on the workbench, under a dozen laser-equipped manipulators. Alan stood behind a holographic controller, directing the lasers as they quickly etched a formation into the metal.

The air buzzed faintly with qi, so either the lasers weren't entirely ordinary, or there was something else involved in the process. I was betting on the latter, otherwise, with current tech levels, machines wouldn't even need an operator.

Alan completely ignored our arrival. I was with Kate. She shushed me and pointed at the master's focused face. Alan looked like a sapper defusing a megaton bomb. Only the constant stream of smoke curling from the incense stick clamped between his teeth gave any sign of life.

It went on for about five minutes. From where I stood, I could tell the formation was far from finished. Not that I was an expert, but the five-sided engraving was barely a fifth complete, with only a single large triangle etched in, when Alan finally turned off the lasers. He stared at the work for a few seconds, then nodded, shifted the incense stick to the other corner of his mouth, and turned to face Kate and me.

"Sullivan, Wong, sorry for the delay — thought I'd finish before you arrived."

This time, he seemed far more cheerful than during our last meeting, and a lot more energetic. Like he'd had a good rest… or taken something to perk him up.

The armourer took the gauntlets I'd used in the match against Cinar and fed them into the dressing machine in the corner of the workshop, then gestured for me to step onto the platform. It wasn't as spacious as the ones in the training hall, but I already knew it worked just as well.

I stepped up, placed my feet on the white foot markers and spread my arms.

The clamps snapped shut around my feet and wrists, locking my body in place. Every time this happened, for a split second it felt like the machine might try to tear me apart. And every time, the feeling passed the moment the machine brought out the chest plate and aligned it with the piece of armour on my back.

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This time, the plates were heavy. None of the toy-like lightness I'd felt in my old plastic armour. From the chest, the machine worked its way downward, layering the rest onto me. Once only my feet and hands were left bare, the clamps shifted to my forearms and shins. The machine lifted me slightly, fitted my boots, set me down again, and added the gauntlets, then finally secured the helmet.

With a short audio beep, the clamps released me, and I reflexively took a step forward.

"Walk around," said Alan.

I stretched, testing the flexibility. Moving was… easy. Very easy. Maybe even easier than in the old plastic suit. The servomotors eased every movement. But there was something missing — some subtle sensation I was used to at the edge of awareness. There was no formation ready to be activated at a moment's notice. Despite how light it felt, this armour still felt like armour, not a second skin. The lines had changed a little, but not by much, and the new model kept the same colour scheme as the old one.

I jumped a few times, took my stance, and repeated the moves for the Chain Punch transitioning into a Hook with shield activation.

"This is lighter than I expected," I said to Alan.

"It's worth every unit!" Alan declared proudly. "I'd even say you're underpaying me!"

"I'd say you tell that to every customer," I joked. Still, I didn't mean to offend him, so I quickly shifted the conversation back to the numbers. There was one point we hadn't fully settled. "Gloves – twenty-five, armour – thirty-five. Helmet?"

Alan had been vague and evasive about the helmet, dodging the price question until the last moment. He'd said I could refuse it if I wasn't satisfied. In our previous talks, we'd set a cap at twenty-five thousand, since, like the gloves, the helmet was considered a weapon.

"Why'd you come without Veiron?" the armourer asked. "You're not going to appreciate this beauty!"

"Enough stalling — just give me the price."

"Twenty-five," Alan muttered, like the words were being dragged out of him in a sudden change of the mood.

Well, that was about what I'd suspected back when we set the upper limit. A merchant will never sell you something for less once he knows you can pay more.

"Is it even worth that much?" I teased.

"It's worth all of forty!" Alan barked. "I just got carried away. With this helmet and the Iron Head, you could punch through walls! It's not a movement skill anymore — it's a bloody ultimate! I swear to you! And it won't break!"

"That's a bold claim," Kate remarked.

"It won't break — if you use the technique properly!" Alan quickly corrected himself.

"Well, first I need to know the technique," I reminded him.

"That's what makes it so painful — handing a masterpiece to someone who doesn't have the faintest clue how to use it! I was hoping at least Veiron would appreciate it!" he said, clearly disappointed. "Right, pay up and clear off!"

"Is it really that good?" I asked.

"Are you trying to push my buttons?"

"Are you trying to make me pay all forty?"

This was a test on my part. Honestly, I wasn't sure what I'd have done if he'd said yes. I didn't know any other armourers, and this one had a solid reputation.

"I do want that!" he said. "But I've got a conscience. It was my mistake, so the cost's on me. Just know this — when the time comes to sell it, you're selling that helmet back to me for seven grand!"

I could've made another joke, but Alan looked dead serious, so I let it be.

"Deal."

I transferred the money, and Kate and I headed to the usual training hall.

"Aren't you going to wear your armour?" I asked her on the way.

Kate raised an eyebrow.

"You think I'll need it?"

I figured she could stand to dial down the drama a notch, but I kept that thought to myself.

We arrived at the same hall with sand underfoot and battered walls all around.

"Today we're playing our old game." She said. "I shoot — you dodge, or block with your shield and counter."

"Hold on a sec!" I said, bouncing lightly on the sand. Even though the armour took much of the load off me, I was heavier now, and that meant the sand reacted differently underfoot. "Ready!"

The first projection came without warning, and I wasn't ready.

I knew she'd fire the moment I said the word, but I didn't know it would be a silver-violet, crackling projection of a fist, streaking past with such a charge that even from a distance, it made my teeth ache.

"Whoa! What the hell! You trying to kill me?" I shouted.

Zap.

Boom!

The next projection exploded against my chest. The armour held, but lightning seeped through, sending a jolt through me hard enough to throw me onto the sand.

The armour didn't fail, so I was quickly back on my feet, ready to dodge — but Kate didn't turn it into a full-on execution.

"How's that feel? That's roughly the strength of your Hook. Maybe a bit stronger."

For comparison, she just shot me in the helmet with a good old lightning bolt.

I didn't have time to dodge. She didn't give me the chance. Sparks danced across the faceplate, I felt a bit of pressure, flinched, lost balance, and staggered half a step back, but…

It didn't hurt. Surprise — yes. Fear — absolutely. But no pain.

Zap. Another bolt — this time to the thigh. A dull, thudding impact, brief compression.

I held my ground.

"These are the same hits that used to leave you squirming in the sand. Any thoughts?"

"Cinar's going to crush me," I said. "In armour, he won't even notice my Chain Strike."

For the first time, I saw the point in learning a powerful technique before anything else.

"Exactly!" Kate agreed. "You'll lose your next spar if you don't prepare properly. So — respond!"

I channelled energy, focused, and launched a Hook. Then another.

Kate dodged easily, still wearing a smug smile.

Zap. Another powerful hit to the torso. I didn't dodge in time but managed to stay on my feet.

"Good!" she shouted. And I seized the moment — two Chain Punches, one Hook. The Chain Punches weren't entirely useless, after all. They were, at the very least, distracting.

Still, Kate didn't even raise her hands as the two projections flew past her. She simply stepped aside, and the Hook whizzed over her shoulder.

"You seriously need to work on your aim, Jake."

"Absolutely agree — but it'd help if you actually told me how!"

"You need lots and lots of practice... and some good tea!"

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