Spite attacked with perfect precision. Her swords sang as they cut pockets out of the air.

I misjudged the range of her attack and paid the price with a gut wound. Water energy healed it quickly. I tried to use my mana to manipulate the fight more in my favor, but Spite had condensed her golden domain into a tight, powerful sphere of life. I couldn't find any advantage with my mana.

We both knew Spite could out-heal me in this fight. She flashed me a poisonous smile and attacked without care for her own safety. Her healing power became a weapon she bludgeoned me with.

We exchanged blow for blow. Each encounter filled the bloomer with more energy. Blood was her fuel, and she didn't care who paid the price.

Sparks flew. Blood dripped. A Jester laughed.

We were the only beings left in the dungeon. The Rat King and his minions had fallen victim to targeted and stray sword attacks. Much of the jungle had been destroyed as well. Entire trees were turned to splinters. I had fresh wounds across my chest and thigh. Spite had already healed her gut wound. I got her good with the last strike. Too bad it didn't amount to much.

Bloomers were cheats.

I controlled my breathing, masking my weariness. There were many times when my fight almost came to an end. Grit and determination proved to be my saving grace. I would not waste a life… not when the price was so steep. Dying wasn't an option. Unfortunately, the longer this fight dragged on, it didn't seem like living was much of a choice either.

Spite moved faster than humanly possible. Her blades were blurs as she sliced, slashed, and stabbed. I parried, dodged, and bled. The assassin whipped the fresh blood off her sword and attacked again. She knew I was on my last legs. My channels could barely pump any mana, and all the energy I used created a heavier strain on my spirit and body.

I wanted to pass out. Lay over. Sleep. All I needed was a little bit of sleep.

Spite attacked again. This time with a ten-strike combo. She barely took a break before she attacked again. Fifteen strikes. Five of them landed. More blood. More laughter. Maybe I would get that sleep after all…

Light's Edge fell to the ground.

Ao's bloody pits. I hated dying.

I pushed my soul past its limits. Two ice swords formed in my hand. I wasn't as skilled with two blades as Spite. All I had was the experience of my splits to work off of. As I lost the comfortable, content feeling of my mana, the swords in my hands brought me a small peace… a different kind of confidence—or rather, power.

Spite lunged forward. Her rapid attacks hummed as the air cracked. I tracked it all, frantically throwing my blades around to block and counter. Black ice and golden energy clashed together. Spite scored another two hits on my arm. I cut her side.

The Jester discounted her wound, sending her mana to heal it with barely a thought. She stopped the bleeding and attacked again. She scored another two hits, the last one barely grazing my side. I landed another hit on her opposite side. Her armor, now destroyed, saved her from taking an injury.

In the subsequent encounter, Spite managed to cut my arm, causing blood to roll down my wrist and freeze on the cold handle of my sword. I hit her twice—once just barely on the leg, the other on her side. She only needed to heal her side wound.

Our dance continued for another five minutes. Spite was no longer winning the rounds, and her attacks became wilder and faster. In her berserk state, she stopped pausing to heal. She delivered a countless barrage of strikes. Though her blade seemed to move faster than the eye could see, my mind and battle experience had no problem tracking her motion. My blades were always in the right place at the right time, and in between gaps in her offense, I found moments to counter.

The sword strikes I landed were never deep wounds. The deep ones didn't matter much as the bloomer healed them immediately. I settled for small, minor cuts. The type that goes unnoticed—sometimes even ignored.

In Spite's furious state, she was a bit blind to her body slowing… or more precisely, she didn't realize how much more effort she was investing to continue her assault. It took five more exchanges for her to notice.

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Too late.

The ice in Spite's system crystallized inside her, slowing her down. If I had the strength to use my mana, I could've ended the fight. As it turned out, I had to finish this the hard way. I pressed the attack, knocking Spite's sword to the side and delivering deeper cuts. There were no breaks in my attack, and with each hit, my advantage grew. I had several moments to end the fight with a killing blow, only hesitating for fear of a trap. Finally, the moment came when I was absolutely sure I could execute the killing slash.

With perfect motion, I lashed out with both blades—one striking the heart, the other slicing through the neck. Spite fell over. Her frozen body crashed with a hard thud and shattered, while her head rolled away. It was gross and gruesome. I was glad it was over.

I dragged my tired body to the edge of the dungeon and rested against the wall. As much as I wanted to sleep, I didn't want Lipper to drop by and rob me of my victory. So I sat tiredly against the wall and analyzed the entire shopping run.

From an objective standpoint, I failed… miserably.

However, the gained experience was a treasure trove. All of my encounters were going to feed my splits with enough information to last years. I chuckled at the thought. Coughed up blood. Cursed. And chuckled some more.

I also learned something valuable: it was awesome using the dungeon for the fight. At times during the battle, I felt like I was a summoner, overwhelming my opponents with my own army. I could see why Bloomers and Palers often pursued summoning classes.

It took five hours of meditation before I started to think about using my mana again. It was another five hours before I could actually use it. Once I had enough control, I built a small fort, put Cal on patrol, and passed out.

I woke up feeling refreshed and ready for the next task. The cynic in me was confident I was walking towards my grave. He was right, of course, but the self-proclaimed hero—the one who just survived a crazy assassin rush—hoped for a better outcome.

I died two more times… Resetting the foundations of the body just wasn't an easy task… at least not at the hands of Tom. I floated the idea of visiting the Silvers and having them perform the technique on the last one. Tom assured me the Silvers wouldn't let me through their gates. According to him, I was too old, had bad foundations, and my combat skills were mediocre. If I were younger, I'd be a three-star recruit… At my old age of twenty-four, I was only a two-star recruit. Silvers didn't recruit two-stars, and they rarely accepted three-stars.

Tom was convincing, though I was a bit skeptical that the Silvers wouldn't make an exception for me. I might only be two stars based on their qualifications, but that discarded my most significant advantage… a platinum-ranked, reforged mind. That had to put me at least a three. Maybe even a four. The problem, though, was quantifying the advantage of my platinum mind. I didn't see the Silvers giving me the time of day to prove my worth.

This would be a whole lot easier if they could just see my stats. What good was having my own power system if no one else used it?

I decided to stick it out with Tom; however, I persuaded him to spend more time training me before we ran the body resets. So even though I died twice, each recursion was spent living to its fullest. It was almost an entire year of training with Tom. That didn't include the time passed in my mindscape either.

Where I was limited in my body progression, my combat skills grew exponentially. Tom helped me refine my two-sword fighting techniques. We spent hours each day running through proper katas—even the secret forms of the Silvers. It took practice and repetition to break old habits established from Empire training. Fortunately, there were only a few destructive tendencies. For the most part, I had a good base to work upon.

I sparred with Tom countless times. When I thought victory was within reach, he somehow always seemed to have another level of expertise that he could switch to, or a secret skill that proved to be unbeatable. The losses motivated me more than anything. I felt like I was just on the precipice of a breakthrough. In my head, I was the better fighter… my body just couldn't keep up. The disparity of our foundations was made very clear when we fought without mana.

With all the time spent with Tom, I learned he was a recluse. Sure, circumstances required him to hide, but I was willing to bet, given the choice, this would be the type of life he'd live even if he didn't have to. Conversations were geared towards training, cultivation, and, on rare occasions, stories from past missions. Those were only told if they applied to training or cultivation.

Tom turned out to be every bit the mentor I needed. The days were long, hard, and repetitive. And I loved them.

It was good connecting with another person as well. It was a shallow connection, but it was enough. I learned over the year that I couldn't get attached to people in the recursions—at least not until I had a better idea how things were going to end up.

Not only was it hard being the only one who remembered, but I also had a difficult time trying to build relationships before the loops. Primarily by choice, but also due to skill. I cherished the friendships I did have, though.

I just couldn't see how I could invest in relationships that were always going to end with me being forgotten. Maybe it was the wrong line of thought. For the time being, I used that to justify the surface-level interactions. It didn't escape my thoughts that I was going to run into the same issue with Lana and my squad. I chose not to dwell on those thoughts much.

In preparation for this body reset, I spent nearly the entire loop in meditation. All of my focus—including my splits—was directed towards solving the problem. Each failure had been so close to success, only to fail at the last moment. We were missing something, and I think I had just figured it out.

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