You have defeated [???]

  You have defeated [???]

  You have defeated [???]

  You have defeated [???]

  You reach LV4

  Calculating lacking expertise. Distributing stats.

  Intelligence + 1

  Wisdom + 1

  Available stat points: 2

  Total stats sufficient for path selection.

  Choose a starting class? Y/N

  I knitted my brows at the notice. First of all: Was the system calling me stupid? I thought the solution to the last puzzle was quite ingenious. Whatever.

  Second: It seemed that I could finally choose a class. Obviously, I chose yes without giving it a second thought, only to be reprimanded by the system right away.

  Path selection unavailable in this dungeon.

  I clicked my tongue and looked around, finally acknowledging the altar I found myself on. I'd expected another door leading somewhere, but there were none. I still hadn't gotten the system alert for clearing the second trial, either.

  There's probably more to it.

  The surface was flat and wide, and the opposite side from the stairs led to a wall reaching further up than I could see.

  I swallowed. Maybe I hadn't seen cooler things after all. The wall's surface was entirely flat and soft, save for the torches that clung to it at uniform distances. It looked as if a mountainside had been sanded flat.

  I walked up to it and pressed my hand against it. It reflected me as a blurry blob, but there was a reflection.

  "Holy shit..." I muttered and stepped away from it, craning my neck to gaze up at its peak.

  Something in the wall stirred, and I cast my eyes to it. The reflection warped and twisted. It grew as if it was approaching me. My hand instinctively fell upon my sword's handle.

  The smooth surface bubbled and oozed. I'd seen it before when the system was first introduced to me.

  Five uneven points pushed out in a cluster. Extending out of it came fingers, then a hand, an arm, and finally an entire person. His face was featureless, not even wearing the same gems as the constructs. He wore a pair of tattered pants, a shield slung over his back, and a sheathed sword on his hip.

  He was I, and I was him. A clone.

  "What the fuck..." I muttered, my stomach dropping.

  The skin on his face writhed as if constantly moving, and he removed the shield from his back. He reached down to his blade with the other hand. The sword slid out of its sheath with a loud scrape.

  I didn't wait for him to finish drawing his blade.

  Scraping my feet against stone, I stepped back with my eyes locked on my own empty face. His moves were too smooth, too familiar, and it made my skin crawl. He tilted his head as if in wonder.

  "What the hell is this supposed to be?"

  He lunged as my words echoed in the empty chamber.

  I yelped and deflected his stab in the same motion as I unsheathed my sword. Steel screamed as our blades scraped against each other. The impact made my arms go numb. He was strong, but not monstrously so. If I had to guess, I'd say he had about 7 points in strength.

  We broke apart, circling the altar counter-clockwise, mirroring my every step perfectly. He even saw through my half-hearted feints with just a glance.

  I clicked my tongue in irritation. This wasn't a monster I was facing. It was me. He had all my habits, my knowledge, my instincts honed by years of fighting. How the hell was I supposed to deal with something like that?

  My mind raced through the various possibilities, and to my surprise, I felt a smile creep onto my face. Fun, I realized. This was fun.

  I stepped forward with an overhead slash. Our swords clattered and vibrated, harder than before. He released the tension in his blade and side-stepped, letting me stumble past as he lashed out with the edge of his shield. I bent sideways at the waist and dodged with a chuckle. I would have done the same thing.

  We continued the exchange without rest. A sweeping kick, a tackle, a side-stepped stab. It was a dance of steel. Only after a little while did I see that I was the only one sweating.

  I tried to create some distance, but he wouldn't let me. He charged with his shield raised, the slap of his bare feet echoing in a pitter-patter against the walls. I realized the problem then. If I simply tried to beat myself as I was now, neither of us would win. We would be locked in this duel forever.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Overcoming myself. Improving my skills. That was the deciding factor—and the only way to beat my own image.

  I threw myself to the side and rolled back to my feet. He skidded to a halt and charged again.

  With an exhale, I loosened the grip on my blade. A terrible idea in most fights, which is why it was a variable I would normally never consider.

  Instead of bracing for the impact—or dodging—I threw myself forward in a low tackle. His shield slammed into my shoulder and sent pain flaring down my arm, a small price to pay for getting inside his guard.

  When his knee struck against my shield, I fought back.

  I roared and tensed my legs, straining against his momentum as I stood back up. A flash of pain from my back made my vision flicker. Even as I threw him with my shield, he cut at my back. But from this distance, he couldn't cut deep. A flesh wound, I told myself.

  Wood and metal slammed against stone. I whirled around to bear down on him and pushed myself forward even before I saw him. He lay sprawled on his back, reaching for his sword. That was my problem: I was always looking for a perfect win. The geezers back home had used it against me more times than I cared to recall.

  My knee slammed into his smooth face. It was a weird sensation. There was no crunch of bone or spray of blood. It felt like I was hitting a sandbag.

  Nonetheless, he fell back, further distanced from the blade. He scurried backward with his hands and legs, trying to stand back up.

  I didn't let him, and pushed him back down with the tip of my blade. My chest heaved, and the blade trembled in my hands. I had really given myself a run for my money.

  He tried to slip away again, and I let the tip of my blade pierce his skin.

  "Ah, ah, ah," I said, "No moving. You need to recognize when you've been beaten."

  Trial 2: The Weight of War

  Complete.

  "Holy crap." I let go of the breath I'd been holding and slumped down on the ground, resting my weight on my arms and catching my breath. My clone stirred, and I gave it a lazy glance. It got up on its feet and dusted off its pants.

  I scoffed. He acted like he cared about his appearance—as if he wasn't already half naked.

  With unhurried steps, he approached the wall and turned to me. His sword and shield melted into the ground, leaving not even a trace of their existence. All that lingered of them was the dull ache in my shoulder and the split skin on my back.

  I pushed myself back to my feet with a groan and felt my back. Pain flared instantly. I bit my lip. "Couldn't hold back even a little, could you?"

  As expected, I didn't get an answer. But the clone beckoned me to the wall with a wave. I certainly felt a sense of doubt. He had just tried to kill me and all. But the trial was over...

  It should be fine... right?

  I sheathed my sword but kept my shield in my hand. Although simple, it had withstood a lot in the last few hours since I got it. I'd started feeling a sense of familiarity with both weapons, camaraderie even. They'd served me well, even saved me. I couldn't imagine giving them away like Aubrey had.

  I joined the clone by the wall. It gestured at me to... enter?

  I tilted my head. "You can't be serious?"

  But it was. It showed me by forcing me inside with a soft kick.

  It felt like I was pressed through a wall of mud. At first I held my breath, scared to death that I was inside a mountain, but when the system chimed, I forgot all about it.

  Trial 3: Inheritance

  Start.

  "Another trial?" I moaned.

  The clone moved in front of me and sat down cross-legged, gesturing for me to do the same. Cold seeped into me from the floor. Not the bad kind. It was pleasant and calming. Quite nice after such a workout, actually.

  He reached his hand forward, letting it hover between us, and nodded for me to take it. His skin was cold and bouncy like rubber.

  "Now what?"

  If I didn't know better, I'd say his plain canvas face smiled at my impatience. I scoffed and shook my head. Of course it didn't. Yet when I opened my eyes, the plain figure wasn't there anymore. Instead, an old greying man sat facing me.

  The soft and bouncy hand was gone, replaced by coarse skin and callouses. He grabbed my hand; there was power there, far beyond anything I could ever hope to withstand. With just a clench, he could shatter my bones.

  Raven black hair hung down to his shoulders, and a rough scruff of beard covered his mouth entirely. His face was locked into a scowl, pushing his eyes into small slits, but that did nothing to hide the fire that burned within.

  Gone was my hubris. Hot dread crawled up my spine. This was no old man. This was a monster wearing withered skin.

  I gulped, feeling how dry my mouth had gotten in the last few hours.

  "You are young, weaker than any that has ever come here, but you learn quickly." His words travelled far, lording over the space they crossed. "I like that."

  His face contorted into a smile, and he strengthened his grip on my hand.

  "Tell me, what are you willing to sacrifice for my inheritance?"

  Sweat trickled down my back. I didn't even know what his inheritance meant, much less had I ever sought it. I just stumbled upon this place while I was trying to bathe.

  He eyed me like I was entertainment, waiting for the answer.

  "Nothing?" I asked after a while.

  He stared dumbfounded for a few seconds, then burst into a rumbling laugh. My heart beat like a drum as I waited for him to settle. Seconds turned to minutes, and my dread turned to annoyance. My hand was still firm in his grip. Was he going to keep laughing forever?

  Finally, he released my hand and wiped the tears from his eyes.

  "You speak the truth. An insulting and raw truth, but truth no less. To yield nothing is the most flawless of victories... You will do."

  The old man gave me a pat on the shoulder, a pressure settling on me, locking me in the seated position. With a cracking back, he stood up and stretched. I hyperventilated; even after escaping death by a hair's breadth multiple times in one day, I was still fully at his mercy.

  He spread his feet to shoulder width and bent his knees into a solid stance. Clenching his fists by his sides, he punched out into thin air, and space contorted and folded. His arm disappeared for a moment, and when it returned, he held a long dagger with a deep groove in its middle.

  Pricking his finger with the needle-like dagger, he approached. Blood seeped into the groove and filled a vial in the handle.

  I tried to wriggle out of my constraints but couldn't even move an inch as he circled behind me.

  "Wait," I said. "We can talk about this."

  "Talk bores me. Now is the time for action."

  Blinding pain seared into my back. This was nothing like getting cut. I couldn't escape it no matter how I tried, and whenever I felt on the verge of passing out, he slapped me to pull me back. The dagger moved in patterns, never staying in one place long enough to pinpoint what he was etching into my flesh.

  When the pain subsided, I was haggard, tears streaked my cheeks, and drool leaked from my mouth.

  "Good," he declared from behind. "Be strong, disciple. You carry the fate of the Titans on your shoulder. I know the weight all too well."

  The words barely registered, nor did the sight of the walls collapsing in on themselves. One second I sat on the cool floor, the next I found myself on all fours, knee-deep in the coursing river.

  The moon hung high above the treetops, brighter and larger than before. I blinked, coming back to my senses. All pain from before washed away with the rushing tide, leaving a coursing warmth moving through the patterns on my back in pulses.

  The system chimed.

  Trial 3: Inheritance

  Complete.

  Reward: The Titan's inheritance

  Vitality + 5, Endurance +5

  Title: Inheritor of the Warforged