The wonderous tools of this magical testing ground could only compare to the ‘gyms’ from Ozzer’s world of glass and steel. The Ozzer insisted they looked like a collection of torture instruments, though Oz was fairly certain that was just their personal opinion of healthy exercise bleeding through. The tools used to assess his physique, deftness and other skills were not far off in the Ozzer's world in terms of matching their complexity. Oz was particularly impressed by the weights which, rather than being scaled up to near impossible mass, were instead part of an enchantment that increased the gravity they experienced.

  It was far safer, as with but a twitch of your magic you could disable the enchantments and be left with a totally mundane weight. What blew Oz’s mind was finding that he was around four times stronger than he used to be. Oxley warned him that he wouldn’t see as much gains on his next upgrade, as the jump between tiers was responsible for a good portion of that increase.

  Even then, it still blew his mind that each step was like adding so much to his original strength. The strangest part of it was how normal it felt. Right now his grip strength alone was enough to casually bend steel. This morning he’d made breakfast with a cast pan that he could’ve rolled up with one hand. He’d heard the first increase always felt natural, something about how the Weave worked meant you didn’t have to wander around terrified of breaking through everything like paper, but he hadn’t appreciated how essential it was.

  The testing also went through his other attributes. Sprints had him whistling around the circular track that ran the edge of the basement, and tasks where he had to hit a series of padded targets had his fists hissing through the air as Oxley looked on. The professor was taking lots of notes, occasionally muttering to himself as Oz moved from one task to another.

  Oxley explained that the room itself functioned like an attribute reader. The ones that schools had and travelled around were good for getting stats, but they couldn’t extract knowledge about a person's skills. That took facilities like this, where powers were actively assessed. To Oz’s surprise, even a dungeon didn’t intrinsically know anything beyond the class name of its minions.

  Oz flowed through challenges to display all his skills. He even got to remove the cravat under a demonstration of his [Hoodlum] skill. Oxley grinned when he showed off [Vandal], complimenting the skill as a solid foundation in a combat style.

  “Some of my skills won’t work unless I have a target.”

  “Oh don’t you worry about that. We have the perfect sparring partner for you. Get into the ring and I’ll summon them.” Oxley pointed to a wide sandy square with heavy-duty enchantments carved into the stones around it.

  Oz immediately became distracted examining the runes. The workings were dwarven, and the rune design was easily the most complex he’d ever seen that wasn’t one of his father’s traps. The clusters of runes joined together in groupings of Primes, a True Quintet of five fives acting as the base, and then a mix of other primes to balance out some other features simpler. Overall it seemed to be a 47-rune working, which made it at least a C-Tier working.

  Technically you didn’t need to be C-Tier to make it. Runes, like certain spells, could be made outside of the Weave’s support. It required skill and dedication, and pushing your attributes—especially Willpower—to the brink, but it was more than possible. Oz had already done it. His clan knife sat at an impressive eleven runes, making it an E-Tier working, with seven as the maximum for F-Tier. However, the higher the tier, the harder it was to reach above it without attributes being supported by the Weave.

  Oz had a lot of pride in his father, who, despite his paranoia, had managed a 61-rune working—a B-Tier achievement—despite the old man being limited to C-Tier. The memory turned sour, Oz remembering the chat with Venna yesterday. Perhaps his father’s obsession with trapping the ‘Grimhold’ wasn’t some peculiar dwarven insanity as he’d believed.

  Oz hated to think what threat out there demanded a trap that launched needles of crystal, scribed to directly target anything fitting the phrase ‘contingus fleshy sphere’. Which blinded everyone and left any men in the party particularly unhappy. But given the conspiracy around him, he couldn’t ignore it.

  “Oh it’s you.” The voice made Oz jump. And Chops jumped beside him, growling at an androgynous, fox-translucent being, who’d appeared beside him and looked like they’d much rather be haunting a fashion show, given the well-cut tailcoat and monocle they wore.

  “Do I know you?” Oz realised he’d crouched down into a fighting stance, one fist raised, the other hand reaching for his knife.

  “Ah this is the spirit Foxglove, they have been assigned to help these assessments as punishment for their poor conduct in the Gauntlet.” Oxley grinned beside them. Foxglove sighed theatrically.

  “This is the gritlicker who killed Chops?” The growl that came from Oz held a touch of [Frightful Glare] that he hadn’t intended. Chops’ growls joined him, his hackles raised.

  “I temporarily and instantaneously and mostly painlessly disrupted his form, just as you disrupted mine. And I can say for certain that getting my face caved in with a door was far from painless.”

  “Don’t make it his fault, and you can’t really feel pain when piloting.”

  “I consider the embarrassment painful enough. To think I was defeated by some country bumpkin.” Foxglove sighed and adjusted their pocket square.

  “This is a combat test, right? So can I start?” Beside Oz, Chops started to inch forward.

  “Foxglove, would you kindly shut it. Do you want me to tell the Archchancellor that you’re spending the time where you’re meant to be reflecting on your actions whining?”

  “It was just one over-aggro attack! I don’t see why you’re all so angry about it!”

  “It’s the Gauntlet! It’s difficult enough without you throwing out your keystone attack as an opener.”

  “I know some of these words.” Oz muttered.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot you don’t have any delve training. Let me explain.”

  “He doesn’t have any delve training!” Foxglove shrieked, turning to look at Oxley.

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  “Yes, and if you don’t want that information spreading, you’ll co-operate. I imagine that would be quite embarrassing for you.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  “So, questions.” Oxley turned back to Oz

  “First question. It’s not about what you just said, but it’s been on my mind. During the fight, I noticed my [Aura of Menace] started to affect you. It was like you started to feel fear, but it was after you shook off [Frightful Glare]. What was that? None of the others did that, and I burned some of them to death.”

  “Are you trying to insult me!”

  “A great question! Foxglove here is a thinking being who joined the Academy decades ago.” Oxley was clearly about to continue but the spirit hissed at him.

  “For reasons that are none of his business,”

  “Fair enough. They play an important role and mostly work as a ‘Pilot’. See, while we leave most creatures in a dungeon as ‘Templates’—just little slivers of consciousness—Champions or special Characters often use an actual intelligence to pilot them as an avatar. While we can create a Template of a Champion, it’s never quite as reliable as having someone pilot them. The benefit of this is that an Avatar is far more able to react to unexpected challenges and guide the battle more carefully. The downside is that unlike Templates, which only respond to effects from the Weave, a pilot can indeed experience emotions and have their judgement compromised.” Oxley sent a smug smile at the spirit.

  “Stop looking at me like that. You didn’t see the kid, he was on fire and beating me to death with a fucking door! I thought he was a summoner. I mean, look at that thing!” Foxglove pointed one arm at Chops, who growled back, making the spirit flinch.

  “So the others were like golems, who only react to the skills and don’t actually care about what’s happening to them. But because Foxglove here was actually terrified—”

  “I was just unsettled!”

  “Terrified. It meant my power worked? Doesn’t that put me at an unfair disadvantage against Templates?” Oz asked, trying to listen to the Ozzer’s suggestions to learn more, rather than to follow his personal desire to start pummelling Foxglove.

  It was only the fact that Ozzer had pointed out that by learning more they were more likely to actually hurt Foxglove that kept him on task.

  “Yes, but remember you’re not meant to be a Delver. You’re going to be part of a dungeon, pushing back Delvers, all of whom will likely be scared of you as Foxglove was. Maybe a little less.” Oxley grinned at the spirit, which grumbled under their breath.

  “Alright, and the over-aggro, and the Keystone. The keystone thing I recognise, that’s your biggest attack.” Oz ran through what he’d heard, he knew some terms but was surprised when the Ozzer threw up some answers as well.

  “Where did you find this guy? This is stuff—”

  “I hear the cafeteria needs extra hands.” Oxley pulled up his notes, staring at the spirit.

  “I’ll shut up.”

  “There’s a lot of language you’ll have to get used to using. We’ll include that in your learning plan. But aggro is important. Killing Delvers straight out of the gate is a great way to kill their enthusiasm for your dungeon. That means they don’t come back and, worse, they’ll spread it as a warning to all their friends.”

  “So you fight at different gears? Like go one speed first, and then jump up when the time is right,” Oz mused.

  “Exactly. If you went top gear first, they’d have no time to get up to speed with you. That said, if someone comes in and has already proven they can handle a higher gear, you might skip a gear or two to match them. No point in wasting both your times.” Oxley nodded, then continued glaring at Foxglove.

  “That is a skill mastered over decades and is still something that even experienced pilots can get wrong.”

  “Oh come on, I’ve already apologised!”

  “No you didn’t!”

  “Oh. Well, I’m here, aren’t I? No, okay, well, I am sorry. I messed up. I genuinely thought I’d be doing you a favour, as it’d clue you into my keystone. I figured you’d have to retreat and summon your minion again. My logic was it’d give you some insight into my movesets, telegraphing, and recovery. Not murder me before the cooldown wore off.”

  “What part of that was telegraphing! You just pointed and blasted.” Oz growled, focusing on the word he did recognise.

  “It was a bit arrogant of me, but there were subtle clues.” The spirit adjusted its spectral cufflinks and looked off to one side.

  “Foxglove, did this argument work on the Archchancellor?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. Let’s get you sorted out for a fight. Oz, do you need a weapon?”

  “Got my knife.” Oz pulled out his clan knife proudly.

  “I’m afraid you can only use weapons you’ve made yourself, or commissioned within Noxarcer. It’s a rule to instil hard work and self-dependency,” Oxley said as he held out a hand to examine the weapon.

  “And totally not to stop the dynasty families from loading down their little scions with enough artefacts to screw the difficulty curve. So unless you made that yourself, it’s not coming in here,” Foxglove whined.

  “But it’s my clan knife? Of course I made it,” Oz responded, confused. It’s clan knife. What dwarf didn’t make their own clan knife? His dad was very clear that any sane dwarf made his own clan knife.

  The Ozzer raised a finger and then lowered it, so Oz didn’t examine that last thought too closely.

  “This is an E-Tier weapon, that you made yourself. Before you were classed?” Oxley examined the knife carefully.

  “Yes. I can prove it too.” Oz felt himself growl. He didn’t appreciate being doubted. “Look, I have a skill [Runic Empowerment] that my dad left me. It only works on runes I’ve made.” Oz responded, and Oxley nodded, making a note.

  “Are we certain he isn’t some elaborate prank from Noxarcer?” Foxglove asked from the other side of the training ring. “Who goes around scribing E-Tier runes before they even get classed! Who did you even learn this from?”

  “My dad, mostly. I know he at least once made a B-Tier rune array, and he was only C-Tier, so I know it’s not that odd of an achievement.” Oz responded. From the looks the pair were giving him, that may have in fact been odd.

  Oz paused. Was this why Mr Goddley had suggested he just show the Rangers his knife when they asked if he had special skills? His old runes teacher had been very insistent about that fact.

  “I trust you. Sorry, I was just surprised. Scribing or casting above your Tier is indeed possible, but is mostly limited to families and organisations who dedicate everything to that feat. If you don’t mind me asking, who exactly was your father? You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.” Oxley asked, handing Oz back the knife.

  “Urstal Grimbrow. He rose to lieutenant in the 8th Division during the Horde Wars. And was awarded a Key of Valour, among other medals.”

  “Wait!” Oxley held up a hand. “Was your dad one of the Dozen? The group who set up a temporary dungeon and churned through two thousand Horde troops to stop their advance? That Urstal Grimbrow?”

  “Yes, that’s him.” Oz smiled. He was proud of this fact, but his dad had always taught him to be humble about such things.

  “By the Nether, now this murder machine makes sense. But I thought the Dozen were all dead!” Foxglove’s sharp features were pulled into a smile. They looked content, as if the spirit had just finished a particularly difficult puzzle, and then turned to see Oz, Oxley and Chops staring at them in various moods from disappointment through to murder.

  “Can I start stabbing yet?” Oz asked, cycling power through the runes in his knife.