The gorgeous elfin maiden shoved aside Logar the Barbarian. “No! Our love can never be, no matter how fiercely it beats within mine chest, like sunset hues in amber!”

  Logar the Barbarian grasped her delicate, elfin wrist and pulled her in close to his hulking, hairy form. “I don’t care. I don’t care that my legions of hordes are bearing down on the Fae Capital right now. I don’t care if your parents think I’m unwashed swine with terrible manners, or if my four older brothers are also in love with you! You…are mine!”

  For ten agonizing seconds they stared at one another, cheeks flushed with desire and longing. Then, slowly, they began to lean their faces closer, ragged breaths…

  A knock on his office door broke Head Mage Yuril out of his trance.

  Gritting his teeth, he leaned backward, away from the crystal screen propped on his desk. It was projecting the latest episode of Love Between Fairy and Barbarian, the hit romantic melodrama performed by the illustrious Lotus Blossom Troupe. He’d watched the live show for the past fifty weeks, all leading up to this moment, and now he was being interrupted.

  He had given very explicit instructions to not be interrupted.

  The Guild of Magical Affairs was a smooth-running operation that could function without his input on all but the most unique circumstances. He had been planning to hide within his office for the duration of this current catastrophe.

  He just wanted to watch his show in peace. His plays were how he decompressed. Escaped from reality. This particular date—the third birthday of Tyrus Hollan—had been causing Yuril stress ever since it was announced that Alana was pregnant.

  The closer the day had come, the more he had begun to lose his mind. And, worst of all, it was on the same date and same time as a climatic LBFaB moment almost a year in the making. His only escape from cruel reality, tainted forevermore.

  Deep breaths, Yuril told himself, setting the crystal screen face-down.

  “Come in,” he announced to his secretary, Sora the Seer.

  She opened the door a moment later, either not noticing or choosing not to comment on the Head Mage’s sweaty forehead and the damp armpits of his robes. He dabbed at his balding scalp with a kerchief and gestured for her to speak.

  “Tyrus Hollan’s Trial of Myriad Affinities has concluded,” she said, bowing to the exact proper height and no more. “He and the rest of the Hollan retinue, the Lord and Lady included, are on their way out.”

  Yuril heaved a sigh of relief, hoping that the Seer didn’t notice. “Thank goodness.” Then he swallowed. “Wait, they’ve already left? It’s been, what, thirty minutes since the last time you barged in here about their encounter with that Lionheart girl? They already made the ritual circle, conducted the Trial, and are ready to go?”

  Sora’s tone was clipped and professional. “That does appear to be the case.”

  “When Leon insisted on making the circle himself, that should have taken at least an hour. The average Trial for a three year old is also twenty-two hours and sixteen minutes.” As he delved into the specifics, all signs of Yuril’s anxiety vanished. Despite his introspective nature and penchant for avoiding conflict, he had become the Head Mage of the Valorwood Branch for a reason. “This timeline is impossible.”

  “It is exceptional, certainly.” Sora remained as cold and detached as ever. “So much so, that your immediate presence has been requested by Array Master Poillard and the entire Scribe Division.”

  Yuril gulped, hoping that she didn’t notice, and after a moment stood up from behind his desk. He looked at the various relics and artifacts strewn around his office. None of them would protect him from the truth. None of them would grant him courage. So, instead, he ignored them, following Sora out of his sanctuary.

  Her dark robes were even looser than usual, he realized from behind her. Had she noticed his appreciation?

  No, I wasn’t that obvious.

  Yuril passed through the familiar halls of his Guild in a daze, mechanically nodding and smiling at any passersby who greeted him.

  Within a minute he and Sora arrived at the main ritual chamber. Though the Guild operated at all hours and performing rituals was one of their main functions, the entire area had been cordoned off. A few of the higher-level Mages stationed within the Guild maintained the perimeter, their expressions deathly serious.

  Yuril dabbed at his drenched forehead, attempting to maintain a dignified expression. “Show me the damage.”

  With an apologetic glance, Sora stepped forward and pushed the door to the main ritual chamber open.

  Energy poured out from within, almost overwhelming Head Mage Yuril’s [ Discernment of the Privileged ]. Most people wouldn’t have noticed the vast amount of Knowledge mana, but he was particularly sensitive to the esoteric affinity. Yuril was the second-best Scribe of his generation, after all. If it hadn’t been for Leon Hollan, he would have been the premier talent of his time at the Ouranic Academy.

  Inside the chamber was a Masterwork.

  The moment that Yuril laid eyes upon the ritual circle, System notifications flashed across his vision. Inspiration struck. Harmonic musical chords, an angelic choir, utter clarity of thought. Just from a glimpse.

  Overwhelmed, Yuril retreated from physical reality, back into his mind palace. Which, coincidentally, was exactly the same as his office upstairs.

  Within his imagination, Yuril sat down and looked at the crystal screen on his desk. Leon’s familiar, perfect script had been etched onto it. How did he know that I…no, this is some sort of trick. A mental suggestion where I fill in the blanks according to my own subconscious, that makes it look like he knows more than he does.

  Even within his own mental realm, Yuril’s hands shook. As he read, Leon’s voice spoke within his ear, a disgusting whisper where he could somehow feel the hot air of that bastard’s breath swirling down the canal.

  Yuril shivered.

  “Hey, Buddy! We really appreciate you letting us use your facility. As you can see, I made some adjustments to the usual formula. My version will remain active for about a week, which should be plenty of time for you and your relevant Servants to benefit from analyzing it.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “If you end up trying to recreate this, I wouldn’t recommend using everything, especially the Foci of Transference and Trauma Amplification Subscripts along the innermost Stratum. Most toddlers would explode from the metaphysical pressure, or at least have their mind cracked. I wasn’t sure if you would notice those, so I thought a warning would be fair.

  “In all seriousness, do not attempt to look into my son’s results. There’s an Eldritch Invocation scribbled in there somewhere that calls upon a Supreme Mindfiend when the confidentiality of the ritual subject is imposed upon. I forgot where I put it, so maybe watch out for that part too. Again, I’m not joking. You’ll understand when you have a kid.

  “Anyways, consider this a gift and an apology for us imposing upon your hospitality. After speaking with Tyrus, he offered me a new perspective, that it may be rude to ‘punch down’ on your lessers, so to speak. I know my pranks, especially in my younger days, could go a bit too far, from a certain way of thinking, so I hope there’s no hard feelings between us for the fun we had back in school. Sorry about that. Truly.

  “Alana is doing well, by the way! We were glad to see that you stopped sending her those poems after word of our betrothal spread around. You were always a smart guy, even if you lack a certain social insight.

  “I also know you aren’t still spreading rumors that I Charmed her in some nefarious way, and I appreciate you heeding my warning. I don’t really care about slights on my honor, but implications that Alana can’t handle herself are unacceptable. She’s my superior in most regards.

  “Until next time!

  “Leon.”

  ***

  The Honeyed Tongue was a single-room restaurant with exactly one table in the center. Tyr sat at the head, in his proper place, flanked by his parents. Garett and the Grey Maids sat on the end of the table, attempting to maintain their composure. Tyr could almost see them salivating in expectation.

  An unnecessary number of staff members circulated throughout The Honeyed Tongue. All of them possessed unnatural facial symmetry and grace that spoke to a higher Racial Grade—at least C, on par with Garrett. Somehow they leveraged this to remain as unobtrusive as possible. Their pristine white uniforms blended in with the surroundings to the point he wondered if they had some sort of Camouflage Skill to remain discreet. As soon as Tyr stopped focusing on them, they disappeared from his mind.

  The interior itself was classy decadence. Pure silver utensils, porcelain plates that made his fingers tingle whenever he touched them. Elegant tapestries hung from the walls, decorated with simple, swirling patterns that almost seemed like optical illusions, blurring and twisting as he focused on them. In fact…

  Perception 5 > 6.

  Most interesting of all, along the far end was a stage. The sole occupant of the lustrous wooden platform was a long, crystal stem that blossomed into a glimmering plate at the top. A microphone on a stand, Tyr guessed.

  A young male servant seemed to walk through one of the walls, bearing a gleaming tray. With a smooth motion he removed the dome cover; like a magician’s trick, it vanished, perhaps into a hidden spatial storage relic. An intoxicating aroma wafted throughout the room. Six delicate morsels of rare meat had been arranged in a star pattern, each cushioned upon a bed of spiritual herbs and tomatoes bursting with color and ripeness.

  Without any sign of mana manipulation, the appetizers drifted off the tray and on to each of their plates. Not a single leaf even fluttered, the entire delicacy preserved as if frozen in time.

  “Tenderloin of local, free-range, A-Grade Storm Wyvern.”

  Tyr immediately shoved it into his mouth with his grubby little hands. Flavors exploded like a supernova. Savory, salty, a hint of sweet and sour, cut through with the perfect touch of acidity, all mingling with taste profiles he had no way to even conceptualize. His tongue and inner cheeks tingled pleasantly. The innate Storm energies?

  Tyr resisted the urge to swallow it all in one gluttonous gulp, savoring the experience as much as possible.

  Leon dabbed at his mouth with a tablecloth and waited for Tyr to finally finish his mouthful. “So, let’s debrief on the situation. All the staff here have taken Vows of Secrecy—apparently too much of an ask for the Guild of Magical Affairs, but let’s move on from that. It’s still best not to reveal the particulars about your Status, but it’s about time to introduce you to the glorious, mindblowing, incredibly obnoxious particulars of the System.”

  “Please do!” said Tyr, stiff tongue loosened up by the first course.

  Mother squirmed in her seat. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the appetizer or because of what he said, but Tyr had his suspicions.

  Leon folded his hands in his lap and nodded at some invisible servant off to the side. “Let’s discuss General Skills. A lot of people immediately want the rarest options and ignore Common Skills, but there’s an obvious problem with this. The Common Skills are Common for a reason. Because they’re simple enough to acquire, yes, but also because the benefits are so readily obvious that many people are enticed. Don’t overlook any of them just because of their Rarity. Something may be Uncommon or higher because it’s ultimately useless in most circumstances.

  “F-grade Humans have four General Skill Slots. E has five. So on. You have the privilege of being born with seven. This is an exceptional advantage, though don’t let it get to your head. Some races, such as dragons and Planeswalkers, are A-grade at minimum at birth. The difference between us is vast, but not insurmountable. Technically.

  “Most Skills can be abandoned, but you will lose all progress and restart at Level 1. It's best to stick to one setup from the beginning unless a change is truly necessary. The typical layout for Skills in human society is pretty standardized, though there’s a lot of variety and mixing and matching that leads to a lot of unique builds despite this. This is before you even account for Profession and Class Skill interactions, fusions, so on. That topic has libraries upon libraries dedicated to it.

  "But let’s simplify. One Athletic Skill. One Movement Skill. One Memory Skill. One Constitution Skill. One Perception Skill. One Social Skill. The last one can be whatever interests you, though I'd recommend something that prepares you for a Profession.”

  Almost as hungry for knowledge as he was for the next course, Tyr found himself leaning forward in his booster seat. “What about focusing everything into one aspect? Is it really best to become, what’s the word, a Generalist?”

  Leon frowned for a moment as he attempted to figure out what Tyr meant. “An Ilanin? Someone that is good at everything, but not specialized? Some people do this, especially out of necessity, but it’s not recommended. After all, we have Classes and Professions for us to focus on one particular path. General Skills are, well, General. A way of rounding out your education, so to speak.”

  Tyr looked at the options in his Skill archive. Most of them were related to Leon inscribing the ritual circle, though a few others had snuck in along the way. Tyr had also received a free one from the System as an Achievement after his Trial of Myriad Affinities, but this was independent from the limited slots of his General Skills.

  Trialbreaker (Rare). You have passed your Trial of Myriad Affinities in exemplary fashion, despite amplification of its baseline difficulty and no prior knowledge of the particulars. Skill acquired: Focused Mind (Common) [Level 1].

  The option no longer existed within his Archive, of course. It was one of the first choices available to him after the function unlocked. He had dismissed it as potentially redundant at the time, though Father still seemed to think he should have a Memory Skill. He wasn’t sure if [Focused Mind] technically qualified, but it seemed close enough.

  Before they could continue, a gorgeous older woman brought over the next course. To Tyr’s surprise, her platter held six crystal glasses bubbling with green effervescence.

  “To help settle and prepare your stomachs, single portions of the Elixir of Natural Consumption. These treasured beverages were prepared by the local alchemists of the Verdant Colossus Apothecary. They amplify and enhance all culinary buffs for the next three hours.” Her hazel eyes settled upon Tyr, who was licking his lips in anticipation. “This will guarantee a point in Constitution for the young master by the end of the meal, or the entire service will be free of charge.”

  Tyr clapped his hands together. A point in his Constitution attribute? It had remained at 1 his entire life. It was notoriously difficult to advance except through specialized means, expensive consumables, or life-and-death struggle. He was most likely already on the verge of reaching 2 in the attribute anyways, but he wasn’t about to complain.

  “Let’s come here every night!”