There were a number of things all competing to be the next thing of note that happened in my life. I, for one, was disappointed when "the headache disappeared" didn't win the race.

It's not to say I was completely idle. With Harry gone, I'd sent a note to Kamau just kind of summarizing what had gone on with me, him, and High Priestess Cream, as well as offering a little bit information about life with Merry. His reply was unhelpful, and he seemed mostly uninterested, but he did try to be polite at least.

I also exchanged a few texts with Louise, receiving for my troubles a selfie of her with her family. Louise and her daughter Anne, standing next to each other, could have been sisters; Anne had black hair, though, and wore a bunch of eyeshadow. She had that kind of look of a stressed out, disaffected young adult who wasn't expecting things to work out, and I sympathized. Her own child, Tommy, couldn't have been five yet; he looked like a rambunctious kid, smiling eagerly for the camera.

I didn't ask why there were no fathers in the picture. For all I knew, they might both be married, but everything about the two suggested they were alone. So I put some emphasis into selling some of my crap dungeon items and monster corpses and such, doing more of the sales locally rather than on eBay just to avoid having to do shipping stuff. The Dungeoneer's Gym that I'd worked at--and that offer was still open, but I regretfully had to inform the owner that I'd be busy for who knows how long--had a trading exchange twice weekly, and that was easy and safe enough that I didn't feel at all conflicted about going there with a still-nagging headache. It was getting better, though, even as it drained my experience, slowly.

Mostly, I got rest, and that helped the pain more than anything else. When work called to ask if I'd be in, I considered telling them off, but in the end showed back up. The guided classes I was giving at the Dungeoneer's Gym were not a lot of work, and it gave me a little time to examine other people as they worked with some of my most common skills. Before, when watching people struggle with Telekinesis, I just felt that they hadn't experienced the same troubles as I did. Now, knowing a little more about how Growth Ranks worked, I tried to judge where people were. When I thought people were reaching A-rank--and that was fairly rare--I asked them to stay after and gave them a few hints on going beyond. I didn't offer my services as a Skill Sage, though, mostly because I simply didn't know them.

If anything, seeing if they would break through was more macabre experimentation. As far as I could tell, breaking into S-rank skills was a pretty serious advancement, far more important than levels; giving that kind of power to just anyone at random seemed like it was probably unethical. And yet, who was I to judge? I'd killed for no damn reason.

Along the way, I also forced myself to use Skill Sage on my Assassination skill, before giving classes on the art. I'd been avoiding it, because the skill consistently gave me the creeps to think about; I was proud of my ability to take down monsters, but it just felt like... like violence incarnate. It was ruthless, pitiless, and it considered the existence of weakness as a reason to defeat someone. It was hard to acknowledge my reasonably high level with the skill without... thinking. I still preferred to think I was just passable, and not an overly violent individual.

Anyway, apparently I was decent with it:

[ ASSASSINATION ] [ FOUNDATION: Assassin ] Level 64 Skill Sage: Growth Rank [AE] - Growth Points (68)

The only visible unlockable options were an ability to increase chances of a critical, and to increase chances of a special effect when you land a critical. Both had a numeral next to it, indicating there would be higher-ranked versions for the same. Given Telekinesis had let me unlock other skills, I was frankly more interested in what might be unlockable; probably some things I wouldn't want, like poisoning skills, but there had to be some kind of sensory skill, advanced stealth, who knows exactly what.

Speaking of Stealth, it was also fine:

[ STEALTH ] Level 69 Skill Sage: Growth Rank [AF] - Growth Points (76)

The named unlockables were also numbered, marginal increases, which didn't excite me. With both of those skills in the A-range, in theory I figured I could open up their advanced uses, but they were low enough in A-tiers that I could be wrong. Whether I succeeded or not, advancing in them would mean spending a lot of time and energy focusing on how they work, which was best left for when I returned to a dungeon... and also, I just wasn't really in the mood, right now.

After work, I was allowed to claim one of the unscheduled rooms and spar with my Caesarian Gentleman. The owner of the place had a couple questions, but apparently the concept of a trainer pet wasn't entirely foreign to him; after ensuring that there would be no damage to the facilities, he just kind of shrugged it off and said people would check in on me from time to time.

As I brought him out, I couldn't help thinking about Cassandra and her need for a name. So, pretty much as soon as he appeared, I clapped him on the shoulder and addressed him with one of only two Caesarian names that came to mind.

"Julius," I said, hoping my tone made it clear that I was naming him, "good to see you again. Can we spar for a bit?"

The man's face lit up, pleasantly. "Of course, my lord Jerald. I am pleased to be of use to you. What would you like to work on today?"

After a bit of work, it was clear to me that Julius C. Gentleman had significantly higher stats even than the high level Caesars I'd killed to get him, or at least, he was making better use of them. He made everything I did look trivial; all my moves were too slow, and when he did deign to block rather than dodge a stroke, he looked barely affected by it.

I suppose this was an Administrator's thanks for not being a jerk about things? Though, I still didn't know why they seemed to be sensitive about their failures. The Beanpole had gone through some trouble to keep me from telling stories about his mistakes, and this... were they being pressured to be perfect, somehow? Graded, maybe?

Partway through, a fencing instructor named Paul walked in to check on me and couldn't resist asking for a bout with Julius. He was a quality swordsman and higher level, and so the two of them were at least close enough in skill that it wasn't an embarrassing loss, but it was still a solid loss; Julius had his sword and shield combination very well defined, and although I could see Paul's head working through the problem, he didn't find an answer, even after a total of three quick spars. Julius, being a gentleman, gave him advice on his form and style, though I think Paul took it almost as an offense.

Anyway, Julius' advice for me was mostly about speed.

"You're showing your intent too clearly," he offered as I missed with a big diagonal chop. "I understand the need to put what power you can behind a stroke, but when you are slower than your opponent, you need to minimize the difference. Get in a guarded stance and make smaller, faster motions, like this." He brought his shieldhand in close and crunched up, and let loose a number of quick feints, each too fast for me to read and counter, and my attempts to even perceive them, each seemingly after the fact, only exhausted me.

When he stopped, I stepped back and took a few deep breaths. "I feel like your shield helps hide your motions there, and I don't use one." I'd actually gotten one as loot off a lower-level Caesar, but I'd already sold it. The big round thing just wasn't my style. "But even so, you're just so much faster than I am."

"Yes, I am," said Julius, quite proud of himself. "And I'll enjoy seeing you progress, my lord Jerald. But first, practice. Come on." He gestured with his shield. "Quick strokes now. Set your feet."

It was fun, I guess, but it didn't end with the satisfying victory that I'd gotten in the Dungeon. Of course, I was also holding back on all skills except swordfighting, but Julius was fast enough and smart enough to make me worry about my odds in an even fight.

Anyway, time came and went. Also on my list of things to do was exploring my newly made skill, Enhancement Sage, and I did a little, but I didn't get far enough into it to explain it just yet. Part of that was being tired, in the way that having a stupid dayjob made you tired, and part of it was that the skill seemed to be special in ways that I just wasn't interested in exploring at just that moment--not because the skill was special, but because I was the first one to make or get it, I guess.

Anyway, we'll get to that.

I started off by saying that the next major thing wasn't my headache going away. In fact the next major thing was a knock on my door, and on the other side was a tall skinny white guy who was a bible away from looking like a religious proselytizer. He had that optimistic, gee-golly-I'm-gonna-make-your-day look on his face that only comes from the indoctrinated or lobotomized, because he must have been rejected dozens if not hundreds of times and yet he still seems to think that this time people will be interested in what he's selling.

"Hi!" he said, his eyes bulging out of his head a bit as he smiled widely and offered a hand for me to shake. "I'm from the local branch of the USDA, and I'd like to talk to you about membership."

I did not shake his hand. I did not like his face. I did not like the Dungeoneer's Association. I considered slamming the door on his face, but his level was more than twice mine. I considered immediately telling him to go away, but he didn't seem like he would do that, willingly.

Instead, I left his hand dangling and tried to summon up a sense of humor. "USDA? Is this about the thing with the chickens?"

He immediately and without reserve dropped his hand and made a kind of polite laugh that told me that he was actually a wax statue animatronic pretending to be human. "No, sir, I don't mean the Department of Agriculture. The Dungeoneer's Association is a voluntary association of--"

I raised a hand to try to interrupt him, but as I kind of guessed, he didn't take a hint from it.

"--many benefits, including assistance with forming parties, access to mental health resources including depression and post-traumatic stress treatment, and access to a number of interior decorators and stylists to help you fit in with your new life..."

Well, okay, I couldn't argue with improved access to a psychiatrist, but then, with the money I had, I didn't really need the association to help me find one as much as I probably needed to be forced into going. I considered it for a long moment, as Mr. Wax waxed poetic about the association that had ordered me arrested at gunpoint, and I barely caught the fact that he had finished speaking and was holding out a clipboard and pen when things went a little quiet.

"I'm not going to join the Association," I said in response, making no move to touch his stupid clipboard.

"Sir, I'd just like to point out--"

"No." I wasn't in the mood to argue, but I was getting there.

"Perhaps when you--"

"Please leave." Something about this conversation had gotten the attention of Merry, who was kind of peeping out at the guy from what I could tell.

"Well, sir, I'd like to at least leave you with this pamphlet..."

That assassin is back, I think, sent Merry. But I can't find her.

I frowned, and instantly threw a shield around myself. Even with my Telekinetic Sense, though, I wasn't sure where Merry was finding any sign of the woman in black. Inside or outside?

Even though I sensed the bullet, I was thrown backwards into my apartment before I heard the gunshot. If I weren't on top of things, I would have been on the floor, but as it was, I caught myself. An odd pulse of force on the floor told me of hidden footsteps, and I swung the Executioner blindly, meeting no resistance. Immediately, though, the couch nudged slightly as the woman in black dodged past it.

I simply reached out with my telekinesis and sized a large quantity of air, finding as I did that I ran into some kind of resistance. As soon as I did, her stealth dropped, and I got a closer look at the woman, brief as it was.

The black clothes around here were tight, almost form-fitting, though they seemed to be cotton, or some other kind of relatively coarse fabric. The only thing really uncovered was a slot that revealed her eyes--and skin far darker than was common here, but not black. She held in each hand a curved sword that I thought was in a middle east or south asian style, but I wasn't an expert on the common styles--and Dungeon loot was far too mixed up to reflect on the origin of items anyway.

Anyway, I stabbed her in the chest with the Executioner's Sword, and she somehow teleported away; I could almost swear it wasn't her doing. It wasn't another use of stealth, of that I was sure--my telekinesis felt her slipping away, and then she was gone completely.

When I looked up, all that I found was the tool from the Association standing in the doorway, confused. To his credit, he was a Dungeoneer, and he'd dropped the clipboard and pen and some kind of silver claws had extended from his hands, werewolf style. My telekinetic sense told me that there was something else going on with him, but I couldn't tell what.

"Hey, nitwit," I offered to him, unable to keep myself from dumping quite a bit of scorn into my voice. My patience had been thin enough, but the use of my power brought the headache back a little more, and that pissed me off. "That sniper was behind you somewhere. If they were after you instead of me, you'd be dead. Now fuck off, I'm not joining your boyscout troupe." And, with a wave of my hand and telekinesis, I slammed the door in his face.

It felt good, but I thought it was also better than he deserved.